To Degrassigurl: I hope you were serious about not minding if my chapters get longer!Also, I need to apologize further for my lack of proper proof reading, I had no idea so much was being left out!
Part One
Current Music:
Alice Cooper/Adam Lambert/Moody Blues
by Tess2645/Kdoc27
Dylan and his dad stepped in to the elevator.
He'd been here so many times, there was no need to even think about what was on which floor; he pushes the button for the floor the nursery is on.
He only stares at the 5 button for a moment.
The ICU is on 5.
Hands on hips, Dylan glares up at the security camera, then at the numbers changing above the door...they seem to be moving so slowly...
"Promise me!" He hears the softly, but earnestly spoken words again.
He stiffens, clenching his fists and his teeth again.
'No! Don't think about that now!' Dylan tells himself furiously.
'Wonder what she looks like?', he thinks a little desperately. 'I wonder if she has these stupid uncontrollable curls...if she has his eyes...'
Tired but still lovely warm molten chocolate eyes...
Mid-night curls...lying plastered to his husband's face..
"Promise me Dylan...!" that soft tired near-whisper.
Dylan Micalchuk-Del Rossi takes a deep breath.
Of course this has to come back now.
He even knows himself well enough now to understand why.
He shouldn't be taking an elevator up to meet their daughter.
They were supposed to be seeing her for the first time ...
Together.
This is just too close to one of Marco's worst fears...
They'd had allmost three weeks of 'normal', no 'over-emo'; no unexplained glares, sudden tears, or worst of all for Dylan, coming home to find Marco gone.
And 'That'
feeling, that 'no one home' feeling scares him more than anything else.
Since the beginning of all this, and for Dylan the trouble started with the first round of hormone injections; he never knows if Marco's absence means he just forgot to leave a message that he'll be late home, something happened and he's at the hospital(again!) or he's mad at him.
Marco... with a system full of female hormones... getting angry.
Gives it a whole new meaning!
It could start with something like: "You 'SAID' you were going to call me at (what-ever time, usually during Dylan's lunch-break, which is sometimes lost to a meeting or an interview)" or "Why didn't you leave me any( what-ever he wanted that wasn't there)"and end with "Well, I called Ellie(or Paige, Alex, Jimmy(now a Basketball Coach with his own 'Camp') some of our other friends, or one of the 'Aunts' or...worst of all HIS MOM!) and we lost track of the time, I'll be there when I get there!"
If Marco was at his parents house and there was no note, or message, it was usually no big deal, but you never knew who might turn up there, or with what, especially if one of Marco's aunts felt like cooking: new recipies, old family 'secret' recipies...
If Dylan hadn't been coaching, he'd probably weigh three-hundred-pounds by now!
If Marco didn't drive over, naturally Dylan had to go get him, and once there he knows he's trapped!
A good night meant just having dinner with the family.
If there was more than one car out front, and sometimes there was a line of them, look out!
A night with the aunts, or some of 'Mamas' other friends; especially the gay girls(some of whom made Paige look timid!) or guys who were into cooking, it could get dangerous...
These nights, Dylan was expected to 'try' some of EVERYTHING...no-one believed in small portions!
Oh they said 'just taste it' or 'just enough to REALLY get the full effect'.
Yeah, right.
Said 'taste' always came in a bowl; dessert bowls didn't count: "Dylan, you big strong boy, a fly couldn't taste that!" (the aunts) or "Oh please! I'm sure I've got a thimble somewhere!"; or the one they knew would always get me:"If you're afraid of it just say so, 'Daring Dylan'...", you know who's who...
Not that it matters...
Does the whole world have to adore MY husband!?
Where'd all the new gay ones come from?
Church.
The media loves the fact the Marco and I go to church; and are blown away by the fact that our parents go to the same one!
There was just a trickle of new faces...at first.
People coming by to see if we really went there; trying not to stare openly...only half listening to the sermon.
Some of their faces seemed so ...tight though...like they were waiting to be singled out.
Or turned out.
Marco says that was the thing that was really on their minds.
Sometimes I forget that compared to what he went through in a mostly tradidional Italian family, I'd gotten off lightly.
Later though, some of the 'long-time' members that had seemed fine with Marco and I ; or at least hadn't 'said' anything against us...started to 'express their concern' when the couples... and singles, started to show up regularly.
Someone even had the nerve to 'hint' father 'Mo that the 'higher-ups', might hear of it if he didn't make some effort to'curb' the 'invasion'!?
