fic: you come beating like moth's wings (part two)
you come beating like moth's wings (part two)
ryan lochte/michael phelps
pg13, 25183 words
just general warnings for curse words and one use of the word 'faggot'
Conor’s birthday sneaks up on them. Michael makes sure to write it on the calendar in his office and programs it into his and Ryan’s phone but it still seems to come out of nowhere. They’re not sure what to get Conor for his birthday - the dog idea seems stupid in the light of a sober day - and he has enough art supplies to last him at least three months.
All Conor says he wants for his birthday is to go out to eat and bring a couple of friends from school with them. Nathan comes along because they’re best friends now and it would be terrible if he didn’t and Matt comes along with them and another kid named Ricky. They head to a family friendly restaurant in Little Italy that Michael’s been going to his whole life and where they had their wedding reception. There’s a picture on the wall to prove it.
Conor spots the picture immediately. “Hey!” He says excitedly when they’re seated and Michael and Ryan have said hello to the owners. “That’s you and Ryan and Ms. Debbie!”
“Jeah!” Ryan says and takes the picture right off the wall to show Ricky and Matt who are sitting too far away to see it.
“You got married here?” Ricky asks and looks around the restaurant. “I thought people got married in churches.”
“We got married at City Hall,” Michael says and points out Ryan’s family to the boys. “We just ate here after the wedding.”
It had been a topnotch wedding but admittedly very small. Cullen had been there and a few other swimmers they had been close to over the years and then both of their families. Ryan knew a whole bunch of people but he wasn’t too particularly close with any of them and Michael knew, well, Michael could count the number of people he was close to excluding his family and Ryan on one hand. They had barely even dressed up for the actual ceremony and Michael remembers changing into basketball shorts and a t-shirt right after they were officially married.
“It doesn’t look like you came from a wedding,” Matt comments. He pushes his glasses up his nose and then flicks the paper from his straw across the table at Nathan. Nathan sticks his tongue out and kicks Matt under the table. It’s kind of diabetes inducing sweet.
“Fancy just ain’t my style,” Ryan says. Conor lifts his eyebrow and looks like he wants to comment on Ryan’s style but decides better on it.
Michael spends the beginning of dinner cutting up various dishes for Conor and his friends and then the rest of dinner laughing at their antics and apologizing to the server who just looks like she’s seen and been through worse.
The restaurant owners bring out a small cake for Conor along with sparklers and Ryan manages to burn his hand and almost knocks over a couple of glasses. “You’re worse than the kids,” Michael tells him and kisses Ryan’s hand when Ryan insists that he kiss it better.
“Kisses make everything feel better,” Ryan says and bats his eyelashes.
“What are you?” Michael asks and kisses his hand anyway. “A four-year-old girl?”
Ryan sticks his tongue out. Michael resists the temptation to pull that tongue into his mouth. Ryan looks like he knows exactly what Michael’s thinking. Michael kicks him under the table. “Don’t start. We’re in public.”
“You’re the one with your mind in the gutter,” Ryan says with a smirk.
“My mind wouldn’t be in the gutter if you didn’t do obscene thing in public,” Michael replies and shoves a piece of cake into his mouth. Ryan lifts his eyebrows suggestively and leans in close. “I’ll do obscene things to you when we get home.”
There was once a time when Ryan muttering cheesy sexual things into his ear would make Michael flush or choke on whatever piece of food was in his mouth, but now all it makes Michael do is smile and shake his head.
Ryan smiles as well and scoots closer to Michael in the both until his leg is thrown over Michael’s.
After dinner and a trip to the bowling alley they drop the other kids off at their respective houses and return home. Conor is full of energy from the cake and he runs around the kitchen chasing Herman and Carter until he slips and almost takes his front teeth out on the kitchen island.
Ryan has to wipe away blood from Conor’s mouth while Conor cries weakly on the kitchen counter. “Let’s not do that again, jeah?”
Conor’s lower lip wobbles. “Jeah.”
Two days later a card arrives in the mail for Conor. Conor’s never gotten mail sent to their house before and he rips the card open to discover a birthday card within it.
“Whose it from?” Michael asks because Conor’s already received a birthday card from Debbie and the rest of the Phelps and one from Ike too.
“Patrick,” Conor says excitedly and flings himself to the ground to read it.
“Patrick?” Michael asks and leans over Conor to read the card. It’s a generic birthday card with a dog making a silly face and in slightly neater handwriting than a seven-year-old’s Happy Birthday Conor, love Patrick!!
“Patrick’s my brother,” Conor explains when he’s done reading the card over and over again. “I don’t get to see him cause he lives with another family.”
“Oh,” is all Michael manages to say. He remembers reading that Conor had a brother but he hadn’t put much thought into it.
“Do you have any brothers?” Conor asks suddenly. “I only met Miss Whitney and Miss Hilary.”
Michael shakes his head. “I don’t have any brothers but Ryan’s got two.”
“Are they older brothers?” Conor flips the card open again. “Patrick’s my older brother.”
“They’re younger.” Michael heads back into his office to answer some emails from Peter. Conor follows him and flops into the chair against the window, birthday card still in hand. “Does he get to see them a lot?”
“Not really,” Michael says and types away. “They live in Florida. That’s where Ryan’s from.”
Conor keeps opening and closing the birthday card. “Is he not allowed to see them?”
Michael looks away from the computer screen and at Conor. “Are you not allowed to see Patrick?”
Conor stops opening the card and looks at his feet. “Miss Jane says he lives in another state cause they couldn’t find another family to take him in closer.”
“I’m sorry,” is all Michael can say.
“It’s okay,” Conor says and hops off the chair. He comes around the desk and wiggles his way onto Michael’s lap. “Patrick’s kind of like Daddy. He says mean things.”
Michael doesn’t say anything and Conor peers up at the computer screen. “Can you show me where Florida is?”
“Yeah,” Michael says and pulls up Google Maps. He types in Miami and lets Google do its thing.
“Florida’s really big,” Conor says and moves the mouse around to see more of the state. “Where do Ryan’s brothers live?”
Michael types in Ike’s address. “I don’t know their addresses but this is where Ryan and his brothers grew up. He’s also got two older sisters. Do you remember them from the picture at the restaurant?”
Conor shakes his head, engrossed with the image of the Lochte’s tiny two-story house. How they managed to fit seven people in there comfortably Michael will never know. “Here,” he says and exits out of Google to pull up a folder filled with pictures from the last time they went to Florida.
