Tess2645/Kdoc27
Part One
Tired.
Marco feels beyond tired.
He feels all used up.
The memory of how fast those bags of blood ran empty and were replaced with another make him feel sad and...something like...doomed.
He thinks of the little girl at the scene of the terrible accident again, wondering if maybe getting their daughter into the world is the last thing he will do...
If the reason for practically reliving that stormy day when Dylan had read to their then unborn child by candle-light was so he'd have a special memory of them engraved on his soul, something to hold onto while he waited all the years that would pass before either of them would join him.
He knew she was fine and whole and perfect.
He had seen her too...
In the deep blue he drifted.
He thought of this place that way because that was all he could see.
It looked like he was standing behind a really heavy curtain, or drape, and the only reason he could see the color of it was because there was a really bright light behind it.
Marco hadn't thought much about what this might mean...
Here, wherever 'here' was, whatever he wondered about, he found himself seeing...
When he'd first thought of Rose, he found himself in the nursery.
Marco saw his daughter being gently bathed , soothing lotion applied, and wrapped in the Daffodil-yellow blanket his aunt Seraphina had made for her.
She was so tiny!
After all the weight he'd gained, and the size of his 'baby-bulge', he was a little surprised by that But from the sound of her cries, he could tell there was nothing wrong with her lungs!
His next thought had of course, been Dylan.
Well, he had really been his first...
But that had been more like...feeling.
No thought involved.
Just shock/response.
The emotional equivalent of 'What the %#*!? Hey, where'd it all go?!'
Like reaching out...a hand stretching up from deep...hoping for something to touch/hold on to...
The sound of heavy rain stayed with him.
Helping to him to be calmer than he would've been if there was nothing but silence out here in the deep blue...
Then he'd been able to wonder, assuming he was knocked-out with all the pain-killers how Dylan was dealing with this.
It sure wasn't going the way either of them had expected it to.
Seeing Dylan in the hospitals' chapel had been such a surprise/relief!
He was proud of his husband for turning to prayer instead of just sitting biting his nails and worrying till he lost his temper.
That used to be his first-response.
x x x
The young I.C.U. nurse, who was checking Marco's vitals, (according to all the 'machinery') and recording them on a clipboard heard him sigh faintly and looked down to see him smiling behind the oxygen mask.
She made a notation on her chart, checked the IV drip again, and left the room.
Marco had smiled as he thought about Dylan and his reaction to surprises...well..bad surprises that had anything to do with Marco!
It didn't matter if it was serious or not.
Dylan didn't just 'get worried', or 'nervous'.
It was more like a bomb went off somewhere inside him, and pieces just sort scattered everywhere!
Though Dylan was, after all these years, a lot better with it than he'd been when they'd first started doing the counseling with Father 'Mo!
Back then, his first response had been to just freeze, staring at whoever told him...what ever it was; staring cold-eyed, and to tell the truth, a little menacing, till they said something else, elaborated, or practically spit "What are you saying?", through his teeth at them.
If Marco was the one telling him there was a problem, he got the determined, 'just tell me what it is, and I'll fix it!' look first.
He learned right away, without having to be told, if Marco hesitated, that a comforting touch, or holding his(Marco's) hand, and saying " C'mon, Marco, tell me!", and Marco would trust him to be able to do...something...about almost anything.
Well, learning 'the effect of our responses and expressions on other people', had changed a lot of things, for both of them.
It had never have occurred to either of them before this that they might be a little...intense when it came to each other.
Dylan's way of handling things was too often to just immediately start racking his brain for a solution.
In silence.
If you pressed him before he was ready, he fired sixty-million questions at you, (what he was probably doing to himself inside his head!) and started pacing and flinging his hands around a lot.
And like before, if it was Marco, he pulled him in for a close hug; holding on like he might vanish if he didn't hold on to him till a solution was thought of.
Whatever he did, you kinda got the feeling that he would have liked it better if there was just somebody to blame, so he could just...DEAL with them.
Yeah, his 'work' was a very violent sport, but it still puzzled Marco that His-Dylan reacted this way.
So does the difference between Dylan's way of handling it when it's him in the hospital; which means it's time for joking around, playing pranks on the nurses, and...if it's a private or semi-private room...as much romance as he can coax Marco into...or as they can get away with!
As opposed to when it's Marco who's the patient.
Then it's all clenched teeth, and fists, I mean to the point of white-knuckles!
