015 (Blindsided) [SVW]

THAT MOMENT WHERE THE WHEELS finally lost contact with the tarmac and the plane took to the air was never exactly pleasant for Chauncy: something in the flip of stomach, and the shudder of the wing in his peripheral vision was always enough to have him wrapping fingers around his seat belt and gripping tight, when flying alone, or stealing his partner's hand, when they were together. Not that holding anything, no matter how life-sustaining, would make a difference in the event of pilot error, not that it even was that...

As they levelled out, he unratcheted his fingers and drew his hand smoothly back to his own side of the armrest, a little sheepish, and glad that Lawrence wasn't the sort of person to make a thing of oddly-placed insecurity. It looked to be a fairly quiet flight: a few empty seats, but mostly business-types today, leaving the cabin quiet but for the whoosh of air conditioning, the rustle of somebody rummaging in their hand luggage, and the flick of pages in a book from the man in front of them, thankfully not one of those inconsiderate types who'd recline back into your territory and inflict themselves too far into your personal space. A quiet flight, with just enough light right now for him to be able to enjoy the view of fluffy, almost-solid clouds and the world below, at least until it got dark.

From three or four rows ahead, though, came the sudden, distressed wail of a child. High-pitched, sudden, tapering off on a sob before a heavy hitch of breath and a repeat.

Larry seemed completely oblivious to that sound, a decidedly distant glaze to his eyes as he feigned interest in the magazine open on his lap. A matching wistful smile sat on his lips as he idly turned the glossy pages, the words written on them barely registering. "Thanks for coming with me for this," he said softly, realising that they hadn't really had a moment to breathe since before the final Phoenix Wrestling show had taken place more than a week ago.

"Of course," answered Chauncy, brows furrowed as the wailing went up an octave. He knew that sometimes you couldn't reason with infants, and he was normally quite happy to spend time around the quiet ones, but it was still ear-piercing, and he imagined a scenario where the grumbling of those closer to the mother would just make her more frantic to quiet the baby, the baby would pick up on her tension, and they'd all be deaf by the time the plane landed. So to speak. "Thank God we'll never have to deal with that sort of stress," he said, shaking his head.

"What I wouldn't give to trade places with Aurora right now," Larry's words tumbled out on top of Chauncy's before he even had time to register what he'd said.

"Yes, at least she can walk to the next room," he said.

"Once they allow her out of bed," completely oblivious, Larry opened his mouth again, inserting his foot, "and I suppose it's a little twisted that I'm envious— that's something I'm never going to be able to do."

"Is it something that you'd want to do?" Chauncy's expression was somewhere between incredulous and horrified. "I mean, honestly? I don't really understand the burning desire so many people have to create themselves in miniature and try to relive their lives vicariously through their children. It's a lot easier when you can give them back, you know."

The words may as well have been a physical blow for how much they hurt and for a moment, Larry couldn't bring himself to reply. Breathing normally was difficult enough so he focused on that, returning to his magazine in silence.

Chauncy sat for a moment, staring out the window and trying to ignore the baby, who only seemed to be getting louder, occasionally glancing back at his husband, expecting him to speak, to add some sort of clarifying clause that would take the edge off his words. Finally, he realised he'd have to break the silence for himself. "Lawrence, you... is it? Something you'd want to do?"

"The way you put it? No, absolutely not," it was a struggle to keep his tone civil and pitched low enough that the other passengers couldn't overhear. "Create myself in miniature so I can relive my life vicariously? Why not take it a step further, really. Use that blank little slate as a sort of 'choose your own adventure' to see what would have happened if I'd turned to page 35 instead of picking up the bottle..." there was bitterness in both his tone and his eyes as he turned his head to look at Chauncy.

"You've taken what I said and built two chapters on it without clarifying," Chauncy muttered uncomfortably, shifting in his seat to put the window to his back. "That's not what I meant. It was a generic you, not a you, specifically."

"Ah. Well then." Larry nodded, very deliberately breaking eye contact, "and I suppose that you'd be quick to recant if I said that this was something I want, hmm?"

"We have our careers, and things have been good lately, Lawrence. You can't honestly tell me that you'd give up everything we're working on professionally to concentrate on that sort of thing right now?" Chauncy sighed, sounding frustrated. "Besides, it's not the sort of thing that we... that I... I mean, can you imagine?"

"I can, yes. And I have." His sigh echoed his partner's as he shook his head. "I wouldn't want to give up what we have professionally, no. But you can't deny that we..." the words trailed off into a pained silence that he didn't bother to fill. The last thing he wanted to do was start an argument when there was no option of walking away to let cooler heads prevail.

"That we what? I'm lost, and I don't know where this has come from," he murmured, carefully keeping his voice low for exactly the same reason.

