A/N: Evening, everyone! My apologies for the delay in this month's 10PG commission. Path was in a tight spot, so everything got pushed back until the arc was over. But I hope this month's story is worth the wait. I purpousely saved this one for now; you can't post a story that happens near Christmas any other time, after all!
The timeline currently is: The Daybreak-In -> Most of Canon -> A Tryout for the Big Leagues -> The Rest of Canon -> Full Moon Rising -> Craftsmen -> That'll Get Over Like Wet Cardboard -> Denver International -> Blackjack -> A Martin Family Christmas -> 15 Years of Gold.
Enjoy, and I'll see you all next time!
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"What if they don't like me?"
The words are so sudden that they almost knock you over. Allie spoke up right as you were mid-step, and the distraction makes you plant your foot smack dab in the middle of a patch of ice. It's a scary few seconds as you windmill your one free arm, fighting to avoid plummeting skull-first to the concrete beneath you. But you barely manage it.
Once you're sure you're no longer about to die you turn and look at Allie. Your girlfriend has barely noticed your improvised acrobatics. Her hands are buried in the pockets of her fluffy purple coat as a defense against the bitter chill, her head covered in a knit cap, and her eyes are wide and fearful. If it wasn't for that last- and the fact that she just almost made you split your head- you'd call her downright adorable.
But you can't do that right now. Instead, you shake your head. "Babe, are you fishing for a compliment? Here? Now? Really?"
The barb doesn't draw her out of her funk like you'd hoped. Instead she shakes her head and hunches down, covering herself even more in her jacket. "No, really T, what if they don't like me? I mean, you saw how my Dad acted around you-"
"Hey, Sarge loves me!" you defend yourself. "He just doesn't know how to express it."
"-and you're way closer with your folks than I am with mine," Allie continues, bulldozing forward as if you hadn't said a word. She straightens up and presents her face for inspection. "How's my makeup? Is it too much? Not enough? Are my clothes right?"
"You look great," you chuckle. "You always look great. And-"
"Of course you'd say that!" she interrupts. "You have to! I sleep with you! But forget you- what will your parents think? Are my boots too much? Did we get them the right gifts?"
You barely suppress a smile and manage to keep from rolling your eyes. As Allie rambles on, you back away from Shifty's front door, heading back to your panicking girlfriend. "Allie," you say, breaking through her stream of consciousness. "Hold these."
Allie blinks as you pull her hands out of her pockets and load them with the Christmas Gifts she was worrying about. Once your arms are free, you place a hand on each of her shoulders. "Allie. Babe. Don't worry. They are going to love you."
"But what-"
You hold a glove-and-snow encrusted finger to her lips. "Really, Allie. They are going to fucking adore you. How could they not? After all, they had some hand in making me into the glorious wonder you see before you, and I do."
A smile threatens to break through Allie's panic. "Oh, right. This whole…" she waves a gift in your direction. "...thing is their fault. It's good to have someone to blame."
"Hey!" you squeal out in mock-offense. "You say that like it's a bad thing- as if you don't think I'm the fucking best."
Allie glances up at your face, cheeks a rosy red. "I don't know," she drawls out. "I mean, you're pretty good, but the best? I haven't done nearly enough market research to figure out if you stand head and shoulders above the competition."
You shake your head, clicking your tongue. "Psh. That's not what you were saying last night. Or the night before. Or in the car. Or five seconds from now."
"Five seconds from-?"
Allie's cut off as you bed slightly, pulling her and the Christmas gifts alike into an embrace as you press your lips to hers. No matter how many times you do it, every time you kiss Allie makes fireworks explode behind your eyes and bells ring in your ears. This time is no exception.
When you let go, Allie's panic is completely gone, replaced by a dopey grin that matches your own. "Fine," she allows. "You're the best. For now."
"Good enough! And as the best, that means my judgement is beyond question- and I say my parents are going to love you. Now let's get inside and-"
The crack of a door interrupts you. The front door slides open, casting golden light from the bar out onto the two of you. "Do I hear voices?" The light spelling out of the door only lasts for a second before it's interrupted by a shadow cast by the bar's owner.
Antonio Martin may have started to finally look his age, but that's done nothing to diminish his stature. He's got a few inches on you and the same broad shoulders, though he has put on a few pounds since you were last home. You would never accuse your Dad of being overweight, but even if he was, he wouldn't look fat. He'd look jolly.
His jolliness is only enhanced by the wide grin on his face as he looks at the two of you. "Lisa! They're here!" he bellows. A distant voice answers him and he nods, moving to push open the screen door. As he does, Dad's smile only grows wider. "Come on in- unless you want me to give you guys some more time. You seem pretty busy."
...it takes a moment, but you finally process that you're still clutching Allie in a loose hug and bent over as if you're going to kiss her again. It dawns on Allie right at the same moment. She lets out an adorable squeak and jumps away, moving out of your grip. "No, no! We're fine! Hi!" she answers.
