A/N: This fantasy is one I would have asked Mr. Roarke for myself, if Fantasy Island were a real place; so there's a personal element in this one. It's still in progress as of the original post date; it's my hope to have it completed this weekend, around writing chapters of Christian's bio for posting on FictionPress. Thank you as ever to PDXWiz, jtbwriter, Harry2, Kyryn and BishopT, and also thanks for the reviews I've had so far for Christian's story…as deeply appreciated as ever!
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§ § § -- November 8, 2002
Leslie blinked awake in the deep of night, wondering what had pulled her out of her sleep. The bedroom was dark and quiet, and she lay on her side facing toward the front of the house, trying to sense if something was different. It took her a moment or so to realize that she didn't feel Christian's weight on the other side of the mattress, and she rolled over to find that he was indeed gone. "Christian?" she said tentatively, sitting up in the bed.
"Did I wake you, my Rose?" she heard his voice from their computer room/library. "Why don't you come in here."
Lightning flickered through the back window overlooking the deck as she swung out of bed, sending her scurrying into the room to join Christian. He laughed softly at the speed of her entry and reached up to drape an arm loosely around her waist. She squinted in the light from the computer screen. "Having trouble sleeping?" she asked curiously.
"Not really," he said, shrugging. "I actually haven't been awake that long; you know how storms wake me so I can go and watch them. I thought, as long as I was waiting for the real fireworks—and for you to be rudely awakened—" He paused to grin teasingly at her, and she rolled her eyes, making him chuckle— "I might as well check e-mail."
"I see," Leslie said, over the roll of thunder that finally reached them. "Oh, this one's a good ways out yet. I don't know if we ought to wait for it, my love…we both have to get up early in the morning."
"There's that," Christian agreed, removing his arm from her long enough to move the mouse and click on a message. "But it's not even midnight yet. Don't worry, my darling, we'll get back to bed before too long. Oh, what do you know. It seems I'm going to be a great-uncle again. Cecilia's just learned she's pregnant—she's due sometime between your birthday and mine." This news came from Anna-Kristina, the family member who kept in closest touch with them. She wrote to both Christian and Leslie, but had a habit of lapsing into jordiska in her messages to Christian.
"That's quite a gap," Leslie said with a laugh. "Ask her to narrow it down a tad."
Christian laughed too and clicked on a button to answer, typing quickly in his own language. "It's a first baby…I'm told the firstborn is usually late. I'm going to suggest she tell Cecilia to add two weeks to her projected due date." Leslie giggled and knelt beside him to watch him type, while lightning cast momentary shadows in the room. "I'm a little surprised that Elias and Gabriella haven't found themselves expecting by now. Anna-Kristina has a way of giving out a little too much information…she said they're apparently trying very hard to have a child. Which makes me wonder how she knows."
"Well, don't ask her that," Leslie joked, and he laughed again. She sobered for a moment and regarded him. "How does it make you feel, Christian?"
"How does what make me feel?" he asked absently, typing another sentence.
She let her gaze stray to the screen. "Watching your brother and sister becoming grandparents, when you yourself aren't even a parent."
Christian paused, turning to regard her. "Leslie, my Rose, you're not still worried about our childless state, are you?"
"Sometimes I think about it, yeah," she admitted.
He shifted the chair and pulled at her to get her to stand, then tugged her down into his lap and bracketed her face with his hands. "You shouldn't," he said gently. "I told you before, more than once, as I recall. I'm happy as we are. Children aren't a requirement in this house. As long as I have you, that's all I ever need."
"Does that mean you don't want kids?" Leslie asked.
"Not necessarily," Christian said. "You've forgotten that too, my Rose. If you conceive, I'll be happy for us both. But if you don't, it's fine with me. What brings this on? Is someone asking you again when you think we might decide to have a child?"
Leslie sighed and let her gaze drop to his shoulder. "I just wish I could understand why I've never been able to conceive a baby. It's not as if there hasn't been plenty of opportunity for me to get pregnant, after all—especially as we've never used any kind of birth control at all. Maybe I just can't."
Christian moved both thumbs slowly back and forth over her cheeks. "It's really that important to you?" he asked.
"It just seems like there's…I don't know, something lacking," Leslie murmured, her head drooping. "Maybe that sounds silly to you…"
"Not so much silly as just untrue," said Christian, his voice soft. "Don't ever think you must present me with a child just to prove you're truly a woman. Believe me…" His slight smile widened a bit and got a wicked touch to it. "I know very well how much woman you really are, and now that this comes up, I want to explore that again."
