[Hockey RPS - The Consequences of Irresponsible Behavior: A Goalie's Guide - Part Seven]

[annabeth.livejournal.com]

In fact, he's in such a hurry to get into the arena so that he doesn't get reamed a new one, that he would've forgotten Carey if not for the fact that he's still screaming. Helm, meanwhile, is practically running towards the entrance.

Chris has a feeling it's because he spent all those hours on a plane with a screaming six-week-old, but still, that was Helm's own birdbrained idea and his own fault.

Still. He unsnaps and unhooks the car seat and lifts Carey out of it, shuffling him against his chest and one arm so that he can pull at their bags—he really will have some type of injury, he thinks, as he shoulders Helm's duffle, his duffle, the baby bag, and of course, the baby seat.

He's so late, it's ridiculous, but at least getting the baby ready gives his jeans some time to dry.

He drops everything on the ground and then buckles Carey into his baby seat, lifts it by the handle, and again fills his arms with all of their stuff; no thanks to Helm, who left him to drag it all in.

He trots towards the entrance, and Carey keeps up his running commentary of cries the whole way there, pretty much acting as a herald to announce to all and sundry that Chris has finally arrived.

Well, it's a good thing he can still sneak in.

Or, you know, not.

///

Nick takes one look at him and Chris immediately gets the sensation that Nick knows what he and Helm had been doing in the car on the way over.

He flushes all over and hopes like hell that his jeans have dried and that Helm didn't do something stupid like accidentally blurt it out.

On second thought, though, he takes a little bit more time to read Nick's face, and his body goes even hotter all over.

Nick isn't looking at him like he knows that Helm was just blowing him in the car; no, Nick is staring as if he wants to drag Chris into a semi-private corner somewhere and rip his clothes off.

Great, so all his phone call accomplished was to make Nick want him even more. He tries to ignore the fact that the phone call stirred up similar feelings in him, too.

Helm, meanwhile, is slouched on his stool, pouting. Chris figures he must've gotten the news about being benched from either Babs or Nick. He steals a quick peek at Nick and hopes that, if Nick's the one who delivered the bad news, he didn't deliberately try to fuck up their relationship by mentioning the earlier phone call or the subjects they discussed during stated phone call.

Or he supposes Helm could be pouting about the come he thinks is still in his hair—Chris isn't sure, and he really doesn't want to ask him.

Chris is pulling his shirt over his head, concentrating on getting undressed so that he can get ready for practise, when he remembers what happened less than two nights ago.

He kissed Jenna. No, not even that—if he's completely honest with himself, he made out with Jenna. All of those promises about how much he loves Helm, and how his old life is over and he doesn't want it back (no, honest), and he makes out with his soon-to-be-ex wife.

He finishes with his shirt and balls it up in his hands, sitting on his stool, staring straight ahead and wondering what to do now. He's already confessed to Helmer about his misbehaviour, but this is, in some ways, a lot worse. And he can't very well own up to it now, because it would ruin the fragile trust they've built.

What the fuck is wrong with me? he wonders, hardly noticing that there's a pair of skates now filling his vision. After a moment, the clearing of someone's throat breaks the spell and he glances up, then away guiltily when he realises that the person standing there is Helm.

"You're not ready," Helm says. He leans closer, whispers, "I think there's still jizz in my eye."

"I didn't get it in your eye," Chris says automatically.

"You better get ready fast," Helmer says, poking Chris in the hand that's still holding his shirt. He's almost forgotten that he's sitting dumbly, not moving, until Helm points it out to him. "We were late, and Nick really wasn't happy."

"I know," Chris says. "Should have told him we had a hard time getting Carey down."

"I don't think Carey likes it when we do it," Helm offers. Chris cocks an eyebrow and regards his boyfriend. Is he crazy?

"He's just a little baby," Chris says doubtfully. "You really think he'd know what we were doing?"

"But then how come he always cries just before I get to come?" Helm asks, and the pout has returned. Chris thinks maybe someone should tell him that pouting is in the guy manual under 'don'ts'. It's not cute when guys do it.

Except you totally think it's cute, his mind supplies, and Chris groans.

"He cries because he's still only a few weeks old," Chris tells Helm. "And he always cries just before I come, too."

"That's because it takes you so long," Helm replies guilelessly. Chris buries his head in his hands, and by extension, his shirt.

"I can't believe you just made an old joke," Chris mutters. Helm pokes him again, this time in the forehead.

"Nick said something strange to me," Helm says, changing the subject so fast Chris almost gets whiplash—something Helmer does a lot.

"What did he say?" Chris asks, meeting Helm's eyes again and hoping it wasn't something about Jenna. Did he find out? Chris can't imagine how he would have... but then, you know what they say about a guilty conscience.

"He said, 'enjoy it while it lasts'," Helm says. He shifts on his skates. "What is that supposed to mean?"

The comment fires up Chris's anger. He wants to go over and shove Nick now, see if the perfect human being can withstand being physically challenged. After all, it's not like Nick hits people very often, or fights. He'd probably be surprised.

