A/N: amythis gave me a fanfic challenge—to rewrite Mr. Micelli Builds his Dream House. My turn to write a challenge (I've never done that before). This is a quick one-shot, a redo of that night after Tony fell through the ceiling. A bit of a refresher first ….
(The scene in italics was in the episode. The rest is me rewriting an alternate ending.)
Angela (angrily storming into Samantha's former bedroom, now Mona's bedroom): I cannot believe it. I am in the middle of taking off my makeup in the bathroom and all the lights go out.
Mona: Shattered the bulbs, huh? Ha ha ha (eating an onion-y sandwich and crumbly potato chips in bed)
Angela: No! Tony and his crew short circuited something. They're in the attic now, trying to track it down. I don't know how much more of this I can take.
Angela slips into Samantha's small double bed beside her Mother. She makes a comment about her mother's smelly snack.
Mona: Why don't you just call Joe and ask him to finish the job?
Angela: I can't do that. This remodelling project was Tony's idea. To take it away from him now would be an insult to his pride, ability, and manhood.
Mona: Afraid he'll pout and cry, huh?
Angela: Like a baby.
Tony's bum crashes through the ceiling of Samantha's bedroom. Plaster spills onto the two women, and into the snack. They look up.
Mona: I'd kill for a dart right now!
Tony: Help, I've fallen and I can't get up.
Angela listens to her mother snoring and turns her head away so she doesn't have to smell the older woman's onion breath. She can't sleep because she's furious. Furious that Tony fired Joe, furious that he wasted so much time and money by micromanaging and nitpicking, furious that her son was trapped behind drywall by Al and Hank, and especially furious that she's now stuck sharing a bed with her mother for at least another week. She wants to scream. She yanks at the covers that Mona's hoarding, and fluffs her pillow with hard thumps.
"What are you doing?" Mona whispers, sounding confused and annoyed because she was so deeply asleep. "You're hogging the covers. I'm cold, Angela. Gimme." Mona grabs at the covers and steals more than her fair share. Angela sighs loudly.
"If you don't mind, Mother! Between your snoring, your onion breath, and that draft from the ceiling, I'm finding it rather difficult to fall asleep," Angela huffs angrily and turns to face her mother. She immediately regrets it because Mona purposefully blows into her face.
"Onion breath, you say?"
"Gross, Mother! Why on earth would you eat that at bedtime!? Trying to drive me out?"
"Yes Dear, I am." Mona adjusts her position and kicks her daughter in the shin.
"Thank you. Thank you a lot!" Angela responds, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
"Oh you're not allowed to get snarky with me, Angela. You're not." Mona sits up. "Tony decided that I had to give up my apartment and move into this little girl bedroom. He decided, not me. And you went along with it."
"What? But you never said anything."
"Of course I didn't. I didn't want Sam and Hank to be homeless. But it wasn't fair to me, because those kids get everything and I get to share a small bed with my bony daughter."
"Well I'm sorry about that but …. hey, bony? I cannot believe that you told Tony …"
Mona interrupts her. "You mean he doesn't already know? Haven't you two done anything yet?"
Angela looks away, embarrassed. She and Tony have kissed. They've kissed a lot, and for long periods of time. They've also hugged and held hands, but that's it. Tony has categorized her as a woman one marries, hence he won't touch her. So accustomed are they to obeying boundaries and not crossing lines, that they've each stayed firmly on their own side of the couch while making out, an invisible chasm between them. Angela keeps thinking that he'll make a move, but so far, he hasn't. Not since the fateful night her Jaguar rolled into the lake. She wonders what would have happened if they'd stayed on dry land. Probably a hell of a lot more than they've done in the many months since then. She hasn't initiated because his rejection would eviscerate her. She thinks back to the way Tony gingerly fingered her arm after Mona called her 'bony' and she shudders. It was disrespectful. And she knows that he was also disrespectful to her earlier when he pointed a beeping device at her chest and looked disappointed. She now understands that this device takes measurements and she feels insulted. But there's no sense in starting a fight she can't win, or even finish.
"Well?"
"Well what, Mother. It's none of your business."
"Angela, that's just sad. You better be sure to have a taste of sausage before you buy the entire pig."
"Oooh, oooh, you're disgusting! Here … keep these blankets and just, just, just go on snoring your stinky onion snores. I'm leaving!"
"Finally." Mona moves into the centre of the bed and curls up, happy to have her own space. She clings to the second pillow when Angela tries to take it. "Go away," she tells her daughter. "You have a fiancé. You don't need to be in here with me."
