sparksfly7: I Do Not Know (What They Are Or Why They Are There)
Author: openmoments
Recipient: sparksfly7
Title: I Do Not Know [What They Are Or Why They Are There]
Rating: G
Words: 4,237
Pairings/Characters: Cristiano Ronaldo/Kaka, Cristiano Jr, Luca and Bella
Disclaimer: Fiction
Summary: Cristiano Jr comes home for Christmas and doesn't know what to get Ricky as a birthday present.
It’s the middle of December and the wind is sharp, the sky overcast. He tugs his hat tighter over his ears and curses under his breath when his warm fingers hit the cold air. He should have brought gloves. (Ricky told him to take gloves, eyes still glued to the morning paper, one corner bending over itself as his hand searched out for his coffee mug. He’d replied that it wasn’t that cold out, that he wouldn’t be out that long and that besides, he didn’t know where they were. Ricky had just shaken his head and told him he loved him as he opened the door.)
He shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets, grimacing as his cell phone starts vibrating against his fingers. He pulls it out and even through his grimace a smile surfaces when he sees who it is.
“You’re not phoning to cancel, I hope,” is how he answers and he can imagine his son rolling his eyes on the other end of the line.
“No because I know you’d show up with Ricky in tow and then criticise how the apartment’s decorated,” and he can’t help but laugh because he knows it’s probably true.
“What’s up?” he asks as he checks the road before crossing, raising a hand to the car that stops to let him pass.
“I’m trying to figure out what Ricky wants for Christmas and can’t think of anything,” and hearing that makes Cristiano’s heart swell against his ribs. He can’t help the grin spreading across his face as he pushes into the store, glad to get in out of the cold.
“Did you ask him?” Cristiano asks and knows his son is rolling his eyes again.
“Of course I did.”
“And?”
“And he told me that, and I quote, “I would love anything you give, Cris, because it would be you giving it to me”,” and Cristiano bites his lip as he smiles and shakes his head.
“Why couldn’t you have rubbed off on him more?” his son asks, pouting, “I mean, you’re easy to shop for. You’re the easiest person on my list. It’s like, “Oh, there’s a Gucci store. That’ll work. Whoops, there’s Armani. I’m sure I’ll find something there.” And then with Ricky it’s like I have to go to the damn Christian bookstore, which, you know, is fine, it is, but like, they judge you. Aren’t they supposed to not judge you? Because I can feel them. Watching me not knowing what I’m looking for. Judging,” and Cristiano chuckles into the phone.
“Da-ad, it’s not funny. Because he always gets me the best presents.”
Cristiano’s head snaps up and he frowns, “Hey! I thought I got you the best presents,” he says and his son sighs deeply into the phone.
“You do. You do. But it’s a different kind of best presents.”
“How so, exactly?” he asks as he rifles through the rack in front of him, all of a sudden not so sure that the belt buckle he’s holding is a good idea anymore.
“Seriously? We’re going to do this?”
“Yes, we’re going to do this. How, exactly, are they ‘different kinds of best presents’?” he asks, switching his phone from his left ear to his right and taking a cursory glance at the sweaters piled up neatly before moving on to a stack of t-shirts.
“Fine. Fine. We’ll do this,” and Cristiano can hear him take a deep breath, “You get me the really neat stuff. The stuff I would never buy myself because I’m a student and on a budget.”
Cristiano opens his mouth but his son races on, “Which is cool. It’s fine. I have no problem with it. I really don’t. The look on people’s faces when they find out that I live in dorms and have only so much money is fucking hilarious,” and Cristiano raises his eyebrows at the curse dropped in there.
“I mean hilarious, it’s hilarious.”
“Mhmmm. And Ricky?” he asks, not even pretending to browse anymore as he stretches his arms out in front of him before crossing them. “What does he get you?”
“Ricky gets me the stuff that you don’t know how to shop for.”
“I know how to shop for anything.”
His son laughs, a big rolling laugh and his mouth quirks at the sound of it, “Yeah, you do. But remember the molecule model Ricky got me last year? And the chemistry set when I was fifteen? And remember the biography of Antione Lavoisier he got me my first year at UCLA?”
Something falters in Cristiano then, something he didn’t know could hurt, something he didn’t know existed but now that it does and it hurts, he doesn’t know how to deal with it.
“Is that what you really want for Christmas?” and he wishes that they weren’t having this conversation here, not while he’s out in the middle of a store, trying to decide what to get his son who managed to be so much like him while being so vastly different.
There’s a pause and a long sigh and he answers, “No, Dad. That’s not what I was trying to say. I don’t want you to get me those things. Because you get me the football gear and the clothes and there was the laptop after I had spilled coffee over it after studying all night or that one time you got found all the clips of me playing football after my first season here and did that whole editing thing and wrote the letter with it? Or when you got my room redone after I first started taking chemistry seriously and got the big desk put in and got it rearranged so I could have chemistry and football in the same place?” and Cristiano really, really wishes they weren’t doing this now because he can’t see and stumbles his way out of the store, cold wind hitting against his face and freezes the tears against his face as they slip.
