Summary: SEQUEL TO FLYING TOGETHER…a continuation of the life and times of the mighty ducks…Focus on Dean, Charlie, Connie, Guy, Adam and Julie…again. What can I say, they're my 6 favorite characters!
Disclaimer: The Mighty Ducks and all its characters belong to Disney. I do not own any of it!
Grown-ups
By Rebecca
Chapter 11: Moving on
The picture had been framed a dozen times. In a simple wooden housing that stood on her dresser, shoved into a photo-board for graduation, sheltered inside her wallet for four years at college, displayed at her wedding, hung on the wall of their first apartment. It'd had many homes but the image and emotion it evoked never faded. Now, as Connie prepared to tuck it away for another move, back to Minnesota, she stared at herself, several years and an era younger, a half-smile-half-giggle across her face, with Guy's arms wrapped around her. It'd been taken senior year, by Charlie ironically, at a time when the only thing that mattered was knowing Guy was by her side. What in the hell was she doing? Moving away? Getting divorced? Possibly never seeing him again? How did it happen? They'd been so happy. So happy for so long. Where had it gone? How did it end so fast?
She shoved the photograph into the newspaper scraps, squeezing her eyes shut…she knew all too well, how it'd ended so fast…
"Talk to me, Dammit! Tell me what's wrong!"… "What's the point? You wouldn't listen to me anyway!"… "How can I when all you do is cry and moan all day!"… "How would you even know? Half the time you're skating and the other half you're drunk!"… "Oh, like you've got everything under control. So under control you're on drugs, Connie!"… "You go to hell Guy!"…
Connie jumped as the doorbell rang. She sucked in a deep breath and walked to the foyer. He was early, but that was no surprise. They both wanted to get this over with. Hesitating only a moment, she jerked the door open.
"Hi Con," he said.
"Come on in, Guy."
* * *
"What about the dresser?" he called from the bedroom."
"If you don't want it, I'm gonna give it to my sister," she yelled back from the den.
Guy nodded, shrugging his shoulders as he opened one of the drawers. The clothes had already been emptied. He closed it again and crouched down, running his hand across the pale blue carpet…
" Honey? Honey wake up! It's time!"
Guy sprung awake, mentally trained to react to those 2 words. "You sure?"
"Mmm hmm."
Guy threw off the covers knocking his water glass on the floor. "Aww damn," he muttered as the carpet soaked up the water.
Connie laughed, "honey worry about that later huh?"…
Guy slowly stood up again as Connie came into the room. "What are you doing?" she asked as if in a rush.
"Just lookin' around. Haven't been here in a while," he said, his voice edgy.
Connie huffed and moved around him, pulling various trinkets off the dresser shelves that framed the Victorian mirror on top. "Which ones do you want?"
Guy took a step closer, ignoring his body's reaction as his arm brushed against hers. He scanned over the objects: two hockey trophies from pee-wees, an antique vase her mother had given them at their wedding, a crystal carved duck he'd given her one Christmas when she was at Miami U, a couple old books they'd read to each other over the years and a mini-cuckoo clock. Guy sighed and pointed to the duck, "That was a gift. Keep it," he said shortly, grabbing one of the books and leafing through it. It was Princess Bride. He'd bought it for her on their 1st anniversary. They'd traveled down to Orlando for a weekend but she'd gotten violently ill and spent the entire time in their hotel. He found the old paperback at the drug store while buying her medicine and spent the weekend reading to her in bed. She stood in silence as he set it back down, "In fact, just keep all of it. No room in the hotel."
Connie rolled her eyes, "Guy come on, you're not still gonna live in that hotel."
He shrugged, "No reason not to."
"Guy-"
"Connie, I'm not doing this. I'm fine ok? Just don't want any of this stuff. If I get the William Goldman bug I'll let you know."
Connie nodded, but didn't answer. Quietly she left the room.
Guy looked back down at the dresser…
"You got everything?"
"Yes, Connie come on."
"My clothes?"
"Yes."
"The address book so we can call our friends?"
"Yes! Honey, let's go," he coaxed, helping her out the door.
Connie struggled as she waddled down the stairs and then suddenly gasped, "My book! I need our book, Guy!"
Guy smiled and pulled The Princess Bride out of his breast pocket.
"Right here, Sweetheart."…Guy shook his head and walked out of the room, paused in the hallway and then headed downstairs for the kitchen. She was sorting through glasses and china. "I want the decanter set," he said.
She nodded, pulling out a box, freshly packed and taped up. "I figured as much."
"Thanks."