"It's just Nick being a sore loser," Chris says firmly. He remembers, suddenly, that he's going to be the last person on the ice if he doesn't hurry up, so he begins the process of getting his gear on.

But Helm still just stands there. "I don't think we would have gotten any sympathy from anyone even if it were true that Carey was the reason we were late," Helm says finally. "I'm pretty sure everyone's laughing at us all the time."

"It's hockey," Chris says. "That's typical of any locker room."

"Other guys don't get made fun of when they have kids," Helm says. Jesus, he's still pouting.

"You're getting that because you knocked up some girl, and didn't have kids in a traditional family setting," Chris tells him, tugging his pads over his head and adjusting them. "And since you're raising the baby with me."

But boy, are they in trouble when Nick stomps over, his skates in hand, glaring ferociously. Chris takes a peek behind him, where Malts is standing, holding the baby seat. Carey's not currently crying, but his face has that red, dead giveaway look to it that he's going to start screaming at any moment.

"I don't believe this," Nick fumes. It's a lot of emotion pouring out of him at once, and Chris stifles the worry it causes to gnaw at his intestines. "You show up forty minutes late for practise, you're still not ready, and now Malts is telling me that the baby is sick and needs to be taken home. You don't get to avoid your punishment because of this," Nick says. "You better find a babysitter quick, and you're going to have to stay late."

Malts comes over, apologetically handing the baby carrier to Chris. Helm is frozen in place, looking for all the world as if he's been caught doing something completely unacceptable.

"He threw up all over my desk," Malts says. "I'm not sure, but I think maybe the travel upset his stomach."

"He throws up all the time," Helm whines, and Chris wants to curl up and hide his face. His boyfriend is, at the moment, not behaving much better than the baby. But at least the baby has an excuse.

"C'mon, Nick," Chris says reasonably. "If Malts can't watch him because he's sick, I can't very well leave him with a babysitter, can I?"

"This is ridiculous!" Nick throws his hands up. "That baby—" he points "—is taking up too much of your time and energy. You better figure something out in a hurry."

Carey picks that moment to let out a piercing scream. Chris pats his tummy gently, then lifts him out of the carrier and props him against his shoulder.

He realises, too late, that he's got his padding on and that Carey's obviously not feeling well.

Helm starts, points, says, "Watch ou—"

And Carey pukes down his back. Chris may not have it on his skin, but he can feel the warmth through his turtleneck, and he wishes once again that the universe would just gulp him whole and save him from the misery that his life has become.

He'd thought, last night, that with Helm agreeing to marry him, that things were starting to brighten on the horizon, but that was before he remembered making out with Jenna... before Carey decided to give the equipment guys a lot more work in cleaning his gear.

He gently places Carey back in the baby seat, then grabs a towel, hands it to Helm. "Do you mind?"

Helm has a sour look on his face, but he wipes up the baby puke gingerly, and Chris is reminded, for the billionth time, that Helm is still young, and not used to these things.

Six weeks apparently isn't long enough of a crash course.

Malts is laughing, the bastard. Of course he'd find it funny. But the thunderclouds on Nick's face are enough to make Chris both anxious and furious. He didn't choose to have a newborn to take care of. He didn't sign up for this on purpose. And he knows, too, that if this were the baby he'd made with Jenna before the fiasco, it would've been okay no matter how much time it took up, because Nick is upset and pissed about the fact that he's with Helm now. With things as they are, Nick's not likely to be happy about anything that reminds him that Chris and Helm are a couple, and Nick's been excluded.

"Listen," he tries, but Nick cuts him off.

"Fine, I don't care. You can explain to Babs why you still don't have a regular babysitter, why the organisation's scout is doing daycare during business hours, and why you missed practise. You might as well go home."

Helm starts to turn away, but Nick stops him with a hand on his arm. "Not you. You." Nick says, "still have to practise. One of you has to make up for this mess."

So Chris rocks the baby seat with his foot as he undresses again, slips back into his wrinkled shirt; he leaves basically the way he came in, arms full of junk, baby screaming his fool head off.

It hurts, to listen to Carey cry like that.

But he thinks it might hurt more to know that Helm is serving the punishment for both of them.

///

"You smell like baby puke," Helm says when he gets home later that afternoon. Just as Nick had threatened, Helm had been at practise late—probably the last player off the ice. Possibly being forced to do extra skating drills—though Helm might not have minded that as much as Nick hoped.

"I did take a shower," Chris says defensively. "And try to be quiet, he's finally asleep."

"I don't understand," Helm says, words that Chris is used to hearing come out of his mouth. "We did what the doctor said and fed him the soy formula."

Chris considers Helm for a moment. He seems genuinely confounded by the fact that Carey is always spitting up on them.

And everything else around him, for that matter.

He tries not to sound like he's upset or accusatory, but he has to ask: "Did you feed him the special formula while you were in Canada?"

Helm blinks, then peers intently down at his hands, picking at underneath one of his fingernails. "I... my mom mostly watched him. I don't actually know."

"At some point," Chris says, "you're going to have to learn to watch him on your own. Someone can't always be there to supervise."