He points out various immediate family members and a distant cousin or two before pulling up more pictures from previous years including a picture of when Ryan landed himself in the hospital with a few broken ribs after skateboarding off his roof.
Conor almost starts crying in laughter when Michael shows him embarrassing pictures of Ryan’s curly hair. He keeps it short now, and Michael really does like Ryan’s curls, but after they meet hot air they usually go to hell. Michael keeps the pictures because sometimes he just needs a good laugh.
Michael’s just about to close the picture folder when Conor spots one picture in particular. “What’s this one?” He asks and uses the mouse to pull it up. It’s nothing special, not really. It’s just Michael and Ryan on the pool deck, hugging each other fiercely. Michael’s got his Greatest of all Time trophy in hand and there might, just might, be tears in his eyes.
“Why are you crying?” Conor asks.
“I’m not crying,” Michael replies hotly. “I had something in my eye.”
Conor doesn’t look like he believes him. “Why was there something in your eye?”
Michael shrugs. It had been everything that had made him emotional that day. The voicemail from his mom telling him how proud of him she was even if he didn’t win, the speech from Bob, the breakfast with the rest of the team that had left him smiling, fucking Ryan saying after this let’s make it official; the 19th medal and trophy had just been icing on the cake.
“I was just really happy,” he finally says. Conor doesn’t seem to be listening. Instead he’s squinting at the trophy, trying to read what’s printed on the side but Ryan’s shoulder is blocking out most of the sentence.
Carter starts to bark and goes racing by the open door to the garage, announcing that Ryan’s finally back from his trip to the grocery store. It took longer than usual and Michael can bet that not even half the things he wrote down on the list are even in any of the grocery bags Ryan’s setting down near the door.
“Ryan!” Conor says happily and hops off of Michael’s lap to give Ryan a hug.
“Little bro!” Ryan hands Conor one of the grocery bags. “You gonna help me put all this stuff away?”
“Jeah!” Conor says and runs into the kitchen to put the bag down.
Michael watches the exchange from his computer chair before he goes back to looking at his computer screen. The picture is still up. The trophy is upstairs with the rest of Michael’s medals, tucked away in a shoebox at the bottom of their closet. He hasn’t looked at it since they got back from London. He hadn’t meant to keep it in a shoebox for four years; he had only put it there for safekeeping and had never taken it back out.
“What’re you looking it?” Ryan is right behind him, hands on the back of the computer chair. In the kitchen cabinets are being slammed from where Conor is hopefully putting away the groceries. Ryan leans further over the back of the chair to wrap his arms around Michael and rests his chin on his shoulder.
“Damn,” he finally says. “We looked good.”
“Excuse you,” Michael says and closes out the window. “I still look good.”
Which is only a half-truth; he’s not in the same shape he used to be but he’s let his hair grow out and no longer shaves it close to his head and there’s always a light dusting of facial hair that makes him look sexy - according to Ryan. He knows he’s no fucking Adonis, but people are supposed to get better looking with age.
“Fuck yeah you do,” Ryan says and kisses at Michael’s neck.
“You’re not getting laid tonight, Lochte.”
Ryan’s lips stop moving. “Mike,” he whines, “I’m starting to think you don’t love me anymore.”
“Love isn’t measured by how many times I let you suck my dick, Ryan.”
“No, it’s measured by how many times you suck mine and I don’t feel loved enough.” Michael can feel Ryan pouting against his neck. He resists the urge to roll his eyes.
“Fine,” Michael finally says, only after Ryan’s resumed his kissing and the noises in the kitchen have mysteriously stopped, “maybe you’ll get laid tonight. But only if you make dinner.”
Ryan whoops and throws his arms into the air like he used to do after a big win. “I’m getting laid tonight,” he sing-songs in a whisper.
“What’s going on?” Conor asks and remerges from the kitchen.
“Nothing,” Michael says but Conor doesn’t look convinced - Ryan is still singing about how he’s going to get laid. “Are you hungry?” Michael asks to distract the seven-year-old and guides him out of the office. “Ryan said he’ll make dinner tonight.”
Conor’s nose scrunches up. “He’s not gonna burn it again, is he?”
“One time,” Ryan says from behind them. “A guy burns a grilled cheese sandwich one time and they never let it go.”
Ryan doesn’t end up burning dinner that night, thankfully. Once Conor’s in bed and presumably fast asleep he corners Michael in the bathroom.
“Dude,” Michael says. “I need to brush my teeth.”
Ryan’s eyes are dark blue and he’s looking at Michael determinedly, like Michael is a gold medal just waiting to be won or some shit. “You promised if I made dinner that I’d get laid tonight.”
Michael tries to reach for his toothbrush. Ryan traps his arms by his side. “You promised Phelps!”
“One,” Michael says in his I-am-an-adult-voice, “I promised you no such thing I said maybe. And two: I need to brush my teeth.”
Ryan continues to stare determinedly. “My cock. Your mouth.”
“That’s not asking very nicely,” Michael says.
“Phelps,” Ryan says using the same I-am-an-adult voice Michael used earlier. “Now.”
Michael rolls his eyes and gives up on the hope of brushing his teeth. He gets to his knees and grumbles, “I’m not a dog and you can’t boss me around. This is spousal abuse.”
“Good boy,” Ryan replies with a smirk. Michael’s got Ryan’s half-hard dick in his hand and pauses.
“You shouldn’t be mean to the guy who’s about to suck your dick,” he says.
“I love you,” Ryan says and starts to rock his hips.
“Yeah, love you too,” Michael deadpans and takes Ryan’s cock into his mouth.
The weeks start to bleed together. Conor has two or three supervised visits with his parents that go better than the first and he receives a letter in the mail from Patrick the beginning of February. Nathan starts to come over a lot more and Ricky too and the three of them run around the backyard when they manage to get a day of good weather.
Near the beginning of March they make arrangements with Jane to bring Conor with them to Florida for spring break. He’ll have his first unsupervised visit with his parents on a Monday and then that Tuesday after therapy they’ll all be on a plane heading to Jacksonville. Conor’s never been out of Maryland before and he tries to pack his suitcase two weeks before they’re supposed to leave. He spends most days after he’s done with homework researching alligators.
A week before they’re set to leave Ryan’s in New York City doing a special correspondent gig for E! and Michael’s swamped with making deals with new sponsors for his foundation. For the most part Conor is left to his own devices but Michael makes sure to keep his office door wide open so he can hear any crashes coming from the living room.
Conor sticks his head into the office around 3 on a Saturday and says, “Why are you on the TV?”