Lightning flared again, and the thunder came much closer behind it. Leslie leaned in enough to rest her forehead against Christian's and murmured impishly, "Is this going to be another attempt to cure me of my thunderstorm phobia?"
His hands drifted back from her face, tangling in her hair. "What an excellent idea that is. Why don't we?" Their lips met, and then there was a boom somewhere not very far away that pulled them apart with surprise, reminding them of the computer waiting there. "One moment, my darling," Christian said with an apologetic grin. "Let me send this and shut down the machine, and then we'll pick up where we left off."
"Tell Anna-Kristina to send everyone my greetings too," Leslie said, and he smiled and acquiesced, reaching past her to type rapidly, if somewhat awkwardly, in jordiska and then send the message. He signed out and shut down the computer, then turned back to her and let an index finger drift over her lower lip.
"Now that the computer is safe from power surges," Christian said softly, "I'm of a mind to experience a completely different sort of power surge."
Leslie grinned. "Dirty old man," she teased.
"Oh no…dirty young man," he shot back, making her rock back with a laugh. Grinning, he set her back on her feet and stood up. "Come on now, let's go cure that phobia again."
Twenty minutes passed before they spoke again; by the time they were aware of anything around them, it was raining cats and dogs outside, and the lightning and thunder were frequent and enthusiastic. "So," said Christian lazily, one hand slowly roaming, "are you cured yet?"
Leslie pretended to think about it, then met his gaze and remarked softly, "You know, doc, I think I need another dose of medicine."
"I thought you said we had to get up early in the morning," Christian said through a yawn. "But if you're this wide awake, then you're probably right about that second dose, since the first clearly wasn't enough to effect that cure."
"You want the truth?" Leslie asked, smiling at him. "I'm not even sure I want to be cured. I just like taking the medicine."
Laughing, Christian shook his head and propped himself up on one elbow, his caresses gaining purpose. "My sweet, priceless wife. Fortunately for you, I like dealing it out. Well, then, get ready for the next dose." He dipped his head and kissed her again, and once more the storm went ignored.
§ § § -- November 9, 2002
"Now there is a man with a very interesting fantasy," Roarke observed the next morning at the plane dock, watching a black-haired man who looked to be around Christian's age making his way down the ramp and running the usual gamut of leis and drinks with a preoccupied look about him. "That's Mr. Matt Marelich, who lives in Tampa, Florida."
"What fantasy does he have that's so interesting?" asked Leslie.
"When he was ten years old, his father accepted a job transfer and the family moved to Florida from Aberdeen, South Dakota. He didn't adjust very well in the aftermath, and has what he calls a 'terminal case of homesickness'. He feels that the move caused fundamental changes in his life, and perhaps in himself, that—he says—might not have taken place had the move never happened. He has never been married, is shy and wary of people due to a great deal of cruel teasing and even some hazing incidents during his high-school years, and in fact seems to have developed some manner of low-grade depression." Roarke frowned slightly. "He blames all this on that one event in his childhood, and when I first received his letter I had the concern that perhaps he's living in the past. However, he has assured me he has an eye on basing his future on the outcome of this fantasy, so I agreed to grant it. Mr. Marelich wishes to know what would have happened, how his life would have turned out, had the move never occurred."
"Oh my goodness," Leslie said, her eyes wide. "I used to wonder sometimes what would've happened if Michael had never come up with the idea of moving from Connecticut to California after the first fire, but it never crossed my mind to try to find out."
"I daresay that you already know, my dear Leslie," Roarke observed. "After all, it was necessary for you to break the curse: it was preordained. Had you remained in Connecticut, you would still have experienced the outcome you actually did."
"I guess I see your point," Leslie admitted. "It sounds to me as if Mr. Marelich here is hoping for a happier alternative outcome."
Roarke nodded. "That remains to be seen," he said quietly. He proceeded to introduce their next party of guests; but while Leslie paid the proper attention, she knew full well that it was the Marelich fantasy that would hold her primary interest this weekend. As Roarke toasted their guests, she found herself hoping the guarded-looking man standing alone across the clearing would manage to find a happy ending somewhere.
It was a mere half hour, perhaps less, before Matt Marelich arrived at the main house, where Roarke and Leslie were just emerging from the time-travel room. "Excellent timing, Mr. Marelich," Roarke said warmly. "Please, come in and sit down. Is there anything you would like?"
