And so Kaitlin falls into conformity and posts this with the blessing of Marcolover16, whom started it all and should be given compliments. Lots and lots of compliments. Do please give them to the lovely lady.
All I can really say is, of course, the usual. This fic involves male pregnancy. You have just been warned. Not your cup of tea? I suggest staying away from Earl Grey.
This was written nearly a year or two ago, sometime shortly after Moonlight Desires so there will be plot and canon inconsistencies. There is a second chapter in progress if anyone wishes to see this story continued. Let me know.
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"The heart has reasons that reason knows not of." -- Blaise Pascal
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"Marco, this has got to stop. I know you hate doctors...but good God, you're going to have nothing left if you keep throwing up everything you eat."
The Italian man raised his eyes shakily, pushing away from where he had been leaning over the toilet wretching. His limbs felt like they were made out of lead and cold sweat trickled down his neck, but the feeling was quickly leeching back into is body. It was the same every morning. He'd wake up. Usually just fine. Dylan would make breakfast like he usually did, and the second the smell of eggs, or bacon, or pancakes wafted towards him he was on a one way trip sprinting down the hall to the bathroom where he would at once be violently sick. Fifteen minutes later, however, he'd feel perfectly fine. Sometimes a little watered down but nothing more serious to remind him he had just lost half of every meal from the day before.
"Dylan, I don't like doctors. You know that," he ground out, standing up and washing his face at the sink, avoiding the concerned blue eyes staring at him in the mirror.
"I know, but I'm worried. And I don't want to force you, but I'm close to doing so. It'd be quick. Go, find out if it's serious, then we'd come back home." The blond paused, dropping a kiss where Marco's shoulder met his neck. "I could make up for it later," he whispered against his skin.
Marco closed his eyes and wiped all the beads of water off of his face, grumbling inwardly at all of this. "One hour?"
"One hour," Dylan replied, wrapping his arms around the Italian's waist and staring at the two of them in the mirror. Marco didn't look happy, but he had to try. He was going to start getting horribly sick if he couldn't eat.
The dark head bowed down, breaking the reflection's eye contact, sighing loudly and placing a hand on one of the older man's hands that held him. "Alright. For you."
Dylan kissed his temple, inwardly thanking every god he could think of. "Thank you."
---------------------------------------------------
"Marco Michalchuk?"
Dylan looked up towards the nurse and tilted his shoulder a bit, trying to gently wake up the man who had fallen asleep there. "Marco," he whispered to the head of black hair beneath his chin, watching as dark eyes fluttered open. "Hey there. They're calling for you."
Marco sat up slowly, brushing his already immaculate hair back into order with sluggish hands. "Tell me I didn't fall asleep in a doctor's office."
The blond smiled fondly and brushed a piece of imaginary lint off of his husband's shoulder. "I can't lie to you. Sorry."
The pained expression on the Italian's face made him want to almost laugh. "Hey, but that's what we're here for," he chided softly. "To figure out why you're always so sick and exhausted. One hour remember?"
"Yeah, one hour. You owe me," he mumbled, scowling into space before getting up and hurrying after the nurse.
Dylan sighed loudly, tired from having to fight with Marco all the time about his own health. He hated the way it was affecting both of them so much. He wasn't so naive to not know that after three years of marriage any couple would be fighting like cats and dogs but for some reason he never expected they would reach this state.
Scrubbing a tired hand threw his hair Dylan decided he'd have to make a nice dinner for them or something special on the next night they both had off work. It had been ages since they'd done anything romantic like they used to and he missed it. Grabbing a very outdated magazine Dylan relaxed on the uncomfortable waiting room couch and settled in for a wait, planning something to make Marco feel better later.
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"Alright, so you're vomiting for unknown reasons in the mornings yes?"
"Yes, that's right," Marco answered, voice trailing off a bit as he shifted uncomfortably on the paper covered bed, wincing at the crinkling noise. The doctor kept staring at him and trying to figure him out, with all of his questions and ah-ahs and all that other rubbish. He could be home right now. Asleep. Or eating.
"And you have frequent backaches?"
"Mhm."
"What is your diet like?"
Marco felt the need to bare his teeth and growl at him, but kept himself in check, ghosting a forced smile. "I'm a health nut. If it's good for you I eat it."
"Hmmm." Don't kill him, Marco. He's just doing his job.
"And you're low on energy and frequently more hungry than usual?"
"Yes."
"Alright, I'll be right back. Don't move."
The second the door closed Marco stuck his tongue out at the closed door. Good riddance, he silently screamed at the door before stopping to close his eyes irritably. Overt moodiness, he added to his mental list of symptoms, not liking how long it was at all.
After about five minutes of getting his annoyance under control the doctor came back with his husband in tow, who immediately went to stand against the wall a few feet away from him and asked "What's the verdict?" with his eyes. Marco shrugged.