Michael’s engrossed in an email and doesn’t hear Conor at first so Conor asks again. This time Michael hears him and says, “Wha?”
“You’re on the TV,” Conor says.
Michael can’t remember doing any new promos for anything unless Subway or Head and Shoulders have run out of celebrities or other athletes and are replaying old commercials.
“It’s probably just a commercial,” Michael says and goes back to typing. Conor doesn’t leave the doorway. “It’s not a commercial! Ms. Debbie was talking to some guy with white hair about you.”
Michael stops typing. “Mom was talking to a guy with white hair about me?”
“Yeah,” Conor says. “And like they keep showing you swimming and they said you and Ryan used to hate each other.”
It’s probably some bullshit report from TMZ but ‘some guy with white hair’ sounds a lot like Anderson Cooper. Michael types a few more lines and then shoots off the email before he follows Conor into the living room.
Michael’s pretty sure he left Conor in the living room watching Planet Earth on Disney but somehow the TV is on ESPN. The voice-over is talking about a football player Michael doesn’t recognize.
“You were just on!” Conor says and hands Michael the remote. “Can you make it go backward?”
Michael hits rewind and sure enough, after going through a couple of commercials, his face appears on the screen. Conor grins and says, “See!”
He hits play once they get to another set of commercials and soon realizes that it’s one of ESPN’s greatest athletes special. There seems to be no particular order to the list but Michael’s sandwiched between a racehorse and a football player.
The voice-over starts with his career in Sydney and spans all the way to London, piecing together tidbits of information and random interviews, some of which he can’t ever remember doing. They talk about Ryan and their rivalry and for what seems like the first time in any athletic segment about him ever they mention Ryan as just more than his rival in the pool. They end the segment in London, him on the podium crying as he receives his last medal ever.
“They called you the greatest Olympian of all time,” Conor says in awe. “Are you really the greatest?”
Michael just kind of shrugs and fast-forwards until the TV catches up in real time. “I guess,” he says. “Some people don’t think I am.” And he’s never really thought of himself as that either because that would make him a total dick.
“Do you really have twenty-two medals?” Conor asks. Michael nods. Conor chews on his bottom lip and asks, “Can I see them?”
The trek up stairs is short. Conor sits on the end of the bed as Michael fishes out the shoeboxes filled with his and Ryan’s Olympic medals from their closet. He isn’t sure which medals are exactly his and which ones are Ryan’s but it doesn’t seem to matter to Conor. He stares at them in astonishment and touches them like they’re delicate flowers. “You won all of these?!”
“Ryan’s are in here too,” Michael explains, picking through the medals. “He won these in Rio.” Ryan’s four golds and two silvers from the Rio games are easy to pick out; they’re the only medals with a green lament attached to them.
“You guys won all of these by swimming?” Conor has two of Ryan’s golds around his neck and he turns around to check himself out in the full-length mirror attached to the closet door. The medals look huge against his small frame and probably weigh more than what Michael remembers.
“That’s how we met,” Michael explains. “They have this other big competition, just for swimming, called Worlds. And Ryan and I met there in 2004. He beat me in a race and I didn’t like it.”
Conor whips around and almost smacks himself in the face with the medals. “You weren’t mean to him cause you lost, were you? Cause Mrs. Parker says if you’re mean to a girl then she won’t like you back. Matt’s being really nice to this girl in his class named Annie. It’s making Nathan really sad.”
Michael starts to hand Conor more medals to put around his neck. He adds a bronze from London, definitely Ryan’s, and then adds another gold from Beijing, which is probably his. “I tried to be but the meaner you are to Ryan the more he wants to be your friend.”
“So you didn’t like Ryan at first?” Conor has to take one of the gold medals off because the weight is starting to hurt his neck.
“Like for the first ten minutes,” Michael says because he doesn’t think he’s ever disliked Ryan. It’s kind of hard to. Ryan’s the kind of guy who can just mold to anyone’s personality and being mean to him is like clubbing a baby seal - you’re just a straight up dick that needs to be clubbed yourself. “But after that we became best friends.”
“And then you got married?” Conor starts to help Michael put the medals back in the shoeboxes. He looks reluctant to see them go.
“No, we were boyfriends and then we got married.” Michael closes the shoeboxes and starts for the closet but thinks twice about it. “If I let you keep these in your room do you promise to keep them safe?”
Conor’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas. “I promise,” he says and takes one of the boxes from Michael when he offers it. He hugs the box to his chest and then races down the hall towards his own bedroom.
Michael follows after and finds Conor placing the box on the top of his dresser. Michael sets the other box down and watches as Conor makes sure that they’re far away enough not to fall off the dresser but close enough that he can open the boxes whenever he wants and look in. “Mommy and Daddy weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend,” he says out of the blue.
“They weren’t?” Michael asks and takes a seat on Conor’s bed.
Conor shakes his head and continues to peer at the medals. “Mommy got knocked up so Daddy married her. I don’t think they like each other very much.”
“My parents didn’t like each other very much either.” It’s not exactly true; they did love each other at one point, and then his father fell in love with another woman and left them to start a new, more important family. Michael still looks back at the divorce with bitterness on his tongue.
“But you and Ryan like each other, right?” Conor’s looking at him like the entire world depends on Michael’s answer.
“We like each other,” Michael replies honestly. “We love each other.”
Conor grins and then goes back to peering at the medals. “Do you think I could win as many medals as you guys?”
“Jeah!” Michael stands up and leans over Conor to look at the medals one last time. “All you have to do is practice.”
Conor runs his tiny fingers over the medals before he closes the box. “Can you teach me?”
“Like how to practice?” Michael can do that. He coaches some of the kids down at the aquatic center when Bob needs a break.
“No,” Conor says. “How to swim.”
It’s kind of like being slapped in the face. Michael literally feels like he’s been slapped in the face. “You don’t know how to swim?”
The seven-year-old shrugs. “Daddy said it was stupid to learn.”
Michael kind of wants to grab Conor’s father by the shoulders and shake him while screaming “WHY?” It’s just not right for a seven-year-old not to know how to swim.
Conor’s looking at Michael expectantly. “Yeah, yeah,” Michael finally says. “Of course I’ll teach you how to swim.” Conor grins and hugs Michael’s knees. “Thanks Mike!”
“He doesn’t know how to swim Michael hisses into the phone later that night when Ryan calls to check on Carter (“You’re an asshole,” Michael says but he’s grinning).