“So the Gucci belt is acceptable?” is all he says because he can’t say anything else and Cris laughs.
“Yeah. It’s more than acceptable.”
“Cris wants to know what to get you,” he asks Ricky as he watches his husband move around the kitchen, putting dishes away.
(It’s a soothing routine. Cristiano cooks while Ricky sets the table and tidies up the living room, takes the dog out for a walk. Ricky cleans up after dinner as Cristiano answers emails and makes tea, cuts fruit for dessert.)
Ricky throws him a look over his shoulder, “He asked me that earlier. He knows that I’ll love anything from him.”
Cristiano smiles at him over the top of his glasses, something he hasn’t told his son about and he knows he’s going to get hassled for it, “That is the worst thing to tell anyone,” and Ricky frowns for a minute.
“I thought it would make it easier. I mean, I know he has his allowance and I figured it would just take the pressure off,” he bites his bottom lip, looking worried and Cristiano feels very fond of him right then.
“He just wants to do justice to all the wonderful gifts you’ve gotten him over the years,” Cristiano tells him gently as he closes his laptop and stands behind Ricky at the sink, arms sliding around his waist.
“He’s really getting to be an adult, isn’t he?” Ricky asks with a little smile and Cristiano nods because he knew it would get to this, he just didn’t think it would happen so soon.
“Yeah, he really is,” he replies as he presses a kiss to Ricky’s temple before pulling away. “So would you help the poor kid out and give him some specifics? He’s a scientist. Apparently that’s how they think,” and he shares a crooked smile with Ricky.
“Is this too soon?” Ricky asks nervously as he stands next to Cristiano in the kitchen, fingers playing with his glass as they watch Cristiano’s mother putter around the kitchen. They tried to help but she had just looked at them with eyebrows raised and asked her how old they thought she was and if there was one thing she could still do, it was putting together a proper Christmas dinner.
So they slunk off to the other side of the room, Ricky nervous with nothing to do, banished from helping.
“We’ve been together for almost a year,” Cristiano points out with a soft smile as they watch their children run around the living room, decked out in thick holiday sweaters and paper crowns sitting lopsided on their heads.
“I know, I know. But still. Christmas is a big deal, Cristiano,” and Cristiano wraps a hand around his waist and pulls him closer, presses a kiss to his hair line before he pushes their foreheads together.
“Ricky. Listen to me. Everything is going to be fine. The kids are having a ball. They have no problem with it. And my mother wants to know when you’re moving in.”
Ricky pulls back and looks at him in horror before he takes a drink of his water. Cristiano laughs at the look on his face.
“Don’t worry. I told her that wouldn’t be happening for awhile. And that it was none of her business,” and Ricky smiles weakly at that.
“Unless,” and here he pauses and Ricky looks at him questioningly and Cristiano clears his throat, “Unless it’s too soon for you...,” and he lets the rest of the sentence drop and bites his lip, hoping Ricky will fill in the rest himself.
He blows out a breath and then smiles, “No, no it’s not. I think we’ve waited long enough. She’s been gone for five years now and I know....I know that she’d want me to be happy and you make me happy. And she liked you and,” he trails off and Cristiano can think of no other way to respond other than to kiss him, so he does, softly and slowly and smiles against his mouth.
“Then it’s fine and you need to breath,” he tells Ricky who nods and finishes the water in his glass.
They pick Cris up from the airport together. It’s an eleven hour flight and he comes through looking like he's been run over by a large truck.
"You look terrible," Cristiano tells him with a large grin and Cris moves to hug Ricky first.
“And you have glasses. Is that a sign of old age?” Cris teases over Ricky’s shoulder.
"How was the flight?" Ricky asks with a laugh as they pull away and Cristiano wraps his arms around his son and plants a kiss on the side of his head, remembering how he felt the first time he ever held him and how his arms sometimes aren't sure who this adult in his arms is.
"Long," Cris replies with a tired smile as Cristiano keeps an arm wrapped around his shoulders.
"We'll get you home and you can take a shower. Your dad put fresh sheets on your bed and your grandma has been cooking for the last three days," Ricky tells him as they make their way to the carousel to pick up his luggage.
"I can't wait," he answers and then pauses before, "I haven't heard from Bella in a while. Is she still coming?"
Cristiano had forgotten to talk to Cris about that and watches as Ricky’s face freezes for a moment before it smoothes out and he smiles, sad at the edges.
“We’ve had an....there was a....I don’t know, right now,” Ricky tells him and Cristiano reaches over and squeezes his hand.
“I’m sorry, Ricky,” Cris replies, “I hope she’ll show up though,” and Ricky smiles his thanks as Cris’s bag tumbles down onto the carousel.
Cristiano hasn’t gotten used to his son not being at the house. It’s been three years already and there are still times when he wakes up in the morning telling himself he needs to wake him up so he gets to school on time. And there are times when he reaches for his phone to phone him about the match that’s on, but puts it back down because he remembers the time difference and that his son is in class, is at football practice, is doing things he’s not a part of.
