A/N: Yep I'm still working on my others stuff, cross my heart. Matticho, pairing perfected by Dark Kaneanite and Wrestlefan4, or so we like to think :) This I a little bit in the future, but you'll get that from some of the things I mention in it. The only warning I have is that there's mention of vomiting for those of you that might have a sensitive stomach, lol. The next chapter is a little worse with it XD. You can always skim over those parts if you start to feel icky. Lol!

A wee bit of heaven drifted down from above, a handful of happiness, a heartful of love. A mystery of life, so sacred and so sweet, the giver of joy--so deep and complete. Precious and priceless, so lovable too, the world's sweetest miracle--baby, it's you. - Helen Steiner Rice

In Cameron, North Carolina, the autumn breeze was picking up and blowing leaves through the street, rattling and clattering along their paths like dry bones clamoring against stone. The yard was still dim, shrouded in a low lurking mist, lit only by the fading solar lights that acted as a row of beacons along the stretch of driveway. Chris was out on the porch, the morning had yet to fully blossom, a babe still clinging to the womb. He hung his leg over the porch railing and leaned back against the bricks feeling his short, sleep tangled hair, catch on the rough surface. He yawned a little, still not used to this hour of the morning.

Since he and Matt had both left wrestling neither had seen 4am for quite some time. Matt had been first to go, fed up with storylines, favoritism, and general backstage politics. Chris was going to hang on a while longer but after a year on the road with so many miles between he and his husband, connected only by cell phones and Twitter, and brief visits that always ended too soon, Chris left too. Now the two of them spent time in Cameron and Winnipeg, Chris sold his home in Orlando. The two of them had enough saved up to just drift around for a while and do what they pleased until they figured out the next part of their life. Matt was thinking of writing a book, and the idea for a reality show had been pitched a few times, but it was kind of nice living quietly without a camera in your face so often. None of these things were very pressing issues, just as long as they were together, everything else was secondary.

Another yawn, and when he opened his eyes again and rubbed away the sleepy tears, the sun was peeking over the horizon as though it too was yawning to life. It would have been nicer to still be in bed, curled next to Matt's warmth and listening to his soft snoring, but he wasn't in bed. It was going on the third week of this bullshit, stumbling half-asleep to the bathroom because his stomach was lurching up into his throat. It was so bad sometimes he was sure Matt was going to wake up disturbed by the hacking and gagging sounds emitting from the bathroom, but he never did. Matt Hardy: The Man Who Slept Through The Apocalypse. Chris grinned crookedly.

He sipped at the coffee he'd brought out with him. It was just black, Matt always had to throw shit in his, but Chris always had it plain. Lately he was thinking more and more about drowning it with milk though because it wasn't agreeing with his rebelling stomach, but morning just wasn't right without coffee. Another cautious sip, and the familiar queasy sensation was back, rolling gently like sea waves lulling in and out from the shore. The mental image only made it worse, as Chris thought of waves at the beach, and it caused some sort of motion sickness.

He was quickly leaning over the rail, his stomach muscles aching as they tried to purge the nothingness that was left in his stomach. The only thing that came up was a little bit of coffee and it sat in his mouth mating with the strong tang of bile and only made the gagging worse. There was a good ten minutes of dry heaving before it finally calmed down, and feeling more tired than before, Chris wobbled back into the house and flopped down on the couch, forgetting about his coffee mug that was on the railing.

Matt woke up a little after ten, the bright light filtering in through the bent slat of the blinds—bent because Chris could never seem to figure them out, he'd always pull it the wrong way and one side would hitch up while the other dropped a foot or two below it. He opened his eyes and watched the shafts of light for a few seconds, as they beamed down onto the wood floor, and silvery speckles of dust floated lazily. Matt got up, swung his feet over the side of the bed, and realized that Chris was up early again. He'd left the bathroom light on and the toilet seat was up. He knew Chris had been sick lately, and even though Matt kept bugging him to go to the doctor, he refused. Chris just waved him off joking it was only food poisoning from Matt's atrocious cooking, and that it would pass, but three weeks was a long time to fight it out with a bad meal.

Matt made his way down stairs, Lucas right on his heels, his tags jingling softly and his paws padding the same rhythm as Matt's bare feet. Chris was curled up on the couch, his mouth was slightly ajar and he was snoring into the pillow. Matt glanced at the tv, his brows furrowing when he saw the logo TLC in the corner of the big screen, and a woman screaming out muted labor pains, Matt's eyes widened with shock when a doctor held up a baby, complete with gore. With a chuckle Matt knelt by the couch, figuring Chris had rolled onto the remote and screwed up the channels. He fished underneath his sleeping lover drawing a few mumbles and a snort from Chris as he wiggled around and turned his face towards the back of the couch. Matt found the remote lodged between the cushions and switched off the tv, which some how made Chris wake up.

"I was watchin' that." Chris mumbled propping himself up on his elbows and blinking long golden lashes.

"What was it?" Matt asked with a smirk, sitting the remote on the coffee table and reaching down to give Lucas a scratch behind the ears.

"VH1 Classic, a special thingy about Iron Maiden." Chris sat up a little more, wishing he hadn't when he started to feel sick again.