“What?!” Ryan asks, sounding just as flabbergasted as Michael feels. “MP that’s a sin.”
“I know,” Michael replies and works off his shoe. “They had this thing on TV about athletes or some shit and then he asked to see our medals and he kept asking questions, his parents are fucking assholes Ry, and then out of nowhere he asked me to teach him because his parents thought it was stupid to learn. What kind of shitty ass parents don’t teach their kid how to swim?”
And okay, Michael knows there are some legitimate reasons why some parents haven’t taught their kids how to swim; his foundation has taught him that. It’s just that not knowing how to swim is one of the top ten sins according to the Phelps-Lochtes. It’s right up there with killing your neighbor and leaving an empty carton of juice in the fridge.
“We have to teach him.” Ryan sounds panicky. “Mike we have to fucking teach him.”
“Well duh,” Michael’s finally gotten his other shoe off. He flops back on the bed and almost smacks his head into Herman who’s claimed all the pillows as his own. “It would be morally irresponsible if we didn’t.”
“Dude just imagine if it leaks to the press,” Ryan says and Michael can just imagine his eyes getting wide. “’Michael Phelps and Ryan Lochte Don’t Teach Own Foster Kid How to Swim’. The scandal Mike,the scandal.”
Michael laughs into the phone.
“This isn’t a laughing matter Michael,” Ryan says but Michael can tell that he’s joking. “We’ll go down in history as the worst foster parents ever.”
“Oh the horror,” Michael laughs. “The horror!”
Ryan laughs along with him and then the subject changes to the usual shit; Lil Wayne, how the event went, what’s going on at the aquatic center, how the dogs are doing and then finally, “We need to talk to Jane, Mike,” Ryan says seriously.
“Yeah?” Michael questions but he already knows what they need to talk to her about. They’ve been mulling over how to go about it for months now and they need to grow some balls soon. If Conor is already on unsupervised visits with his parents then that means the end is coming near. And it’s not like they haven’t prepared themselves for it; they went through twenty-seven hours of training just to prepare themselves for everything having a foster kid would entitle but they weren’t prepared to get attached, not like this, not so soon.
There’s a 95% chance that the Dwyer’s will get their son back and Michael and Ryan will just have to deal with it and decide what to do after that step by step, but there’s another 5% chance that the Dwyer’s will sign their rights over or get them provoked and Michael Phelps has never given up on anything in his life and he’s not going to start now. He’s going to take that 5% and work with it the best he can.
“When we get back from vacation,” Michael finally says. “We don’t want to ruin our trip.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, quiet.
They sit in silence for a while and then say their goodbyes and hang up. Michael flops over onto his stomach and pulls Herman closer and Herman snorts.
Ryan comes home two days later. He brings home a miniature version of the Statute of Liberty for Conor and a new Lil Wayne poster to hang in the art room.
“You didn’t bring home anything for me?” Michael asks with a pout. When Conor’s not looking Ryan crowds into Michael’s space and humps his leg. “You know what I brought home for you baby.”
Michael makes a face. “I was hoping for a Statue of Liberty. It would have been bigger.”
“You’re a dick, Phelps,” Ryan says. Michael just kisses him.
They wait to start Conor’s swimming lessons until they get to Florida. He goes to his first unsupervised visit with his parents, which goes off without a bang (Michael is secretly upset about this but he has to remember that Conor isn’t theirs), therapy the next day, and then after that he’s sandwiched between Michael and Ryan on the plane to Jacksonville.
By the time they arrive in Florida it’s nearly nine. Conor passed out right before the plane landed and Michael swings him over his shoulder and carries him through the airport while Ryan handles their bags.
They rent a too small car and drive the hour and a half from Jacksonville to Ryan’s old place in Gainesville. It’s just how Michael remembers it except ten times cleaner. He has to wake Conor up to get him dressed for bed and then gets him settled in the guest room before he finds Ryan in the kitchen. He’s talking to someone on the phone, probably his mom, and grins when Michael slides up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist.
“Jeah Ma, we’ll be over tomorrow,” Ryan says into the phone. “Yeah, love you too. Bye.”
“Dude, not fair,” Michael mumbles into Ryan’s shirt. “You never let me talk to Ike.”
Ryan turns in Michael’s arms and rolls his eyes. “You’re seeing her tomorrow. Is Conor still asleep?”
Michael nods, Ryan gets a mischievous look on his face. “I had Mom get a new mattress in our room. One that doesn’t squeak.”
Michael grins and pulls away from Ryan. “We better break it in, y’know, just to make sure it’s comfortable to sleep on.”
They don’t end up breaking the mattress in. They start to but then a vicious storm starts up and Conor comes knocking on their door.
Ryan is shirtless and Michael’s only in his boxers. “Mike? Ryan?” Conor asks from just outside the door. Michael groans because seriously, first time getting his dick wet in a week, but they can’t turn Conor away. “What is it Conor?”
Conor pokes his head in, his eyes wide and his body shaking. “I’m scared,” he says and jumps when there’s a clap of thunder.
They have awful storms like this in Maryland, maybe even worse because they don’t happen every day. Conor’s never shown any fear of them before, except for that one time when Ryan was running around the backyard trying to get a frightened Carter to go back inside.
“We have storms like this in B-more bud,” Ryan says and climbs off of Michael to sit at the end of the bed.
“I know,” Conor says and looks down at his feet like he’s ashamed. “But Sydney’s usually with me and she doesn’t make me scared anymore and she’s not here.”
“Come here,” Michael says and pulls back the covers while discreetly hiding the lube under his own pillow. “You can stay in here with us until the storm stops.”
It’s like the biggest no-no ever for Conor to even sleep in their room with them. They had an entire three-hour long session about the whole legal and ethical mess it can be but they can’t just send the scared kid back to his room to ride out the storm alone.
Lightning flashes through the window and Conor runs across the room and jumps onto the bed before anything can stop him. He wiggles across the bed on his knees until he settles down next to Michael. “Thanks Mike,” he says and leans his head on Michael’s shoulder.
“No problem,” Michael says and pokes Ryan with his foot until Ryan climbs up the bed and settles down next to Conor. Conor stays with them well past after the storm ends. They should move him back to the guest room but both of them are too tired to even think about getting up.
In the morning they head over to Ike’s place where she’s assembled the entire Lochte family, including Steven. Michael’s kind of jealous how Ryan’s parents are still so friendly after their divorce, but just brushes it off; there’s nothing he can do about his own parents failed marriage.
