April 1995
For the first time in eight years Stevie Nicks was firmly anchored to one place. Her nomadic gypsy ways discarded, she felt safe, hopeful and quietly optimistic in her Phoenix home. Those cocaine-and-brandy fuelled nights and blurry Klonopin days seemed a lifetime ago and as cheesy as it sounded, Stevie knew she was about to embark on a wholesome new journey in her life.
She loved every room in her house but her bathtub was where she retreated to when she needed to think or write. She reclined there now, lazily watching the rose scented water lap over her creamy skin as the candlelight cast a sensual glow across her face. She lifted a foot and wriggled her toes, admiring the apple red nail polish she had applied earlier. Stevie loved giving herself manicures and pedicures, the only other people she had ever let paint her nails were Robin and Christine.
Christine. Oh Christine. Even eight years later the memories were still so vivid and sensory. Relaxing in their cosy Beverly Hills home, her much more daintier foot lithely extended for Christine to glide the brush over her nail. The way Christine furrowed her elegant brow and bit her lip while she examined her work. How she bent down to plant a soft kiss on Stevie's ankle bone before trailing her lips upwards to...
Stevie's skin heated up and she quickly submerged her foot back in the water. Those days were long gone and Christine would probably rather die than give Stevie a pedicure or anything else ever again.
She thought about the dinner she had shared with Tom a few nights ago. Those life-changing hours where he shook some sense into her, pulling her out of the murky depths of self-pity and misery she had let herself sink into since Street Angel completely bombed. She had felt fat and ugly and stupid and she needed Tom to write something for her because she sure as hell couldn't.
He had told her to get over it, to go home and write because she was a writer. She was alive and okay and that was something to celebrate. So she had taken his advice and went home and penned Trouble In Shangri-La and that was the beginning of the end of her crippling writer's block.
Stevie opened her journal to a fresh page and began absentmindedly sketching. She and Tom had also discussed other reasons for her blocked channels, one of which being Christine. He had casually suggested she get back in touch with her ex but Stevie had visibly bristled at the thought. But hours later, she had predictably found herself obsessing over the idea of speaking to Christine again.
Drawn out of her reverie Stevie realised the pen in her hand was moving of it's own accord. She looked down to find a pair of striking almond shaped eyes staring back at her. She knew those eyes; they had a history with Stevie. They used to intently gaze at her every time she told a story, genuinely enraptured with her words. They would try to see past her Klonopin haze, searching for the real Stevie who seemed lost for good. They were the same eyes that shone with hurt upon the discovery of Stevie's horrible infidelity, never to look at her the same way ever again. And now they stared her down, daring Stevie to ignore her siren call, daring Stevie to pick up the phone and call her. Call her.
She closed her journal and placed it on the stool next to the bathtub before picking up her cordless phone. With her heart beating rapidly she began dialling the number she knew better than her own. She felt a rush of anxiety and her thumb froze over the last digit. The last time they spoke was nearly a year ago when Christine had called Stevie to wish her good luck before she went on tour.
Stevie remembered a time when their conversations weren't limited to good lucks and well wishes. It was both a lifetime ago and yesterday at the same time. Their relationship had a timeless quality to it; and she had taken it completely for granted. Her commitment overtaken by pills, depression and short-term satisfaction. Stevie would never forget the anguish on Christine's face when she discovered Stevie had cheated on her a year into the Shake The Cage Tour.
"Why did you do it?" Christine had asked her in a voice that didn't sound like her own.
Stevie had just stared blankly at her, numb and unfeeling. "I needed to feel fucking human again and you're never around. You barely even look at me."
"You're not the same person I fell in love with and I find it difficult to be around you." Christine murmured after a heavy silence. "You're fading away and I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry, Stevie, but I'm finished."
And that was that.
They had somehow finished the rest of the tour, made another Fleetwood Mac album and toured again—even slipped back into their old ways once or twice, the temptation was too much to resist. By the end of it, Christine had essentially quit touring with Fleetwood Mac. While Stevie—who had fallen out with Mick over the ownership rights of Silver Springs and was done with the band altogether—had retreated to Phoenix to waste her days in front of the television with a bottle of Klonopin perpetually by her side.
When Stevie had finally entered rehab it was akin to someone opening a door and pushing her into hell. So if she could survive detox and everything that had come with it, she could make this fucking phone call.
Before she lost her resolve, she quickly hit the last digit and pressed call. Her body tensed while every scenario played out in her mind. Would Christine even pick up? What would her first words be? Would Stevie be able to avoid passing out in the meantime? Her questions were answered as Christine's amber-like voice filled her ear.
"Christine speaking."