He responded that( and he'd 'heard-it-on-the-vine' as he put it) with the new influx of volunteers, donations, tithes, and 'thank-offerings': they were feeling too encouraged about the increased attendence(or too busy counting) to be disturbed about the gender of all these new prospective members.
That shut them up!
We get a lot of good publicity too.
Our church is now pretty full every Sunday(and some of the other days) like it used to only be on Christmas and Easter.
The people who were so 'concerned' are finaly starting to come around.
Marco had predicted this, of course.
He says these are really some good people, that they really try to live like their church is just another, larger family for all it's members.
Yeah,
I know.
How could you not adore him!?
But anyway...
So, why, as much as I love Mrs. Del Rossi('Mama' since our engagement) do I consider it the worst if he's with her?
Because that can always turn out to mean something...serious.
With or without a note.
See, he has actually 'GONE-HOME-TO-MOTHER' on me...Twice!
Yes, really.
Waited till I was gone to work; packed a bag(or three!), his favorite pillow, toothbrush, toothpaste, (I squeeze from the middle, so we always have two), and my bathrobe!
That was what I noticed first.
Since about half way through the first set of hormone injections, he says I smell 'funny' when I first get home from work, so I just started headding for the shower as soon as I get home.
It could be worse.
George, one of my teammates says his wife would throw up on him when he hugged her if he had even one beer on his way home while she was 'baking' their first!
So I get out of the shower, and it's not there on the back of the door where it 'lives', right next to his...
Which is also gone.
The laundry hamper is almost full, so that's not it.
Then I notice the missing toothbrush...
I knew then.
He hadn't left a note...
Oh.
I remember the lone can of crisco...in the middle of the table in the kitchen!
Oh Marco!
That first time was...
Well...I guess...
Oh, hell it was my own dumb fault!
This time, no guessing necessary!
I never even saw it coming...but I should have.
But who knew a nickname would last this long, or matter this much to him!?
Oh right...
HORMONES!
Marco, who exercizes every morning, has dvd's so he can do his yoga and modern-dance, even if he can't go to a class, didn't handle the weight-gain part of being pregnant well.
Yeah, we had all kinds of 'chats', with doctors, both mom's, and our priest; we both knew it was just a necessary part of ...things.
Sure, he'd rolled his eyes at me when I said that there'd just be more of him for me to love!
I should have paid more attention to the silence that always followed talk about how much he might be expected to gain...
Yeah, there are all kinds of silence.
If you're with someone long enough you get to mostly know what each one means...
But I screwed up big-time on that one.
Did you ever see anyone who weighs himself before and after their morning exercizes?
Marco does...or did.
I should've paid more attention, tried a little harder to find out why, even if it came down to just demanding he tell me what was bothering him. Sometimes he'll only answer a VERY direct question.
But I try not to argue with now, it can get...really strange, really fast, and after being kicked out; well out of the appartment, for a week: I am determined not to be the one who starts or keeps a 'fight' going.
It's just not worth it.
"Wait, Time-Out! Sorry! Whatever you want, o.k!? I love you...!" Has almost become my 'mantra' lately.
He may pout a little, or storm off.
But it takes two to fight, and I just refuse to chance endangering his health any more than it already is.
Once he cools off and thinks it over, we usually laugh about it...
Marco's not totally unreasonable, it's just that he can't stand feeling 'pushed' or 'cornered' right now.
I get that.
Part of me is still...scared green about this whole thing!
But it's not all crazy...
Sometimes, he gets it into his head that he has to apologize for some little thing that to me means nothing, but I can't persuade him that it doesn't matter...
The way he apologizes though, I really don't argue that much...because...well...
Sometimes it can take all night
Part two
*Louis Prima
Still, after all these years I hould've know better, especially since I'm the one who started the whole 'Mr. Fashion' thing, without even meaning to.
Maybe if I'd opened the box while he was asleep to see what it was first, or even made sure he was in a good mood, AND reminded him of how hard we(me and the guys) kid each other .
We'd gotten used to my teammates sending us 'gag' gifts...at least I thought we had.
I started chuckling before I even got them out of the box; the hot-pink color of whatever it was just got me going.
I knew it would be something silly.
When I lifted out the 'size-XXX' hot-pink boxers, with big red suspenders attached, I broke-up completely!
I know.
Totally brainless!
Thats just how some of us are.
