Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, other than Brielle.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Het, Mpreg, Stripping, Exotic Dancing, Violence, Domestic Violence, Child Abuse, etc.
"What do you mean, Jeff?" Adam asked. "What aren't you telling me?"
Jeff choked on a sob, unable to meet Adam's imploring eyes. It seemed as if this was the first time that Adam had ever had to comfort his friend, and he wasn't quite sure how to go about doing it. "I'm the reason that Phil's lying in the OR getting an emergency C-section. It's my fault."
"Yes, yes, that's what you keep saying." Adam shifted Brielle in his arms tiredly. "But it doesn't make any sense, Jeff. I know you too well. I know that you would never hurt Phil or your baby, and Phil knows that too. What aren't you telling me?"
A pause. Jeff frantically scrubbed at his eyes, but his efforts were fruitless. Finally, Adam handed him the nearby box of tissues, which he accepted gratefully. "When the club reopened... I needed to go back, to support Phil and the baby. He didn't want me too, begged me not too, but I didn't listen..."
Adam sighed, placing a hand of Jeff's trembling shoulder. "That's not your fault, Jeff. You were only doing what you thought was best."
"Yeah, and in the process, I was killing my boyfriend. And he just held it inside all of this time. What if he dies? What do I do then?"
Adam shook his head, blond locks falling over his shoulder and dusting across Brielle's serene face. "He's not going to die, Jeff. He still has too much to do here, too much purpose. Quite simply, God isn't ready for him yet."
Jeff forced a trembling smile. "It's easy to dish out the advice when you're not the one that has to take it."
Adam shrugged. "Honestly, I don't really know what to tell you, Jeff. Yes, the position that you're in sucks. But leaving the club without a back-up plan isn't going to solve anything. That's just going to leave you in debt and harm your relationship with Phil and your baby's health."
"What do you suggest I do then, hmm? Get a loan? Like they'd loan one to someone like me." Jeff scoffed.
"Maybe a bank wouldn't loan you money, but I know someone who will." Adam said.
Suddenly, Jeff looked up, interest sparkling in his cool green eyes. His eyes were still swollen and red-rimmed, but the tears had come to an abrupt halt once he realized what Adam had said. Holding Brielle a little closer to his chest, he recounted the tale of her heart attack. As Jeff recalled, she had needed very expensive surgery in order to survive - the operation would have been covered by insurance, of course, but the club didn't provide insurance and that was the only job that Adam had the time to work. That was why he had taken on the extra shift.
He handed his best friend a card with a name and a number written on it. The name on the card was John Cena, and the number was the personal cell phone number that John had given him, where he could be reached at any time for any reason. He explained that, while Jeff's situation wasn't exactly up John's alley (he usually only helped families with sick children), he was sure that John would not turn him away because of this. John had loaned him a handsome sum of money several months back and was patiently awaiting to be paid back - even though he had not yet seen a cent of it.
Jeff looked at the number uncertainly, before he turned his wavering gaze to Adam. "You do realize that I may never be able to return a cent of this. And where would I be then? He'd haul my ass to court and then what? Take away my kid because I can't support him or her?"
Adam shook his head. "He hasn't done that to me, not yet anyhow, and it's been months, Jeff." Adam said. "And there is always one option..."
Jeff could read the wicked look in his eyes. "Oh, no. I could never do that. My father wanted to kill me the first time I tried!"
"Well, your father is dead now, so I hardly see how that's any real threat now..." Adam trailed off.
"Adam, my first stint in art school was an absolute mess. Literally. I think that it just about started WWIII with my family. My father could hardly stand the fact that I was gay. Art school? Never. And my brother was always caught in the middle."
Adam tilted Jeff's head to the side so that he could look into the younger man's eyes. "But it's what you want to do, isn't it?"
"Of course." Jeff said, shrugging. "But what does that matter?"
Adam rolled his eyes. For Jeff being the unofficial 'leader' of their little group, he certainly had a few more lessons he needed to learn in life. "Your wants, your hopes, your dreams, your life." Adam said. "Are you living life for your brother, for your father, or for yourself?"
"For myself." Jeff said. And then, with a little more conviction, "I'm living life for myself."