"Well Mr. Michalchuk, as far as I can see you are perfectly healthy. Your symptoms lean towards that of stress. I recommend you slow down or take a break off from the workplace completely. Where is it you work again?"
"I teach at one of the middle schools."
"So you'd be able to get a couple of weeks off quite easily then I'm guessing?"
"Yes, fairly easily. Though I'd really rather not. My kids don't need to deal with a sub for that long..."
"Marco," Dylan whispered from behind him. "Maybe you should take off. You can call and email the substitute five times a day to make sure everything's in order."
Marco turned and scowled at his husband, a low growl forming in his throat. "This is important Dylan!"
Dylan's complacent mood shifted a bit, his eyes narrowing. "And so is this. It's your health we're talking about here. Those kids can live without you for a week or two. I promise. What's important right now is making sure you are okay so I don't have to worry so much."
The Italian glared resolutely at the floor, faintly surprised tears were springing up out of nowhere. He might be an emotional person by nature but this was ridiculous. "Fine," he spat, crossing his arms defensively. "Exactly fourteen days and then I'm going back, sick or not."
Dylan sighed in relief, doctor still in the room forgotten as he placed a gentle hand on the top of Marco's head, brushing his hair back. "Thank you."
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Twelve days later...
Marco snuggled into Dylan's side a bit further and tried to quit staring at his cell phone on the coffee table. Days had gone by since the doctor's appointment and Dylan was doing all he could to help him, to keep his mind off of work. And he hated to be a nuisance, but he just kept thinking of all the work he was falling behind on. He knew his husband meant well, and Marco had been far from nice lately...he was just so confused.
His condition had not eased or lessened in the slightest. The sickness in the mornings was still there, rendering him regulated to plain toast. The backaches had certainly gotten worse, and to top it all off he was gaining weight. That part he was most worried about. He was watching what he ate zealously, trying to get rid of it...but it was just adding on, no matter how much less he was eating.
He knew Dylan had noticed. Living together for four years and being completely in love with each other for almost six...well, it's hard to miss things about the other. Like, for instance, he knew that at this very minute Dylan was stressed out terribly, because he could feel his nails through his shirt and they were shorter than usual and ragged. He could also feel the pull of muscles through his body as he assumedly bit off another on his other hand.
"Dylan?" he whispered, raising a hand to rub softly over the blond's stomach.
"Yeah?" the man grunted, eyes riveted on the TV above Marco's head, biting away at his nails as predicted.
"Am I ugly?"
The body he was lying on moved rather suddenly, shfiting until he was forced to look up into Dylan's eyes. "Why in the world would you think that?"
Marco ashamedly moved his gaze away to stare at the floor. "I look like a beached whale. That's why."
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dylan smile softly. "No you don't. You look like my perfect sized Marco. You've gained a little weight, but it's not as noticeable as you'd like to think it is. We're just getting old."
"Dylan, I'm 23!"
"Which is old enough for your metabolism to decide it hates you," Dylan cut in gently. "You've been cooped up indoors on doctor's orders. Don't be so hard on yourself. By the time you're back in the hustle and bustle of that sad excuse for a school you'll be just as skinny and scarecrow looking as you always are."
Marco laughed. "Hey! That's not nice!" he gasped out, trying to inch his way down the couch as Dylan's fingers sought out his very ticklish ribs. "No! Don't you dare!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs, simultaneously both batting the blond's hands away and falling off the couch and into the floor in a rather inelegant sprawl.
Dylan leaned over the edge of the sofa with a huge grin shining down at him and an oddly contemplative look in his eyes. "How could you ever think you're ugly..." he whispered.
The Italian man said nothing, just stared up at the man who so obviously loved him.
"Come on," Dylan continued, crawling off the sofa to kneel beside where Marco lay on the floor and slowly ran his fingers through the man's hair. "Let's go to bed early."
Marco nodded slowly, dragging himself up and still staring.
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four days later...
"Marco honey, knock knock," called a familiar smooth and practiced voice from his office doorway. Marco looked up from his laptop and hastily tried to rid himself of his glasses, stuffing them in a pocket of his designer blazer.
"Hello Paige. You need something?" he asked.
The blonde laughed and walked over, toeing off her high heels as she went before situating herself on the edge of his desk. "Mr. Michalchuk. I am disappointed. Can I not come to say hello to my best friend without needing something?"
Marco smiled up sunnily. "No, of course not," he said, taking one of her hands and playing with the fingers. "How are things?"
Paige smiled winningly. "Everything's fine. Which you would know if you ever came by and said hi once in awhile."
"Point taken," Marco replied, smiling up at her in a smitten way. "Perhaps after I finish this damn semester Dylan and I will come over for dinner sometime. I've missed you as well."
