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rsadelleAccording to the dates on the file, I worked on this over three weeks in February-March of this year. What's fascinating to me, reading it now, is how many of the plot points I reused in You Have My Heart (in your hands).
I think the last paragraph is actually the first part of the story I wrote.
When Mindy called on a Tuesday to tell him, Steve had no fucking idea what to do or say.
"Look," she said. "I'm not having an abortion, but I'm not raising it either, so you can have the kid, or I'm putting it up for adoption."
"Can I think about it?" Steve asked stupidly.
Chris wasn't his first call. Hell, Chris wasn't even his fifth call. But eventually, he worked his way down his list of people to talk to about it, and there was Chris.
"You remember Mindy?" Steve asked after they'd done the career catch-up part of the conversation.
"Not really," Chris said. "Brown hair?"
Steve rolled his eyes even though Chris couldn't see him. "You're just guessing."
"Well, hell," Chris said, "they all have brown hair. It was a safe guess."
"Yeah," Steve admitted, "she has brown hair. She's also pregnant." Best to just lay it out there, he guessed.
Chris whistled. "Yours?"
"Yeah." Steve waited to see what he would say.
"Well, hell," Chris said. "What're you gonna do about it?"
And that was the fucking question, wasn't it?
"She's giving it up for adoption if I don't want it," Steve told him, and that made Chris shut up.
"Well, hell," he finally said again.
"Yeah." Steve blew out a breath. "What the hell am I supposed to do? I can't raise a baby."
"So you hire a nanny," Chris said, and Steve was pretty sure he thought he was being helpful, but he actually wasn't wrong about the choice Steve was going to make. Maybe he should move Chris up his people to call list.
"I'm not letting a nanny raise my kid," he said.
"Well, all right, then," Chris said like everything was settled. "That case, you need a bigger place, because you can't fit a kid and me in that tiny apartment you got now."
He would need more space for the baby. Wait, what?
"What do you mean you?"
"You said you can't take care of it yourself," Chris pointed out, and he had said that.
"You're in Nashville half the year." It wasn't actually the strongest objection he could come up with, but it was the first one he thought of.
"Well," Chris said as if it were completely reasonable, "the other half I'll be helping you with the kid."
"You're crazy," Steve said. "You can't raise a kid. You're a terrible role model."
"Hell, son," Chris said, "just means I know what the kid might get into. Besides, you smoke."
"Shit," Steve swore. "This means I have to quit." He hadn't thought about that.
"Yep," Chris said, and he sounded almost gleeful about it.
"Shit," Steve said again. "I'm not ready to be a father."
"Way I hear it," Chris said, "no one ever is. Start looking for a new place." And then the bastard hung up.
***
Steve decided a house was the way to go, and he wanted enough of a yard that if they stayed there for a while, the kid, his kid would have somewhere to play and so that Chris would have a place to throw around a football even if they didn't. It also had to be big enough that they would have a space to make into a studio and somewhere for Steve to disappear to when living with Chris and a baby. Not to mention a nice kitchen.
Once he started looking, Steve was actually glad Chris was going to be a part of things, if only for the money he'd be able to contribute to the rent. Housing in LA was crazy.
He narrowed it down to three places, and emailed links to the listings to Chris, who then refused to make a decision without looking at them.
"So get your ass out here," Steve told him on the phone.
"Next weekend, maybe?" Chris suggested, and he sounded so tired that Steve was willing to cut him a little slack. A little.
"Yeah, okay," Steve agreed, "but it might make our decision for us if one of 'em goes before then."
"Then that's what'll happen," Chris said. There was a voice calling his name in the background, and he said to Steve, "I gotta go. I'll call you later."
He didn't call, but he did email, just a forwarded flight itinerary. He didn't ask for it, but Steve showed up at the airport to pick him up anyway, and Chris seemed genuinely happy he was there.
"I could sleep for a week," Chris said when they got him and his bag into the car.
"Come to my place," Steve offered. "I'll make dinner. You can crash there if you want."
"Guess we should get used to it." Chris rubbed his eyes. "Shit. This schedule's killing me."
Steve chanced a glance at him. "And you think you're going to help me raise a kid like this?"
Chris didn't have a good comeback for that one.
***
They went to all three houses the next morning. Chris didn't express much of an opinion about the first two. Steve figured he was just withholding judgment until he'd seen them all, or that he really was tired despite crashing on Steve's guest futon for a good eleven hours.