There's no ceremony. Angela's out of that room with her mother's parting words echoing in her ears. She stands in the hallway, unsure of where to go next. She considers sleeping on the couch, but she doesn't find it comfortable for naps. It's lumpy. Her back hurts at the mere thought of spending an entire night on it. She shrugs and lets herself into Tony's room, careful not to let the door squeak. Morning is hours away, and being in his room at night feels strange, almost forbidden. She's been here during the day, when the light is streaming through the window, a safe chaperone. He never kisses her in here, and she doesn't know why. After all, he's kissed her in her own room, their feet on the floor at all times. Tony's house rules for their relationship are the same ones he had previously set for Samantha, and later Jonathan. As far as she knows, and hopes, the kids have always been good. But Sam's wedding threw a shocking wrench into those rules, and Tony couldn't handle having the newlyweds in the room across from his own. Hence her present conundrum. She feels her anger rising to the surface again, a hard pebble in her throat, but it's tinged with sadness and worry. Tony did appear dissatisfied when he beeped that stupid device at her chest. And the way he casually touched her upper arm, checking for boniness made her feel unattractive, unwomanly. Yes, she's lost a bit of weight recently, but it's mostly because of the stress of planning a wedding, and Tony's upcoming graduation, and worrying about what career he'll find. Samantha's elopement hasn't helped her appetite either, and since Mother's moved in, she feels more tense than usual, unable to fully relax. She's living in a fishbowl, trying to explore her love for Tony beneath her mother's sharp scrutiny. Tony's silly teenaged rules for their physical relationship has only served to heighten her feelings of claustrophobia, careening her back to her teen years. She feels like a schoolgirl, observed, watched, chastised and untouched. Except that now she's too skinny instead of being too fat. She wonders if there's such a thing as a perfect body and shakes her head. When she gains weight, her curves are more pronounced, but she hates that her clothes become tight on her. When she loses weight, she loves the feeling of lightness, but hates the looseness in her bra. "I can't be perfect," she moans to herself. Tony responds to her voice and whines in his sleep. Angela freezes, trapped in the doorway.
She takes a few deep breaths and moves toward the bed, tentatively. She stands above Tony and watches him sleep. He's sleeping on his stomach, no doubt protecting his sore behind. It makes her smile, even though he's driven her crazy the last few days. He's driven everybody crazy. She's crazy for him. She sits on the edge of the bed and slips beneath the covers, claiming the narrow piece of bed beside him. Being skinny has its advantages.
Her heart flip flops, and she's acutely aware of his scent, his masculine presence. She turns onto her side and observes him sleeping for a while. His face is boyish in sleep, the laugh lines smooth and relaxed. The desire she feels for him surpasses her sense of disappointment. A warm flush, like a blossoming flower spreads through her. She relishes its heat and moves closer to Tony, wanting him. Unable to resist, she places a soft kiss on his brow. He snuffles in his sleep. Angela strokes his stubbly cheek and places tiny, butterfly-light kisses upon it. Her kisses are soft and tender, so light and fleeting, like a bee upon flowers. Her mouth explores his face, his closed lips, and his neck, where she settles her face, feeling the sleepy warmth and pulse. She luxuriates in his very being.
"Angela?"
"Shhh, it's okay. Go back to sleep."
"What are you doing here?" He sounds alarmed and groggy at the same time, and it makes her feel that she's somehow intruded upon him. She backs away and clings to the edge of the bed.
"Mother drove me out. I didn't want to sleep on the couch."
"She's got a lot of nerve. Sheesh. Well, don't you worry, Ang. You just march right back into her room and tell her that this is your house and …."
"No. I don't want to sleep with my mother. She reeks of onions, hogs the blankets, and snores! Besides, she's my mother. I'd rather be with my fiancé."
"Yeah but Angela, house rules."
Angela says nothing. She wants to yell at him for being ridiculous, but doesn't dare. "Is it because I'm bony?" she asks in a little girl whisper, then clamps her hand over her mouth.
"Huh?"
She opened Pandora's Box, so she cannot remain mute. "Too bony for you? Not enough woman? Is that the problem, Tony?" The hurt she felt earlier resurfaces like a dead fish.
"No, no, why are you asking me that?"
She doesn't answer him at first, letting his denial linger in the air. It doesn't smell very good, like Mother's onion breath but meaner. After a few uncomfortable moments of silence, she says, "May I just sleep here, please? If my presence in your bed bothers you, you can sleep on the couch. Joe would have been done with the renovations if you hadn't driven him crazy, so really, this is your doing. You shouldn't have fired him."
"Fine, Angela, I shouldn't have fired him. Here, take my bed. I'll go sleep on the couch." He moves slowly with incertitude, like he's not sure if they're fighting now. "Or should I stay?"
"I'm not kicking you out, Tony."
"Yeah but …"
"But what?" Her vulnerability breaks through and her voice cracks.
"But we can't share a bed!"
"Why not? We've done it before."
"If you're referring to the train ride to Washington, that was torture, Angela. I didn't sleep a wink."
"Why?"
"You know why."
"Then go. Just go and let me get some sleep. Please."
Tony doesn't move. He's sitting up in the bed, studying her. "Why do I get the feeling that we're having a fight?"
"I'm not fighting with you. I'm just frustrated!" And she is. She's frustrated with these renovations that are taking too damned long. And she's sexually frustrated because Tony always pushes her away after they make out. She's sick of being put on hold. He did that to her long enough before they were a couple, and she sees no reason why they cannot be intimate. Their wedding is in a few short weeks.