Paige jumped off the desktop and smoothed her skirt back in place, smiling. "Be sure that you do that Del Rossi, and I'll call El."
Marco rolled his eyes as she walked away to collect her shoes. "Not a Del Rossi anymore!"
"Oh, but you'll always be Marco Del Studly to me. High school friend privileges," she called as the door closed, sending him a wink before she disappeared.
He smiled. Paige was still infuriatingly perfect.
----------------------------------------------------
"Caleb come back this instant! I don't want to have to phone your parents because you wouldn't listen to your teacher, I mean honestly," Marco called, raising his eyes to the ceiling in a silent gesture of 'why me?' It was days such as these he wondered why he'd ever decided a job involving young children was what he wanted to do with his life.
The little boy however was not privy to his thoughts and was still walking away, breaking up the school play practice the class had been involved in. Marco watched at a loss as the boy dangerously climbed over the side of the stage and down to the floor of the auditorium. Only then did Marco jump into action to go after the boy, signing to the other children to stay put or face the consequences.
"Caleb!" he yelled, quickly beginning to stride in the boy's direction. As he neared the edge, ready to jump off despite telling the kids to never do so, his assistant teacher appeared from nowhere, carrying about her clipboard and looking ready to ask a question.
The question however never came, as the woman made contact with his side after running over and it was with an eerily calm mind that Marco felt himself lose his footing, his equilibrium vanishing at the unmeant push.
In a matter of seconds his world turned upside down, arms and legs flying and, with his brain still questionably calm, he felt his body slide over the side of the stage and his body fall the distance to the floor, and make impact with the concrete floor with a sickening little crack.
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"Yes sir, we're speaking with the director this Friday and at that point we'll be able to give you full details on the price tag as well as what to expect. Yes sir. Alright. Talk to you again...yes, Monday morning. Good bye."
Dylan hung up the phone and immediately slumped in his chair, running tired hands through his hair. Peaking through his fingers he looked at the clock and sighed in relief. Thank God, only thirty more minutes.
During college he had of course, gone after his dreams to play professional hockey. Unfortunately, he had made a rather dumb teenager if he did say so himself. He hadn't thought up a back up plan, and let more than a little of his ego get in the way as he went along. So...halfway through his freshman year he had done the biggest idiotic thing of his life... and cheated on Marco.
Okay, so perhaps that was considered normal and common place for a teenager, but he and Marco...they had always been different, always been more invested in their relationship than most people their age. So what followed had been a depression of diabolical proportions. He didn't sleep for days at a time, only crashing once every week due to his dear roommate shoving vast amounts of Nyquil down his throat. He only ate sporadically, meals usually consisting of noodles in a cup. That period of time for him had been quite a dark hole in his otherwise sunny string of life.
In the end, all of the depression and the lack of sleep and decent meals caught up with him, and his coaches took notice to his slip in physique and mind as well. Before he knew what was happening he was off of the team for a failure to participate.
That was when Dylan had finally realized he needed Marco back, and several weeks later after a surprise reunion after Dylan moving back to Toronto, they had shakily started over again. However, his hockey days would never reappear again. So, with the help of his newly regained boyfriend, he began working on his new career, and sooner rather than later he was graduating with a degree in advertising and working a high up desk job for a sports agency.
"Dylan, there's a call for you on line two," the company's secretary said in a scared whisper, poking her head into his office and breaking his thoughts. " It's the hospital."
The blond felt his eyes grow round and he dived dangerously for the phone, picking it up. "Hello? Is everything alright?" he choked out in rapid succession, thinking of Marco's sickness and clenching his unoccupied fist so tightly his fingernails left half moons across his palm.
"Mr. Michalchuk?"
"Yes, yes that's me."
"Your, er, husband, Marco. He's been in a bit of an accident."
Dylan felt a little bit of his hope die at this. "Oh, God. Is he- is he okay?"
"Oh yes, he certainly should be. He fell over the side of a stage apparently. He's got a nasty broken arm and some bruised ribs but otherwise in top form."
The blond sank heavily into his chair as his knees gave out, and he stared forward at his wall, feeling the insane urge to laugh at his obvious distress and rapidly beating heart. "Oh thank God. Alright, I'm on my way. He can be visited I'm assuming?"
"Oh of course."
"Okay, thank you very much."
Without even hitting the end button Dylan threw the phone down in his chair and ran to grab his coat. "Marie! I'm leaving early! If Mr. Mullins asks tell him there was an accident," he yelled over his shoulder as he rushed past her and out of the building, slamming the door shut behind him.
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A man with dark skin and hair looked both ways down the hospital hallway before stealthily slipping into the bathroom, pulling out a small mobile phone from the pocket of his white lab coat. Systematically checking each stall for an occupant the man finally came to stand before one of the mirrors before deigning the room safe and dialing.
"Hello. I need to speak with Dr. Mikhailov. It is urgent."