His attitude changed at the third house, though. He paid attention to what the realtor guy had to say, and asked him questions about the kitchen, the yard, and the terms.
"In this market," the guy said, "owner wants to rent, not sell, but you'll have first refusal on buying when he decides to sell."
Chris nodded, and Steve figured he did have more experience with real estate, so let him answer questions while he walked through the house one more time.
"Can you give us a minute?" Chris asked when he came back to the kitchen.
"Sure." The guy moved away as he talked. "I'll be out front whenever you need me."
Steve waited for the door to close behind the guy before he asked, "What are you thinking?"
"C'mere." Chris led him to the door that opened from the living room onto the back patio.
Steve looked out. The backyard hadn't changed since he'd last looked. "What?"
Chris pointed, and Steve followed his gaze to the large tree that shaded most of the yard. "That tree's perfect for a treehouse." He leaned his shoulder against the sliding glass door. "Roomy kitchen. Owner's okay with us doing remodeling to soundproof that fourth bedroom." He hitched one shoulder in a shrug. "I have any say about it, this is the house your kid's gonna grow up in."
Steve looked out at the yard. "Okay," he said. "Let's go make the realtor happy."
Chris threw an arm around Steve's shoulders. "The kid's gonna love it here."
"The kid's not gonna know anything about its surroundings for a while," Steve said. "And you're building that treehouse." They stepped out of the house, and the realtor slid his Blackberry back into his pocket.
"Well, guys," he said, "what's it gonna be?"
"We'll take it," Chris said.
***
Moving himself was enough of a pain, but then Steve had to move most of Chris's stuff, too. Chris did some of his own packing, which meant Steve didn't even get a chance to see if he could find Chris's porn or anything else worth teasing him about.
Steve left most of Chris's boxes stacked in his room - just because he was willing to help get Chris's stuff from his apartment to the house didn't mean he was going to unpack everything too. He did unpack the kitchen stuff to see how badly duplicated all their stuff was. He put both sets of knives out on the counter, but chose the best of each of the rest of the duplicated pans, gadgets, and utensils, and boxed up the extras.
The house became a mishmash of his furniture and Chris's. There was enough space for two couches, and you could never have too many guitar stands, but they certainly didn't need two dining room tables. Steve eventually gave up on rearranging furniture without Chris's input and focused his energy on the studio instead. He texted the full amount of the quote for soundproofing and the other few things they needed to Chris with, You're paying half.
Chris texted back a couple of hours later: ok
The stove went the same way - Steve texted Chris the amount they had to pay after the landlord's contribution and eventually got the same two-letter response back.
It wasn't like dealing with the house was the only thing Steve did. He also had an album to work on, shows to do, and occasional dinners with his parents. He also went with Mindy to her doctor's appointments and went on the patch to stop smoking.
"I haven't done anything with the kid's room," he said the next time he managed to get Chris on the phone.
Chris laughed. "You've known the kid's coming for months, and now you think about that?"
Mindy's due date was five weeks away.
"I've been trying to get this album done."
Chris chuckled. "You know if it's a girl or a boy yet?"
Steve shook his head even though Chris couldn't see it. "I want it to be a surprise."
"Then don't paint it pink. Blues, greens, yellows, something like that."
Steve grunted. "I hate painting."
"So hire someone else to do it. Just send me some paint strips or something before you buy the paint."
"Yeah, sure." Steve wasn't sure he'd actually do it, but he agreed anyway.
"I mean it," Chris said. "I'm going to have to look at it as much as you do." He yawned. "I gotta get some sleep, man, but I'll start making a list of other stuff we need this weekend."
***
Steve's parents invited him over for lunch on Saturday, so he went to Lowe's on Friday and picked up a handful of paint strips with the idea that his parents might have an opinion on their grandkid's nursery.
There were a lot of cars on his parents' street. Steve first assumed one of the neighbors must be having a party, except then he recognized a couple of the cars and groaned. He really just wanted to have lunch and then call Chris to see what he'd come up with in the way of furniture.
He left the paint strips in the car and went up to the house. His mom opened the door before he could knock. She was beaming, and so was the array of friends and family filling the living room behind her.
"Congratulations, honey," his mom said as she drew him into a hug.
"Thanks, mom," he said. "How on Earth did you?"