"With me?" he asks incredulously, like the idea has never occurred to him. She turns away from him, so he asks again, "Angela, are you upset with me? 'Cause all I was doing was sleeping, and you woke me up to start a fight."
"I didn't wake you to start a fight, Tony. I woke you with kisses, but you don't want me here. You never want me. Not since the night my Jag rolled into the lake. Why? Why don't you want me? Aren't you attracted to me?" It's a dangerous question and her heart is hammering unpleasantly. She shouldn't be asking him this. Wouldn't he just lie if he wasn't attracted to her anyway? It's not something he'd tell her in so many words. No, she has to glean his desire from his actions—the pushing away, the refusal to share a bed, the disappointed look on his face when he was measuring her breasts. Damn him. "You think I'm too bony and flat chested, don't you?"
"What? Angela, what has gotten into you?!" Tony's eyebrows shoot up in shock. "Ay-oh, I love you. I love every part of you!"
"Really? Even my 'bony bits'?"
Tony's expression reminds her of a small, frightened animal about to be hit by a car. "Your bony bits? You mean earlier today when Mona said …? Angela, I'm sorry. I thought she was just kiddin' around like she always does when she's making fun of you."
"She does that lot. But you don't usually go along with her, Tony. It really hurt my feelings today."
"Oh shit, I'm really sorry. Ang, I didn't mean it. You know I didn't." When he fixes her with his warm brown eyes-there's love there and she wants to lose herself in that safe place.
"Then why ….?"she asks.
"Why what?"
"Why haven't you made love to me yet?"
His stunned silence slams into her question with the force of a tidal wave. He stares at her, mouth agape. It takes him a few moments to regain his senses and he sputters incoherently before saying, "Is that what you think? That we haven't made love because I'm not attracted to you?"
She nods, ashamed and cold. "You wanted me before, but lately, you seem to be happy with the status quo. Please tell me you're not having second thoughts about us."
"No, no, never. Angela, I'm crazy about you. I'm in love with you. Do you understand that?" He grabs her fingers in his hand and squeezes too hard. She yanks her hand back.
"Tony … you haven't exactly been as attentive as you used to be."
"I'm sorry. Babe, I'm so sorry, come here. I thought we were waiting for the wedding." Contriteness emanates from every cell in his body, and he draws her close to him. She feels weak all over with relief and fatigue, and rests her head on his shoulder. They hold each other close. "I'm sorry if I've made you feel unattractive in any way, Ang. You are so beautiful, so lovely." He kisses her hair and inhales deeply. "You smell good too."
They look at each other with the same look they've given each other a million times before. In the darkened room, his face is in shadow, but she sees the sheen in his eyes, unshed tears gleaming. "I love you, Tony." She puts her hands on his face, gently caressing the rough unshaven skin. "Kiss me."
The aching desire in her voice undoes him. He tangles his fingers into her hair and places soft, tender kisses on her mouth, again and again. She wraps her arms around him and succumbs to her passion. "Please don't stop this time." She pulls him down to her, needing his weight on her, his strength, his soft lips on hers, and his hands exploring her body.
Tony slips his hands beneath her pajama top, finds her breasts taut and silky smooth, the peaks hard against his fingers. There's nothing bony about her; she's lithe, light and slender. "You feel so good, Ang. So good." His archaic teenaged dating rules fly out the window and he shows Angela how much he loves all of her.
Several days later, Angela's bedroom is fully renovated, decorated, and furnished. The previously pinkfied and overtly feminine room has been transformed into a couple's realm. Gone is the pink, floral wallpaper. In its place, a soothing pale turquoise with white trim, in matte paint. The dark wood of their furniture gleams elegantly against this backdrop, cherry wood and a summer sky. The new duvet is grey and white, soft like dove feathers. Best of all, the bed faces the fireplace. They have it all: home, hearth and a place to love each other.
"I'm so glad that I rehired Joe!" Angela squeals when she finally sees the finished work.
"Ya know, I was a bit miffed at being fired, but you were right, Angela. He really did a terrific job. I mean, gee, look at this marble he used around the fireplace! Wow." Angela barely has time to cross the room to him, and he's already at the bay window. "Look, we can both fit on this window seat. Come 'ere, sit with me. Look at this view, huh? It's my herb garden." Tony's boyish enthusiasm makes her smile. She takes his hand and joins him on the window seat.
"This is lovely, just perfect. I can imagine myself reading my Bronte novels on a cold winter's day, with the fire blazing at my feet, while the snow falls outside." She looks pensive, a half smile on her face. "Tony? This is our room now. Move in with me."
"What? Now? Before the wedding?" She can tell he wants to, and she encourages him further. "Remember when you told me to imagine the fireplace, the soft jazz, and making love all night?"
"Yeah, I remember."
"It's time. I mean, we have been sharing your room during the renovations. Mother's been making off-colour jokes about it. I can't imagine going back to the way we were. Can you?"
"No, I can't. God, my life is with you now. And this room—it's us!"
"It is. It's us."