"I watched him too," Helm shoots back. But he has the grace to look ashamed of himself. "He slept in my room with me."

A thought occurs to Chris. "How did your mother take it? You did surprise her by showing up unannounced, and with a baby, no less."

Helm's eyes shift away from Chris's face. And in an instant, Chris knows he isn't going to like Helm's response.

He has guilt just engraved onto his face.

"I said..." Helm stops. "I said it was your baby."

Chris doesn't intend to, but a snort of laughter escapes. But then, Helm's mother probably knows more than anyone that Helm isn't always... the brightest light bulb in the room.

"Yeah? And your mother believed you? Helmer, does your mother even know we're a couple?"

"It's complicated!" Helm wails, and wrings his hands. "I sort of got all confused and then my mom was asking me who I knocked up and..." Helm takes a heaving breath. "She sent me to my room," he confesses.

"Why," Chris asks carefully, "would your mom think it was my baby? You really didn't think this through."

"I was upset!" Helm says. "You were a jerk."

"I was a jerk afterwards," Chris points out. "You did all the rest of it on your own by jumping to conclusions. Seriously. So now your mom thinks you kidnapped my baby and went to Canada?"

"No," Helm says. "She figured I'd never willingly look after a baby, so it must not have been my idea."

"She thinks it was my idea?"

"No," Helm says again. "She doesn't actually know I'm sleeping with you. I said... I said I was with someone named Chris and she assumed it was a girl and that I'd done something stupid. I was trying not to tell her the baby was mine because I knew she'd kill me, but she sent me to my room and—"

"Okay, let me get this in order," Chris says, holding up a hand. "You said you were with someone named Chris, your mother figured out you knocked someone up—though she thinks you knocked me up, which is hilarious—and then she sent you to your room for it?"

"Yeah," Helm says. "What was I supposed to do? I didn't know what to say!"

Chris is beginning to get a headache.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you hightailed it off to Canada," Chris says, even though he should know better than to say something that he knows is going to start an argument.

"You kissed Drapes right in front of me!"

"I was really wasted," Chris says, not that he thinks that's going to help. Sure enough, it doesn't. Helm has a rare moment of brilliance and replies,

"Maybe you shouldn't drink so much. You do stupid things when you're drunk."

"I know," Chris says ruefully. "If you think about it, we wouldn't be together right now if I hadn't done something stupid while drunk."

That shuts Helm up. Temporarily.

"I was drunk too. You took advantage of me."

"I did not!" Chris says, getting frustrated. "We had this argument before. You practically dragged me into bed with you out of your own curiosity. I was just too drunk to turn you down."

"You got drunk on purpose!" Helm accuses.

Well, in a way, he's right. "That's generally the idea."

"Well then," Helm says, as if he's just come to a decision. "If I'm going to marry you, you're not allowed to drink when I'm around."

Chris thinks perhaps Helm missed the point of that type of ultimatum. After all, Chris only gets drunk and does stupid shit because Helm's usually tossed him onto his ear.

"And I can see what you're thinking. You get drunk every time something doesn't go your way."

Chris raises an eyebrow. This surprises him: Helmer reads his mind now?

"I do not," Chris says, mostly for the sake of argument than any belief in what he's saying. After all, he does tend to drink himself into a stupor when he's upset, but who is Helm to judge? Helm is the reason half the time that he's upset.

He thinks about Jenna and how easy and familiar their life had been, and how much more tumultuous his relationship is with Helm.

He wants to open his mouth and say it's not worth it: all this arguing and constant nipping at each other's throats, but he knows that he loves Helm too much to just let it go. Besides, it might have been simpler with Jenna—less drama, less shouting—but he'd also been sleeping with Nick at the time, which is probably proof that there was something deeper and more fundamentally wrong there.

He supposes the bickering is just as much born out of their passion for each other. Still, he wonders how many more times they're going to break up.

"You know what, Ozzie? I know you think I'm stupid, but I'm not. You might as well have fucked Drapes that night. Hell, you probably did fuck Drapes. I know you did Nick. How many more of our teammates have you fucked?"

Okay, that's low. Even for them, with the way they lash at each other with words, that's below the belt.

"I don't get it. What's wrong with you?" Chris says, reaching out, trying to calm Helm with his hands, but Helm jerks away, crosses his arms across his chest.

"Abby says you're a slut," Helm says mutinously. "He says you'll never be faithful to me. That I should know that because you weren't even faithful to your wife."

"Abby should—" Chris cuts himself off. He's not going to attack Abby just because the kid is speaking what he thinks is the truth to someone who is a close friend that he obviously cares about very much.

Helm is twisting Chris's Cup ring around and around on his finger; Chris isn't even sure he knows he's doing it. He's part terrified Helm will take it off and give it back, and half-convinced that he should ask for it back.

He knows love doesn't solve every problem, and he knows that the things he and Helm have to work through are miles thick. But what if it's not enough, truly? What if, when all is said and done, the arguments, the attacks on each other—what if none of it is soothed by the make-up sex anymore, or the kisses, or the 'I love yous'?