His question was answered before he could finish asking it when Chris came from the kitchen, through the living room, and into the entryway, shit-eating grin firmly planted on his face.
"You asshole," Steve said, but he met Chris for a hug anyway. "Making a list, huh?"
"Sure," Chris said, "but after the party." He pushed Steve into the living room to hug pretty much everyone he knew and thank them all for coming.
Chris and his mom, thankfully, didn't make them play shower games, but there was lunch and an unimaginably large pile of presents, so they were there until late in the day.
Chris, for some unfathomable reason, didn't have his own transportation, so they loaded his bag and all the presents that would fit into Steve's car.
Chris picked up the paint strips from the passenger seat and flipped through them while Steve drove.
"This one," Chris said, pushing one of them at Steve at a stoplight. Steve glanced down at the light blue Chris had his thumb on. "With white for the trim and the ceiling."
"Okay," Steve agreed, so they went back to Lowe's and bought several cans of paint, trays, drop cloths, and both rollers and brushes.
"My flight's late on Monday," Chris told him. "We're going to have it painted before I leave."
By Monday evening, when Steve dropped Chris off at the airport, the kid's room was painted, they'd picked out or bought everything Chris deemed essential to have before the baby was born, and they'd decided to keep Chris's dining room table and get rid of Steve's.
"So look," Chris said as Steve pulled into the chaos of LAX, "I should have this wrapped up in three or four weeks, so I'll be back in time. Just tell Mindy not to go into labor early."
Steve laughed and pulled up in front of the terminal. "I'm not sure she can control that, but I'll tell her." He got out of the car to hug Chris goodbye.
"See you in a couple of weeks," Chris promised. "And stop freaking out," he added when he had Steve pulled close to him. "Everything'll be fine."
That was easy for Chris to say. He wasn't the one who had to try to assemble a crib and matching changing table with incomprehensible instructions. Steve snapped a picture of the pieces spread out on the nursery floor and sent it to Chris with a text: I hate you.
A few hours later, Chris sent back: lol And then: It's for the kid. Two weeks.
***
Chris came back a week after that, approved of Steve's work on the furniture, and slept most of the last week before Mindy's due date.
He also went crazy buying baby stuff. No matter how much Steve insisted that she was his kid and he could take care of it, Chris just kept buying stuff. He insisted on buying two of those baby slings so they could each have their own and so that they could have one to use while the other one was in the wash. Steve thought that was kind of silly because only one of them could carry the kid around at a time and it wasn't like either of them couldn't hold a baby for a couple of hours without it, but it was Chris's money, so he gave up and let him do what he wanted.
***
They got the call at nine on a Thursday morning. They were both up because Chris had finally slept himself out and Steve liked his morning coffee. Chris insisted on driving, but they took Steve's car because it had the car seat in it.
Mindy wouldn't let them in the room. Chris called Steve's parents and anyone else he thought should know, and then just leaned against the wall. Steve paced, stood next to Chris, paced again.
Mindy clearly wasn't enjoying the experience, but the baby's cry was something different, and Steve pushed his way into the room.
They'd drawn a curtain so he couldn't see Mindy, but they were doing whatever it was they did to measure and wash the baby, and then the nurse said, "Mr. Carlson? This is your daughter," and showed him how to hold her and the bottle so she could drink.
He managed to open the door while holding her, and Chris came in to look at her too. Steve looked at Chris, with his cowboy boots and hat, and down at the tiny person he was now responsible for, and thought he was going to fuck this up.
"Stop freaking out," Chris said.
Someone took them down the halls to the nursery, and somebody else came by with a piece of paper and asked Steve for the kid's name.
Steve looked down at her. "Emily Ann Carlson," he said.
"Emily?" Chris said. "That's going to be a bitch to put into a lyric."
"Get used to it," Steve said. He looked up and grinned at Chris. "Emily Ann'll be easier."
"You couldn't name her something easier to write about," Chris sighed. He reached out for Emily. "C'mere, darlin'." Chris held her like he knew what he was doing. "Ain't you just a pretty little thing." He looked like he was meant to do this.
***
The first month sucked, big time, even with Chris there the whole time.
***
When Steve got to the set, Chris was trying to simultaneously calm a crying Emily and heat up a bottle. Steve took the bottle from him and took care of heating it. When it was warm, he held it up to Emily, who was still cradled in Chris's arms, and they stood like that, the two of them feeding Steve's child, until someone called Chris back onto the set. Chris carefully shifted Emily into Steve's arms.
