Mark shoved another drink down Irvines throat, and steered him towards the dance floor. The moment he'd laid eyes on the blond after the show that night, his stomach had tied its self in knots.

With just one look his intuition told him that things were out of sorts for the usually energetic young man. When Mark walked up to him backstage, talking with Shawn—or rather Shawn was doing the most talking which was the first red flag—because anyone who knew Chris knew that he like to hold the bigger end of a conversation. Sometimes he rambled on to the point where you wanted to tell him to shut the hell up. When Mark had seen him then though, he'd barely been saying two words, nodding his head listlessly, as his eyes seemed to be elsewhere, lacking their usual bright glimmer.

It had been Shawn who had suggested they all go out clubbing, and Mark's feeling only became worse when Chris almost declined. Mark refused to let him, and practically dragged the blond along with them. He was sure getting Chris into a club with music blaring, hot bodies dancing, and alcohol—well that was a win, win, win combination. But even that hadn't seemed to lift his spirits. Chris sat up at the bar towards the corner, leaning on his elbow, looking down into a barely-touched glass of whatever it was he was drinking.

Mark left the girl that was hitting on him behind. The little red-head wasn't too happy about it, but she was quickly dissolved into the crowd and taken up by other needful dancers, bodies writhing to the beat. He sat down next to Chris, and followed his line of sight, which was now entranced with a group of scantily clad females, all dancing near or on each other. The curves of their bodies undulated as they shimmied and rocked with the electric feel of the loud dance music.

Mark was momentarily distracted, as he watched supple asses bump and grind, and globes of cleavage strain against tiny shirts as the women moved, weaving hands through long tresses, parting their lips seductively, a couple gnawing at each others long, slender necks. Mark managed to pull his eyes away, even though he was rather enjoying the show. He fidgeted on his barstool, and glanced back at Chris. He seemed to be looking at that group of women with an intense longing, and Mark figured the kid was lonely. Maybe him and his wife were having problems since he'd been back home.

He reached over, startling Chris when he moved some of his pretty blond hair away from his cheek, and stroked his cheek.

"Hey Irv, what's wrong?"

Chris barely let his eyes make contact with Mark's silvery-green ones. Scenes from their last encounter and escapades were still fresh in his mind, and he felt so many things from that night that he could barely place a finger on any of them. Then, those women. He didn't answer Mark, just cut his eyes back to them, watching entranced in their beauty, wondering glumly with a heavy heart why they had been created so perfectly, and he'd been made such a fuck up. He couldn't have been given a beautiful body like that, a proper one, that matched his true being. It seemed like some awful, never ending practical joke, and that everyone was pointing and laughing, laughing and pointing.

That was when Mark started ordering drink after drink, and forcing it on Chris, in hopes that he'd loosen up. He was in need of a serious good time, this being lost and depressed thing wasn't going to work for him. Now Mark's hands were around his waist as he guided his stumbling path towards the dance floor. Chris started to unwind a bit, the alcohol clouding and warming his mind, making him feel dizzy and light footed as he danced with Mark, against Mark, grinding and panting against his lips as words slurred out of his mouth.

"Wuh you like me, Marky-Mark if I wassawoman?" Chris laughed, as he ran his hands over Mark's legs, and up his thighs, over his hips, to come to rest against his chest as they moved with the music. "Would I be a buhyootiful woman?"

"Chris, I think maybe I got you a little too wasted." Mark laughed.

"I'm serious. Ah mean it…lookit, if I looked like them…eh." Chris pointed at various women around the dance floor. "Mark dun laugh…I'm serious!"

Mark threaded his fingers through Chris' hair, and tried not to laugh as Chris went on with his silly, liquored questions.

"What would you thinkame if I was a woman? Stop laughing!" Chris' fingers curled tightly into Marks shirt, and he stopped dancing. "Issnot funny, don'laugh at me."

Chris's mind flashed back to his wife, yelling at him, putting her hand on his package to remind him it was there and what it meant. His mother, dragging him to church because of his horrible desires, that preacher who later reminded him of a nightmarish Brother Love, was raging in his mind. Voices all around him were laughing, in college, when he'd came closest to feeling normal, brave enough to dress how he wanted and not care, until the time when his "friends" deserted him drunk in an alley and he'd woken up the next morning beaten and bloody, dirty, and worse.