Helm is just so young and Chris is so damaged. In the scheme of things, they're probably the worst two people ever to be making a go of it. He inhales hard and prepares to say he wants the ring back, when the baby wails from the other room.

Which is when Helm gives him a helpless look, a look of collusion, one that says, we're in this together, right? and Chris realises that he promised he was going to try.

He begged for Helm to come back, and he hoped that Helm would forgive his indiscretions, and he can't very well...

"I'll get him," he tells Helmer, and moves towards the doorway as the wails increase in volume.

But Helm stops him just as he gets there, and his eyes are sad.

"I'm sorry," he says, and Chris feels his heart bottom out. So this is it, then.

But Helmer is suddenly wriggling into his arms, pressing his face against Chris's shoulder.

"I love you. I'm sorry."

"I love you too."

How many more times will this crisis be averted?

Chris cuddles Helm gently and can't help but think that this is the most fucked up situation ever.

///

"Hello?" Chris balances the phone between his shoulder and his cheek, testing the temperature of the soy formula on his wrist as Carey wiggles around in his baby seat.

"Hi, Chris," Jenna says softly, her voice sounding beautiful to his ears. He supposes some things will never change, like how much he loves the sound of her voice.

"Hey, how are you? I hope the twins aren't making you too tired."

"It's funny you should mention that," she says in reply. "The babies are fine, I'm fine, but... Well, maybe 'fine' isn't the word for it. I heard some strange stories from the girls after you picked them up from school and stayed with them."

"Oh?" Chris is vaguely distracted by trying to get the nipple of the bottle in the baby's mouth; for some reason, Carey is being resistant to being fed.

"Sydney tells me that you had baby toys in your car. Last time I checked, you were..." she pauses. "Well, I think we can both remember the reasons why our marriage didn't work out."

Carey picks that moment to gurgle and bat at the bottle with his tiny fist. He can hear Jenna's sharp intake of breath and knows that he is so busted.

"Why," she asks, sounding very much like she is trying not to lose it and start shouting, "are you caring for a baby? And where did this baby come from?"

Chris finally gets the bottle in Carey's mouth, who begins to suck on it contentedly.

"It's... complicated," he says, stalling for time. He should have realised his little girls would run and tell their mother—and he should have told her before they did, he knows he should have.

Just one more stupid mistake on the scorecard of his life.

"You should have told me," she says, and Chris sighs.

"I know that. I was just thinking that. I'm sorry, Jenna."

"If you don't like girls," Jenna begins, and Chris knows where she's going with this, so he cuts her off.

"It's not my baby." He stares at Carey and figures if she could see him right now, she'd be appalled at the stupid, sappy expression he's probably wearing.

"Then whose baby is it?" she asks logically. Chris can't remember if Jenna knows that he and Helm are a couple. There's been so much stuff that's gone on, he just can't keep it all in his head anymore.

"Helmer's," he says at last. "He accidentally knocked up an old girlfriend, and she didn't want to take care of it."

"Let me get this straight," Jenna says, voice rough. "Darren Helm has a baby for some reason—don't any of you use condoms?—and you're caring for it? Why? For God's sake, Chris, you have your own kids. You have the girls, and, and—"

She sounds on the verge of breaking down now, and hearing his strong, competent Jenna about to cry unmans Chris. He wishes he could wrap her into his arms and make everything make sense to her—but how can he? He gave up that right; he's with someone else now. And even that's not entirely the point. He can't make this make sense. It's too raw, even inside him, and he's been living right in the midst of it for months—Jenna hasn't had that privilege.

"I'm still going to be there for you," he says, a frog in his throat. "And the girls. I don't love any of you any less. And when the twins are born, I'm going to be there for that, too. Please don't worry."

"How am I supposed to 'not worry'?" she asks. "I know how much work babies are; you must already be in over your head."

And she's back: her inner strength rearing its head again, and all at once he knows what she's going to say.

"Don't," he tells her, but she rushes ahead, obviously aware that he's going to try and stop her.

"If that is what you want, let me help you. You—"

"Drapes and Julie and Malts have all been a big help," Chris interjects. "You're pregnant, and there's the girls to consider... I have it in hand. I can do this."

"Chris," she says, "you barely knew what to do when we had Sydney. Don't you remember?"

"I've got Helmer around to help me," Chris argues. Even if Helm barely has any idea what he's doing half the time.

"So that's the story?" she asks. "You and Helm... you're together now?"

"Yeah," Chris admits softly. "We're a family."

Immediately he knows it was the wrong thing to say. Jenna goes silent on the other end, then says, in a very brittle voice,

"You already have a family."

"I know." Chris tickles Carey's feet and takes the bottle away. "I have two families now. I'm not going to desert the girls just because of the baby."

"Chris, it's not good at home. Mackenzie is fading into the background every chance she gets and Syd is acting up more and more. Neither of them are happy about the impending arrivals, and I don't think it helps them to know you're living with another baby—another family—instead of living with them."