"Good." Adam handed him the card. "Now take hold of that, and don't let it out of your sight."
Jeff nodded, smiling for the first time since the start of their little conversation. He took the card from Adam's hand and walked out into the parking lot, needing privacy for the conversation he was about to have. Adam understood that. On some levels, there would be parts of their lives that the other never touched. There were dark corners of their past that were not meant to be revisited, stories never meant to be told, and skeletons that were best kept locked up in the closet. Until Adam was ready to confront his own demons, he didn't need to test anyone else's.
Brielle was starting to stir, making little gargling noises and fisting the front of Adam's shirt more firmly. She dug her little feet into his legs, trying desperately to find purchase as she slipped between his legs. Adam chuckled, easily hoisting her little body into the air. She giggled loudly, her lovely blonde curls falling in front of her pretty face. With a great harrumph, Adam stood up, making a big scene out of how difficult it was to carry her and making his baby laugh all the more. While Jeff talked, he decided to go to the playroom for a little one-on-one time with his baby girl.
"You're a hard man to find." Randy said, entering into the playroom just off of the waiting room and taking a seat at the Fisher Price coloring table. "I just went to park the car."
Adam rolled his eyes, but flashed his fiancé a playful smile. "Yeah, you went to park the car alright. It definitely takes forty-five minutes to find a place to park in the hospital parking lot."
"No duh." Randy's eyes suddenly grew wide. "I almost got hit by this crazy driver who was driving up the middle of the road! I didn't think that you wanted me to die, so I parked off in that abandoned cross-section off of the medical consultation building."
Adam laughed. "That's like, ten miles away!" He exaggerated.
"I know!" Randy exclaimed, before joining his fiancé in his laughter.
After a moment, the noise died down. All attention turned to Brielle, who was happily scribbling away on a piece of paper that Adam had gotten off of one of the nurses. On the paper were three stick-figures. The first one was tall and blond, so Randy assumed that it represented Adam. Next to Adam's stick-figure was a little girl with messy blond curls. Randy thought that she was Brielle. And Brielle's stick-figure was holding hands with a tall stick-figure with brown hair. When he asked, she only smiled and said that 'it's you, silly'.
And he was content to just watch her draw, but as he continued to watch her, several thoughts plagued his mind. The first was the total lack of Alannah in the picture. Randy didn't know if this was because she didn't know about her, or if she simply didn't want a sibling. The second was the way that she was drawing Adam. Unlike the other two stick-figures, she had put heavy emphasis on Adam's midsection. His belly was drawn as an oval, while the other two were simply lines. And while this was unusual, he didn't want to read too much into it.
"Randy?" Adam turned to him, his eyes hopeful. Randy returned the look with one he hoped was open and receptive to whatever it was that Adam had to say. "I was wondering... if that modeling offer was still on the table?"
Randy blinked, shocked that that had been the question Adam wanted to ask. "Of course, why? Have you reconsidered?"
"Yeah... I, uh, I have. I have my resignation to mail to Vince right here." He held out an envelope, which was addressed to a Mr. Vince McMahon. "I want to be your model." He said with a shy smile.
Randy was so overcome with joy and relief that he quickly bridged the gap between himself and Adam, drawing the pretty blond into his chest and kissing him with all of the force that he could muster. Fingers entangled in messy blond hair and tongues slid against one another in a most memorable dance. Adam was practically swooning in Randy's embrace, caught between the lust and pleasure radiating off of Randy and the lack of oxygen flowing to his brain. In the end, they drew away to,
"Eww! Kissing is gross!" They turned, saw Brielle's disgusted face, and laughed.
After several hours in the OR, with Phil under heavy medication and Jeff pacing anxiously in the waiting room, Larissa Mae Hardy was born at five pounds, four ounces. Her lungs were not fully developed, so she had to be placed into the incubator immediately, but otherwise, she was as healthy a babe as Dr. White had ever seen. The little baby was beautiful, with Jeff's blond hair and Phil's emerald green eyes. Jeff, under heavy medical garb, was allowed to see her for a few minutes. Unfortunately, during that time, the dull roar of the flat-line in the OR, like gunfire on the battlefield, resounded in the silence...