The sounds of his call transferring echoed over the line and finally a thickly accented voice appeared. "Yes?"
"Sir...I am employee 6732. I am stationed in Toronto, Canada. And as of 6:47 this evening we have encountered a situation."
"Are you sure?" the voice answered in astonishment.
"Positive sir. The routine blood check was highly positive."
"Well," the doctor said in wonder. "I'll be notifying transportation. You know what to do?"
"Yes sir. Good bye sir."
Employee number 6732, better known as Joel to the outside world, pressed the end button before dialing again.
Tonight was going to be busy.
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Marco opened his eyes slowly, feeling pain from the bright lights flare up. A smooth warm hand held his own on top of course sheets and his sides ached tremendously. Fighting against the pain still pulsing behind his eyes he wrenched his eyes open, blinking rapidly and turning to see who was with him.
Dylan sat by his bed, half-asleep, face propped up on a hand and Marco smiled at the sight, feeling quite stoned. He leaned over best he could to kiss the man's closed eyes, smiling goofily when the man jumped awake. Blue eyes shot open and then calmed in awareness. Dylan smiled wanly, shifting to get comfortable and using his now free hand to trail through the Italian's hair. "Gave me quite a shock," he murmured, becoming amused when Marco only looked up at him and smiled, the pain killers running through his bloodstream making him dozy and half-awake.
"But you're okay. That's what important," he said, watching his husband nod and close his eyes, his normally loquacious self seemingly dead. Running a final lingering hand through his hair Dylan moved to sit in the chair nearby, watching his husband sleep.
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Two hours later...
"Excuse me, sir."
Dylan blinked rapidly, forcing his foggy mind to wake up. In front of him stood a rather attractive Indian man, wearing traveling clothes with a doctor's smock placed precariously over them. If it weren't for his brain still waking up, he'd wonder why this did not trigger alarm bells.
"Hello," he yawned out, attempting to sit up correctly in the chair he had fallen asleep in, casting a quick glance over at the bed where Marco was sleeping.
Except Marco wasn't there.
"Where is my husband!" he gasped, standing up quickly and turning panicked eyes to the other man.
"Sir, you must listen to me. I will tell you exactly where your husband is if you come with me now. This is urgent and we have little time!" the man insisted, voice urgent and the heavy Hindi accent causing him to speak slower than necessary despite the hurry.
Dylan turned murderous eyes on the shorter man and bared his teeth. "I don't understand. What have you done with, Marco!"
"He is safe, my friend. Perfectly safe. But his condition is beyond what this hospital could hope to help him with. He is being moved to a safer medical facility."
The blond stared at him hard, clenching and unclenching his hands. What if he had been kidnapped? He had looked fine. How could his condition have truly been so problematic? What if they were going to hurt him? But this man said he was safe. What if he was lying?
"I want to see him. Now."
"I assure you. If you follow me you may see your husband in minutes time. But we must hurry!"
Throwing caution to the wind Dylan nodded and followed the dark man out as he twisted through corriders and doors until he was finally led to a parking lot where a black Lexus stood running and waiting.
"What is this?" he growled out. But the man had suddenly opened the back car door and lying in the backseat was a still softly sleeping Marco, just as completely unharmed and safe as he had been in the hospital.
"Please," the man asked in a kind voice, closing the back door and opening the passenger side. "Climb in. I shall tell you everything on the way to the facility."
And against his better judgment, Dylan did as he was asked, deciding if Marco was to be kidnapped he was sure as hell going to be there as he slipped into the car and fastened his seat belt, casting a worried, longing glance to his husband in the backseat. The other man appeared in the driver's side seconds later and within what felt like moments Dylan found them traveling down a deceptively serene highway out of town.
"What is all this about?" Dylan finally asked again when he got over the shock, alternating between throwing glances back at Marco and glaring at this unknown man.
"Your husband, we have found, has a very rare health condition. For the next seven or eight months he will need to be under constant medical supervision as well as monitored to make sure his condition does not become fatal."
"Fatal?" he choked out, swallowing painfully. Dylan nearly hurt his neck in his hurry to look back at Marco behind them, looking younger in his sleep and suddenly heartbreaking.
"As long as he is under our care he will be perfectly fine, Mr. Michalchuk. His condition is actually quite a wonderful thing."
"I don't follow. If it's fatal and so precarious how in the world could it be wonderful?"
"Sir...your husband...is pregnant."
Dylan stared at the man with wide eyes for several minutes, only blinking and trying to control his breathing. His mouth falling open he turned fully in his seat to look back at Marco...staring at him contemplatingly before turning back around.
"What kind of sick joke is this?" he spat.
"This is not a joke, Mr. Michalchuk. Your husband has been removed from the public hospital to be moved to a government funded facility where he will go through testing, physical training, and eventually, child birth. It is...such a rare and unique occurence it is kept away from the public eye completely. You must understand the reaction this type of miracle would cause?"