It would be too cruel to tell Jenna that the reason he doesn't live there anymore lies squarely on her shoulders. Sure, he screwed up and cheated, but Jenna is the one who kicked him out and refused to try and make their marriage work.

"I can come over and spend more time with them, if you want."

"No," she says right away. "I shouldn't ask that of you. I shouldn't complain about my life. But, Chris, please don't forget that you do have another family. You can't just play house with Darren and act like I and the girls don't exist."

"I'm not—" he starts, but she interrupts.

"Good-bye," and the phone goes dead against his ear.

He picks up Carey out of the baby seat and rests him up against his shoulder where he just had the phone, and settles into patting his back and waiting for him to burp so he can put him down.

///

Helm comes clattering into the house, carrying a shopping bag and kicking off his shoes. Chris is lounging on the couch on his side with the baby nestled into the curve of his belly, with one hand on him to keep him from sliding off, watching TV.

Today, Carey has been quieter than usual, and he hasn't thrown up or spit up once, which Chris attributes to the soy formula they've been giving him for the last few days.

"I bought something for Carey," Helm says, a distinct amount of pride in his tone. Chris pokes the baby's belly gently and says,

"Your daddy brought you a present, what do you think about that?"

Carey gurgles and then squirms, and Chris laughs.

"I think he needs a diaper change," he tells Helm. "That seems to be what he thinks of your present!"

"He hasn't even seen it yet!" Helm protests, and dumps the bags he's carrying to the floor. One falls on its side and a box of Pop Tarts tumbles out of it. Chris rolls his eyes; even with a baby, they're still like two college kids when it comes to food.

"I'm teasing," Chris informs his boyfriend, even though the petulant expression on Helm's face is pretty adorable. He's got some facial hair this morning, and Chris realises he doesn't remember the last time that Helm shaved.

"Look," Helm says, and reaches into a Hockeytown Authentics bag. He pulls out a plush Al the Octopus and holds it up. "See? It's really soft."

Chris stares at it doubtfully. "It's kind of big for a seven week old infant," he points out.

"It is not," Helm argues. "He'll grow into it."

These words, Chris reflects, show that Helm has apparently been listening over the last few weeks, particularly every time they have to go out and buy new baby clothes.

Carey's wearing 0-3 months now, as opposed to the newborn things they bought when he'd just arrived. And while there's still some time before he'll outgrow them, he does have a tendency to ruin them, which is why Chris finds that he is proud of Helm when his boyfriend produces a pile of new little outfits.

Apparently Helm has gotten the hang of baby-shopping, at least.

"I got recognised at Babies 'R' Us," Helm says. "I had a devil of a time trying to figure out what to say."

Chris is in the process of extricating himself and the baby from the couch to take him for a diaper change, but this he really has to hear, so as he sits up, the baby balanced across his lap with his head against Chris's arm and chest, he says,

"Oh yeah? And what did you say?"

Helm gives him a truly evil smile. "I said it was for your baby."

Chris pauses in getting to his feet and cuddles Carey close to his chest, momentarily stunned. Oh shit—he forgot to tell Helm about the twins, and he forgot to tell Helm about Jenna's phone call.

He escapes the room, calling over his shoulder,

"It's actually twins—"

"What?!" yells Helm, and the baby, disturbed by the sudden noise, yells himself a few seconds later.

Chris makes quick work of Carey's diaper, fastening the new one and snapping the onesie he's wearing back together, and mumbles,

"I don't think I told you that Jenna called, either."

Helm comes into the room, still carrying the stuffed purple octopus. "What was that?"

"Jenna called?" Chris says with a weak smile.

"What did she want?" Helm asks, looking none-too-happy that Chris has been talking to his almost ex-wife.

"She found out about the baby," Chris says. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? "I really should have told her..."

"How did she find out about the baby, if you didn't tell her?" Helm asks, propping the stuffed purple octopus up on top of the changing table by the baby's head.

"My girls found some of the toys in the car and we talked about... I should have realised they'd tell their mom."

"Maybe you should have," Helm says, a tint of anger to his voice. "I know... I don't like you talking to her, and I get that it's not fair, but I never know if you're going to—"

Chris picks up Carey and snuggles him against his shoulder, then leans into Helm where he's standing, using his free arm to hold Helm for a moment.

"I'm not going to leave you for Jenna," Chris reassures him softly. "I've told you: that chapter of my life is over. I burned those bridges, Dare, when I..." he trails off, unwilling to remind Helm that the reason his marriage is over is because he cheated, but Helm scowls and tugs out of his loose embrace.

"Yeah, you did; when you fucked Nick," Helm says bluntly. "Can't you see why I worry?"

"But what Nick and I had didn't work out either," Chris says. "It wasn't honest; we both had families and other obligations, and besides, Nick was quite clear about where he stood when the shit went down. What you and I have, Darren, is a chance at something different. We can be honest with each other. There don't have to be lies or deception. I've never cheated on you—I made mistakes, but only when I thought we were done."

Helm actually strokes Carey's cheek, eyes fixed on the baby as he says,

"Next time, make sure it's really over before you fuck someone else."