The happy, easy to please/deal with Dylan is replaced by a watchful suspicious stranger who only wants to know; (now that he's been in there enough to get a grip on hospital procedure) that everything that can be done to get Marco out as soon as possible, is...preferably YESTERDAY!
Like the time Marco had to have his appendix out.
When Marco woke-up with those terrifying burning pains shooting through his stomach(he thought) Dylan had been a real brick; knowing just what to do because he'd already gone through it with Paige when she was a lot younger.
He knew to only let Marco rinse his mouth, and not drink anything. The first thing, well really second, after getting a cold towel for Marco's flaming face, and getting him to tell him what he was feeling; was dialing 911 and getting an ambulance on the way.
Getting Marco into his pj-bottoms, then carrying him downstairs to the couch to wait for the medics to arrive, Dylan was so sweet, gentle and patient.
Marco's guardian angel couldn't have been kinder.
On the ride to the hospital Dylan held Marco's hand, brushing the hair out of his eyes and whispering to his miserably curled-up husband that it would be o.k..
Marco silently stared into Dylan's eyes as they took him away to be examined.
Just before the curtain closed, separating them, Marco saw the shift in Dylan's expression ...the curl of his fist, the cold taking over his face.
The medics, who'd been talking to one of the doctors over the mobile phone had given him a shot that eased the pain a lot, but when the doctor examining him pressed his fingers into Marco's side gently, he still screamed.
When Marco got his breath back, he heard a chair scrape across the floor out in the waiting room, and a strained voice saying "Easy, easy now, C'mon, they're just examining him, he'll be o.k.!"
Marco did as much research on this Male Pregnancy Procedure as he could, and talked to a few of the doctors who were trained to perform it, figuring they'd pick one together.
x x x
The night he chose, to tell Dylan about all this, he cooked him one of his favorite meals and had his favorite dessert waiting for him in the freezer.
Marco was pretty sure the Leafs would win their game that night; if not he'd pick another night.
After a loss, Dylan's anger would be way too close to the surface and he really didn't want to fight with him.
If it went o.k., he'd tell him about the 'two operations'( one to insert two foam shields with a firm side, and a soft side to protect his stomach and intestine from the growing bulge, but not fist tearing the placenta, the other to imbed the placenta near his intestines) part after dessert.
Marco planned on feeding Dylan dessert while siting on his lap. That should distract him from wanting to start an argument.
It usually did!
The doctors had assured him they'd be able to cut along his old appendectomy scar so he wouldn't have any more scaring to worry about.
Marco hoped that would help Dylan feel better about this as well.
Funny how Dylan was proud of a new scar whenever he got one in the rink, but seemed to feel like someone should should have to pay if Marco go one!
There was also the fact that their friends Corey and Stephen had tried it and everything had turned out just fine.
All in all it went pretty well.
The fact that Marco 'accidentally' spilled half a bowl of the dessert down Dylan's chest during a kiss...and cleaned it off him without the aid of a towel, helped a lot too!
Dylan eventually started speaking to Stephen and Corey again.
Part II
Marco noticed a line of light at the bottom of the heavy drape.
Wishing for something else to do while he readied himself to reenter his tired sore body, he decided to see if he could lift the drape and see what was on the other side...
In the I.C.U, Marco's vitals dropped off suddenly, and the machines began to beep and buzz loudly.
The nurses and doctors came running in just as the EKG went to flat-line...
Marco found himself standing in a light so bright it blinded him, and he covered his face with his hands.
When he took his hands down, blinking as his eyes adjusted, he was standing in a field of wildflowers, the sun a bright yellow ball overhead.
Looking to his right, he saw a soft mist curling over the ground; further on, the mist was so thick, that he couldn't see through it.
Marco started walking that way.
The mist or fog was soon swirling over the tips of his jogging shoes...then up the legs of his jeans...soon he couldn't see his feet at all.
He'd expected it to be cool on his arms since the muscle shirt he found himself wearing left them bare, but this fog had no temperature; it was just...there.
Strange!
But that only made Marco more curious.
Reaching the place where the ('cloud'...his mind whispered) mist got so thick nothing else could be seen, Marco looked back.
The field of wildflowers stretched away behind him as far as he could see.
Somehow, this felt perfectly right, and turning back, a completely untroubled Marco stepped into the mist.
Now...he could see.
The flowers on this side of the wall of mist were larger and more fragrant, and not too far away, there was what looked at first like a wide white wall, the top of which was too covered by the mist to be seen.
As he got closer, Marco saw that it was a set of enormous stairs that went up and up, seemingly into nowhere.