I think the last paragraph is actually the first part of the story I wrote.
When Mindy called on a Tuesday to tell him, Steve had no fucking idea what to do or say.
"Look," she said. "I'm not having an abortion, but I'm not raising it either, so you can have the kid, or I'm putting it up for adoption."
"Can I think about it?" Steve asked stupidly.
Chris wasn't his first call. Hell, Chris wasn't even his fifth call. But eventually, he worked his way down his list of people to talk to about it, and there was Chris.
"You remember Mindy?" Steve asked after they'd done the career catch-up part of the conversation.
"Not really," Chris said. "Brown hair?"
Steve rolled his eyes even though Chris couldn't see him. "You're just guessing."
"Well, hell," Chris said, "they all have brown hair. It was a safe guess."
"Yeah," Steve admitted, "she has brown hair. She's also pregnant." Best to just lay it out there, he guessed.
Chris whistled. "Yours?"
"Yeah." Steve waited to see what he would say.
"Well, hell," Chris said. "What're you gonna do about it?"
And that was the fucking question, wasn't it?
"She's giving it up for adoption if I don't want it," Steve told him, and that made Chris shut up.
"Well, hell," he finally said again.
"Yeah." Steve blew out a breath. "What the hell am I supposed to do? I can't raise a baby."
"So you hire a nanny," Chris said, and Steve was pretty sure he thought he was being helpful, but he actually wasn't wrong about the choice Steve was going to make. Maybe he should move Chris up his people to call list.
"I'm not letting a nanny raise my kid," he said.
"Well, all right, then," Chris said like everything was settled. "That case, you need a bigger place, because you can't fit a kid and me in that tiny apartment you got now."
He would need more space for the baby. Wait, what?
"What do you mean you?"
"You said you can't take care of it yourself," Chris pointed out, and he had said that.
"You're in Nashville half the year." It wasn't actually the strongest objection he could come up with, but it was the first one he thought of.
"Well," Chris said as if it were completely reasonable, "the other half I'll be helping you with the kid."
"You're crazy," Steve said. "You can't raise a kid. You're a terrible role model."
"Hell, son," Chris said, "just means I know what the kid might get into. Besides, you smoke."
"Shit," Steve swore. "This means I have to quit." He hadn't thought about that.
"Yep," Chris said, and he sounded almost gleeful about it.
"Shit," Steve said again. "I'm not ready to be a father."
"Way I hear it," Chris said, "no one ever is. Start looking for a new place." And then the bastard hung up.
***
Steve decided a house was the way to go, and he wanted enough of a yard that if they stayed there for a while, the kid, his kid would have somewhere to play and so that Chris would have a place to throw around a football even if they didn't. It also had to be big enough that they would have a space to make into a studio and somewhere for Steve to disappear to when living with Chris and a baby. Not to mention a nice kitchen.
Once he started looking, Steve was actually glad Chris was going to be a part of things, if only for the money he'd be able to contribute to the rent. Housing in LA was crazy.
He narrowed it down to three places, and emailed links to the listings to Chris, who then refused to make a decision without looking at them.
"So get your ass out here," Steve told him on the phone.
"Next weekend, maybe?" Chris suggested, and he sounded so tired that Steve was willing to cut him a little slack. A little.
"Yeah, okay," Steve agreed, "but it might make our decision for us if one of 'em goes before then."
"Then that's what'll happen," Chris said. There was a voice calling his name in the background, and he said to Steve, "I gotta go. I'll call you later."
He didn't call, but he did email, just a forwarded flight itinerary. He didn't ask for it, but Steve showed up at the airport to pick him up anyway, and Chris seemed genuinely happy he was there.
"I could sleep for a week," Chris said when they got him and his bag into the car.
"Come to my place," Steve offered. "I'll make dinner. You can crash there if you want."
"Guess we should get used to it." Chris rubbed his eyes. "Shit. This schedule's killing me."
Steve chanced a glance at him. "And you think you're going to help me raise a kid like this?"
Chris didn't have a good comeback for that one.
***
They went to all three houses the next morning. Chris didn't express much of an opinion about the first two. Steve figured he was just withholding judgment until he'd seen them all, or that he really was tired despite crashing on Steve's guest futon for a good eleven hours.
His attitude changed at the third house, though. He paid attention to what the realtor guy had to say, and asked him questions about the kitchen, the yard, and the terms.