Just a bunch of guys that work/play hard together; we get hurt, hurt people back, and have a lot of fun doing it, for the love of one helluva game.
Yeah, we love each other...but don't expect to hear that.
This is how we say it, with some stupid little tension-buster every now and then.
It's just...some of us will never be comfortable saying EVERYTHING we feel.
No matter how gay we are!
The card read: To: Your 'TEMPORARILY' Chubby Hubby!:), From: US! .
But even through my laughter...I heard the harshly indrawn breath that was almost a sob.
No, I hadn't heard him, I was laughing too hard; and right now he wasn't using aftershave or cologne: he said it burned too much.
I could believe it too.
His skin is so beautiful now.
That natural exotic darkness is ...somehow, lighter and rosier at the same time...
With that velvety softness that you ususlly only find on a man's back: right between the shoulder-blades.
Now Marco's skin feels that way...all over!
The two or three pounds he's been gaining a week aren't settling in one place, but all the right ones!
It's more like he's just...filling out.
I can't get over his face!
Except for the height difference, Marco looks so much like he did when we first met.
I swear his lashes are thicker...and longer, his cheeks are more rounded now.
Soo like back then.
But as I look up at him, there is such a stricken look on that so lovely face...
The card.
Shit!
It's right where I dropped it, on the table, beside the box.
Marco is staring at it.
"Marco.." I reach for him, but he jerks back, his eyes are shiny with unshed tears...but there is such anger in this look; like the tears should be evaporating away as steam!
Then his face darkens so much, and so fast with this anger, it scares me a little.
I open my mouth to say(maybe god knows what but I sure don't), but I never get the chance, because he's pointing a finger at me, grinding his teeth he almost spits out: "Not one word!"
My mouth snaps shut like a trap.
I feel trapped, by my own unfailing stupidity!
I'd apologize for everything/anything...just to have him not looking at me like that.
Marco is so mad he's shaking!
'Please, god, please! Just let him calm down so he doesn't get sick again!' is all I can think.
He turns, goes to the sink; grips the edge of it hard, dhest heaving as he works to get control of himself.
"Ugh!" He almost screams wordlessly , suddenly grabbing the breakfast dishes out of the sink, (soapy water flys everywhere!) and slamming them onto the floor!
"Marco!" I try to approach him, " Did you.."
"Don't!", he waves me back, "I'm fine...just...great!(he mutters looking down). Just go."
I try to say something, but he glances up and sees; "Later, just...later, o.k.?" He gets the broom, starts cleaning up the mess. I touch his hair, but he jerks away again.
"I love you..." I say softly.
He nods, but his eyes are on the small bulge that will be our daughter.
Marco mumbles something then, so low I almost don't get it as I turn to go.
But then I do.
And I feel about two inches tall and shrinking...my stomach curling into an even tighter knot!
"So much for 'Mr. Fashion .." was what he said.
I try to loose myself in work...to keep the worrying to a minimum.
It dosen't help.
Right now I can't imagine what might.
Bring him flowers when I go home?
Not always.
They gave me red roses, instead of daffodils with one red rose the last time, and I like an idiot figured it would be alright; I mean most people who like flowers like roses a lot too.
They are the number one romantic gift right?
A dozen red roses?
He sneezed for almost five minutes!
Oh well, at least he didn't throw up!
The last time I got him flowers to apologize, he'd hit me over the head with them!
There was a 'lovely vase' they tried to sell me.
Glad I didn't go for it!
All my calls went straight to voicemail.
By the end of the day I'm a nervous wreck; found myself speeding, slowed way down, but I am so spaced I almost run a stop-sign anyway!
When I realize he's gone, I head for his parents' house, hoping 'Mama' can help me. On the way over, I think about the stupid nickname, and how it happened..
I was new to dealing with the press, and half high on getting four assists, and three goals for a two-point win, and this in the first game of the new season.
My second year with the Leafs.
I am not a 'rookie' anymore, but a fully accepted member of the team(!), and I have some cool new scars to prove it!
So, reporters in the lockerroom; wild, totally jazzed Hockey-Players yelling and high-fivein' each other...
"Hey M.D, (oh yeah, sometimes it's Mad Dog) Ya with us tonight or what?"
Klauss Shultz, had said I was too much of a 'pretty-boy' to be any good at defence, that was at my first practice session with them.
By the 'change' he'd gone quiet, by the end of the day he was almost willing to talk to me.