He was startled by the sound of someone clearing their throat in that polite way that means 'excuse me?'.
Marco had only been staring at the stairs as he walked, not paying any attention to anything else, so when he looked back at the space before him, he was surprised to see a small table a few feet away with someone in a sky-blue cloak seated there.
He could tell from the size and shape, and the sound of that soft 'ahem', that it was a female, but no more; the cloak hid her so well, it's hood covered even her face and hair.
Those gloves...something about them stirred Marco, made his eyes prick, and his throat burn.
Clearing the lump that had formed in his throat, he spoke to her.
"Um, hello." he said, with a lilt on the end that made it a question.
She lifted her face then, smiled at him.
There was something familiar about the girl,though Marco would have sworn he'd never seen her before.
The wide dark-brown eyes studied him carefully, almost...expectantly.
Marco found himself wishing he were dressed better.
With that thought, he found he was just suddenly wearing his favorite Sunday suit!
At the sound of her soft giggle, Marco looked back to the girl before him.
Her eyes were sparkling merrily now, lace-gloved hands lightly covering her smiling lips.
The expression in her eyes; almost teasing, but a little...proud too, and that gesture...
So...familiar...
She bowed her head again for a moment, and when she lifted it again, it had...changed...aged!
And Marco knew her.
He ran to her, dropping onto the ground and taking the lace covered hands she stretched out to him in his own and holding them tightly.
"Nonna!"he cried, smiling delightedly up at her.
"Il mio nipote preferito!"she murmured, with just as much, if not more delight!
Now he remembered the tiny little old lady who always wore lace gloves when he came to see her...way back when he'd been a small child.
She always sat at her little table by the window, and they had tea and what he called 'pinkicing-cookies'.
She had died about the time he was finishing the second grade; and Marco's world, that had begun to seem strange and hard had become even emptier for a long time.
"But...how? Am I..!?" Marco stammered out.
"Not yet my darling, not for a long while. But we knew you would be...visiting..and I get to be the one to see you...This time."
She held his up-turned face gently between her lace-covered hands.
The little old lady kissed his forehead then, and the scent of lavender rose up round him as it had when he was little, and Marco felt safe and loved.
Patting him on his shoulders she told him to get up and sit, before the tea got cold!
When Marco looked at the table, it was covered with the same lace cloth he remembered, and sure enough, there was a steaming tea-pot, and cups and saucers, as well as a small plate of the strawberry cookies he had loved so much.
He sat in the dainty chair, watching almost hungrily as his beloved grandmother poured tea for them, adding milk, and passing him some of the homemade cookies on delicate china plate.
She smiled at him, looking at him through her lashes.
Dylan would have recognized that look.
"Ask." she said as she raised her own antique cup.
"This time...?" Marco asked, before taking a sip of his tea.
Oh, how that taste took him back!
He could almost hear the Vivaldi, playing softly, as it had in her little parlour.
"You met you Granpa here once. You were about three I think, and had a terribly high fever.
You called for me when it finally broke, and you told me a man with a funny mustache said to tell me 'Hello, Il mia piccola fragola'
Her eyes sparkled above a misty-eyed smile as she put her cup in it's matching saucer.
Marco's eyes widened in surprised shock and...recognition!
"The soda-pop waterfall!" he blurted out.
"And the lollipop trees !" they finished together.
Marco's Nonna clapped her small hands as she laughed with him.
"Everyone thought you had dreamed 'Wily Wonka', but only my Giovanni called me that. My Rosalia, She knew!"
Marco sighed deeply then, looking a little sad.
"Oh Nonna!" he said, tears shining in his suddenly tired eyes.
"I know my darling." She said taking one of his hands. "But you did it. Just as you were meant to, and she's such a beautiful baby!"
"Nonna, you're speaking English!" Marco exclaimed, having just realized.
"Am I?" She queried, her smile a little mischievous.
"Aren't you?" Marco frowned, tilting his head a little.
Marco tried to analyze the look she was giving him; it was secretive, but...teasing. Like a question he should already know the answer to.
"No child, you'll figure it out,but time grows short, and you have to be getting back."
The old lady was looking at him fondly, but sadly now, and the table; though still covered by the lace cloth, was no-longer set for tea: an antique clock sat in the middle of it.
"But..." Marco began, but she held up a hand.
"I will not have a granddaughter who is closed to all of life and love,but consumed with Hockey! And I know you don't want Dylan to see her graduated and off to University, only to..." she stopped then, Looking even sadder.