The Phelps family can be loud when they want to be but there’s nothing compared to the commotion that is the Lochte household. It’s not that they’re ignorant loud, but there’s just so many people running around that there’s no possible way for anything to be quiet.
Ike pulls him into a bone-crushing hug and complains about how Ryan isn’t feeding him enough, which Michael agrees with whole-heartedly. Ryan makes a face and rolls his eyes. She fawns over Conor when he emerges from behind Michael’s legs and gives her his most charming smile. He’s gotten better at opening up around strangers and blends into Ryan’s family just as easily as he blended into Michael’s.
When Steven finds out that Conor can’t swim he disappears into the attic for a while and then comes back down with an old kickboard and some goggles. “Ryan used these,” he says when he hands them over and Conor’s face lights up. “T-Thank you,” he finally says when Ike reminds him kindly to use his manners.
They spend all day with the Lochtes, playing kickball and doing other assorted activities that Ryan and Devon come up with. There are a few select ones that Michael sits out and then a few that he steers Conor clear of, like skateboarding down the steepest hill in the neighborhood. Ryan miraculously survives that one but Brandon hits a rock halfway down and skins his knees. Conor thinks it’s pretty cool. Michael just turns his nose up.
When it’s time to return to Ryan’s place Conor doesn’t seem to want to go. “I like Miss Ike and Mr. Steven,” he mumbles in the car. He just might be sniffling.
“Dude no worries,” Ryan says happily from behind the wheel. “We’re totally gonna see them again before we leave.”
“Really?” The seven-year-old asks and leans forward in his booster seat. Michael would reply but he’s busy clutching his seatbelt and praying to everything holy that they make it home in one piece. Like, he loves Ryan. He loves Ryan a lot but riding in a car with Ryan is like riding the world’s most fucked up and scariest rollercoaster; you never know if you’re ever going to make it off alive.
They make it home safely and in one piece. Michael silently thanks whatever god allowed him to live.
Since they’re on vacation Conor’s bedtime gets extended by one hour and he decides the best way to spend that hour after he’s had his nightly bath is by making a detailed drawing of the Lochtes. It’s not the most artistic picture in the world because he’s seven but he manages to fit all the Lochtes into the picture.
“Totally awesome,” Ryan says when Conor shows him the picture. “But like you gotta add Mike into it too ‘cause he’s an official Lochte.”
“Phelps-Lochte,” Michael mutters innocently and takes a sip of his Coke when Ryan glares at him.
“Oh,” is all Conor says and then he gets a weird look on his face and goes quiet, the type of quiet he only gets when he has to visit with his parents.
He doesn’t make any attempt to add Michael to the picture. He just says, “I’m gonna go to bed.”
“You still have thirty minutes before bedtime dude,” Michael says and sets down his Coke.
Conor bites his lower lip. “I’m tired.”
There’s obviously something that’s upsetting Conor and he’s not tired, but Michael doesn’t want or know how to push it and Ryan looks as lost and confused as he is. “Okay,” Michael says slowly. “Night buddy.”
“Night,” Conor whispers and heads off towards his room.
“The fuck?” Ryan says when Conor is out of earshot. “What did I say MP?”
Michael shrugs but Ryan looks crushed. “He’s probably just tired,” Michael says. “He spent all day running around with your family.”
Ryan looks unconvinced and resembles a kicked puppy. Michael wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Little Jeezy says jeah?” He hasn’t said that to Ryan in what feels like years and Ryan lets out a soft sound of laughter.
“Little Jeezy says jeah!” Ryan bumps his fist in the air and looks considerably brighter.
The next morning Conor is back to his normal self but he doesn’t ask to hang his drawing on the fridge. It worries Michael because their fridge back home is covered in Conor and Ryan’s drawings, but Conor just insists that it’s because he wants to hang it up when they get home. Michael lets it go.
After breakfast Conor calls Nathan because, “Mike it’s been three days I miss him,” and then Ryan decides it’s time to begin Conor’s swimming lessons. Conor looks apprehensive but he puts on his swim trunks anyway and Michael retrieves Ryan’s old kickboard and goggles from the car.
Conor takes to the water like a cat.
He clings to Ryan’s neck with wide eyes and looks at Michael like Michael’s trying to kill him.
“Dude,” Ryan says, “you’re going to have to let go if you wanna learn.”
“What if I drown?” Conor clings tighter and Ryan starts to choke a little bit.
“You’re not going to drown.” Michael manages to pry the seven-year-old off his husband and sets him on the highest step leading into the pool. “You have to trust Ryan and I.”
Conor puts his elbows on his knees and rests his chin in his hands. “What if I’m not good at it?”
“No one’s good when they first start out,” Michael says and Conor looks doubtful. If he was older he’d probably make a lame joke about Michael being part dolphin or a like a demigod who could swim from birth but he’s seven and Michael’s not even sure if Conor’s managed to comprehend the scope of the Olympics or the other various international competitions Michael’s aced.
Ryan rubs at his neck where it’s red from Conor’s grip. “Lil C - don’t look at me like that Mpeezy, our bro needs a gangsta name too it’s about time he got one - I was so bad when I first started that my dad had to kick me out of practice but look at me today I got like a ship ton of medals.”
That’s a total bullshit lie. Ryan got himself kicked out of practice, on purpose, repeatedly. Michael’s heard about every single dumb thing Ryan’s ever done and most of them revolve around his beginning days in the pool, but he doesn’t call him out on his bullshit because a, that wouldn’t really help and b, Ryan used ship instead of shit and it’s really endearing. Michael needs to reward good behavior.
Conor looks a little more convinced. “You won’t be mad if I don’t do good?”
“Nah!” Ryan moves forward and gently pulls Conor off the step. “Why would we? You just gotta work at it, become one with the water. Find your Zen.”
They start off with just getting Conor used to the water. He loosens up after a couple of minutes and lets Ryan pull him through the water and to the deep end without trying to strangle him in fear. They have to start slow, just basic how to keep yourself afloat and don’t be afraid to get water in your face kind of stuff, and eventually they work their way up to some kicks but of course Conor isn’t going to become a swimming pro with just one lesson.
They eat lunch out on the deck, Ryan sunbathing while Michael and Conor dip their feet in the water.
The days continue like that. Sometimes they go over to Ike’s house and just chill with her and then come home and resume Conor’s swimming lessons or they’ll swim first and then go over to Ike’s or simply stay at home. Eventually they have to go back to Baltimore and Conor cries his eyes out in the airport lobby because he doesn’t want to leave Miss Ike.