"No, it was on some baby show. I came in to see some doctor holding up a kid with all this blood over his hands, this kids mis-shaped head all splattered with it, some nasty white shit all over the baby, the chord hanging off like a dying worm." Matt shuddered, and wiggled his finger around in imitation of a worm convulsing with its last breathes.

"Matt--" Chris started, his face draining white.

"God, I'm so glad neither one of us can have a baby. That's the nastiest shit I've ever seen. Then the woman has to shove out all that after-birth crap—looks like she gave birth to her liver." Matt stopped, Chris startled him by suddenly bolting from the couch and into the bathroom, even Lucas hopped back with a little yelp.

The image of a gory birth was just too much to handle and Chris slip-slided into the bathroom, falling to his knees painfully hard. Matt was just moments behind him and was soon there to check on him, the guttural coughing sounds making him feel uncomfortable himself. Chris let go of the porcelain bowl, his hands were clammy with cold sweat, and he leaned back against the bathtub closing his eyes and scrubbing his lips on the back of his hand. Matt sat down next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, surprised to feel them trembling.

"Chris, I didn't mean to make you sick." Matt apologized, stroking Chris' short hair. Even though he wasn't wrestling anymore, he still went out for the blond coloring, because Matt liked it.

"It's not your fault." Chris groaned, his throat aching, raw from the bite of acid.

"Well, this is it. You're going to a doctor."

"No." Chris whined, letting his head drop over to Matt's shoulder. He mustered the biggest puppy-eyed pout he could. "I hate going to doctors. This can't last much longer, it's probably just a long winded flu bug."

"I don't care, Chris, you look like a wreck and there's no sense in dragging this out longer that it needs to be." Matt helped Chris up to his feet, and the blond pulled some mouth wash from the medicine cabinet and swished it without a word. Right next to the mouthwash was a half-empty bottle of Pepto-Bismal, which hadn't been any help either, just a nasty tasting swallow of goo that did nothing. Chris spit into the sink, and when he looked up he could see Matt in the kitchen with his phone pressed to his ear, winding a stray curl around his finger. No doubt, he was setting up an appointment.

The appointment was later that day, lucky me, Chris thought as he drove to the office, grumbling the whole way. Doctors offices were always the worst, it didn't matter if you were the only person there, you still had to wait for at least three hours in an uncomfortable chair with nothing to do but look through year old magazines and watch the round nurses chatter at the desk.

Then, once you got in, the first thing they had to do was get you up on the scales to remind you of how much weight you gained because you were now over middle aged and your metabolism was slowly failing…and because you liked to get into the junk food a little too much. Then it was the blood pressure cuff that tells you to watch the stress and lay off the salt, followed by the thermometer roughly invading your ear and making you squirm like a dog with a butt itch, then you get to sit for three more hours and read and re-read the non-funny posters the doctors have on the wall, or the chart of the digestive system, and become far to familiar with the workings of the bowels.

Finaly, the doctor comes sweeping in with his white coat billowing behind him, his glasses sliding down on his whisky-red nose, smelling like baby vomit and latex. Then the assault on you body begins all over again, maybe a tongue depressor shoved down your gullet or a cold metal circle feeling up your chest as he tells you to breathe, again, breathe.

Chris went through all of that, altogether taking around four hours, just for an upset stomach. The doctor was on that last part just now, slipping his hand up Chris' t-shirt to make him shiver as the head of the stethoscope molested his back with cold fingers.

"Again, deep breath." The doctor instructed, sniffing his nose and scratching at his wild grey eyebrows. "Y'know." He mused, moving the thing over to Chris' shoulder. "Y'ain't from the South are you, or else y'just sound different in person than on the phone."

"Eh? No, I'm Canadian." Chris took a deep breath. "The guy on the yacker was my meddling husband. If it was up to me I wouldn't be here, this isn't exactly my favorite pass time."

At the word 'husband' the good doctor jerked his hand away, and hurried over to his desk where he scribbled a prescription.

"I-I'd say it's just a virus that's been goin' 'round. Viruses take longer to shake off than bacterial infections. There's nothing y'can really do to help t'along but keep hydrated, this should help with the nausea and vomiting." The doctor held out the scrawled note, when Chris took it his fingertips brushed the doctors nicotine-yellow knuckles, chipped nails, liver spotted back hand, and doctor homophobe snatched his hand away as though he'd just touched something hot. The look of disgust was not well hidden on his age weathered face.

"I see." Chris smirked. "So um, is it okay if I still suck off my guy?" Chris asked, making his voice soft and feminine. "I mean, he gets kinda crabby if I don't give him some head now and then."

The doctor backed away a step, almost tripping over his wheeled stool, and his mouth flapped up and down like a fish. Chris didn't wait for an answer to his mocking question, just snorted and breezed out the door, making a mental note to find another doctor should Matt force him to go again, which was definitely not going to happen again.

Reviewage is yayness. :) *gives vintage Jericho glitter to lovely readers*

If you like Matticho and want to read more (you know you so do) go to Dark Kaneanite's profile, or search the story "A Melding of Bodies and A Mending of the Heart" and give it a look. It's written by both of us, still in progress. *waves fingers in hypnotic motions* Gooooo reeeaaaad moooore Maaattttiiicchhoooo…*squinty eyes* Did it work?