"It doesn't matter. Forget about it." Gowan closed his magazine, letting his head fall back against the headrest. That baby was still crying and to him it wasn't annoying. There was something to it, some mystery he would never truly understand but he wanted to so badly. Was it teething? Was it hungry? A small part of him wanted to get up from his seat and find out but cowardice kept him buckled in.

Chauncy leaned back, without relaxing in the slightest, one knee jiggling in irritation at the squalling, which seemed to be starting to taper off... just before it started up again, in what he suspected was going to be an ongoing cycle for the duration of the flight. "Clearly it does matter," he murmured guardedly.

His arms folded across his chest, eyes closing as he let out a soft sigh. "Are you really going to keep poking at this right now until it turns into..."

"Well, I can't just not think about it..." He shook his head, sighing heavily and folding his arms defensively. "It's not like we've ever even talked about it, and I'm blindsided. It's not something I'd considered. Or that I necessarily want to. I mean..." He glared at the seats ahead. "That's horrible. How on earth would we travel to shows like that?"

Larry bit his lip, shaking his head as he stared forward as well, trying to tamp down the irrational anger he felt. "We... wouldn't travel like this. California to Las Vegas isn't that far and the odd times we wrestle elsewhere for SVW we could... we could get an RV or a tour bus or something and..." he realised he was rambling, trying to explain away some hypothetical poorly behaved, probably colicky infant. "It's not as though something like that would be the end of the world." 

It might be the end of ours. Chauncy didn't like change, or rather... he didn't like the way that change could potentially damage their barely-repaired equilibrium. He said nothing, chewing on the inside of his cheek and finding consolation in the clouds.

The silence between them was uneasy, not really a silence at all with that baby still wailing up front. Larry tapped his fingers against the armrest between them, wanting to reach out and touch Chauncy but unwilling to bridge that gap for the moment. "Say something then. You wanted to talk about it? Well... we've got all the time in the world right now."

"On the contrary, I want to not talk about it. I want it to not be an issue, as it hasn't been until now. I want us to be two people, not more. I'm not sure I have room for more."

"I shouldn't have said anything," Gowan muttered, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees while the top of his head touched the back of the seat in front of him. "It was just an idle comment... nothing more, okay? I wasn't saying I wanted to go up there, snatch that child and try to make a better go of it right now."

"I don't think anything short of sedatives is going to help that child right now," he muttered. "And I have a vague idea that's frowned on. So... idle comment... that means this isn't an issue?"

He didn't bother to straighten up or to look in Chauncy's direction. Instead he lifted his hands up to clasp them against the back of his neck, making it look more as though he was trying to fight off some sort of motion sickness than anything else. "It's not an issue." He repeated the words with a serious lack of conviction, punctuating them with a sigh.

"Lawrence..." Chauncy reached out to brush fingertips over his partner's hand. "I don't... I just think..." He sighed, brows furrowing in frustration. "We have all the time in the world. Let's just concentrate on us right now, yes?"

He closed his eyes, pulling in a deep breath breath before letting it out slowly. "On us, yes," he was definitely becoming a parrot in an effort to maintain this painful dialogue in the face of disappointment. "That's all I really need," the words came out softly as he lifted his head, settling back into his seat normally. "And I'll let it drop. I will. I just need to know what you meant when you said you're not sure you have room for more."

"More than us. More than two. I don't know if I have the kind of capacity people like you, or my mother do. Did, I... I suppose, in her..." He cleared his throat and shook his head. "You have a million and one friends and you love them all. You can get along with virtually anybody, and you thrive on that. I don't. I..." He sighed, and cast another eye in the direction of the baby, now down to hitching breaths and the occasional stabbing cry. "I like quiet. I like two. I love it when that two is us."

"Chauncy..." Larry's voice hitched and he cleared his throat to cover it, "I don't want to invite the world into our circle... into our lives and our living room. Whatever it is you think I have or don't with them isn't..." he hesitated, reaching for Chauncy's hand, "that's a non-issue. All these friends and fans and people I consider part of my extended family mean far less than you do. You know that, don't you?" 

"Yes, and you know that I wouldn't want you to change, or leave a single one of them for me," he answered. "Or at least I hope you know that. But I am not the same as you, and I am not as good a person as you."

"But I would. I'd walk away in an instant... I'd burn them all to ashes in a heartbeat if any of them so much as spoke an ill word against you." His smile was sad as he let out a soft, rueful chuckle, shaking his head, "don't say you're not a good person. That's a lie and you know it."

"Good enough not to ask you to, and that's about the limit," he said softly, reaching out to lightly tug at Larry's hair, an affectionate gesture that was better than anything else he was willing to offer in public. "Can we shelve that conversation, at least?"

Larry nodded, feeling both a little flustered and flushed at that simple little gesture, "of course. Absolutely. I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..."