“Debs would be so jealous right now,” Ryan whispers to Michael as Conor hiccups and cries between them as they wait for their plane to board. Michael arches an eyebrow. Ryan says, “My mom’s the best.”
“Don’t start Lochte,” Michael says sharply. “This is not a fight you want to start.”
Ryan shuts up but doesn’t hide the smirk on his face. Conor just hiccups and drags his knees up to his chest.
Michael and Ryan make a pack to talk to Jane the first day they get back to Baltimore; they lose their nerve the minute they drop Conor off for his therapy session.
“We need to grow some balls MP.” Ryan’s managed to curl himself into a very tiny chair in the therapist’s lobby. Michael flips through a magazine and scoffs when he reads the latest celebrity gossip; Lindsay Lohan, is once again, going to jail. “I have balls, Doggy.”
“Yeah well,” Ryan says and uncurls his legs. “You need bigger ones.”
Michael would reply with something indecent but the receptionist is eyeing them and the other foster parents are sitting too close for him to get away with it. One mother stares at them over the top of her own magazine and Michael glares her down until she adverts her eyes.
Ryan scoots his chair closer to Michael’s and swings his legs over the arm until he can put his sneakers on Michael’s lap and cover up the magazine. Michael makes a noise of disgust and tries to push Ryan’s feet off but Ryan just locks his knees and bats his eyelashes prettily at the receptionist when she opens her mouth to complain. “Seriously MP,” he says after he’s done seducing the woman via his eyes, “we need to grow some balls and stop pussying out.”
Michael manages to pry his magazine out from under Ryan’s feet. “I can’t believe you just made the word pussy into a verb and stop saying balls and pussy. We’re in a child psychologist’s lobby, Ryan.”
Ryan leans forward until his chest is against his knees. “Seriously MP we need to get on this.”
“I know,” Michael says and turns his head. Ryan’s face is so close that they could kiss but Michael just leans his head into Ryan’s neck. “What if she says no?”
Ryan shrugs. “Then we just have to deal with it and make sure he has the best time of his life while he’s still with us.”
Michael lifts his head for a kiss but the receptionist is clearing her throat. “Seriously,” she says. “Get a room.”
Michael turns red and Ryan laughs before he’s climbing out of his chair and going over to her desk. He spends the rest of the time waiting for Conor talking to her and playing Tetris on her computer.
They try again while Conor’s in school a week later. They blare Lil Wayne on the way over to get their heads in the game. On the way in Michael grabs Ryan’s hand and doesn’t let go.
“Hi guys!” Jane says happily and closes out of whatever she’d been working on. “Everything going okay? How was your vacation?”
“It was fun,” Ryan says and starts to jitter. Any sort of calmness Jane seemed to have about Ryan being in her office disappears. She straightens the pictures on her desk and pulls her lamp a little bit closer.
“We need to talk to you about something,” Michael says and clutches the arm of his chair to keep from doing any nervous habits. “About Conor.”
Jane’s face drops. “Oh,” she says. “Is something wrong? I thought everything was going fine. Our phone conferences have been excellent and you guys pass the home visits with flying colors. Is Conor starting to rebel? Sometimes children who go through this process rebel because they don’t know how to appropriately express the emotions they’re feeling.”
“Conor’s like the best kid ever,” Ryan says. Michael can feel him shaking from where their hands are joined. “We were. Like, um.”
Michael can see Ryan’s face going blank the same way it does when he’s in front of a camera and he hasn’t been given a script or a copy of the questions an interviewer is going to ask. Michael clears his throat. “Ryan and I wanted to know if we could adopt Conor.” When Jane’s lips go into a thin line Michael quickly adds, “You know if something happens with his parents.”
Jane looks down at her desk and then back to them, her eyes sad. “I’m glad you two have become attached to Conor. It’s obvious he has the same sentiments towards you but Conor’s parents are making progress and I’m afraid you two adopting him is not an option.”
Michael feels something in his heart crush, the same way it used to when he lost to anyone who wasn’t Ryan. Ryan squeezes Michael’s hand so hard he cracks a knuckle.
“Don’t think as this as a bad thing,” Jane continues. “The purpose of foster care is to remove children from negative situations and to help their parents or guardians correct negative behaviors and become one again. This is a positive outcome for Conor.”
Michael doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything at all. Jane sighs and clears her throat. “If you were looking into adopting I could give you the business card of my associate. Adoption is practically the same process as fostering and I’m sure you two will be approved within a year or two.”
“No,” Ryan says sharply and when Jane looks hurt Ryan forces a smile. “It’s - thank you but Mike and I gotta figure some things out before we look into that.”
Jane nods and chews on her lip. “I’m sorry this situation isn’t working out in your favor, but it’s what’s best for Conor.”
Michael sees red. He clenches his jaw and tightens the grip he has on the arm of his chair but it doesn’t keep him from walking out of the room. He wants to kick over a couple of chairs and scream but that would be childish; instead he collapses into one and shuts his eyes tightly.
A presence settles next to him and without even having to open his eyes he knows that it’s Ryan. Ryan doesn’t say anything, just sneaks his hand out to rub at the back of Michael’s neck.
“We need to pick Conor up,” Ryan says after it feels like it’s been hours. Michael opens his eyes and turns his head to look at his husband. Ryan offers him a soft smile. He leans forward until their foreheads knock together. “We knew this was gonna happen, MP.”
“I know,” Michael replies softly but it doesn’t make anything better. He - they - knew the chance of Conor being theirs was slim, but they were holding out for a miracle. They should have known better; miracles don’t happen to Ryan Lochte and Michael Phelps.
When they pick Conor up they try to be as happy as possible but Conor knows something’s up.
“What’s wrong?” He asks as he settles down in his seat. His eyes are wide and his cheeks are red and usually by now he’s telling whoever’s come to pick him up a story about something Ricky’s done or the ever evolving love triangle between Nathan, Matt, and that new girl Annie (who Ryan thinks is a total boyfriend stealer and Michael has to remind him that they’re ten).
“Nothing’s wrong,” Michael says, lying through his teeth. “How was school?”
Conor doesn’t reply but Michael can see him watching them in the rearview mirror.
“Is Annie still trying to steal Matt away from Nathan?” Ryan asks to try and get conversation going. Michael doesn’t think Conor’s going to reply but finally he says, “Annie’s not talking to Matt.”
Ryan raises his eyebrows and turns as far around in his seat as his seatbelt will allow. Conor continues, “Matt said he wanted to play with Nathan at recess instead of playing with Annie and Annie said that Nathan was a stupid first grader so Matt called her a stupid fifth grader and now she’s not talking to him.”