"That's the beauty of this plan," Chris says. "The engagement. There shouldn't be a next time."

"I want to get married soon," Helm announces suddenly. "I don't like all this uncertainty. I just want to get it over with so that I can say you're mine and not have to worry."

Chris has a feeling that anyone who might marry him now would still worry, but that thought doesn't seem to have crossed Helm's mind, and he doesn't want to draw attention to it, so he tries not to make shifty eyes as he regards Helm.

"We can get married soon," he says. "We can have a small, private ceremony if you like, and just let everyone know afterwards."

"I want my parents there," Helm says. Then his brow wrinkles and he blows out a breath. "Except I think my mom still thinks you're a girl."

"We need to keep it relatively quiet," Chris tells him. "It would probably be best if the media doesn't get ahold of the story."

Helm has a considering expression on his face. "Your Jenna is having twins?" he asks, as if he's just remembered that that's how this whole conversation started.

It bothers Chris that Helm obviously still thinks there's something there, no matter how much he reassures him, but he nods, careful not to disturb the baby, who's fallen asleep against his shoulder.

"Yeah. I'm going to be up to my neck in dirty diapers."

"Is it terrible of me not to want you to spend too much time with her?"

"It's understandable, but I do have a responsibility to take care of my own kids too," he says.

"I don't like it," Helm says.

"I know," Chris replies. "I'm going to put Carey down, and then I'm going to remind you of how much I love you. And I am committed to you, Dare; committed to making this work."

Helm still doesn't look convinced, but he picks up Al the Octopus again and hugs it to his chest as Chris walks out of the room, heading for the bedroom to lay Carey down in his crib.

///

Chris's ass is being squashed by the kitchen table as Helm works assiduously to get them both off, his cock feeling incredible within Chris, when suddenly Helm pauses and looks over Chris's shoulder.

"What's the matter?" Chris pants, trying to drag Helm back down to him; Helm isn't moving and Chris can feel his orgasm slipping away from him. He reaches between them and tugs his own cock, but Helm doesn't move, not even when Chris contorts his arm to try and shove Helm deeper inside.

"I think that neighbour is watching us," Helm says. "Maybe... maybe we really should buy curtains."

Chris rolls his eyes. "Worry about curtains later," he says, scraping his nails along Helm's thigh. "I'm getting a cramp from being in this position so long. Helm!"

Helm starts up again suddenly, moving faster than before. He's driving into Chris so forcefully that the table legs are actually scraping across the floor.

It kind of hurts, actually; the combination of the awkward angle, his legs bent so far to his chest, and Helm's not really aiming very well at the moment in his rush.

Chris sighs and lets go of Helm's shoulders, which he'd been hanging onto for dear life.

"This isn't working," he says, "let's just do this in the bedroom."

Helm stops and pulls out and sticks his lower lip out. "I think she's getting the phone," he says.

It occurs to Chris that maybe it would be a really bad idea if she called the cops on them.

"On second thought," he says, scrambling down off the table and grabbing a dishtowel to cover his dick, "maybe curtains would be a really good idea."

///

"I don't think this is how they go," Helm complains, holding the curtains up, then turning them, half-obscured by fabric. Chris tickles Carey's belly, then places him in the baby seat that they just bought, which leans him half-upright while snuggling him securely into it. He trots over to Helm and takes the curtain from him, peering at it.

"I have no idea," he says sheepishly. He slings the curtain over his shoulder and snags the packaging off the counter, perusing the instructions.

"I think the stripes are supposed to be vertical," he offers after a moment. Helm grabs the curtain off his shoulder and holds it up to the window the way Chris just said it should go.

"It's not long enough that way," Helm says. Chris tosses the package back onto the counter and studies the curtains.

"You mean it's not wide enough," he says. "And I don't get it, the stripes are vertical in the picture."

"Did we buy the wrong size?" Helm asks, turning the curtains the other way so that the stripes are horizontal.

"Now it's too wide," Chris mutters. "Who thought hanging curtains was so goddamned complicated?"

Carey starts to cry as if on cue. Chris covers his mouth.

"Don't swear in front of the baby," Helm scolds, as if Carey could understand what Chris just said. Chris grabs the curtain and tries to fold it up, but he winds up with yards of fabric in a big wad.

"Why don't you pick him up and soothe him," Chris says.

Helm gives him a dirty look, but he picks up Carey and sways a little on his feet. Carey, for once, stuffs his little fist into his mouth and quiets, regarding his daddy with huge, blue eyes.

Chris tries not to start writing sappy poems in his head as he stares at the two of them, curtains forgotten. In fact, he's so busy watching them—Helm gently rocking the baby, and Carey smiling around his fist—that he doesn't even notice at first that the curtains are lying on the floor.

When he picks them up, they're all dusty.

"Huh," Chris says, trying to wipe the dust off. "I think we need to wash the floor. Or dust, or something."

Helm runs a fingertip down the side of Carey's cheek, then carefully lays him back in the seat. "Have we ever dusted?" he asks guilelessly.