"To get started," Matt said, coming into the study but remaining on his feet. "I mean, really, Mr. Roarke, this is something that's been eating me alive since I was ten. I didn't want to move—I put up a huge fuss about it. I spent weeks protesting the whole thing, but obviously there was nothing I could do about it." He shrugged. "There were some people who suggested I just had the wrong attitude about it, and I needed to change my perception of the whole thing. But I wasn't the most outgoing kid on earth to begin with, and I had friends in my neighborhood and at school that I hung out with. When we moved to Florida, our whole street was full of old people and there was no reason for me to be outside, so I started spending my afternoons after school in my room. I was shy, and I had a hard time opening up to other kids. I guess it set the stage for the rest of my school career.
"High school was the pits, pure and simple. I was a bookish kid, which is the kiss of death for a boy especially. I probably should've made better grades than I did, but I had no enthusiasm for school because of the social situation. I never had a single date all the way through high school. Girls dismissed me as this quiet nerd, and other guys decided it was their mission in life to make a man out of me, in the cruelest possible ways. There was a girl I secretly had kind of a crush on, and somehow some guys found out about it and blabbed to her, and she told me in front of an entire class that she wouldn't go out with me if she was paid to do it. There was name-calling, there were taunts and insults, there were rude remarks and disgusting suggestions, and there was even a little physical hazing. I was the happiest kid in Florida when I finally got my diploma, Mr. Roarke, and I decided against going to college solely because I figured I'd have the crummy luck to wind up going to the same school that my old tormentors were attending."
"Did it ever occur to you that you might have tried attending college in your old home state?" Roarke asked gently.
"Yeah, about fifteen years too late," said Matt, "when I was already established in a job and had enough seniority that I'd have put myself at a disadvantage to leave. I'm still living in Tampa, but I've gotten sick of the hurricanes and the palmetto bugs and the sticky heat in summer. Every winter when it was eighty degrees out, I'd wish for a fifty-degree drop in the temperature and a good old-fashioned High Plains blizzard. I missed my friends and my hometown and my old room, and the way the moon would shine through my window at night, and even the Godzilla-size puddle we got on the street in front of our house after a good solid rainstorm." He grinned wistfully. "I had a great childhood till we made that move, and then everything went downhill from there."
"You have no good memories of Tampa," Roarke said a little pointedly, "and no bad memories of Aberdeen?"
Matt stared at him. "Well, I wouldn't go that far," he said. "I mean, we had a bad-news kid in our old neighborhood who was always making trouble, and for a little while in sixth grade in Tampa, I got to be pretty good friends with a kid who'd just moved there from Kansas—at least, till he moved away again. Let me tell you, I envied the heck out of him when I found out his family was heading for Illinois. I wanted to stow away in the trunk of their car and then hitchhike back to Aberdeen from there." He grinned again, then took in Roarke's solemn look and Leslie's observant silence. "I guess I sound as if Aberdeen was the modern-day equivalent of Eden and Tampa is the hind end of Hades…"
Leslie laughed, and Roarke smiled a little too. "I am only concerned that you are idealizing your past, Mr. Marelich," he said. "Surely it's been suggested to you that you should make the best of the hand you are dealt."
Matt frowned. "Sometimes it's a losing hand, Mr. Roarke, and it's hard to make much of anything good out of a loser. My parents had friends who had this little decorative plaque hanging in their kitchen that said, Bloom where you are planted. That thing always annoyed the bile out of me. Some people just don't make good transplants."
Leslie smiled sympathetically. "Once a South Dakotan, always a South Dakotan?"
"That's about it," Matt agreed, a smile appearing as if he were grateful to find someone who seemed to understand. "It's in the blood."
"I can see what you mean," Leslie admitted. "Father sometimes teases me about still having a New England soul, even though I've lived on Fantasy Island longer than any other place I've lived in my life."
Matt's smile became a grin. "You do get it. Thanks, Mrs. Enstad. Well, then, can we get on with my fantasy, Mr. Roarke? I mean, it should be pretty obvious why I want it. I've wondered for years. I'm sure my life would've turned out differently if we'd never moved, but I want to find out just how differently. I want to know what would've happened."
"Is it in your mind to present your family with an I told you so should your fantasy bear out your suspicion that your life in South Dakota would have been better?" Roarke asked. "I make it a point not to grant a fantasy for such reasons."
"It's got nothing to do with that," Matt said coolly. "Even if I do find I'm in a position to say that, I'm past the point where I still want to, whether you believe it or not. This is for me and me alone."
Roarke regarded him for a moment or two, as though assessing him, or perhaps trying to decide what to believe. Then he shifted his stance and nodded. "Very well, Mr. Marelich, you shall have your fantasy. Please come this way."