"In this market," the guy said, "owner wants to rent, not sell, but you'll have first refusal on buying when he decides to sell."
Chris nodded, and Steve figured he did have more experience with real estate, so let him answer questions while he walked through the house one more time.
"Can you give us a minute?" Chris asked when he came back to the kitchen.
"Sure." The guy moved away as he talked. "I'll be out front whenever you need me."
Steve waited for the door to close behind the guy before he asked, "What are you thinking?"
"C'mere." Chris led him to the door that opened from the living room onto the back patio.
Steve looked out. The backyard hadn't changed since he'd last looked. "What?"
Chris pointed, and Steve followed his gaze to the large tree that shaded most of the yard. "That tree's perfect for a treehouse." He leaned his shoulder against the sliding glass door. "Roomy kitchen. Owner's okay with us doing remodeling to soundproof that fourth bedroom." He hitched one shoulder in a shrug. "I have any say about it, this is the house your kid's gonna grow up in."
Steve looked out at the yard. "Okay," he said. "Let's go make the realtor happy."
Chris threw an arm around Steve's shoulders. "The kid's gonna love it here."
"The kid's not gonna know anything about its surroundings for a while," Steve said. "And you're building that treehouse." They stepped out of the house, and the realtor slid his Blackberry back into his pocket.
"Well, guys," he said, "what's it gonna be?"
"We'll take it," Chris said.
***
Moving himself was enough of a pain, but then Steve had to move most of Chris's stuff, too. Chris did some of his own packing, which meant Steve didn't even get a chance to see if he could find Chris's porn or anything else worth teasing him about.
Steve left most of Chris's boxes stacked in his room - just because he was willing to help get Chris's stuff from his apartment to the house didn't mean he was going to unpack everything too. He did unpack the kitchen stuff to see how badly duplicated all their stuff was. He put both sets of knives out on the counter, but chose the best of each of the rest of the duplicated pans, gadgets, and utensils, and boxed up the extras.
The house became a mishmash of his furniture and Chris's. There was enough space for two couches, and you could never have too many guitar stands, but they certainly didn't need two dining room tables. Steve eventually gave up on rearranging furniture without Chris's input and focused his energy on the studio instead. He texted the full amount of the quote for soundproofing and the other few things they needed to Chris with, You're paying half.
Chris texted back a couple of hours later: ok
The stove went the same way - Steve texted Chris the amount they had to pay after the landlord's contribution and eventually got the same two-letter response back.
It wasn't like dealing with the house was the only thing Steve did. He also had an album to work on, shows to do, and occasional dinners with his parents. He also went with Mindy to her doctor's appointments and went on the patch to stop smoking.
"I haven't done anything with the kid's room," he said the next time he managed to get Chris on the phone.
Chris laughed. "You've known the kid's coming for months, and now you think about that?"
Mindy's due date was five weeks away.
"I've been trying to get this album done."
Chris chuckled. "You know if it's a girl or a boy yet?"
Steve shook his head even though Chris couldn't see it. "I want it to be a surprise."
"Then don't paint it pink. Blues, greens, yellows, something like that."
Steve grunted. "I hate painting."
"So hire someone else to do it. Just send me some paint strips or something before you buy the paint."
"Yeah, sure." Steve wasn't sure he'd actually do it, but he agreed anyway.
"I mean it," Chris said. "I'm going to have to look at it as much as you do." He yawned. "I gotta get some sleep, man, but I'll start making a list of other stuff we need this weekend."
***
Steve's parents invited him over for lunch on Saturday, so he went to Lowe's on Friday and picked up a handful of paint strips with the idea that his parents might have an opinion on their grandkid's nursery.
There were a lot of cars on his parents' street. Steve first assumed one of the neighbors must be having a party, except then he recognized a couple of the cars and groaned. He really just wanted to have lunch and then call Chris to see what he'd come up with in the way of furniture.
He left the paint strips in the car and went up to the house. His mom opened the door before he could knock. She was beaming, and so was the array of friends and family filling the living room behind her.
"Congratulations, honey," his mom said as she drew him into a hug.
"Thanks, mom," he said. "How on Earth did you?"
His question was answered before he could finish asking it when Chris came from the kitchen, through the living room, and into the entryway, shit-eating grin firmly planted on his face.