Dylan only stared forward at the headlights rushing by and felt his heart beat faster, fluttering painfully against his ribcage as the word echoed in his head.
Pregnant?
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When Marco finally awoke he was more than a little disoriented. The warmth surounding him made it obvious he was no longer splayed painfully on the concrete floor of the school. Even stranger, his ears seemed to be popping under unseen pressure.
Taking his chances, Marco allowed his eyes to flutter open the smallest bit, clenching them tightly closed not a second later as harsh lights attacked his eyes. He groaned instead of brave reality again and burrowed further into the warmth beneath him. So when said warmth suddenly began speaking to him Marco was distantly shocked.
"Marco baby, wake up."
For all of a second Marco allowed himself to panic before recognizing the gentle voice in his ear as Dylan. Now with a source of motiviation Marco opened his eyes again, damning the still burning lights. The crystal blue eyes of his husband floated into view and Marco quickly assessed as much of the situation as his tired and aching head would allow. He was lying curled up in Dylan's lap in what appeared to be an extremely uncomfortable airplane chair. A quick cursory glance of his surroundings verified the fact he and Dylan were indeed on a very nice, very small plane. Nothing made sense.
"D-Dylan? What's going on?" he asked fearfully, noticing the eleven other seats in the plane were mysteriously empty. Dylan however hugged him closer instead of answer, seeming content to simply run his hands down the Italian man's back.
"We're being taken to a special hospital because of your fall. They'll explain to you when we get there."
Despite the part of his mind that immediately jumped to the work he would miss was nearly forgotten and Marco silently praised heavy pain medication for the doping effect on his brain. Nothing really seemed to matter beyond curling up for more sleep. Nuzzling into his husband's neck, being extra careful not to jar his ribs, Marco sighed. "Am I going to be alright?" he finally asked in a small, childish voice, secretly wanting Dylan to tell him everything would sort itself out.
Dylan complied. "Yeah baby. We're going to be just fine."
Marco nodded in response before slipping back into darkness with a whispered 'I love you' on his lips, not even bothering to question the use of 'we' instead of you.
As Marco's lashes fluttered, signaling his slip into sleep, Dylan sighed loudly, lifting a hand to rub at his tired eyes. Marco's weight was pleasant and reassuring in his lap, and the breathing against his neck was slow, but despite this Dylan felt uneasy and rightfully so.
The man's words were still ringing in his ears, like an ever repeating broken record. Dylan didn't want to believe them. He wanted to believe this entire thing was an elaborate set up of his sister's, but even for her, the cruelty of this joke was just too much. To tease himself, and especially Marco, whom wanted children more than anything else, with even the glimmer of hope that this was possible was...heartless.
Marco murmured in his sleep, wiggling into his body that bit more and Dylan rubbed the Italian's back absentmindedly, his other hand coming to rest against the near flat planes of the man's stomach.
But the signs were all there. His eating problems, the sickness, the fatigue, the fluctuating moods. Granted he knew little to nothing about pregnancy to begin with. It was never anything he'd ever had to think about, but even he could notice the strange coincidences.
And even then...right at this moment he had no clue where they were...and he was absolutely terrified; honestly, hysterically terrified for the first time in his life. Joel, as the man had recently asked to be called, had simply said the location must remain unsaid and that he understood his distrust. Even so...he could very well be thousands of miles from home by this point.
But the curiousity was keeping him from panicking overly. He just...had to know.
He would kill them all if they gave Marco this crazy, unreasonable hope in vain.
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When Marco awoke again it was to arguing. In the helpless moments between sleep and wakefulness he struggled to figure out what was going, straining his ears and fighting to keep his eyes open despite the blinding light around him still.
He was still within the plane, he realized, and still situated in Dylan's lap, a horrible ache now in his lower back from the position, and his arm, still weighed down by the cast, in his lap itched and pulsed painfully in time with his heartbeat.
Above him Dylan was glaring openly at a man he was certain he'd never seen before, but whom also looked vaguely familiar to him for some reason, and, at that moment at least, he looked upset.
"Sir, I swear to you we mean you no harm. This is common procedure and once we touch down, which we'll be doing in half an hour, the head doctor will explain everything."
Marco exhaustedly raised his head, feeling pain pour off of him waves as his head pulsed dangerously and he nearly blacked out, seeing black spots cloud his vision. Reeling dangerously and feeling strong arms wrap around his middle to keep him from careening into the floor, Marco looked up at the dark man through his hair.
"What have you done to me?" he gasped out, nausea rising worryingly. He could feel the worry coming off of Dylan as the man held him.