"I don't think so," Chris returns, remembering that back at home, he used to dust once a week because Jenna would leave him little notes. Or at least, he did when he wasn't on a road trip, really busy practising, at a game, or just plain forgot.

It would seem that without Jenna to remind him, all of those things have combined to make certain their kitchen floor is really dirty.

Which is probably bad for the baby's health.

"I guess before we put up the curtains, we should wash the floor," Chris says. "Come on, baby boy," he croons to Carey, picking him up, "let's go sleep in your crib."

Carey starts to scream the moment he's laid down in his crib, and Chris rubs his temples. "Come on," he says, jostling it a little to try and rock Carey. "Don't cry. It's a nice place to sleep, and you have your octopus, see?" He holds up Al, but the baby continues to scream.

Chris gets a headache and gives up. "All right, have it your way." He leaves the room and shuts the door, hoping that Carey will cry himself out and go to sleep.

And then he searches the house for a mop.

///

Helm doesn't have a mop. Maybe he had one, at one point, in the spare room in that giant pile of stuff, but if so, they must have gotten rid of it.

Helm's asleep on the bed, Carey's asleep in the living room, and Chris wishes he could just mop the floor and get it over with—does anyone actually like cleaning?

So he calls Drapes, because that's what he does when he has a problem. It's a wonder Drapes hasn't killed him yet.

"Hey," he says as soon as Drapes answers, "I need a mop."

In the background, Chris can hear Julie talking to one of their kids. "What do you need a mop for?" Drapes asks, sounding distracted.

"Why do you think?" Chris challenges. Drapes doesn't say anything for so long that Chris thinks he either hung up or his cell phone lost signal. Then, finally,

"I'm sorry, Ozzie, we're having a minor crisis here with Kamryn. Can I call you back?"

"Is everything all right?" Chris asks, feeling a little guilty.

"Oh," Drapes says, still preoccupied, "yes, she's fine, she just doesn't want to wear what Julie wants her to wear, and we are trying to break her of this habit. What can I do you for?"

"Uh," Chris says. "Look, I'm sorry. I'll call Malts or something. I just need to borrow a mop."

"Oz," Drapes says, lecture-mode breaking through, "just go to the store and buy one, geez. You don't borrow a mop, because sooner or later you'll need to use one again. But I can't believe you don't have one."

"I live with Helm, remember?" Chris reminds his friend, which garners him a startled chuckle from Drapes.

"Of course, I forgot. Who would expect Helm to actually own a mop?"

"If I go out to buy a mop," Chris says, "I'll be leaving Carey home with Helmer. I still don't know—"

"Ozzie, listen, you're going to have to trust him alone with the baby eventually. And he did take Carey on a plane when it was just the two of them. I'm really sorry, but I gotta go. Kamryn has taken up this habit of taking her diapers off and—" Drapes cuts off suddenly, and there's the sound of a child shrieking in the background.

"I'll talk to you later," Chris says, not sure Drapes is really hearing him anymore, and hangs up the phone. He wonders what it's going to be like when Carey's two—will he take his diapers off too? Refuse to wear whatever his daddies want him to?

Chris almost can't wait to find out.

He wanders into the bedroom, puts his palm on Helm's forehead, leans in close and whispers,

"I'm going to buy a mop, I'll be right back. Carey's asleep in the other room, so hopefully you won't have any troubles."

Helm mumbles in his sleep, and Chris decides maybe a note is a better idea, so he grabs the filched-hotel pad of paper by the bed and scrawls out, gone to store. back soon. baby asleep.

He kisses Helm on the lips, but his boyfriend must be really zonked out, because he doesn't even move. Chris gets his car keys and locks the door behind him.

Maybe while he's buying a mop, he should buy some other stuff to clean up. It's probably a good idea.

///

It wouldn't have surprised him if he got home to Carey crying and Helm wringing his hands, but when he walks in, Helm is rocking Carey in his Rock and Play Sleeper with his foot, reading the Detroit Free Press.

"I got a mop," Chris says, and Helm looks up at him, an expression of distaste on his face.

"What for?" Helm asks, like he's forgotten that two days ago the brand-new curtains they'd bought had gotten filthy from the kitchen floor. Why does everyone keep asking him that? It's not that hard to understand what a mop is for, is it?

"I'm gonna mop the kitchen floor," Chris says, which causes relief to wash over Helm's face. Chris sighs. Of course it would be too much to expect that Helm would suddenly grow up enough to clean the floor.

Then again, it was Chris's idea, so maybe it's only fair.

Carey's awake, smiling a little, and he's got the little mitts on his fists. Chris blinks. Helm actually knew to put them on him so he didn't scratch himself?

Or did he put them on Carey before and forget that he'd done it?

He shrugs mentally and carries the mop off into the kitchen.

While he does the floor, he listens to the noises from the living room, and realises that Helm's not, as he thought at first, talking on his cell phone, but instead he's talking to the baby.

"You're kind of funny looking," Helm is saying, "but still cute, I guess. You know, I didn't think I wanted kids, especially not now, but..."

Chris strains to hear as Helm's voice lowers.