Ricky held him through it the first time. The first time he realized that he didn’t know what was going on in his son’s life and that he didn’t know if he wanted to know all the little details and that he didn’t know how to deal with the pain sliding through his heart.
And whenever he comes back home, Cristiano sleeps better because he knows he’s sleeping upstairs, safe and sound in his bed, that he’ll wake up in the morning, blurry eyed and hair sticking up all over his head and home.
(It happened with Ricky and Luca, Cristiano knows. But Isabella was home and even though they’re all theirs, Cris will always be his.)
“So did you figure out what to get Ricky yet?” Cristiano asks after they’ve gotten his stuff into the back of the car and pull into the thick Madrid traffic.
“Cristiano,” Ricky chides from the passenger seat. “He just landed. He’s exhausted.”
“Thanks Ricky,” Cris says from the back seat, where his head is propped up against the window, eyes sliding shut.
“I was making polite conversation,” Cristiano pouts and smiles because he has missed this and he checks the rearview mirror just so he can catch a glimpse of Cris with eyes sliding shut behind him.
“So, our first Christmas in our house,” Ricky says, fingers tapping the table as the kids watch a Christmas movie in the living room.
“Don’t say it so excitedly,” Cristiano teases him and Ricky just smiles tiredly.
“I am. I...I want this so much, Cristiano. I do. Somedays I just don’t know whether it’s real or not and if I’m going to wake up...,” and Cristiano leans across the table and silences him, hand sliding up the side of his face.
“Worry wart. It’s real and we’re real and I’m real and I want nothing else than to spend Christmas with you and Luca and Isabella. Like the family that we are. This is us and you’re just going to have to get used to it,” he tells Ricky, who just smiles at him eyes a little damp.
“There’s nothing I want more,” Ricky replies before Isabella blearily walks in, running a hand over her eyes. She’s nine and keeps up with the boys for almost everything, though it’s times like this, when she’s tired and stumbling that she reverts into being the youngest and allows her father to pull her onto his lap and tuck her into bed.
Except this time it’s Cristiano’s side she leans up against, head pushed up against his arm and Cristiano smiles, eyes never leaving Ricky’s as he lifts her onto his lap, head resting against his shoulder.
“Ready for bed, Bella?” he asks her as he rests his chin on the top of her head.
She doesn’t say anything, just nods her head drearily and sighs as her breathing starts evening out and Cristiano can see Ricky’s throat working, tears trying not to spill over onto his cheeks.
“When did Luca say he’s going to be coming home?” Cris asks later that evening as he’s loading the dishwasher and Ricky smiles because even though Luca is still in Spain, it sometimes seems so far away.
“Classes end tomorrow and he’ll be here the day after,” Ricky replies before he adds, “And he’s bringing a girlfriend,” he replies and Cris makes a hooting sound.
“He never told me anything about that!” Cris says, sounding hurt.
“Maybe he didn’t want to make you feel bad,” Cristiano says, smile wide as his son rolls his eyes.
“I don’t want a girlfriend, thanks,” he reminds his father and then rushes in with, “Or a boyfriend,” and Cristiano just grins again.
“They haven’t been dating long, don’t worry,” Ricky tells him as he hands over plates from the table.
“I’ll be glad to see him, anyways. It seems like ages since I was back here for the summer holidays. Especially with those glasses, Dad. When did you get those?” and Cristiano pulls a face as he wipes them off on his shirt before placing them back on his nose.
“Way too long,” he replies and Ricky mutters something under his breath about the fact that he’s so dramatic.
“They still feel weird on my face,” he pouts and Ricky slides his arms around his neck.
“But you still look incredibly handsome, so it’s all good.”
“What? Just handsome? Not sexy?” and Cris’s face grimaces even as he lets out a loud laugh as Ricky rolls his eyes and leans down to whisper something in his ear that makes his eyebrows rise and Cris makes a gagging sound.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to it and I’m going to head to bed. We still having lunch with Vó tomorrow?” he asks as he stretches his arms above his head.
Cristiano smiles at him from in where he’s still encircled by Ricky’s arms, “What are we paying that expensive degree for if you’re going to ask stupid questions like that for?”
“You never know. You might have pissed her off since the last time I was home and she revoked her invitation,” he retorts and Ricky smirks into Cristiano’s neck as he raises his eyebrows at his son.
“I’ll see you both in the morning,” Cris says as he leaves the kitchen, waving goodnight before he headed up the stairs to his childhood bedroom.
“I won’t have to share my bedroom, will I?” he asked, voice low as Cristiano tucks him into bed.
He looks at his son, a little surprised, “Do you not want to share a room with Luca?”
There’s a pause and Cris is staring at the footballs that decorate his comforter before he shrugs. “Not really.”
“Is there a reason?” he asks and is wondering, not for the first time, if this is the right thing to do.
Again Cris just shrugs and Cristiano gives him his time. “He’s already moving into the house, why does he need to move into my room?” and Cristiano looks through it and sees it as something Cris doesn’t think he can say.