She went back to the counter. They'd worked in silence for most of the afternoon, sorting through the treasures hidden inside the house, loading them into his SUV. It seemed just yesterday they were moving in. Now, they were moving out…and moving on.
"Connie," he said, his voice soft and quiet. She turned around, "We're gonna have to go upstairs."
She spun back and nodded, "I know. I was thinking of just sending everything to Julie- oh did you hear?"
Guy nodded, "Charlie called me."
She turned on the faucet and occupied herself with the few dirty dishes lying in the sink, "He told me just after…" she trailed off as she scrubbed.
"After he offered you the job. I know Con. You don't have to pretend you're not leaving. The brown boxes make it pretty obvious."
Connie looked to the ceiling and set the sponge down. "I just…think it's the best thing…for now. You know…make a-"
"Make a fresh start," he finished. "I know. I'm happy for you Connie. It's what you want."
"Yeah," she said softly, returning to the sink, refusing to meet his eyes, "it's what I want."
Guy sighed, "I'm gonna head back to the den. Get my jersey and stuff." He dragged himself up a flight of stairs he'd traveled hundreds of times and would climb now for the last. He didn't care that Connie was leaving him with the selling of the house and the paperwork. It'd probably be therapeutic. Something to do besides hockey. As he reached the landing, he started to turn toward the den, but then stopped, and paused again at the same door. He checked behind him for the sounds of dishwater running. He turned back and slowly opened the room.
Guy walked into the darkness. Most of the stuff had been packed away, but it still smelled of Johnson and Johnson. A few precious items remained. A red and white rocking horse that Guy's brother had crafted. A rosewood crib sat in the corner alongside a matching rocking chair, both upholstered in pale yellow and blue fabrics. An entire shelf of Dr. Suess and Roald Dahl books that had never been read…in a room that had never been used…
"I don't understand what you're telling me," he stuttered, trying desperately to focus on the doctor in front of him. But it was close to impossible. A half-dozen green polyester-clad people had just crowded around his wife, shoving him out.
"The baby flipped unexpectedly and we need to do an emergency C-section."
"We've been in there for the past 33 hours."
"Sir, try to understand, your wife is already losing blood and we've lost track of your child's heart rate."
Guy swallowed hard, "H-h-his heart isn't beating?"
"We can't tell. Which is why we need to operate quickly." Guy swayed back against the door, "Sir? Please?"
Absently aware he was blocking the door, Guy moved aside and watched as they wheeled Connie down the hall and away from him. "Oh God."
His parents sat on the couch in front of him, Connie's also nearby. Talking in hushed whispers at the vending machines were Charlie Conway and Kent Hathaway, an old minor league teammate. Silently he prayed, thankful for the solitude his loved ones had allowed him as he remained in his corner, unable to free himself of the image of Connie being wheeled away.
It was several hours before they'd heard anything. An already long labor, both mothers had fallen asleep and Charlie had made several coffee runs to the cafeteria. But Guy remained unaffected. He'd been afraid of this. They'd been trying for so long. Too long. Two miscarriages already, he'd never revealed to Connie how worried he'd been during the past nine months…scared to death that something, exactly like this, would happen.
The doors opened and doctors drifted in and out, finding families and delivering news. They watched as visitors laughed, wept, hugged, collapsed before them, waiting anxiously for the appropriate doctor to approach them. Finally, he did.
"Mr. Germaine?"
"Yes," his stomach started churning.
"I'm Dr. Pearce. I operated on your wife."
"Is everything ok?"
"Your wife is fine Mr. Germaine. We were able to control the bleeding and we saved the uterus so she will make a full and complete recovery. She's resting right now in the ICU."
Guy breathed a momentary sigh of relief, which was quickly replaced by more panic. "What about the baby?"
At that the doctor's head fell, telling Guy all he needed to know before anything was said, "Your son was tangled in the umbilical cord for several minutes. It cut off oxygen for too long. We got him out of the womb and tried to revive him, but we were unsuccessful."
Guy's eyes wondered off the doctor's and into the distance. "He's dead?" he asked, vaguely aware of how stupid the question was.
Pearce nodded, "I'm very sorry."
Guy gripped the lounge chair behind him and lowered himself down. The others stared hopelessly at the scene, wishing there was something that could be done or said. But it was no use. The doctor had continued talking to Charlie who had stepped in for Guy in his moment of shock. He dimly realized that his mother had approached him and given him a hug. But Guy was somewhere else, far away. His son was dead.