The dark haired man however said nothing, only looked at Marco with a pitying expression before turning his eyes back to Dylan. "We have to keep him off of medication for the time being. His arm and ribs are no doubt causing him immense pain. Comfort him as best you can." With that, the man turned on his heel and disappeared back into the pilot's cabin leaving the two seated men alone once again.
The silence was only broken as Marco whimpered in pain, nearly doubling over and toppling into the floor. "D-Dylan, what's going on?" he whined, not at all sleepy or doped down by medication as he had been earlier and very quickly beginning to panic at the strange surroundings and people.
Dylan looked on helplessly, needlessly brushing the man's hair out of his eyes and holding him to keep him from falling. "I don't know, babe," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss Marco's cheek as if this would help alleviate some of the pain in his head; as if sweet words and touches could somehow drive them away. "Everything happened so quickly. But we'll be...there...soon. We'll get you some meds and get home as quickly as we can. I promise," Dylan replied quietly so as not to hurt Marco's head as he tried to appear unworried and sure of the situation.
Stomach still flipping warningly Marco could only nod, not trusting himself to open his mouth at the moment as the usual sickness upon waking swam up within him coupled with the altitude and motion sickness customary on plane flights. He felt ridiculously small and vulnerable at that moment. Where he only yesterday could function just fine he now found himself unable to do anything but stay put and let Dylan keep him from sliding to the floor.
Instead of carry on a conversation, instead of stressing himself out more by asking where they were, why they were there, he moved to lie back against Dylan, the pain in his lower back flaring back to life thanks to the position once again. Marco ignored it however in favor of the comfort and the warmth, wondering if it was just his imagination that the heat from Dylan's neck against his forehead caused the pain in his head to abate just the smallest bit.
With Marco relatively calm once again the last thirty minutes within the plane were tense ones for Dylan. He forced himself to keep his mind off of what was to come by focusing on Marco and Marco alone, putting more energy than necessary into smoothing out his hair, and whispering nonsense in his ear.
By the time he felt the turbulence signaling a landing Dylan held Marco more tightly than before, closing his eyes as he heard Marco make uncomfortable, scared noises in his ears, wondering just how badly the Italian must feel. He couldn't imagine going through any of his broken limbs without having something, anything, to subdue the pain.
He'd kill them all, he decided, gritting his teeth and kissing the top of Marco's forehead, feeling cold sweat beneath his lips. At that moment all movement stopped and only then did Dylan realize he was practically crushing Marco's tiny body into his own and loosened his grip, apolgozing quietly. Marco did not seem to have noticed however as he lifted away from the other man's chest, swaying drunkenly and looking decidedly green.
Short minutes ticked by, feeling like the shortest of seconds to Dylan as he dreaded what was to come. From the pilot's cabin came Joel, already becoming annoyingly familiar to him. The damn man who started this all, Dylan though. The one who dragged them to another country judging by how long they'd been here.
"Where in the hell are we?" he growled, feeling Marco shy away from his voice without getting out of the embrace. He was apparently far immersed in his own clouded world as Marco would normally be extricating himself from such intimacy in front of others instead of turning into it with more purpose. What pain could cause Marco to choose comfort over embarrassment? It served to seal Dylan's anger. "He needs help right fucking now. So help me..."
Joel looked on calmly, large near black eyes still holding the same deceiving calm and concern. "I understand," he reassured quietly, moving forward to kneel on the carpet before the two men, taking a fever strip from his pocket and placing it over Marco's forehead. Dylan distantly realized it had become entirely too quiet now that they were on ground.
After a moment of the men waiting, Joel pulled away, pocketing the thermometer once again and looking ashen, the first sign of true worry clouding over his otherwise handsome face. "Come, we must hurry and alert the doctors."
Dylan did not even bother questioning this statement, the first time the other man had made sense. Gathering Marco up in his arms and standing, he could feel the smaller man accomodating almost instantly, short arms wrapping around his neck to help lighten the load though he weighed very little.
Joel led the way to the exit and the three rushed through a glass terminal. A glance outside showed a near endless sea of snow, giving no indication to where they were, but at the end of the hallway there was a door.
Alarm bells went off in Dylan's exhausted head as Joel was required to enter a password before the door opened. Inside was a sea of white much like the snow outside. For all of a second Dylan panicked, realizing this was definitely not an airport of any sort, but he was thankfully distracted by Marco whining into his ear, steeling his resolve once again.
Unfamiliar and twisting hallways were followed and Dylan tried to keep up with where they were going. Right, right, left, right, left, elevator to the third floor, but he quickly gave up, instead focusing on the tags on the doors the three men rushed by, searching for any clue, and all signs did indeed point towards a hospital.
That in mind, Dylan quickened his pace, finally realizing that if this was a hoax after all at least half of it were true and Marco could indeed get help here.