After that, he'd tried hard to hide that side of his life away. He'd started to work out and think of doing more male type things, there was hockey, and later wrestling, and his life became the carefully crafted lie of a man who had everything he wanted out of life. All the while, he had nothing. Nothing but laughter behind his back, when he went out with the guys dressed that way 'as a joke' he'd tell them, and they all thought he was the biggest and best party animal among them.

"Stop laughing! It's not funny!"

Chris shoved Mark away from him, and tears spilled down his face. He ran, stumbling over his leaden feet. He managed to weave his way through the crowd, and outside, to where he sat down at the curb, his head in his hands, as he watched tears fall between his feet and drop like rain into a dirty puddle at the curbs edge.

Behind him he heard hurried footsteps, and Shawn was crouching next to him, saying things. Another hand was on his shoulder, and without seeing he recognized it as Marks. Shawn was paying at his hair, trying to move it away from his face, but all Chris wanted was to be shielded away from them.

"Chrissy, look at me." Shawn spoke lowly, and pulled Chris' chin up. "Talk to me."

"I wanna be pretty…"

"You are pretty, Chris. You were voted Manitoba's Sexiest Man…"

"Not like that!" Chris spat, knocking Shawn's hand out of the way.

He got to his wobbly feet, and moved a bit away, glaring and weeping. Shawn started to go after him, but Mark held his hands up, and had a few words with Shawn before going off to Chris himself. Mark took Chris' hand in his, and led him across the street where there was a dock jutting out into a still, green, lake. Chris was still crying, and Mark sat on a bench positioned on the dock, and lowered Chris between his legs. The Canadian rested his head against Marks' thigh, as long fingers found his hair again and played with it.

"I'm sorry Chris. I saw you were upset and it…kind of…it worried me. I thought a few drinks would help, not make things worse."

Chris nuzzled into his thigh a little, and Mark could feel wet drops against his jeans.

"Please Chris, will you tell me what's bothering you? You're changed from the man I knew."

Chris sniffled, and rubbed at his sore eyes, and looked out at the moonlight over the lake.

"Do you think people could be made wrong?"

Mark stroked Chris' hair, thinking about the words.

"You mean like, deformed and stuff?"

Chris hugged Mark's leg, and rubbed his nose against the rough fabric.

"Kind of, yeah I guess."

"I'm not sure what you mean Chrissy. I'm a big slow jock, explain."

Chris looked up at Mark, his face tilted towards the sky, and Mark's lips were twisting with a smile. He touched the tip of his finger to Chris' nose, and made his blue eyes turn inwards to look at it, and look silly.

"What I mean is…" Chris paused for a long moment, his eyes going back out over the lake, as he ran his finger up and down the stitched seam on the side of Mark's jeans. "I mean…sexually." Chris said lowly.

Chris waited to feel Mark fidgeting, or for him to change the subject, but he did neither. There was little to nothing that ruffled The Deadman's feathers. He just kept threading his fingers comfortingly through Chris' long hair.

"Do you mean to tell me you're gay?" Mark finally asked.

"No. That's not what I mean. I mean…physically…sexually."

"So yer sayin' you have a curvy dick or something?"

Chris laughed at that, he couldn't help it. He wiped at his tears.

"My dick isn't curvy."

Mark pulled Chris up into his lap, and pressed their foreheads together. His breath came softly against Chris's lips, and he could feel the young blond shaking, as though he was afraid.

"I'm not going to judge you. You can trust me." Mark took Chris hand, linked their fingers, and moved their joined hands up, then down. "I give you my word."

Something about the way Mark spoke, and the firm grip of his hand, made Chris feel safe. He leaned close to Mark's ear, wondering if he was really about to divulge his secret, his innermost feelings, his true self. His face burned hot with embarrassment as he pressed his lips against Marks' ear, the coolness of Mark's pale cheek against his felt soft and comforting. Mark's arms circled his waist and held him close.

"I…Mark…" Chris fidgeted in Mark's lap, gripping his shoulders tightly. Mark's fingers ran up and down his back.