Laying a gentle hand on his, she said "Marco, if you don't go back...He'll try, because he does love her...but it's too new to him. Your Dylan is not as strong...in.." Here she stopped for a moment, looking a little...almost a little ashamed.
But lifting her eyes to him again, she squared her shoulders, sat up straight; "In-for-a-penny-in-for-a-pound!" She said."That means.."
"I know what it means Nonna, but .." Marco tried to ask, but she was suddenly gripping his hand more tightly,holding his eyes with hers.
Marco got the impression that she would really rather not have to say whatever she was about to tell him.
"I know you love him Marco, and he really does love you, and Rose, but as he is, your Dylan just isn't strong enough to do this on his own. Yes, thanks to you he's not the superficial person he would have been. His faith, while nowhere near as strong as yours, is real, and it will grow.
But if he looses you now, the life the two of you have, self-hatred will cloud everything else out. Rose would have only half a father. She would never see his true face.
No, he wouldn't mistreat her. He would try to hide the emptiness, the bitterness, but she'll be enough like you to know that something is missing, and to blame herself.
Also like you.
Tears were running down both their cheeks now.
"And she, having no one else she loves as much to pattern herself after, will wall herself off from most of life, and all possibilities of happiness. She will try to become 'tough' enough to be enough for both of them, because her heart will see what he could've been, and she'll love him too."
"Have I made him worse, should I have just let him go, that first time we broke up? Was I wrong Nonna? Should I have made him stay in Switzerland, and finish school later? Did I ruin both their lives?" Marco locked stricken, considering these possibilities.
"Was I just being selfish and spoiled and...!?" Marco looked her in the eye, facing a question that had haunted him for years...but that he'd never allowed himself to think about.
A thought he'd always shoved away from him as being...an evil thought sent to try and spoil what they seemed to have together.
"Marco! Each of us are a part of our Lord. You were Dylan's first real opportunity to become a the person he should be. Not the only one, just the first. You both made wise choices back then.
If you had gone your separate ways, there would have been others for both of you. But, Marco, to grow into the life he wants now, the life that would be...the least complicated and painful for...both of them, you're the one he needs."
The way she starred into his eyes when she finished, it seemed to Marco, that she was trying to tell him something else;something she knew, but didn't want to have to say.
Marco thought back to the beginning of what she'd said to him.
Then he got it.
"You were going to say...only to commit suicide...weren't you?" he asked shock and horror twisting his face.
Her brown eyes were apologetic and filled with sorrow as she nodded squeezing his hand again.
"But then we'd never...!? He'd never...! " Marco dashed the tears from his face and jumped up.
"I'll kill him! He can't do that to ..." Marco ranted.
But his Nonna was laughing at him as she also stood, reaching for his hand.
"Now that's the Marco I remember! Come, I'll walk you back to...the way back. She was still laughing and her eyes gleamed with pride and hope.
When they came to where the mist curled round the ordinary-sized flowers, she stopped and hugged him; kissing him on both cheeks.
She stepped back then, patting him on one cheek a she said; "You turned out just fine and I'm so proud of you. You truly are Il mio nipote preferito!"
"Tell my Rosalia:'The strawberries here are as big as apples!'. She'll know who sent that message! Though you may want to tell her while she is sitting down!"
They laughed together over this.
Marco hugged her again; "I've missed you so much Nonna!"
"I know my darling, but we will be together again, I miss you too, and I love you all! Thank you so much for my Rosellise!" she kissed her fingers, pressed them to his cheek; "Give her that for me."
Then she pointed back the way he had come...
There in the middle of the field was a large green door.
Marco walked toward it.
As his fingers touched the door-knob he heard...
"We love you Marco!"
He looked back; the beautiful girl was holding the hand of the man with(what he now knew to be) the handle-bar mustache.
They smiled and waved as the mist closed round them.
As he stepped through the door he was thinking to himself...
'The nerve, if he thinks I'm going through eternity without him... Like I wouldn't find a way to..'
Marco opened his eyes, and started breathing on his own just as the doctor was getting ready to give up on saving him.
The nurse with the 'paddles' had already given up, when his heart started and the machine began to beep again.
Everyone jumped a little as all the machines came back on again.
When they all finished gaping at Marco and each other, more tests were ordered and more blood drawn to be tested.
They didn't seem to want to believe Marco when he told them he felt tired, but otherwise fine.
Finally all of them except for one nurse left to do their tests.
In a few minutes Dylan appeared at the window, and behind the oxygen mask they were unwilling to take off yet, Marco smiled at him.