“He’s already moved into our lives and he’s taken you from me, does he need to take my space too?”
“No you two won’t have to share a room,” Cristiano reassures him and the smile that Cris gives him makes his heart hurt, not just because he’s happy, but because of how much relief is evident on it as well.
“I love you,” he tells him, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he turns out the light, repeating it inside his head.
“I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you so much it scares me and it hurts me and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and it terrifies me that you might ever doubt that.”
When they get back from his mother’s place, there’s an extra car in the driveway and Cris runs up the stairs and by the time Cristiano gets into the house, he and Luca are talking over each other and Ricky’s offering a drink to the blonde on the couch, telling her that they haven’t seen each other in awhile and they get like this sometimes.
She smiles at him as she nods acceptance at his offer for a drink, thanking him and for some reason Cristiano feels fondness for her, the way she looks at their sons with amused understanding and how, after Ricky returns with her drink and Luca still hasn’t introduced her, she clears her throat and asks him if he’s going to or not.
“She seems nice,” Cristiano notes as Ricky sits next to him on the couch, “Clearly he takes after you,” he teases and Ricky smiles, though there’s a little pain behind it as his mind, unbidden, brings up images of the women that broke Cristiano’s heart.
“In some ways more than others,” he says mildly and Cristiano shrugs as he stands up to say hello when Luca brings her over.
They talked about having another child. About finding a surrogate and making it four, two kids each and seeing if they could make it two and two, boys and girls. But Bella was already ten and even though she and Cris seemed to be fine with the idea, Luca would bite his lip and shrug and there was a week where he wouldn’t talk to Ricky.
There was the deal about diapers and potty training and learning to speak and the difficult stuff that just seemed more difficult because they were retired and, as much as they weren’t, they were older and Cristiano knew he’d want to play football with her in the backyard and as much as he was in shape, he couldn’t fool himself into thinking he was going to stay CR7 for the rest of his life. At some point he’d just be Cristiano and he looked forward to that, but it would have its downsides.
So they decided against it and sometimes Cristiano wondered if they’d made the right decision, especially as Cris graduated and Luca started getting serious with training with the Real Madrid B team and Bella hit her teens, running track and playing basketball with her legs flying in every direction.
Bella does show up, in the middle of Christmas dinner and Cristiano is glad that they decided just immediate family this year because Ricky’s face goes white and he just pushes his food around on his plate and Cristiano wishes he wasn’t at the other end of the table but is glad that at least their children can fake their way through dinner enough that at one point he realizes his laugh is real and that even Ricky is smiling, though it slides off his face as Bella looks his way and Cristiano wishes he could hug his pain away but that it’s been him and God and he has to let that be enough.
(There is yelling in the garage after dessert and before they start playing games and Luca and Cris play war and pop three bags of popcorn and start building castles out of cards and Cristiano knows Luca almost tells him to stop pacing at one point but then shakes his head because that would be acknowledging everything and it’s Christmas and they don’t want to ruin that.)
They’re standing in the airport, waiting for Cris’s flight to call for boarding and Cristiano wrote a list out last night of the things that they could not forget and they’ve already been over it four times but he checks it over again because he needs to make sure. He doesn’t really care about the boots or the toothpaste or whether or not Cris has everyone’s mailing address for postcards or his paperwork all ready. That’s not the point. The point is that he can’t focus on the fact that his son is about to get on a plane and leave to study Chemistry and play football and be more than Cristiano ever thought he could be because he’s pretty sure the pain will be too great for his body to handle.
(That’s taking into account the paralyzing fear he had when Cris fell down the stairs and needed stitches above his eye or when he accidentally burnt his fingers or ran away from home into the back of Cris’s car. Because Cristiano survived those and he’s not sure if he can survive this. So, instead, he made a list. And it’s keeping him from flying apart.)
Bella and Ricky come back in and there’s no blood and Ricky doesn’t look like he’s going to burst into tears, so Cristiano takes it as a good sign as they sit down at the table (Ricky between him and Cris and Bella between Luca and Cris) and Cristiano counts that as a sign. They make it through the evening and no one gets mad (about something that isn’t the fact that, once again, Ricky is cheating at Yahtzee) and Cristiano knows that he’s got his family back.
“So you two talked it over?” he asks after the kids have wandered up to their rooms and the two of them are cuddled on the couch, too tired to make it up to their room even though they both know they really should because Ricky’s back hates the couch. Or the couch hates Ricky’s back.
There’s a silence and Cristiano pulls Ricky closer, “I’m glad that she came home. I’m glad we’re a family,” and he knows that’s what Ricky needs to hear sometimes, almost as much as he needs to hear ‘I love you’ and ‘I need you’ and ‘You’re mine, I’m yours’.
“Me too,” Ricky mumbles, half asleep and Cristiano rubs his thumb over his knuckles and tells himself he’ll get them to bed in five minutes. The last thought he has before he falls asleep is if Cris ever did find Ricky a present and that, hopefully, Ricky bought him new gloves. Because his are still missing.