Guy rocked slowly in the rocking chair he'd allowed himself to sit in only once before. It'd been a Christmas gift from the ducks the year they announced Connie's pregnancy, unexpected from the old gang that had drifted in the past years. The memories of Connie and his life with her had stayed with him since before he could remember, but he never allowed himself to reach this point. Being back in the house though, where it all happened, where it all ended, broke through those mental blocks, forcing him to recall those last months when it all went to hell.
Connie fell rapidly into a clinical level of depression in just a few short weeks. She'd stopped eating, never went out, quit her job. Guy tried hard to get her to respond, coaxing, encouraging her to be strong. When it became obvious he couldn't help her, they tried therapists, grief counseling and eventually, psychiatry. It seemed to help for a while. She was put on a few different anti-depressants that helped her to get out of bed and improved her appetite, but not her disposition. She just slipped away from her husband and the world. Guy, denied his own grief for so long had started drinking heavily.
Unable to cope, they both became hostile. Exceedingly furious with each other for reasons they couldn't even explain. They say that the death of a child either brings parents closer together in their grief and needs, or tears them apart. In less than a year, Connie and Guy couldn't stand each other. The night of that last terrible fight, was the last straw…
"Talk to me dammit! Tell me what's wrong!" Guy threw his equipment down on the bed.
Connie jerked to the other side and faced the wall. "What's the point? You wouldn't listen to me anyway!"
Guy moved around her, forcing her to face him, "Don't do this again! I've had it with you ignoring me."
"Guy please, I'm tired. Just leave me alone."
"Leave you alone?" he punched the mattress. "Like you've left me alone for months? You think I'm not upset? You think I don't know our son is dead?"
"Shut up!"
"He's dead Con! He's not comin' back."
"Shut up!" she cried.
"Why? Cause you can't handle the truth?"
"I can't handle the truth? How would you even know? Half the time you're skating and the other half, you're drunk!"
"Oh, and you've got everything under control. So under control you're on drugs, Connie!"
"You go to hell Guy!"
"Gladly. Hell will be an improvement!!" he stomped out the room, slamming the door. At this point it was the easiest thing to do to march down the stairs, grab his coat off the back of the living room recliner and walk out of the house forever…
Connie jumped at the sound of the door closing upstairs. He hadn't slammed it, but she was so unused to anyone else being in that empty house. Her self-torture, silently running through that awful day over and over in her mind was thankfully interrupted as he crept back down the stairs. Guy had been back to the house only once more after that night. He came when he knew Connie would be out, packed a few bags and checked into the Marriot. Fulton's funeral was the first time they'd seen each other after that, and now this…a little more civil, exhausted if anything else, packing their things away for the last time.
"What about this?" Connie asked without turning around, reaching up to the top cupboard at a couple of their special glasses. She stretched and strained on her tip-toes but couldn't quite reach. Guy came up behind her and grabbed the two mugs they'd gotten on their honey moon in New England. Connie closed her eyes and sighed, fighting against the urge to wrap herself into his embrace and forget the whole last year entirely. But it was over. She'd accepted that. The fact was that after Guy had left, her recovery had improved. She'd started exercising, going out. Interviewed for a few jobs and faced the challenges of getting rid of most of the baby things they'd carefully planned out upstairs. Maybe it was for the better that Guy was no longer in her life…a constant reminder of things that could have, but never would, be.
"I'll take 'em," he answered, plucking the glasses from her hands. He watched as she turned away, her long brown braid floating lightly around her body. In 17 years, Connie had never changed that long gorgeous chocolate brown hair of hers. Guy stepped back, trying hard not to recall the way it felt like silk when he sifted it through his fingers. This was ridiculous. Here stood a woman that had rejected him, ignored him, slipped away with almost no effort. He was glad she was leaving. Now maybe he could rid her from his mind.
"I think that's it." She stated as she stretched the packing tape over the small box she'd found for the glasses, handing it to him as her eyes met his.
They locked for a moment, each unwilling to move, buried hopes that one would beg the other forgiveness and start over again…but that sort of thing only happened in the movies. Instead, Guy dropped his gaze and took the box. "Thanks Good luck in Minneapolis… 'play hard'."
Connie smiled. "Fly straight," she answered automatically.
Guy gave a small grin as he grabbed the last of his stuff, what little he'd decided to take, "Take care Con."
She simply nodded, and watched as he walked out the door…again. "You too," she whispered. The door clicked shut.
* * *
Yeah, well I gave you the "Mr. And Mrs. Banks" chapter for a REASON! But don't forget my last story…the chapter titled "Darkest before the dawn?" Stick with it. It's gonna get good (sappy, but good) I promise. Thanks for all the reviews. It's really what keeps me going. (Whadya think of Annalisse so far? Should he stick with her? J )