"You asshole," Steve said, but he met Chris for a hug anyway. "Making a list, huh?"
"Sure," Chris said, "but after the party." He pushed Steve into the living room to hug pretty much everyone he knew and thank them all for coming.
Chris and his mom, thankfully, didn't make them play shower games, but there was lunch and an unimaginably large pile of presents, so they were there until late in the day.
Chris, for some unfathomable reason, didn't have his own transportation, so they loaded his bag and all the presents that would fit into Steve's car.
Chris picked up the paint strips from the passenger seat and flipped through them while Steve drove.
"This one," Chris said, pushing one of them at Steve at a stoplight. Steve glanced down at the light blue Chris had his thumb on. "With white for the trim and the ceiling."
"Okay," Steve agreed, so they went back to Lowe's and bought several cans of paint, trays, drop cloths, and both rollers and brushes.
"My flight's late on Monday," Chris told him. "We're going to have it painted before I leave."
By Monday evening, when Steve dropped Chris off at the airport, the kid's room was painted, they'd picked out or bought everything Chris deemed essential to have before the baby was born, and they'd decided to keep Chris's dining room table and get rid of Steve's.
"So look," Chris said as Steve pulled into the chaos of LAX, "I should have this wrapped up in three or four weeks, so I'll be back in time. Just tell Mindy not to go into labor early."
Steve laughed and pulled up in front of the terminal. "I'm not sure she can control that, but I'll tell her." He got out of the car to hug Chris goodbye.
"See you in a couple of weeks," Chris promised. "And stop freaking out," he added when he had Steve pulled close to him. "Everything'll be fine."
That was easy for Chris to say. He wasn't the one who had to try to assemble a crib and matching changing table with incomprehensible instructions. Steve snapped a picture of the pieces spread out on the nursery floor and sent it to Chris with a text: I hate you.
A few hours later, Chris sent back: lol And then: It's for the kid. Two weeks.
***
Chris came back a week after that, approved of Steve's work on the furniture, and slept most of the last week before Mindy's due date.
He also went crazy buying baby stuff. No matter how much Steve insisted that she was his kid and he could take care of it, Chris just kept buying stuff. He insisted on buying two of those baby slings so they could each have their own and so that they could have one to use while the other one was in the wash. Steve thought that was kind of silly because only one of them could carry the kid around at a time and it wasn't like either of them couldn't hold a baby for a couple of hours without it, but it was Chris's money, so he gave up and let him do what he wanted.
***
They got the call at nine on a Thursday morning. They were both up because Chris had finally slept himself out and Steve liked his morning coffee. Chris insisted on driving, but they took Steve's car because it had the car seat in it.
Mindy wouldn't let them in the room. Chris called Steve's parents and anyone else he thought should know, and then just leaned against the wall. Steve paced, stood next to Chris, paced again.
Mindy clearly wasn't enjoying the experience, but the baby's cry was something different, and Steve pushed his way into the room.
They'd drawn a curtain so he couldn't see Mindy, but they were doing whatever it was they did to measure and wash the baby, and then the nurse said, "Mr. Carlson? This is your daughter," and showed him how to hold her and the bottle so she could drink.
He managed to open the door while holding her, and Chris came in to look at her too. Steve looked at Chris, with his cowboy boots and hat, and down at the tiny person he was now responsible for, and thought he was going to fuck this up.
"Stop freaking out," Chris said.
Someone took them down the halls to the nursery, and somebody else came by with a piece of paper and asked Steve for the kid's name.
Steve looked down at her. "Emily Ann Carlson," he said.
"Emily?" Chris said. "That's going to be a bitch to put into a lyric."
"Get used to it," Steve said. He looked up and grinned at Chris. "Emily Ann'll be easier."
"You couldn't name her something easier to write about," Chris sighed. He reached out for Emily. "C'mere, darlin'." Chris held her like he knew what he was doing. "Ain't you just a pretty little thing." He looked like he was meant to do this.
***
The first month sucked, big time, even with Chris there the whole time.
***
When Steve got to the set, Chris was trying to simultaneously calm a crying Emily and heat up a bottle. Steve took the bottle from him and took care of heating it. When it was warm, he held it up to Emily, who was still cradled in Chris's arms, and they stood like that, the two of them feeding Steve's child, until someone called Chris back onto the set. Chris carefully shifted Emily into Steve's arms.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-03 12:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-03 05:21 am (UTC)