Recipient: sparksfly7
Title: I Do Not Know [What They Are Or Why They Are There]
Rating: G
Words: 4,237
Pairings/Characters: Cristiano Ronaldo/Kaka, Cristiano Jr, Luca and Bella
Disclaimer: Fiction
Summary: Cristiano Jr comes home for Christmas and doesn't know what to get Ricky as a birthday present.
It’s the middle of December and the wind is sharp, the sky overcast. He tugs his hat tighter over his ears and curses under his breath when his warm fingers hit the cold air. He should have brought gloves. (Ricky told him to take gloves, eyes still glued to the morning paper, one corner bending over itself as his hand searched out for his coffee mug. He’d replied that it wasn’t that cold out, that he wouldn’t be out that long and that besides, he didn’t know where they were. Ricky had just shaken his head and told him he loved him as he opened the door.)
He shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets, grimacing as his cell phone starts vibrating against his fingers. He pulls it out and even through his grimace a smile surfaces when he sees who it is.
“You’re not phoning to cancel, I hope,” is how he answers and he can imagine his son rolling his eyes on the other end of the line.
“No because I know you’d show up with Ricky in tow and then criticise how the apartment’s decorated,” and he can’t help but laugh because he knows it’s probably true.
“What’s up?” he asks as he checks the road before crossing, raising a hand to the car that stops to let him pass.
“I’m trying to figure out what Ricky wants for Christmas and can’t think of anything,” and hearing that makes Cristiano’s heart swell against his ribs. He can’t help the grin spreading across his face as he pushes into the store, glad to get in out of the cold.
“Did you ask him?” Cristiano asks and knows his son is rolling his eyes again.
“Of course I did.”
“And?”
“And he told me that, and I quote, “I would love anything you give, Cris, because it would be you giving it to me”,” and Cristiano bites his lip as he smiles and shakes his head.
“Why couldn’t you have rubbed off on him more?” his son asks, pouting, “I mean, you’re easy to shop for. You’re the easiest person on my list. It’s like, “Oh, there’s a Gucci store. That’ll work. Whoops, there’s Armani. I’m sure I’ll find something there.” And then with Ricky it’s like I have to go to the damn Christian bookstore, which, you know, is fine, it is, but like, they judge you. Aren’t they supposed to not judge you? Because I can feel them. Watching me not knowing what I’m looking for. Judging,” and Cristiano chuckles into the phone.
“Da-ad, it’s not funny. Because he always gets me the best presents.”
Cristiano’s head snaps up and he frowns, “Hey! I thought I got you the best presents,” he says and his son sighs deeply into the phone.
“You do. You do. But it’s a different kind of best presents.”
“How so, exactly?” he asks as he rifles through the rack in front of him, all of a sudden not so sure that the belt buckle he’s holding is a good idea anymore.
“Seriously? We’re going to do this?”
“Yes, we’re going to do this. How, exactly, are they ‘different kinds of best presents’?” he asks, switching his phone from his left ear to his right and taking a cursory glance at the sweaters piled up neatly before moving on to a stack of t-shirts.
“Fine. Fine. We’ll do this,” and Cristiano can hear him take a deep breath, “You get me the really neat stuff. The stuff I would never buy myself because I’m a student and on a budget.”
Cristiano opens his mouth but his son races on, “Which is cool. It’s fine. I have no problem with it. I really don’t. The look on people’s faces when they find out that I live in dorms and have only so much money is fucking hilarious,” and Cristiano raises his eyebrows at the curse dropped in there.
“I mean hilarious, it’s hilarious.”
“Mhmmm. And Ricky?” he asks, not even pretending to browse anymore as he stretches his arms out in front of him before crossing them. “What does he get you?”
“Ricky gets me the stuff that you don’t know how to shop for.”
“I know how to shop for anything.”
His son laughs, a big rolling laugh and his mouth quirks at the sound of it, “Yeah, you do. But remember the molecule model Ricky got me last year? And the chemistry set when I was fifteen? And remember the biography of Antione Lavoisier he got me my first year at UCLA?”
Something falters in Cristiano then, something he didn’t know could hurt, something he didn’t know existed but now that it does and it hurts, he doesn’t know how to deal with it.
“Is that what you really want for Christmas?” and he wishes that they weren’t having this conversation here, not while he’s out in the middle of a store, trying to decide what to get his son who managed to be so much like him while being so vastly different.
There’s a pause and a long sigh and he answers, “No, Dad. That’s not what I was trying to say. I don’t want you to get me those things. Because you get me the football gear and the clothes and there was the laptop after I had spilled coffee over it after studying all night or that one time you got found all the clips of me playing football after my first season here and did that whole editing thing and wrote the letter with it? Or when you got my room redone after I first started taking chemistry seriously and got the big desk put in and got it rearranged so I could have chemistry and football in the same place?” and Cristiano really, really wishes they weren’t doing this now because he can’t see and stumbles his way out of the store, cold wind hitting against his face and freezes the tears against his face as they slip.