“Women,” Ryan comments, “I’ll never understand them.”
“Yeah,” Conor agrees like he’s had a ton of experience with them. “Girls are mean.”
Michael nods because yeah, they’re horrible. Not all women, of course, because Allison is pretty chill and Missy too but Michael remembers how shitty dating used to be before he and Ryan started hooking up regularly.
By the time they get home Michael still feels like shit but they’ve managed to convince Conor that everything’s okay. They go through the regular routine of homework, TV, dinner, bath time and then bedtime but Michael feels numb and Ryan doesn’t seem to be holding out any better. He goofs around with Conor and helps him do his homework but when Conor’s distracted he lets his guard drop and Michael can see the disappointment in his eyes.
After Michael’s put Conor to bed he drags himself into their bedroom. Ryan’s on the bed, face down, Carter curled up at his side, head on Ryan’s lower back. Even the dog looks depressed, like he knows his new best friend isn’t going to stay with them for forever.
Michael gently pushes Carter’s head off of Ryan’s back and spreads himself over his husband. “I’m sorry,” he says, lips right next to Ryan’s ear.
Ryan doesn’t exactly look like he’s been crying, but his eyes are puffy and rimmed in red. Michael’s so used to Ryan being easy-going and letting things just roll off his shoulders that Michael forgets that things actually do get to him.
“I knew she was going to say no,” Ryan says, voice hoarse, “but like it fucking sucks, y’know?”
“I know.” Michael kisses at the skin just below Ryan’s ear. “Fuck, Ry, I know.”
They lie in silence, Michael kissing at Ryan’s skin and Ryan making humming noises into the comforter until things start to feel like normal again.
part one part three AO3
ryan lochte/michael phelps
pg13, 25183 words
just general warnings for curse words and one use of the word 'faggot'
Conor’s birthday sneaks up on them. Michael makes sure to write it on the calendar in his office and programs it into his and Ryan’s phone but it still seems to come out of nowhere. They’re not sure what to get Conor for his birthday - the dog idea seems stupid in the light of a sober day - and he has enough art supplies to last him at least three months.
All Conor says he wants for his birthday is to go out to eat and bring a couple of friends from school with them. Nathan comes along because they’re best friends now and it would be terrible if he didn’t and Matt comes along with them and another kid named Ricky. They head to a family friendly restaurant in Little Italy that Michael’s been going to his whole life and where they had their wedding reception. There’s a picture on the wall to prove it.
Conor spots the picture immediately. “Hey!” He says excitedly when they’re seated and Michael and Ryan have said hello to the owners. “That’s you and Ryan and Ms. Debbie!”
“Jeah!” Ryan says and takes the picture right off the wall to show Ricky and Matt who are sitting too far away to see it.
“You got married here?” Ricky asks and looks around the restaurant. “I thought people got married in churches.”
“We got married at City Hall,” Michael says and points out Ryan’s family to the boys. “We just ate here after the wedding.”
It had been a topnotch wedding but admittedly very small. Cullen had been there and a few other swimmers they had been close to over the years and then both of their families. Ryan knew a whole bunch of people but he wasn’t too particularly close with any of them and Michael knew, well, Michael could count the number of people he was close to excluding his family and Ryan on one hand. They had barely even dressed up for the actual ceremony and Michael remembers changing into basketball shorts and a t-shirt right after they were officially married.
“It doesn’t look like you came from a wedding,” Matt comments. He pushes his glasses up his nose and then flicks the paper from his straw across the table at Nathan. Nathan sticks his tongue out and kicks Matt under the table. It’s kind of diabetes inducing sweet.
“Fancy just ain’t my style,” Ryan says. Conor lifts his eyebrow and looks like he wants to comment on Ryan’s style but decides better on it.
Michael spends the beginning of dinner cutting up various dishes for Conor and his friends and then the rest of dinner laughing at their antics and apologizing to the server who just looks like she’s seen and been through worse.
The restaurant owners bring out a small cake for Conor along with sparklers and Ryan manages to burn his hand and almost knocks over a couple of glasses. “You’re worse than the kids,” Michael tells him and kisses Ryan’s hand when Ryan insists that he kiss it better.
“Kisses make everything feel better,” Ryan says and bats his eyelashes.
“What are you?” Michael asks and kisses his hand anyway. “A four-year-old girl?”
Ryan sticks his tongue out. Michael resists the temptation to pull that tongue into his mouth. Ryan looks like he knows exactly what Michael’s thinking. Michael kicks him under the table. “Don’t start. We’re in public.”
“You’re the one with your mind in the gutter,” Ryan says with a smirk.
“My mind wouldn’t be in the gutter if you didn’t do obscene thing in public,” Michael replies and shoves a piece of cake into his mouth. Ryan lifts his eyebrows suggestively and leans in close. “I’ll do obscene things to you when we get home.”
There was once a time when Ryan muttering cheesy sexual things into his ear would make Michael flush or choke on whatever piece of food was in his mouth, but now all it makes Michael do is smile and shake his head.
Ryan smiles as well and scoots closer to Michael in the both until his leg is thrown over Michael’s.
After dinner and a trip to the bowling alley they drop the other kids off at their respective houses and return home. Conor is full of energy from the cake and he runs around the kitchen chasing Herman and Carter until he slips and almost takes his front teeth out on the kitchen island.
Ryan has to wipe away blood from Conor’s mouth while Conor cries weakly on the kitchen counter. “Let’s not do that again, jeah?”
Conor’s lower lip wobbles. “Jeah.”
Two days later a card arrives in the mail for Conor. Conor’s never gotten mail sent to their house before and he rips the card open to discover a birthday card within it.
“Whose it from?” Michael asks because Conor’s already received a birthday card from Debbie and the rest of the Phelps and one from Ike too.
“Patrick,” Conor says excitedly and flings himself to the ground to read it.
“Patrick?” Michael asks and leans over Conor to read the card. It’s a generic birthday card with a dog making a silly face and in slightly neater handwriting than a seven-year-old’s Happy Birthday Conor, love Patrick!!
“Patrick’s my brother,” Conor explains when he’s done reading the card over and over again. “I don’t get to see him cause he lives with another family.”
“Oh,” is all Michael manages to say. He remembers reading that Conor had a brother but he hadn’t put much thought into it.
“Do you have any brothers?” Conor asks suddenly. “I only met Miss Whitney and Miss Hilary.”
