The C3'verse, Chapter 2: Now That My Love is Gone
The C3'verse: For Every KissChris That You Give Me, I Will Give You Three
(title based on Steve Carlson's cover of Be my Baby)
Characters from Leverage and Angel are the property of their respective owners. I don't know the real people mentioned, and I don't intend any offense. This is entirely fictional.
Chapter 2: Now That My Love is Gone
(Title from Steve Carlson's song of the same name.)
Set shortly after the band KANE dissolved
Author: Celtic_Forest
Rated: PG-13
Pairing: Chris/Steve
Chapter word count: 938
Chapter 3, You Belong With Me, was previously posted as a stand-alone. It's here
Room to room, their life, their past and their forfeit future, was reduced to boxes filled with physical things. Steve had come over from Jensen's on Christian's last day here, to face the hollow echoes of waste and loss.
From the living room wall, Christian took down their framed copy of the flier for the first Kane gig - not opening for any other band; their first real show, and the memory of the living connection with their audience. It had been one of the happiest nights of their lives together. He stroked the glass, then mutely held it out to Steve, who gave a slight shake of his head. Christian wrapped it and put it in a box.
There was a painting Jensen had given them for Christmas one year. An amazing minimalist artist had captured the two musicians working as one, the intimacy between them conveyed with surprisingly few brushstrokes. Christian just touched the corner of it, and looked to Steve. This time, the small shake of his head meant leave it. The two of them never had needed many words to communicate. They continued, moving through most of the house this way.
The studio had been packed up when Christian started working from Nashville. It was easier, in there, to divide their things. There was never any doubt about whose instruments were whose, and Christian left their shared equipment.
Steve sat alone in the studio while Chris finished with the rest of the house. Resting his elbows on the guitar he'd unconsciously settled on his lap, Steve slowly untied the leather knot on the bulky turquoise bracelet that encircled his wrist. He watched it fall into the trash can, and absorbed another sound of the break of his heart. He'd heard a lot of doors close (hell, he'd been on the outside of some of those doors, walking away), he'd heard silence in an empty house; so many goodbyes he'd lived through and written about. Some of those were courtesy of Christian too (or rather he and Chris, either both being idiots or taking turns), but not like this time. This harsh rattle of stones and soft fall of leather was new. This heartache was new.
Christian stood in the kitchen, not knowing what to pack. They both loved to cook, and many of the gifts their friends had given the two of them over the years were in this room. He opened an upper cabinet on a memory of he and Steve covered in flour, making homemade pasta that had been half wasted as they tossed ripped pieces at each other, laughing so hard they struggled to catch their breath. Chris was still gasping when Steve wrapped his hand around the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss. They'd started undressing each other with shaking hands, while they stumbled out of the kitchen to make love on the couch. Afterwards, with dinner long overdue, they salvaged the remaining pasta and grinned at each other all through dinner.
Christian left the pasta machine there and closed the cabinet door.
In the bedroom he boxed up the rest of the clothes and other random things he had here. The furniture stayed, including the bed they'd bought together. It was Steve's place, and he would move back in from Jensen's when he was ready - the house wouldn't be empty, just empty of Chris. It was only one of the places Christian called home.
While Chris sealed his boxes and carried them near the door to be picked up by the movers tomorrow, he listened to Steve plucking out a new melody on his favorite acoustic guitar. People didn't understand about him having "a radio in [his] head," like in the song. Thoughts and feelings poured out through the strings whether Steve made a conscious choice to write a song or not. He made a living because he was willing to share some of them with the public, and he made a real connection with his fans because his songs rang with truth. He made a living having his heart broken.
Chris ran a hand through his hair and stepped out onto the porch. He turned and came back in, snagged a bottle of Jack, then went out and sat down on the steps. The sun would be rising soon.
When Steve came upstairs to silence, and saw the boxes stacked and ready to go, he knew where to look. Christian was on the porch, with a bottle untouched beside him. Standing there inside the house, looking at Christian's back, he silently said his last goodbye. He was as near to peace as he would be for a while. Steve opened the sliding glass door and stepped outside.
When Christian heard the door open, he closed his eyes for a moment. As he heard Steve walk up behind him he shifted over to make room for him to sit. Like a peace offering, he held out the bottle. Steve took a burning swallow as he settled onto the step. Their blue eyes met when he handed the bottle back, then Steve reached in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. Their last sunrise together was a beautiful one, with streaks of color blossoming one after another and painting the clouds.
As the sky's color faded, Chris rose and walked toward the house, then turned back. The sun lit Steve's long blond hair like a halo, as unspoken words hung between them. Steve didn't turn, though, and Chris left the porch quietly. Inside, he put his boots on, looked around once more, and left to catch his flight.