“So the Gucci belt is acceptable?” is all he says because he can’t say anything else and Cris laughs.
“Yeah. It’s more than acceptable.”
“Cris wants to know what to get you,” he asks Ricky as he watches his husband move around the kitchen, putting dishes away.
(It’s a soothing routine. Cristiano cooks while Ricky sets the table and tidies up the living room, takes the dog out for a walk. Ricky cleans up after dinner as Cristiano answers emails and makes tea, cuts fruit for dessert.)
Ricky throws him a look over his shoulder, “He asked me that earlier. He knows that I’ll love anything from him.”
Cristiano smiles at him over the top of his glasses, something he hasn’t told his son about and he knows he’s going to get hassled for it, “That is the worst thing to tell anyone,” and Ricky frowns for a minute.
“I thought it would make it easier. I mean, I know he has his allowance and I figured it would just take the pressure off,” he bites his bottom lip, looking worried and Cristiano feels very fond of him right then.
“He just wants to do justice to all the wonderful gifts you’ve gotten him over the years,” Cristiano tells him gently as he closes his laptop and stands behind Ricky at the sink, arms sliding around his waist.
“He’s really getting to be an adult, isn’t he?” Ricky asks with a little smile and Cristiano nods because he knew it would get to this, he just didn’t think it would happen so soon.
“Yeah, he really is,” he replies as he presses a kiss to Ricky’s temple before pulling away. “So would you help the poor kid out and give him some specifics? He’s a scientist. Apparently that’s how they think,” and he shares a crooked smile with Ricky.
“Is this too soon?” Ricky asks nervously as he stands next to Cristiano in the kitchen, fingers playing with his glass as they watch Cristiano’s mother putter around the kitchen. They tried to help but she had just looked at them with eyebrows raised and asked her how old they thought she was and if there was one thing she could still do, it was putting together a proper Christmas dinner.
So they slunk off to the other side of the room, Ricky nervous with nothing to do, banished from helping.
“We’ve been together for almost a year,” Cristiano points out with a soft smile as they watch their children run around the living room, decked out in thick holiday sweaters and paper crowns sitting lopsided on their heads.
“I know, I know. But still. Christmas is a big deal, Cristiano,” and Cristiano wraps a hand around his waist and pulls him closer, presses a kiss to his hair line before he pushes their foreheads together.
“Ricky. Listen to me. Everything is going to be fine. The kids are having a ball. They have no problem with it. And my mother wants to know when you’re moving in.”
Ricky pulls back and looks at him in horror before he takes a drink of his water. Cristiano laughs at the look on his face.
“Don’t worry. I told her that wouldn’t be happening for awhile. And that it was none of her business,” and Ricky smiles weakly at that.
“Unless,” and here he pauses and Ricky looks at him questioningly and Cristiano clears his throat, “Unless it’s too soon for you...,” and he lets the rest of the sentence drop and bites his lip, hoping Ricky will fill in the rest himself.
He blows out a breath and then smiles, “No, no it’s not. I think we’ve waited long enough. She’s been gone for five years now and I know....I know that she’d want me to be happy and you make me happy. And she liked you and,” he trails off and Cristiano can think of no other way to respond other than to kiss him, so he does, softly and slowly and smiles against his mouth.
“Then it’s fine and you need to breath,” he tells Ricky who nods and finishes the water in his glass.
They pick Cris up from the airport together. It’s an eleven hour flight and he comes through looking like he's been run over by a large truck.
"You look terrible," Cristiano tells him with a large grin and Cris moves to hug Ricky first.
“And you have glasses. Is that a sign of old age?” Cris teases over Ricky’s shoulder.
"How was the flight?" Ricky asks with a laugh as they pull away and Cristiano wraps his arms around his son and plants a kiss on the side of his head, remembering how he felt the first time he ever held him and how his arms sometimes aren't sure who this adult in his arms is.
"Long," Cris replies with a tired smile as Cristiano keeps an arm wrapped around his shoulders.
"We'll get you home and you can take a shower. Your dad put fresh sheets on your bed and your grandma has been cooking for the last three days," Ricky tells him as they make their way to the carousel to pick up his luggage.
"I can't wait," he answers and then pauses before, "I haven't heard from Bella in a while. Is she still coming?"
Cristiano had forgotten to talk to Cris about that and watches as Ricky’s face freezes for a moment before it smoothes out and he smiles, sad at the edges.
“We’ve had an....there was a....I don’t know, right now,” Ricky tells him and Cristiano reaches over and squeezes his hand.
“I’m sorry, Ricky,” Cris replies, “I hope she’ll show up though,” and Ricky smiles his thanks as Cris’s bag tumbles down onto the carousel.
Cristiano hasn’t gotten used to his son not being at the house. It’s been three years already and there are still times when he wakes up in the morning telling himself he needs to wake him up so he gets to school on time. And there are times when he reaches for his phone to phone him about the match that’s on, but puts it back down because he remembers the time difference and that his son is in class, is at football practice, is doing things he’s not a part of.