There was the sound of plates clinking together under a running tap and Stevie smiled slightly. Of course she had called Christine while she was doing housework. The familiarity of it all set Stevie's spirit at ease and she slowly began to relax.
"Hey, Chris. It's Stevie."
"Hello Stevie," Christine's tone was encouraging. "How are you? I'm glad you called. I was concerned about you but didn't want to intrude."
"You're never an intrusion, Chris," Stevie replied immediately. "Truth be told I've been doing a lot of hiding and feeling sorry for myself but Tom told me to snap out of it so here I am."
"Sage words of advice!"
Stevie chuckled. "Right? The bastard was right though. I came home and actually wrote a full song I was proud of."
"That's lovely to hear, Stevie." Christine replied warmly and Stevie imagined the proud smile adorning her beautiful face. "I know you've been struggling creatively over the past few years so it's brilliant you're getting your mojo back."
"I'm getting there," Stevie hesitated. Here goes nothing, Stephanie, she thought. "He also said I should call you, get some closure, y'know? I feel like I never properly apologised for the way things ended between us and all the shit that happened after."
Christine was quiet for a moment before she spoke in a soft voice, "You did apologise, Stevie. You called me after you left rehab, remember? I forgave you even before you said sorry."
Stevie shook her head. "It's not what I wanted. Yes I was clean but my head wasn't screwed on straight and I don't even remember what I said."
"Well, what do you want now?"
Stevie traced her bottom lip with her index finger, a million wild thoughts fluttering around her mind like butterflies; I want you in my life again. I want a second chance to love you properly. I want your luminescent blue eyes to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night...
"Stevie?" Christine questioned.
"Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts for a second." Stevie said apologetically, gathering herself. "I guess I want to thank you for fighting for me when I seemed like a lost cause. When we broke up, you still tried, even when I was pretty much done with myself."
"Oh, honey. Don't sell yourself short, you clung on so hard and kept going. It's who you are." She paused and Stevie could practically see the words forming on the tip of her ex lover's tongue. "From the moment we met I knew you were an amazing person with a special gift of lighting up any room. And I remember looking at you and thinking how lucky I was to have you in my life. Even when you were at your worst I saw that bright, magical girl come out here and there, so that's how I know you'll never, ever lose that."
"I won't." Stevie replied in a shaky whisper, Christine wasn't the type to wax-poetic and it nearly rendered her speechless. "I promise I won't."
"Hang in there, gorgeous. Keep writing. I know your next record will be brilliant."
"I hope you'll be the first person to hear it?" Stevie asked hopefully, stretching her legs under the water.
"Of course." Christine replied. "What are you up to? I think I hear splashing."
"Taking a bath."
Stevie swore she could hear Christine's breath hitch. "Oh. Well I'll leave you to it then."
"How are things with you? I heard you're writing material for the new Mac album?" Stevie probed, not ready for their conversation to end just yet.
Christine chuckled dryly. "Yeah. Mick roped me into it. I'm really not interested but I agreed to provide some songs, regardless. Do you remember Nights In Estoril? It's going to be on there."
"I remember." Stevie sighed wistfully. "I also remember you saying you would take me there."
"That's still on the cards, love."
Stevie heart leapt as she immediately grasped the true meaning behind Christine's nonchalant reply. It was confirmation that Christine still felt something, too. Their story wasn't over, it was on pause, but it wasn't over.
"Well, I'll let you go." Stevie said. "It was great speaking to you, Chris."
"You too, please call again. Whenever you want, Stevie. You're always welcome to talk to me." Christine assured.
"I know. Bye, Chris. We'll keep in touch."
"Bye, gorgeous. Good luck with everything, we'll speak soon."
The phone was pressed to Stevie's ear long after Christine hung up. Eventually she put it down and drew her knees to her chest, taking a deep shuddering breath as the lingering sound of Christine's voice continued to send warm tingles over her skin.
After a few moments, she unfurled herself like a flower ready to bloom and opened her journal to the page with Christine's eyes etched in the corner. With a small smile on her face and inspiration seeping through her veins, she began to write.
----
A/N: Nearly 7 months later Down All Your Darkest Roads is finally finished. I'm sorry if it didn't end the way you would have liked it to, but I try to root my fic in canon and it just wasn't realistic for their relationship to last during Stevie's Klonopin years. Rest assured, the next series will be happier and brighter in tone; it's set when Christine returns to Fleetwood Mac in 2013-2014...
A HUGE shout out to my darling friend, Katy, for being an amazing support and beta-ing my work towards the end. I am a better writer because of you <3
Look out for some much needed updates to A Supercut Of Us in the next coming weeks ;) - Ava