"I think it's Ozzie's fault," Helm is confiding to their baby. "He seems to like you so much. And so this isn't what I wanted, knocking up some girl, but..."

Helm's voice drops again, and Chris surreptitiously begins to mop as close to the doorway as he can.

"I do like you," Helm says, as if he's surprising himself. "Maybe because Oz makes me feel like we're a family, but maybe we are. We're gonna be a family for as long as I can swing it."

Chris smiles. They're bonding! It seems like they've never been this close, and his heart just about overflows with love for Helmer.

Chris supposes that Helm's been bonding with the baby all along, but this confession makes him so happy. He just wishes he could show Helm how much, but he can't or his boyfriend would know he was eavesdropping—and he has a feeling that it's still something that would upset Helm, even if the conversation was with a baby who couldn't really participate.

He's just backing out of the kitchen, balancing the mop across the doorway so that no one will walk on the floor while it's still wet, when his cell phone rings.

He digs it out of his pocket and answers it.

"Hey, Drapes," he says, recognising Drapes's home number. But the response to his greeting is a feminine giggle.

"It's Julie, Oz," she says. "Kris was telling me that you were going to mop. Do you need some help?"

"How goes things with Kamryn?" he asks.

"Oh, she peed on the floor again," Julie says. "It brings back fond memories of you throwing up in the hallway, really." She laughs and Chris flushes a little. He kind of wishes sometimes that his stupid, stupid, ill-advised actions wouldn't keep coming back to haunt him.

"I don't need any help, but thanks for offering," Chris says, then pauses. "Wait, maybe I do. We can't figure out how to hang the curtains in the kitchen. But I did manage to mop the floor by myself."

"Good for you," Julie says, and Chris isn't sure if she's being sarcastic. "Did you measure the window before you bought the curtains?"

Chris bites his lip. "No, we didn't," he admits.

Julie laughs again. "Well, that's usually the place to start. How is Carey, by the way?"

"He's doing good," Chris says, and the pride in his voice surprises him. He didn't realise just how much he had invested in this child. Maybe he should have realised, but this pride, as if he's responsible for the baby doing well, it still stops him.

"Oh, hey look, Kamryn is creating havoc again. Call me if you want help choosing curtains or whatever, okay? Bye, Chris."

"Bye, Julie," he says. He trots into the bedroom and flops onto the bed, cell phone held loosely in his hand.

"Oh my God," Helm exclaims from the living room, sounding appalled and disgusted. "Did you just poop?"

Chris giggles a little into his hand. It's been several weeks, but is this really the first time that Carey pooped audibly in Helm's presence?

His phone rings again, and he lifts it in front of his face to see who it is.

It's Nick.

He contemplates rejecting the call, but it could be something work-related, so he answers it, hoping that Helm can handle the diaper change without his help.

"Hey," he says cautiously, and there's a deep breath from the other end.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry," Nick says. Chris feels something inside shift and soften a little, like the hard nut of feelings he's been clinging too have suddenly been heated until they melt.

"I don't really have anything to say to you," Chris says. But his jeans are getting tight, and his memory is serving up images of Nick in all of his masculine beauty, and Chris can feel the guilt threading through him. Helm is just in the other room—why does just the sound of his voice still affect him like this?

"I shouldn't have—" Nick pauses. "Please just accept my apology."

Chris isn't sure what Nick's looking for, but he gets the impression that there's more to this than just an apology for losing his temper at practise.

"Nick, I have stuff to do." It's a lie, he's just flopped on the bed, nothing in particular on his agenda, but his dick likes the cadence of Nick's breathing, and that's a bad thing. He closes his eyes.

"You can't spare five minutes for an old lover?" Nick asks, and that's low. And unusual for Nick, to say something that he must know is inappropriate.

Then again, he never really completely shuts Nick out, and so how would Nick know it's inappropriate, since he hasn't bothered to enforce the boundary?

But then Helm says, "Augh, it's everywhere," and Chris has a good excuse to get Nick off the phone.

"I think Helm needs help changing the baby," he says. "I'm gonna go."

Nick's voice drops, going low and sexy. "You just remember who you love," he says, and Chris doesn't need a primer to know that Nick's not talking about Helm. He feels anger climbing into the back of his throat, but his dick is still happy and pleased with Nick, even if his mind isn't.

"Bye, Nick," he says, and hits the button before Nick can really work on enticing him away from Helm.

When he gets into the spare room, he finds Helm fumbling with baby wipes, and Carey's fussing, waving his fists, and his clothes are lying in a pile next to him, soiled and obviously needing to be washed.

"Help me," Helm whimpers, and Chris grabs a few wipes himself. He cleans the baby up, and Helm gets out a new onesie to put him in.

Together they dress him, and Chris picks up the baby and hugs him close. Helm smiles at them.

"He's sucking his fist and falling asleep on your shoulder," he tells Chris.

"Throw those things in the laundry pile," he says, and takes the baby into the kitchen. "I'm going to feed him, he's probably hungry."

But as he prepares the bottle, he can't stop thinking about Nick.


Next Chapter (8) | Previous Chapter (6) | Master Post