Ricky held him through it the first time. The first time he realized that he didn’t know what was going on in his son’s life and that he didn’t know if he wanted to know all the little details and that he didn’t know how to deal with the pain sliding through his heart.
And whenever he comes back home, Cristiano sleeps better because he knows he’s sleeping upstairs, safe and sound in his bed, that he’ll wake up in the morning, blurry eyed and hair sticking up all over his head and home.
(It happened with Ricky and Luca, Cristiano knows. But Isabella was home and even though they’re all theirs, Cris will always be his.)
“So did you figure out what to get Ricky yet?” Cristiano asks after they’ve gotten his stuff into the back of the car and pull into the thick Madrid traffic.
“Cristiano,” Ricky chides from the passenger seat. “He just landed. He’s exhausted.”
“Thanks Ricky,” Cris says from the back seat, where his head is propped up against the window, eyes sliding shut.
“I was making polite conversation,” Cristiano pouts and smiles because he has missed this and he checks the rearview mirror just so he can catch a glimpse of Cris with eyes sliding shut behind him.
“So, our first Christmas in our house,” Ricky says, fingers tapping the table as the kids watch a Christmas movie in the living room.
“Don’t say it so excitedly,” Cristiano teases him and Ricky just smiles tiredly.
“I am. I...I want this so much, Cristiano. I do. Somedays I just don’t know whether it’s real or not and if I’m going to wake up...,” and Cristiano leans across the table and silences him, hand sliding up the side of his face.
“Worry wart. It’s real and we’re real and I’m real and I want nothing else than to spend Christmas with you and Luca and Isabella. Like the family that we are. This is us and you’re just going to have to get used to it,” he tells Ricky, who just smiles at him eyes a little damp.
“There’s nothing I want more,” Ricky replies before Isabella blearily walks in, running a hand over her eyes. She’s nine and keeps up with the boys for almost everything, though it’s times like this, when she’s tired and stumbling that she reverts into being the youngest and allows her father to pull her onto his lap and tuck her into bed.
Except this time it’s Cristiano’s side she leans up against, head pushed up against his arm and Cristiano smiles, eyes never leaving Ricky’s as he lifts her onto his lap, head resting against his shoulder.
“Ready for bed, Bella?” he asks her as he rests his chin on the top of her head.
She doesn’t say anything, just nods her head drearily and sighs as her breathing starts evening out and Cristiano can see Ricky’s throat working, tears trying not to spill over onto his cheeks.
“When did Luca say he’s going to be coming home?” Cris asks later that evening as he’s loading the dishwasher and Ricky smiles because even though Luca is still in Spain, it sometimes seems so far away.
“Classes end tomorrow and he’ll be here the day after,” Ricky replies before he adds, “And he’s bringing a girlfriend,” he replies and Cris makes a hooting sound.
“He never told me anything about that!” Cris says, sounding hurt.
“Maybe he didn’t want to make you feel bad,” Cristiano says, smile wide as his son rolls his eyes.
“I don’t want a girlfriend, thanks,” he reminds his father and then rushes in with, “Or a boyfriend,” and Cristiano just grins again.
“They haven’t been dating long, don’t worry,” Ricky tells him as he hands over plates from the table.
“I’ll be glad to see him, anyways. It seems like ages since I was back here for the summer holidays. Especially with those glasses, Dad. When did you get those?” and Cristiano pulls a face as he wipes them off on his shirt before placing them back on his nose.
“Way too long,” he replies and Ricky mutters something under his breath about the fact that he’s so dramatic.
“They still feel weird on my face,” he pouts and Ricky slides his arms around his neck.
“But you still look incredibly handsome, so it’s all good.”
“What? Just handsome? Not sexy?” and Cris’s face grimaces even as he lets out a loud laugh as Ricky rolls his eyes and leans down to whisper something in his ear that makes his eyebrows rise and Cris makes a gagging sound.
“Well, I’ll leave you two to it and I’m going to head to bed. We still having lunch with Vó tomorrow?” he asks as he stretches his arms above his head.
Cristiano smiles at him from in where he’s still encircled by Ricky’s arms, “What are we paying that expensive degree for if you’re going to ask stupid questions like that for?”
“You never know. You might have pissed her off since the last time I was home and she revoked her invitation,” he retorts and Ricky smirks into Cristiano’s neck as he raises his eyebrows at his son.
“I’ll see you both in the morning,” Cris says as he leaves the kitchen, waving goodnight before he headed up the stairs to his childhood bedroom.
“I won’t have to share my bedroom, will I?” he asked, voice low as Cristiano tucks him into bed.
He looks at his son, a little surprised, “Do you not want to share a room with Luca?”
There’s a pause and Cris is staring at the footballs that decorate his comforter before he shrugs. “Not really.”
“Is there a reason?” he asks and is wondering, not for the first time, if this is the right thing to do.
Again Cris just shrugs and Cristiano gives him his time. “He’s already moving into the house, why does he need to move into my room?” and Cristiano looks through it and sees it as something Cris doesn’t think he can say.