Finally, after what felt like years worth of traveling through unfamiliar territory Joel opened a door on the right side of a hallway that looked just like all of the others, standing aside and waiting for Dylan to enter with Marco. After a moment's hesitation the blond took the invitation, sidling by and being mindful to keep from hitting the smaller man's head into the doorframe.
Inside was an equally unmiraculous room; simple white, too bright, a small doctor's bed in the middle, which Dylan immediately lay his husband on, watching as Marco turned onto his side the moment he made contact with the paper covered seat, curling over as if protecting his broken arm subconciously. Indulging himself a moment Dylan leaned over to whisper small comforting words into the man's ear before he stood back upright and turned to Joel.
The man was gone and Dylan instantly felt positively livid. Throwing a last glance at Marco he stormed out of the door, near running into another man. Disoriented, he was too angry and shocked to even mutter an apology, but as he looked up he realized it was Joel that he'd run into.
Joel stood just outside the door, talking to an elderly man with a severe face. Dylan looked unsurely at the other man, catching onto lively grey eyes and the full peppered black hair and beard and the white smock, reminding him of the one Joel had worn while coaxing Dylan to leave the hospital in Toronto.
As if feeling the confusion and the anger coming from Dylan, the stern faced man instantly seemed to morph before him, expression turning warm and inviting, grey eyes alight with concern as he moved forward to shake the blond's hand heartily.
"Mr. Michalchuk!" he greeted with a thick Russian accent, the only person who'd ever come close to pronouncing his last name correctly. It was this rather odd reason that Dylan felt himself calm down considerably.
The man seemed to sense this as well and so forged on. "I am terribly sorry for all of the inconvenience. Joel has told me you are both very upset, and quite understandably so. Let's step inside and I will look over your husband as I try to explain it all to you. Come, come."
A friendly, old hand clapped on his muscular shoulder and despite being easily twice as big as the other man, Dylan let himself be ushered back into the room, Joel disappearing down the hall. Once inside the door was closed and Dylan was pushed into one of the few chairs lining the wall, watching as the elderly man went about poking at his husband, taking his temperature as Joel had done earlier and his heartbeat, and a million other checks of his vitals.
After a moment the man tossed a jovial glance over his shoulder. "Goodness, the move must have been utterly terrible for him. I've never had a patient injured during transport." As he spoke he went to his workstation, measuring out and preparing a syringe before shuffling back over and injecting Marco with the unknown substance. Dylan felt his heart stutter in terror, tensing to stand before the man held up a veined hand for him to stop. "It is okay my friend. Nothing more than pain killers that will not be detrimental."
Dylan glared, clenching the arms of his chair, but the man seemed done with his prodding at Marco and instead grabbed his rolling stool, moving it before him and taking a seat. He was still smiling and pleasant looking, and Dylan wondered once again if this was a hoax.
"My name is Dr. Bernard Mikhailov," he said, introducing himself. "I am one of the only doctor's in the world trained in the field of male pregnancies which I'm sure Joel has informed you is the reason for your stay with us. I'm afraid there are very few of us, and all of them in this building. The different governments don't seem to think the world is ready. I, quite frankly, think that is grade-A American bullshit, and you'd better believe they started the secrecy."
Blond eyebrows rose in amusement and just a little bit of fear as the Russian man seemed to get angry while still maintaining his friendly attitude. Dylan found himself straining to hear every word the man said, seeing if he could catch even a hint at a hoax.
"I know at the moment you are wondering where the hidden cameras are, am I right?" he asked, cigarette stained teeth coming into view as he smiled genuinely, lifting a hand to wave around the room. "I'm afraid there are none...and that no one has lied to you yet, nor does anyone plan to. You and your husband...you have something that quite literally defies science. There are people in laboratories all over the globe still trying to explain this phenomenon. And all are still coming up with more questions than answers. There are only so many things that I can tell you...but I will try if it means easing your mind and making this experience easier."
Dylan swallowed heavily as the doctor finished his piece, feeling windswept and suddenly very small in the face of something this big. He thought of the millions of questions zooming about his head since he got into that damned car. He finally settled on a quiet. "Where are we?"
The doctor nodded his head, apparently pleased that this was a question he could answer easily. "Several miles off of Moscow. The exact location is not plotted."
The blood seemed to drain from Dylan's face as he swayed much the same way Marco had earlier. "Wh-...you dragged us halfway across the world?" he asked, voice weak and reproachful now that his fears were confirmed.
"I am sorry, my friend. This is the only facility in the entire world. We've had others flown in from Poland, Chile, Syria, Hong Kong...though you are the first from North America. We have pushed to get a station in every continent to make things easier in the future but the governments just won't hear it. With so few cases, they think it superfluous."
"How many of us are there?" Dylan questioned, still distantly not buying this at all, but utterly powerless to object in the face of the doctor's seriousness.
