A Moth Into A Butterfly | By : TaimaMarie Category: Individual Celebrities > Criss Angel Views: 3069 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not know or own Criss Angel. This is a work of fiction. I make no money off it. |
AN: Have not forgotten about you. Just been busy scooping my brain back into my skull and slogging through drama. Drat you, pretty boys. *Shakes fist*
A few days passed, and he came to his mother's house to check on Marilyn. Dimitra said her morning sickness was much better, and she was doing that whole 'nesting' thing pregnant women did.
Actually, it all sounded perfectly terrifying to Criss. He was a little bit scared to go and see her, to go and see what was happening with his child. But he knew it was his responsibility...
...And he didn't much care to have an angry pregnant woman after him.
Dimitra was out, running her errands, and the living room was silent. Marilyn had the day off, and so it was a surprise not to find her camped out on the couch downstairs, watching an Audrey Hepburn movie or one of those PBS kids cartoons she was so crazy about.
Criss didn't personally see the attraction of a talking aardvark with a short nose, but he was willing to let the girl have her fun.
“Marilyn? Where are you?” he called.
“I'm up here,” she shouted down from her attic. Criss climbed up the stairs and found her on the floor, kneeling in front of a huge old trunk.
“What in the world are you doing?” he smiled and leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, smiling.
“Oh, um, just cleaning some stuff. Your mom wanted to know what I wanted to move to the basement, and I got a little distracted...” she trailed off with a blush. Her hair was covered with a black bandanna, and her golden eyes were glowing.
All of her was glowing. She had that pregnant woman glow that made Criss swallow. She rose off her knees and rubbed them, dust burrowing into the darkness of the material. She had on black pedal pushers and a black sleeveless top.
“What did you find?” Criss stepped into the attic.
“Just some old pictures.” she gestured to the album she had been going through. Criss's throat went tight when he saw the page. It was the last birthday he'd had with his father, when his hair was still long.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have looked.” she said quickly, seeing the look on his face.
“No, Marilyn, it isn't that.” he came and knelt next to the trunk and touched a few of the pictures. “They're of my dad.”
“Oh,” she said quietly. She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Criss gave her a grateful look. Marilyn knelt next to him as he quietly flipped through the pages, not speaking. She didn't ask questions, didn't even look at him.
“I want to be a father like that. I want to love my kid that way.”
“You will. You'll be a wonderful father. I know it,” she looked at him then, pressed her forehead against his. Criss felt the tears stinging his eyes and kissed her on the tip of her nose. The spell of sadness was broken when she crinkled her nose with a giggle.
Criss started stacking the boxes to move down to the basement while she stood and watched him for a moment. He looked up, seeing her blush at having been caught staring. She made a face and then looked around at the attic.
“You could find just about anything you ever wanted up here, couldn't you?” she sounded almost dreamy, wistful. The illusionist grinned as he walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
“Well, I think I've found what I wanted.” he whispered in her ear. She giggled again, he could feel the heat of her blush against his cheek.
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