“He’s already moved into our lives and he’s taken you from me, does he need to take my space too?”
“No you two won’t have to share a room,” Cristiano reassures him and the smile that Cris gives him makes his heart hurt, not just because he’s happy, but because of how much relief is evident on it as well.
“I love you,” he tells him, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he turns out the light, repeating it inside his head.
“I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you so much it scares me and it hurts me and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and it terrifies me that you might ever doubt that.”
When they get back from his mother’s place, there’s an extra car in the driveway and Cris runs up the stairs and by the time Cristiano gets into the house, he and Luca are talking over each other and Ricky’s offering a drink to the blonde on the couch, telling her that they haven’t seen each other in awhile and they get like this sometimes.
She smiles at him as she nods acceptance at his offer for a drink, thanking him and for some reason Cristiano feels fondness for her, the way she looks at their sons with amused understanding and how, after Ricky returns with her drink and Luca still hasn’t introduced her, she clears her throat and asks him if he’s going to or not.
“She seems nice,” Cristiano notes as Ricky sits next to him on the couch, “Clearly he takes after you,” he teases and Ricky smiles, though there’s a little pain behind it as his mind, unbidden, brings up images of the women that broke Cristiano’s heart.
“In some ways more than others,” he says mildly and Cristiano shrugs as he stands up to say hello when Luca brings her over.
They talked about having another child. About finding a surrogate and making it four, two kids each and seeing if they could make it two and two, boys and girls. But Bella was already ten and even though she and Cris seemed to be fine with the idea, Luca would bite his lip and shrug and there was a week where he wouldn’t talk to Ricky.
There was the deal about diapers and potty training and learning to speak and the difficult stuff that just seemed more difficult because they were retired and, as much as they weren’t, they were older and Cristiano knew he’d want to play football with her in the backyard and as much as he was in shape, he couldn’t fool himself into thinking he was going to stay CR7 for the rest of his life. At some point he’d just be Cristiano and he looked forward to that, but it would have its downsides.
So they decided against it and sometimes Cristiano wondered if they’d made the right decision, especially as Cris graduated and Luca started getting serious with training with the Real Madrid B team and Bella hit her teens, running track and playing basketball with her legs flying in every direction.
Bella does show up, in the middle of Christmas dinner and Cristiano is glad that they decided just immediate family this year because Ricky’s face goes white and he just pushes his food around on his plate and Cristiano wishes he wasn’t at the other end of the table but is glad that at least their children can fake their way through dinner enough that at one point he realizes his laugh is real and that even Ricky is smiling, though it slides off his face as Bella looks his way and Cristiano wishes he could hug his pain away but that it’s been him and God and he has to let that be enough.
(There is yelling in the garage after dessert and before they start playing games and Luca and Cris play war and pop three bags of popcorn and start building castles out of cards and Cristiano knows Luca almost tells him to stop pacing at one point but then shakes his head because that would be acknowledging everything and it’s Christmas and they don’t want to ruin that.)
They’re standing in the airport, waiting for Cris’s flight to call for boarding and Cristiano wrote a list out last night of the things that they could not forget and they’ve already been over it four times but he checks it over again because he needs to make sure. He doesn’t really care about the boots or the toothpaste or whether or not Cris has everyone’s mailing address for postcards or his paperwork all ready. That’s not the point. The point is that he can’t focus on the fact that his son is about to get on a plane and leave to study Chemistry and play football and be more than Cristiano ever thought he could be because he’s pretty sure the pain will be too great for his body to handle.
(That’s taking into account the paralyzing fear he had when Cris fell down the stairs and needed stitches above his eye or when he accidentally burnt his fingers or ran away from home into the back of Cris’s car. Because Cristiano survived those and he’s not sure if he can survive this. So, instead, he made a list. And it’s keeping him from flying apart.)
Bella and Ricky come back in and there’s no blood and Ricky doesn’t look like he’s going to burst into tears, so Cristiano takes it as a good sign as they sit down at the table (Ricky between him and Cris and Bella between Luca and Cris) and Cristiano counts that as a sign. They make it through the evening and no one gets mad (about something that isn’t the fact that, once again, Ricky is cheating at Yahtzee) and Cristiano knows that he’s got his family back.
“So you two talked it over?” he asks after the kids have wandered up to their rooms and the two of them are cuddled on the couch, too tired to make it up to their room even though they both know they really should because Ricky’s back hates the couch. Or the couch hates Ricky’s back.
There’s a silence and Cristiano pulls Ricky closer, “I’m glad that she came home. I’m glad we’re a family,” and he knows that’s what Ricky needs to hear sometimes, almost as much as he needs to hear ‘I love you’ and ‘I need you’ and ‘You’re mine, I’m yours’.
“Me too,” Ricky mumbles, half asleep and Cristiano rubs his thumb over his knuckles and tells himself he’ll get them to bed in five minutes. The last thought he has before he falls asleep is if Cris ever did find Ricky a present and that, hopefully, Ricky bought him new gloves. Because his are still missing.