"And hello to you!" Dad booms back. He finally gets the screen unlocked and pushes it open, letting you into the bar. "You must be Allison! We have heard so much about you. Come in, come in! What's your beverage of choice?"
"Tony!" a vaguely scandalized voice calls out. "At least let the poor girl get in and get out of her coat before you start trying to pour your experiments down her throat!"
Your Mom bustles in a second later, brushing dust from her hands. Like your Dad, age is starting to wear on her. Mom's formerly blonde hair has streaks of silver shooting through it and her laugh lines have deepened into true crow's feet. She still seems to have the same energy as always though which she wastes no time in using as she makes a beeline right for Allie.
"Oh, let's get you out of that coat before the snow melts!" she fusses. "Here, here, just pass it over. Don't worry about folding it, I've seen much worse. There's a towel to your left if you need to dry your face and- oh! There's tea and cocoa on! Tom didn't tell us which you preferred, so I made both!"
Somehow Mom makes it sound like you've committed a cardinal sin by not telling her Allie's drink choices. "Hi, Mom," you greet her dryly. "It's good to see you too, and-"
"Shush, Tom," Mom interrupts you. "There will be all the time in the world for that scintillating wit you're so proud of after you're both warm and dry! Those weathermen need to really learn how to do their jobs, let me tell you! Four to six inches! How hard can it be to read a weather map?"
The next few minutes are a blur as Allie falls victim to the storm that is Mom's mothering. Before she even knows what's happening she's bundled up in a blanket, a steaming cup of cocoa in her hands, and deposited safely in one of the cushy chairs near the mantle. You would laugh at her but you find yourself in similar straights. Mom isn't even done fussing over Allie before you're put in another chair- no blanket for you, thankfully- and given cocoa of your own.
Only when both of you are situated do Mom and Dad take their own seats on the worn red couch saved especially for them. "So!" Mom chirps. "How was your trip? Were the roads busy?"
You take a sip of your hot chocolate and nod, forcing you to wipe whipped cream off your nose. "They weren't fun, I'll tell you that. But it was pretty simple once we got out of Philly proper- do you know they're doing construction on I-95 again?"
"When aren't they?" Dad answers rhetorically. "I was down there a few months ago and was stopped on the turnpike for an hour because they didn't have enough booths open! How do you not have every single booth open on the Turnpike?!"
The conversation devolves from there as everyone takes turns complaining about traffic. But whining about potholes can only go on for so long. Eventually, Mom takes the reigns of the conversation back once again. "It's so good to meet you, Allison!" she says once Dad is done complaining about the number the roads have done to his undercarriage. "Though with how much Tom talks about you, I feel almost like we already know you."
Allie shoots you a nervous look out of the corner of her eyes. "Oh," she replies. "That's… nice?"
"Oh yes," Mom continues, ignoring Allie's simmering nerves. "For years now, that's all we've been hearing about. Allie this, Allie that, Allie got a new car, Allie has a cat now, Allie got a concussion! For years he's been like this!"
You fight down a growing flush as Allie sits up straighter, clearly interested in whatever you've told your parents about her. Thankfully any further details are downed beneath the hiss of a can as Dad opens a beer. "Honey, please," he says after he takes his first sip. "You're embarrassing the boy."
A relieved sigh starts to emerge from your throat but freezes when Dad continues. "And if we're going to do that, we really shouldn't start with the small potatoes." He turns to look directly at Allie. "Allison, have you ever seen Tom's baby pictures?"
The sigh finishes it's journey and you lean back, allowing yourself to enjoy the hot chocolate. "She has, actually," you answer. "I figured this would come up, so I found them on facebook. She's already gotten the full experience."
Allie nods along. "Yeah, I'm sorry, but Tommy made me look through them all last week. They were great though! Especially the one of him trapped in a barrel. And it's Allie, please. Only my Dad calls me Allison, so hearing it makes me look over my shoulder for him every time."
You place a comforting hand on Allie's leg. Your parents eyes lock on to your absent gesture, but you ignore them. "You're fighting a losing battle, babe. I've been trying to get them to call me Tommy for like a decade, but it hasn't stuck."
Dad ignores you. "Of course. Sorry, Allie. I hope we didn't make you uncomfortable."
…what the fuck is this bullshit?!
The corner of Allie's mouth jumps up and down as she fights down laughter. "Oh, so Tommy wasn't lying," she says through a mouthful of giggles. "You are to blame for how he's turned out."
Mom and Dad trade looks. "You can't blame that on us," Dad instantly replies.
"Yes, that's just unfair," comes Mom's addition. "He was such a sweet boy when he was younger- then he grew up into the walking ball of sarcasm you have decided to date."
