Flaming Angel
In the orange of a Texas sunset, Chris Jericho stroked his eyelids and marvelled in silence at the mess he'd made of his life.
Come on, Steve, He turned on his heel and began to pace in the other direction, You said you'd show up... He leaned back against a sturdy front porch pillar and closed his eyes, worry cascading over him in a waterfall of recrimination.
He said he'd be back by one... A furtive glance at his watch confirmed that it was three in the afternoon, Fuck, he sighed to himself, shuffling his feet, Where the hell is he? Back in the kitchen, French onion soup lost its cheese to murky, dark brown depths, and crème brule lost some of its shine. He sat on.
At last, just as the stars were beginning to make their presence known across the far-away borderline of the Rio Grande, a black pickup truck descended through the dusty road. Chris sprung up from his defeated posture and ran to catch up with the vehicle, standing by with impatient feet as the car door swung open and Steve emerged from the Truck's body.
"Where have you been?!" Chris asked, enraged, "I spent an entire hour and a half working on dinner and you're so late that I..." His speech was cut off by a scorchingly hot kiss. Staggering back on his heel as Steve released him to the open air, he staggered on his heel, "OK, you're forgiven," He grinned goofily.
Steve held the truck door open for a moment longer, "Watch out for that step, Anna."
"Anna?" Chris frowned, confused, "What's Anna doing here?"
"Jeannie sprung it on me last-minute," He sheepishly bent and took his daughter by the hand, "She's going off to Portofino with her aerobics instructor."
"Again?!"
"It's the season to be stupid," Steve said, "In any case, it's only for the weekend. Good thing we have it off, right?"
"Right," Chris grumbled, his plans for a romantic weekend dissolving before his eyes, "How many does the couch sleep again?"
"Come on," He pulled a plastic, Barbie-emblazoned suitcase out from the back of the truck, "It ain't gonna be that hard, Chris. Besides, we're gonna have lotsa fun, right Anna?"
Anna nodded her head shyly, clinging to her father's denim-clad thigh. Chris smiled at her, his own expression displaying the nervousness he felt. The girl never looked back at him, even as they went inside of their shack and he found himself insisting that she sit down and share in their dinner.
"Your daddy'll have to eat a little less than what he's used to," Chris winked, ladling out some onion soup into iron plates, "If he hogs it down like last night, there won't be anything left for us!"
The little girl's face was solemn as she wordlessly dipped her spoon into the soup, lifting it to her lips and sipping it down. Chris frowned, turning to his own plate, somewhat distressed at his time alone with Steve being ruined, not to mention the appearance of his young daughter.
After the meal, Steve offered to take Anna to the guest room and entertain her, but Chris disagreed, believing that at least half of his responsibility now was to entertain the girl. In the living room, the Powerpuff Girls on, he whispered into Steve's ear, "Why is she so quiet?"
Steve leaned in close to Chris and whispered back, "She was molested when she was two, by a baby-sitter. We've been taking her to therapists for months, and we know that at least one result is that she's withdrawn."
Chris was clearly taken aback by Steve's confession, "Oh Lord! And you've been suffering with this for how long without telling me?!"
Steve shook his head, "It's not something Jeannie and I wanted to broadcast from the rooftops, Chris. We're having a hard time trying to tell my parents about it."
"I'm your lover, Steve," Chris' temper began to rise, "I'm the man you gave everything up for, remember?"
"I ain't gonna forget that, Chris," Steve grunted, "Anna's my baby girl. She's the only blood kin I have, and I'm gonna protect her."
"From me?!" Chris snapped, "She's your daughter, Steve! Hurting her would be like tearing off your arm!"
"You've got to learn to trust my judgment, Chris," Steve said, his voice reflecting hurt as Buttercup slammed head-first into a wall on the TV screen, "We'll never survive if you don't."
The argument ended abruptly when Anna crawled into Steve's lap. He picked her up and carried her out of the room without one glance to Chris.
**
The following morning, Chris sat on their upstairs tub, staring at two distinctly colored bottles of Manic Panic he'd borrowed from Jeff Hardy.
"Purple of Red..." He muttered to himself, flipping a small handful of his curls over and over in his hand, "What's going to look good...what's going to scream 'Chris Jericho IS a heel...'" A little flicker of movement, sighted from the corner of his eye, caused him to turn his head. Anna stood in the doorway, all of her tiny, three-year old frame rigid and wary.
"Morning, Anna," He smiled, self-consciously covering his bare chest tightly with a robe.
She stood, wide-eyed and deer-still in the doorway.
"Do you need to use the bathroom?"
She stepped into the bathroom, walking to the sink. Taking this as her way of saying 'yes', he stood and began to move to the door. She grabbed onto the leg of his sweatpants and tugged hard, shaking her head. He blushed, mildly worried about just what the girl was asking him to do.
She picked up the red bottle and handed it to him, "The red one," She said simply.
"You want me to use the red one?" He asked, realization dawning on him that this was probably the girls' first words in a very long time.
"The red one," She nodded solemnly, "It would be very pretty."
He smiled down at her, "You're right," He shepherded her out of the bathroom, "Now wait downstairs with your Daddy. We'll go play outside after breakfast, if you like."
She smiled and disappeared. With new purpose now, Chris turned to the sink...
***
"D'ja borrow that thing from 'Taker?" Steve asked, bemused at Chris' choice of headwear.
Chris snorted obstinately, "Bandannas are good for keeping wet hair down," He pointed out, strolling easily beside his lover as Anna tried to turn cartwheels on the grassy ground, "I don't wanna spoil the surprise, anyway."
"Ya finally dyed your hair!" Steve divined, causing a frown to stain Chris' features, "I knew you were gonna do it, Chris."
Chris shook his head, running to catch up with Anna by turning head-over feet himself, the bandanna falling away from his head as he flipped over.
Steve sucked in a deep breath at Chris' beauty, framed perfectly by the rising sun; glittery yellow rays of light hitting the red highlights in his hair in a stunning, magnificent way. He looked like a flaming angel, sent from God to take care of him for the rest of eternity.
He shook his head at such a poetic, rediculous thought. But as Chris' feet hit the ground, as he righted himself, Steve heard a miraculous trill that made him realize just how powerful the miracle of Chris' existence was.
His daughter laughed.