Dr. Mikhailov smiled brightly, looking positively ecstatic at this question. "Why you, Mr. Michalchuk, and your husband, make couple number seven in the last century."
Dylan was reeling, lifting a hand to press against his head, trying to keep up. "Oh God...what...what happens now? You've got us here, an ocean away from home...what now?"
The kind man seemed to stare at him consideringly for several moments before moving forward to pat his hand as if he were a grandfather of sorts, comforting a grandson. "Now...now Mr. Michalchuk we help prepare your husband for what is to come. There are rooms prepared for you. Do not let the ugliness of the facility daunt you. I understand how unwelcoming it can seem, but the rooms are made with you and Marco in mind so as to make the next five months comfortable."
"Five?" he questioned, randomly remembering pregnancies normally lasting nine months.
"Yes, just the five. We will have to perform a sonar and a few other tests tomorrow morning to be sure but I'm assuming he's gone through a month, perhaps even two already. These particular pregnancies do not last quite as long as a woman's. The male body has to make several accomodations to perform this miracle...too long under that kind of strain...it's dangerous."
It felt as if a bucket of ice had dropped unceremoniously into his stomach, and Dylan cast a flurried glance over to Marco across the room, sleeping in the most fragile and heartbreaking way despite the life changing conversation going on just feet away. Underneath the pain and the worry, Dylan distantly wondered if he didn't hurt anymore. Turning back to the doctor, Dylan stared at him beseechingly.
"Will he die?" Dylan asked, voice almost disappearing.
The man shook his head, moving to stand. "Not if there is anything I can do to prevent it, Mr. Michalchuk."
The answer was not what Dylan wanted to hear. The answer spelled the possibility out in stark black and white and the prospect shook him to the core. Standing shakily as well, Dylan found himself looking down on the doctor from his height, but still somehow felt like a scared child before him.
"Tonight however, we need to focus on Marco healing," Dr. Mikhailov said quietly, voice melting into a reassuring tone. "That broken arm of his could have caused irreversible damage. Your husband however has proved to be resilient. The medication given by the hospitals can sometimes cause strange effects towards the fetus. Here we have developed special pain killers and the like. I'm sorry for the pain he had on the journey here. Rest assured nothing of the sort will be happening again."
Dylan could only nod, already moving over to Marco across the room and looking down at him sadly. He almost did not hear the voice of the doctor, so lost in his head.
"Would you like me to call in a wheelchair? I'd like to get you both accomodated for the night so that you both may rest."
He shook his head, bending down and gathering Marco into his arms once again. Dr. Mikailov regarded them both for several seconds and Dylan idly wondered what he was thinking as he felt Marco move in his sleep to hold his neck. If his nerves were not so shot, and his exhaustion so palpable, Dylan would have found the movement amusing. They worked as a team even asleep.
The doctor after his seeming years of contemplation finally smiled, grin sheepish as if he were embarrassed for being caught, before he beckoned Dylan on with a wave of the hand, leading them down the hallways, now at a much slower pace than earlier. Dylan was too tired to keep up with the directions, too tired to look around. Too tired to even care if this was all an elaborate set up any longer.
Mikhailov stopped at a door and opened it with a key he pulled from the pocket of his smock, ushering Dylan inside. The room beyond was as the doctor had said, not like the cold hallways, but warm and inviting, resembling a small apartment.
"Someone will pick you up late tomorrow afternoon, leaving you plenty of time to get the recommended amount of sleep and a shower. Tomorrow, my dear boy, the work begins," Mikhailov whispered, jarring Dylan out of his perusal.
Turning, Dylan only nodded to the doctor. He wanted to call out a million questions once the door was closed. He wanted to know what would happen tomorrow. How this all would work. How it had happened. But instead he found himself immersed in the calm silence of their new rooms.
A small movement from Marco in his arms brought him back to reality and Dylan crossed the room quickly, laying the Italian down onto the bed and went about taking off the man's shoes and easing him out of his jeans before he undressed himself.
Crawling onto the otherside of the bed, Dylan maneuvered the blankets over the two of them, straining over Marco's near comatose body to switch off the lights, plunging them into an enveloping, buzzing silence.
Marco's breathing was the only thing that broke the silence, soft and deep beside him and Dylan inched closer, pulling the tiny body into his own until he was spooned into the other, mindful to keep the weight off of the casted arm.
Almost without realizing it, one of his large hands came to rest on Marco's stomach, nearly covering it completely as he listened to the exhales and the heart beats that reassured him Marco was alive and warm beside him.
Dropping a small kiss to the exposed neck in front of him, Dylan allowed his mind to finally shut down, exhausted from everything, until he fell into a deep uninterrupted sleep.
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Surprised? Maybe a little uncomfortable? Anyone giddy? I'll leave the emotions up to your own psyches to decide but I would love to have feedback on those strange fluttering sensations within your stomach, good or bad. So please do review!