"We are entirely blameless," Dad continues. "Though I do wonder when the transformation began…"
"Oh, I know!" Mom answers. She reaches over to the end table and produces a bright red folder. Papers rustle as she pulls it open and produces a worn sheaf of looseleaf. "It was in Sixth Grade. Allie, Tom may have shared his baby pictures with you… but has he shown you his old school essays?"
...no. No, they can't. There is no way they still have those.
"I see from Tom's face that he has not!" Mom answers her own question. "Here, let's take a look!"
You get the sinking feeling that the embarrassment has just begun- and you are quickly proven right. After twenty painful minutes of your old creative writing, Mom decides that what Allie really needs is a tour of Shifty's. She spares no details, telling Allie the embarrassing history behind each and every nook and cranny in the bar. She goes through the small cupboard you hid in for twelve hours once when you decided you were going to run away to Narnia. She shows her the kitchen, where you prepared a rucksack of poptarts and french fries when you tried to leave to join the circus when you were six. Mom even expounds on the history of the doorway she used to measure your height against- which is a hell of a trick, considering that door frame was destroyed in the last remodel. She actually reconstructed the entire thing!
And of course, it all builds up to the crown jewel: a full-on, no-details spared tour of your childhood bedroom, which is still in practically pristine condition. Your old wrestling posters are still there, the clothes you thought were cool ten years ago still mothballed in the closet, several class dioramas are presented proudly on your shelves, and the tape recorder you used to practice promos just so happens to be lying in the middle of your perfectly clean desk. It's enough to drive you to tears.
As Allie enjoys the rambling of Rock Deathfist coming from a twenty year old cassette, you can't take it anymore. You make an excuse and retreat back downstairs to the one place you know Mom can't use to embarrass you: the wall of Tommy.
Well, the entire bar is pretty much full of 'of Tommy' places. But the wall of Tommy is different. The rest of the bar is full of mementos of Tommy Martin. The wall is a memorial to Tommy the Wrestler. It's not a small wall either- it takes up a full corner of the place, filling it with pictures of you looking amazing before, during, and after matches sitting above shelves proudly presenting replicas of every title you've ever earned that matters to you. Even the smaller companies that don't give replica belts are represented. You had to have those commissioned yourself, but it was worth it just to have your own copy of the 100SW strap.
In the glow of your achievements, you can feel your embarrassment dying down. So what if Mom just so happened to lead Allie to your old porn stash? You've got a picture of yourself standing at the top of a ramp with a newly won ADC title slung over your shoulder, blood trickling down your face, a newly lit cigarette trapped between your lips. That badass image is more than enough to kill any bad feelings.
The floorboards creak as Dad walks up next to you, a beer in each hand. You absently take the can as he passes it to you and crack it. A sip later, you flinch. "Miller?" you scoff. "Really?"
"The good stuff is for customers," comes his response.
The two of you stand in comfortable silence for a moment. Dad takes a long look at your favorite picture and shakes his head. "I wish you hadn't taken that up," he scoffs, gesturing at the cigarette in Tommy Corsair's mouth. "It's a filthy habit."
You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. "I roll around on disgusting canvass and bleed because I cut myself with razor blades, and that's the thing you think is filthy?" When his look doesn't change, you shake your head. "It's a casual thing, mostly for post-match pictures. I can count on one hand the number I've smoked out of the ring."
Dad sighs. "Well, you know you best. And I can't lie- it does look cool. But I did not come here to talk about your worse life choices. I wanted to apologize."
That's enough to warrant you actually turning to look at him. "What?" you ask reflexively. "Apologize? You guys?"
"We have always tried to apologize when we think we've done something wrong," Dad answer calmly. "And while I'm uncertain we did anything wrong, you still seemed more uncomfortable than I wanted. So yes, we are sorry for the full treatment Allie is getting."
You shake your head. "I mean… I kind of expected it, but yeah, it does seem like you guys are going over the top."
Dad shrugs. "Yes, I won't deny that. It's just…"
He trails off and shakes his head. "...showing your serious girlfriends these things is a tradition at this point. And since we figured that it seems unlikely that we will get the chance again in the future, we may as well go all out." Dad sighs and takes a sip of his beer. "If you decide you want your grandmother's ring, just call."
...oh.
You and Dad stand in silence for another few moments before he leaves, clapping you on the shoulder in a way that speaks volumes. You aren't alone for long though. Soon enough, quick footsteps announce the presence of your embarrassment's audience. Allie jogs over to you and wastes no time in tucking herself under your arm, giggling all the while.
"Really, T?" she chuckles. "Hammermier Jones?"
"I thought it would get over," you mumble. "He would've been perfect in the territory days!"
"He sucked, but you were so cute trying to pull him off!" Allie laughs. Then she nuzzles against your chest, finally resting her cheek over your heart. "Hey, Tommy?"
"Yeah?"
"...do your parents like me?"
One hand reaches up absently to stroke at Allie's short hair and you can't help but lean down to press a kiss against her forehead. "Yeah, babe. I'm pretty sure they do."
.
