TW: mentions of alcohol, light sexual content, internalised homophobia
March 14th, 1968
Ever since being fired from her job after collapsing, and ending up in hospital- taken in by an old woman who had been going down to the phone box to phone her grandson, away at university- Indigo had been frantically searching for work. Her savings would only last about a month at best and it terrified her. She'd taken to hanging around the cafe at the end of the street, hoping they'd take pity on her and give her scraps, but to no avail.
She wondered why Christine's line had been disconnected, surely she hadn't given out a fake number? Maybe she wanted to move on, leave her dumb little girlfriend behind. Maybe she'd convinced herself that it was experimenting in college, not real. Every time she thought about it, she could feel ice cold stabs in her heart.
She wondered if she'd done something wrong.
She should have moved to London, even if she couldn't afford it.
She should be there with her, then everything would be fine.
Did Christine even know she'd been in the hospital for months?
April 2nd, 1968
"Oh, Johnny," Christine giggled, resting her head on John's shoulder.
They'd been on tour for a few weeks already, and she was starting to miss home when she found herself being walked back to her hotel room, completely drunk. On the arm of a very pretty man. Her sober brain would tell her getting involved with John McVie was a risk- what if everything went wrong and she caused problems? What if she was the reason Chicken Shack lost their contract with Fleetwood Mac? But her drunk brain was telling her to pull him into the hotel room and straddle his waist, to trail kisses down his cheek and tell him she wanted him inside her. But John put one firm hand on her waist and pushed her away,
"If you feel the same way in the morning, we can talk, but you're drunk now, love."
"I'm your love?" she laughed, letting him guide her to the bed.
"You're my love," he smiled, "You're very pretty and very sweet, but you're also very drunk."
"Drunk enough to ask you to stay?"
"I'll stay, but we're not doing anything," he said, "Where do you keep your makeup remover?"
"I do not wear makeup!" she said indignantly.
"Well what do you call that eyeliner?" he joked, "C'mon Chrissy, you can trust me."
"Bathroom," she said, "Will you take my clothes off too?"
"Very funny," he called back.
When John returned, Christine was laying back against the pillows, snuggling into one of them, but feeling guilty suddenly. She couldn't pin why. His hands were gentle as he caressed her face, taking off her makeup and smiling down at her. She didn't speak until he looked confused as she stared up at him.
"What?"
"Huh?"
"Why're you looking at me like that?" she asked, "Am I not pretty without makeup?"
"Far from it," he said, "You're stunning, Chris."
Reaching up, she pulled him down to lay with her, but he pulled away.
"Pyjamas first, nobody wants to sleep in jeans."
"Will you help me, Mr McVie?"
He rolled his eyes,
"You just don't stop, do you?"
But she felt him unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them down her legs, rubbing her calves gently. Christine didn't know why she felt so guilty still, but she wanted John.
"Lift up," he smiled, pulling her pyjama bottoms on.
She saw a flash of blue, but in her drunken state, it didn't register.
"Okay, there we go," he smiled, "On your side then, love, sleepy time."
She murmured happily as she felt him slide into the bed next to her, and pulled his arms to wrap around her waist. The last thing she remembered before she fell asleep was whispering,
"I love you."
April 9th, 1968
"Come home with me?"
"Huh?"
"I mean, if you want to," John smiled, "It's a little out of the city, a nice country cottage. I thought maybe, we could get to know each other better?"
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"I'd love to."
Christine took John's hand in hers, pulling her suitcase behind her as John led her out of the airport, towards his car.
"And come on a date with me? When the jet lag wears off?"
"Of course," she grinned, "That sounds good."
April 14th, 1968
"I love you," John whispered, laying back against the pillows, moving so Christine could rest her head on his chest.
She looked up at him and grinned,
"I love you too, thanks for today."
He'd taken her out, as promised. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first time when they were back home in England. They went to the London Zoo, and Christine couldn't contain her smile as he led her straight to the penguin exhibit and talked at a hundred miles per hour about them. He knew each one by name, which she found adorable; and told her about how the littlest one, Mary, the Emporer Penguin, was actually the oldest, the one he'd seen the first time when he was about eleven years old. She'd never seen someone so excited.
Then her heart dropped. She had actually. A certain blue haired woman on a date with her at an art gallery, looking at Renaissance paintings. Her heart felt like it had been plunged in ice. But she hadn't spoken to her in months. Indigo had moved on, and she had to as well.
And Johnny was ever so charming.
"It was amazing," he smiled, "I love you so much."
They spent a moment in silence before John spoke again,
"Look, I know it's so quick, and we've only been together a few months, but I really am in love with you Chris. I want to ask you something, but I'm scared you'll freak out."
"I won't, I promise," she smiled, "I love you. I'd go to the moon and back for you."
"Will you marry me?" he asked, "I know it's insane, but it feels so right."
Christine grinned, she wasn't sure if she wanted it. He was right, it felt right. But something in her heart told her to just leave and find Indigo. They'd promised forever.
No. She wasn't gay. That was experimenting. Like everyone in art school.
This was right.
"Yes," she breathed, interrupting his rambling, "I'd love to marry you."