"Nah, he'd have to get permission from the 'ball-n-chain' first!" That's Duggin, one of the best goalies I've ever seen.
"You know thats not so, Jimmy" Shultz countered, mock-disaproval all too ripe.
"Why thats right 'louse!" Jimmy apologises, bowing to Klauss.
Yeah, we're real creative with our nicknames, and they are subject to change depending on how a game went!
"Beggin your pardon, M.D.,That'd be 'balls-and-chain' to you sir!" Duggin finishes, tipping an imaginary hat in my direction.
I roll my eyes, shaking my head before joining in as they roar with laughter.
I elbow Jimmy, grinning , and affecting a 'touch-of-the-brogue' as I reply;"And a foiner, pair ya niver sawer!"
They hold their bellies and groan, holding their noses at how bad my Irish accent sounds.
"Not bad laddie, not bad!" Jimmy allows still chuckling.
I forget about the reporters in the time it takes us to get showered and changed; with all the mic's and flashes that were popping up everywhere, I figured they had enough for all the newspapers, mags, and t. -shows!
Wrong.
When we come out of the lockerroom and into the hallway, there is another crowd of reporters... and fans. I smile automatically, and look back at Jimmy and Lance,(another Foward) lifting an eyebrow.
My dad says, that some long-ago Trumpet-player had a saying: "Play pretty for the people!"
Well, if they can take time out of their lives to come see us, to get the autograph of some guy who may break the wrong thing, or get a concussion and be 'nobody' in a hot-flash(though some remain true even in the face of those things...it's rare, but it happens)we figure why not make it fun?
And sometimes it's memorable.
My love of pranks, gags, and just kidding-around in general helped me fit in quicker here, and I've never had more fun with it, even in high-school!
No homo-phobes here!
One of Jimmy and Lance's favorite 'gags' is to 'fight' over who is my favorite 'Lockerroom-Lover'! They stuff rolled-up socks or shirts down their pants, to prove which 'has the most to offer'. There's lots of variations on this one!
The 'picnic', which is a set-up for the food-fight, is the only one you have to buy a ticket for; the proceeds go to our local Children's Hospital. This one, which we only do at some 'home' games, is getting bigger every time we do it.
Sometimes the 'show' after the game gets almost as much coverage as the game!
But nobody's gotten in any trouble yet...
Well, not really... I swear it was a pillow, and we didn't know her dad was coming to that game, or how long it had been since he'd seen her !
This is all starting to wind down, when I see him.
My heart knew he'd be here, but my head was still stuck on the look in his eyes, and how distracted he was earlier, when he said he might be able to make it tonight. I know he's still not all that into coming to Hockey-games, or being in the mids of one of these meet-n-greets.
My Marco.
The dark-green sweater and matching 'engineer-style' cap, set off the exotic darkness of his hair and skin; the black, tight, 'Friday-night' jeans, and boot's make me want to not go out with the 'guys' at all...but just in with HIM!
Yeah, I see him almost every day of my life, but that 'There HE Is!' feeling still gets me sometimes...
And my brain locks-up, and I say something brainless.
He is standing with the other wives,( o.k. so their not all exactly 'wives', but they could get to be ...and even if they don't ...who cares, they are the people we love) in the section near the door that leads to our private parking-lot, and all I can think of now is getting over there.
I go over with the other 'marrieds'.
And the dance begins...
Thats what it looks like, a well-rehersed dance, though it never is...it's just ...a thing like jbirds flying back north when winter is over...a 'going home' thing.
We run to them, pick them up and spin them around; kissing them like we've been gone for days.
They laugh and grin and seem just as happy to be in our arms.
When I put him down I don't realize the reporters are that close, as I hold him at arms-length so I can look at the way his clothes fit like they were made for him.
"Well, hello there Mr. Fashion!" I say grinning down at him.
He blushes, but keeps his eyes on mine, that through-his-lashes look ...still makes my heart flip!
Suddenly there are more flashes going off, and more mic's in our faces...
"Mr. Fashion?"
"Is that what you call him?"
"Are you doing clothing-design too?"
"Is that a new 'pet' name?"
He grinned at them with a sassy little smirk and just shrugged, before pulling me close for a kiss.
Can you blame me for not thinking about it any further?
Hell I stopped thinking altogether!
We found out that it had 'stuck' the next day when we got the paper.
Oh, well.
I love the picture of us kissing with the rest of the 'marrieds', and still have it.