"Go on."

"I'm…different on the inside." Chris said quickly.

"What do you mean babe?"

It's now, or never. Chris closed his eyes, and willed himself to go on. He really did feel as though he could trust Mark, pretty much everyone in the locker room did. Mark knew all sorts of things about everyone, things that no one else would ever be entrusted with. It wasn't only that, Chris wanted to tell someone, someone other than his wife. He wanted someone to understand—not that Mark could understand how he felt—but he wanted to stop being alone in his suffering and confusion. Somehow, maybe telling Mark would help.

"I'm a woman inside." Chris breathed out, with trembling, almost silent words.

He was ready to hear a sound of disgust, to be dumped from Mark's lap, and onto his ass as tears fell over his hotly colored face again. But Mark held him closer.

"Chrissy, I'm so sorry." He said quietly, stroking Chris's shoulders and arms, relieving the tension in the tight muscles. Chris was still trembling against him, like a poor frightened little child, and it touched the big man deeply. He couldn't imagine such a thing, and how to deal with it, and how alone and frightened Chris must have felt. He understood now, why Chris was looking at those women in the bar with such a sad, lost, longing. He didn't want one of them, he wanted to be one of them.

"How long have you known?"

"Always." Chris answered simply. His shivering was lessening, and he was relaxing into Mark's touches, and laid his head against Mark's shoulder.

"Does anyone else know babe?"

Chris moved his head 'no' but then sighed.

"Well, my wife…I told my wife." At this he sounded completely dejected, and Mark could only imagine how poorly that had turned out. He admired Chris, for having such courage to tell anyone at all. He placed his hands on Chris's hips, and straightened the young man up. His corn-silk colored hair was stuck to his face from where he'd been crying, and his cheeks were still rosy.

"I'm sorry Chris." Mark said, his deep green eyes capturing Chris' sad blue ones, their feelings interchanging between a long gaze.

"Thank you."

Chris leaned in, and captured Mark's lips. The kiss was sweet, and a little too brief for both men, but night was quickly becoming morning.

"You don't know how much that means to me." Chris sniffled, as Mark moved him out of his lap.

The two of them walked hand in hand back towards the club, a lot less cars now jammed into the parking lot. Shawn was sprawled out on a bench near the entrance, fast asleep like a hobo. Mark smiled at Shawn, then at Chris. He leaned in and kissed Chris once more.

"Give me your cell phone."

Chris did, and Mark pushed some numbers, then handed it back.

"That's me." Mark pointed to the number on the screen. "You call me any time, day or night. Do you understand?"

Chris nodded, and stood up on his toes to wrap his arms around the big mans neck.

"Alright princess, we better get you home to your family." Mark said, squeezing Chris' hand. He then bent down, and flicked Shawn's ear. The smaller blond sat up with a speed quick for a sober man, let alone a drunk one, and Mark and Chris both laughed. "Come on baby girl." Mark said to Shawn. "We have to get Chris home before my rental turns back into a pumpkin."

All three men laughed, and Shawn and Chris each tucked themselves under one of Mark's arms, as they walked towards the car. When Chris got home, he stayed up in the living room. It had became his permanent sleeping place. His pillow and blanket was always kept there these days, and the muted t.v. often kept him lonely company until he drifted into fitful sleep. Right now, the t.v. screen was flashing soft meaningless pictures over the shadowed room, and the man sitting with the fleece blanket wrapped around him. He wasn't paying any attention to the t.v. though. He was looking down at the green screen of his plastic cell phone, running his finger reverently over the small black numbers, and the name next to it. Finally, for the first time in a long time, he felt as though he wasn't completely alone.

A/N: Sometimes I don't know how I feel about this story, lol. My Chris muse will kill me if I even THOUGHT of not finishing it. Which I haven't thought of, I am finishing it. I have to. It's mandatory from the muse squad. Please keep letting me know what you think. I'm kind of in love with Mark, because bless him, Chris needed that. I never know where my chapters are going to take me, so this was really nice for me. Chris finally has someone he can really rely on. *warm fuzzy feelings* But he's certainly not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. Thanks for reading :)