(title based on Steve Carlson's cover of Be my Baby)
Characters from Leverage and Angel are the property of their respective owners. I don't know the real people mentioned, and I don't intend any offense. This is entirely fictional.
Chapter 2: Now That My Love is Gone
(Title from Steve Carlson's song of the same name.)
Set shortly after the band KANE dissolved
Author: Celtic_Forest
Rated: PG-13
Pairing: Chris/Steve
Chapter word count: 938
Chapter 3, You Belong With Me, was previously posted as a stand-alone. It's here
Room to room, their life, their past and their forfeit future, was reduced to boxes filled with physical things. Steve had come over from Jensen's on Christian's last day here, to face the hollow echoes of waste and loss.
From the living room wall, Christian took down their framed copy of the flier for the first Kane gig - not opening for any other band; their first real show, and the memory of the living connection with their audience. It had been one of the happiest nights of their lives together. He stroked the glass, then mutely held it out to Steve, who gave a slight shake of his head. Christian wrapped it and put it in a box.
There was a painting Jensen had given them for Christmas one year. An amazing minimalist artist had captured the two musicians working as one, the intimacy between them conveyed with surprisingly few brushstrokes. Christian just touched the corner of it, and looked to Steve. This time, the small shake of his head meant leave it. The two of them never had needed many words to communicate. They continued, moving through most of the house this way.
The studio had been packed up when Christian started working from Nashville. It was easier, in there, to divide their things. There was never any doubt about whose instruments were whose, and Christian left their shared equipment.
Steve sat alone in the studio while Chris finished with the rest of the house. Resting his elbows on the guitar he'd unconsciously settled on his lap, Steve slowly untied the leather knot on the bulky turquoise bracelet that encircled his wrist. He watched it fall into the trash can, and absorbed another sound of the break of his heart. He'd heard a lot of doors close (hell, he'd been on the outside of some of those doors, walking away), he'd heard silence in an empty house; so many goodbyes he'd lived through and written about. Some of those were courtesy of Christian too (or rather he and Chris, either both being idiots or taking turns), but not like this time. This harsh rattle of stones and soft fall of leather was new. This heartache was new.
Christian stood in the kitchen, not knowing what to pack. They both loved to cook, and many of the gifts their friends had given the two of them over the years were in this room. He opened an upper cabinet on a memory of he and Steve covered in flour, making homemade pasta that had been half wasted as they tossed ripped pieces at each other, laughing so hard they struggled to catch their breath. Chris was still gasping when Steve wrapped his hand around the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss. They'd started undressing each other with shaking hands, while they stumbled out of the kitchen to make love on the couch. Afterwards, with dinner long overdue, they salvaged the remaining pasta and grinned at each other all through dinner.
Christian left the pasta machine there and closed the cabinet door.
In the bedroom he boxed up the rest of the clothes and other random things he had here. The furniture stayed, including the bed they'd bought together. It was Steve's place, and he would move back in from Jensen's when he was ready - the house wouldn't be empty, just empty of Chris. It was only one of the places Christian called home.
While Chris sealed his boxes and carried them near the door to be picked up by the movers tomorrow, he listened to Steve plucking out a new melody on his favorite acoustic guitar. People didn't understand about him having "a radio in [his] head," like in the song. Thoughts and feelings poured out through the strings whether Steve made a conscious choice to write a song or not. He made a living because he was willing to share some of them with the public, and he made a real connection with his fans because his songs rang with truth. He made a living having his heart broken.
Chris ran a hand through his hair and stepped out onto the porch. He turned and came back in, snagged a bottle of Jack, then went out and sat down on the steps. The sun would be rising soon.
When Steve came upstairs to silence, and saw the boxes stacked and ready to go, he knew where to look. Christian was on the porch, with a bottle untouched beside him. Standing there inside the house, looking at Christian's back, he silently said his last goodbye. He was as near to peace as he would be for a while. Steve opened the sliding glass door and stepped outside.
When Christian heard the door open, he closed his eyes for a moment. As he heard Steve walk up behind him he shifted over to make room for him to sit. Like a peace offering, he held out the bottle. Steve took a burning swallow as he settled onto the step. Their blue eyes met when he handed the bottle back, then Steve reached in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. Their last sunrise together was a beautiful one, with streaks of color blossoming one after another and painting the clouds.
As the sky's color faded, Chris rose and walked toward the house, then turned back. The sun lit Steve's long blond hair like a halo, as unspoken words hung between them. Steve didn't turn, though, and Chris left the porch quietly. Inside, he put his boots on, looked around once more, and left to catch his flight.