Fleetwood Mac-Part III of Fritz Series

Time Cast A Spell

***A/N sexual content, POV shift mid chapter but it shifts back***

Working on a new album usually gives me a burst of creative energy. I'm excited to be in the booth, excited to get my hands on lyrics, to mold our songs into hits. To show John and Mick what I'm thinking in terms of bass and drums, to start picking out new tunes on one of my many guitars. It's like hanging out in a funhouse, the instruments and soundboards are all my playground and I'm just a big kid. Not this time around. Our next album, no title yet, isn't like Rumors. It's not like Tusk. It's not even like the White Album. This album exists for the sole reason of recuperating our losses from our last album.

Warner doesn't have a studio rented for us in a fancy hit factory, we're not buying out entire deli's and brew houses each afternoon. The entourages have been scuttled to the side in favor of a stripped down crew of only essential personnel. i.e. artists, sound mixers, producers, and my kids. Sara, Nova, and AJ are all seated in Christine, John and Mick's laps respectively while I pull out the dry erase board to write out our current track list. Stevie's not here.

It's the elephant in the room, but every time I look up and see John patiently explaining something to Nova in his thick accent or answer a question from Mick about production, I expect Stevie to chime in. I expect her to breeze through the room in her most casual, but still chic clothes offering people drinks and collecting empty cups and plates. I expect her to dig at me about the effects I plan to use over her voice, to clarify mixes. But she's not here. So none of that happens, and I'm off kilter because of it.

With a basic sketch of the album complete we break for a drink before a jam session "You got anything stronger than ale?" Mick strokes a hand through his thick beard looking slightly disdained by the gold liquid in his beer glass, I tend to forget him and John prefer nice dark stouts. Personally, they're too bitter for my taste, Stevie doesn't drink beer she prefers wine and champagne. My glamour girl. Not my girl anymore. Tom's girl. Tom stupid fucking Pett-- "Eh? Lindsey"

Shaking myself I look up again, Mick's looking at me with concern his eyes moving back and forth from my clenched hand to my face. When I look down I realize why...I'm crushing the bag of peanuts I was about to pour into a bowl for a snack "Sorry, I'm distracted" he chuffs clapping me on the back "I can tell mate, anything I can do?" passing him one of the few Guinness drafts I have in the fridge I shake my head "No, it's personal"

"Nothing wrong with the old pecker is there?" that gets me to chuckle at least, "Nope, that still works fine" my wife just doesn't want me and my old pecker anymore "Is it our Ms. Nicks then?" resting my feet on the rungs of my barstool I shrug again. Mick nods sagely "Ah...well don't leave me in suspense, what has our little songbird been up to? Catch you with some groupies?" one of my eyebrows twitches. Close, but I'm not giving him anything. I don't want to talk about Stevie' being unfaithful not with Mick, not with anyone. Something about knowing my wife felt like she needed attention from another man-it hurts. More so because there's nothing I wouldn't give her if she asked.

"When have I had any groupies around? I'm too busy driving my kids to and from school and practice, and appointments-" Mick waves his hands "Okay, so not groupies. Her album then?" No, I actually love everything I've heard on her album. Even her duet with Petty is good...It makes me want to throat punch him, but it's good. "No Michael, the album is terrific". Puzzled my bandmate takes a sip of his beer crossing his arms once the glass is half full. With his thumb and fore finger he twirls the end of his mustache then snaps his fingers "She's pregnant again!"

God no...I'd be paranoid that it wasn't mine. Not mine. Jesus she could have gotten pregnant with that asshole, then what? Stupid me I'd raise Tom Petty's kid as my own and be none the wiser. Nova and AJ are both blonde, another child with blonde hair wouldn't be a stretch "No, drop it okay?" I'm not upset with Mick for being curious, but he has a way of needling me for information that irritates the shit out of me.