Michael shakes his head. “I don’t have any brothers but Ryan’s got two.”
“Are they older brothers?” Conor flips the card open again. “Patrick’s my older brother.”
“They’re younger.” Michael heads back into his office to answer some emails from Peter. Conor follows him and flops into the chair against the window, birthday card still in hand. “Does he get to see them a lot?”
“Not really,” Michael says and types away. “They live in Florida. That’s where Ryan’s from.”
Conor keeps opening and closing the birthday card. “Is he not allowed to see them?”
Michael looks away from the computer screen and at Conor. “Are you not allowed to see Patrick?”
Conor stops opening the card and looks at his feet. “Miss Jane says he lives in another state cause they couldn’t find another family to take him in closer.”
“I’m sorry,” is all Michael can say.
“It’s okay,” Conor says and hops off the chair. He comes around the desk and wiggles his way onto Michael’s lap. “Patrick’s kind of like Daddy. He says mean things.”
Michael doesn’t say anything and Conor peers up at the computer screen. “Can you show me where Florida is?”
“Yeah,” Michael says and pulls up Google Maps. He types in Miami and lets Google do its thing.
“Florida’s really big,” Conor says and moves the mouse around to see more of the state. “Where do Ryan’s brothers live?”
Michael types in Ike’s address. “I don’t know their addresses but this is where Ryan and his brothers grew up. He’s also got two older sisters. Do you remember them from the picture at the restaurant?”
Conor shakes his head, engrossed with the image of the Lochte’s tiny two-story house. How they managed to fit seven people in there comfortably Michael will never know. “Here,” he says and exits out of Google to pull up a folder filled with pictures from the last time they went to Florida.
He points out various immediate family members and a distant cousin or two before pulling up more pictures from previous years including a picture of when Ryan landed himself in the hospital with a few broken ribs after skateboarding off his roof.
Conor almost starts crying in laughter when Michael shows him embarrassing pictures of Ryan’s curly hair. He keeps it short now, and Michael really does like Ryan’s curls, but after they meet hot air they usually go to hell. Michael keeps the pictures because sometimes he just needs a good laugh.
Michael’s just about to close the picture folder when Conor spots one picture in particular. “What’s this one?” He asks and uses the mouse to pull it up. It’s nothing special, not really. It’s just Michael and Ryan on the pool deck, hugging each other fiercely. Michael’s got his Greatest of all Time trophy in hand and there might, just might, be tears in his eyes.
“Why are you crying?” Conor asks.
“I’m not crying,” Michael replies hotly. “I had something in my eye.”
Conor doesn’t look like he believes him. “Why was there something in your eye?”
Michael shrugs. It had been everything that had made him emotional that day. The voicemail from his mom telling him how proud of him she was even if he didn’t win, the speech from Bob, the breakfast with the rest of the team that had left him smiling, fucking Ryan saying after this let’s make it official; the 19th medal and trophy had just been icing on the cake.
“I was just really happy,” he finally says. Conor doesn’t seem to be listening. Instead he’s squinting at the trophy, trying to read what’s printed on the side but Ryan’s shoulder is blocking out most of the sentence.
Carter starts to bark and goes racing by the open door to the garage, announcing that Ryan’s finally back from his trip to the grocery store. It took longer than usual and Michael can bet that not even half the things he wrote down on the list are even in any of the grocery bags Ryan’s setting down near the door.
“Ryan!” Conor says happily and hops off of Michael’s lap to give Ryan a hug.
“Little bro!” Ryan hands Conor one of the grocery bags. “You gonna help me put all this stuff away?”
“Jeah!” Conor says and runs into the kitchen to put the bag down.
Michael watches the exchange from his computer chair before he goes back to looking at his computer screen. The picture is still up. The trophy is upstairs with the rest of Michael’s medals, tucked away in a shoebox at the bottom of their closet. He hasn’t looked at it since they got back from London. He hadn’t meant to keep it in a shoebox for four years; he had only put it there for safekeeping and had never taken it back out.
“What’re you looking it?” Ryan is right behind him, hands on the back of the computer chair. In the kitchen cabinets are being slammed from where Conor is hopefully putting away the groceries. Ryan leans further over the back of the chair to wrap his arms around Michael and rests his chin on his shoulder.
“Damn,” he finally says. “We looked good.”
“Excuse you,” Michael says and closes out the window. “I still look good.”
Which is only a half-truth; he’s not in the same shape he used to be but he’s let his hair grow out and no longer shaves it close to his head and there’s always a light dusting of facial hair that makes him look sexy - according to Ryan. He knows he’s no fucking Adonis, but people are supposed to get better looking with age.
“Fuck yeah you do,” Ryan says and kisses at Michael’s neck.
“You’re not getting laid tonight, Lochte.”
Ryan’s lips stop moving. “Mike,” he whines, “I’m starting to think you don’t love me anymore.”
“Love isn’t measured by how many times I let you suck my dick, Ryan.”
“No, it’s measured by how many times you suck mine and I don’t feel loved enough.” Michael can feel Ryan pouting against his neck. He resists the urge to roll his eyes.
“Fine,” Michael finally says, only after Ryan’s resumed his kissing and the noises in the kitchen have mysteriously stopped, “maybe you’ll get laid tonight. But only if you make dinner.”
Ryan whoops and throws his arms into the air like he used to do after a big win. “I’m getting laid tonight,” he sing-songs in a whisper.
“What’s going on?” Conor asks and remerges from the kitchen.
“Nothing,” Michael says but Conor doesn’t look convinced - Ryan is still singing about how he’s going to get laid. “Are you hungry?” Michael asks to distract the seven-year-old and guides him out of the office. “Ryan said he’ll make dinner tonight.”
Conor’s nose scrunches up. “He’s not gonna burn it again, is he?”
“One time,” Ryan says from behind them. “A guy burns a grilled cheese sandwich one time and they never let it go.”
Ryan doesn’t end up burning dinner that night, thankfully. Once Conor’s in bed and presumably fast asleep he corners Michael in the bathroom.
“Dude,” Michael says. “I need to brush my teeth.”
Ryan’s eyes are dark blue and he’s looking at Michael determinedly, like Michael is a gold medal just waiting to be won or some shit. “You promised if I made dinner that I’d get laid tonight.”
Michael tries to reach for his toothbrush. Ryan traps his arms by his side. “You promised Phelps!”
“One,” Michael says in his I-am-an-adult-voice, “I promised you no such thing I said maybe. And two: I need to brush my teeth.”
Ryan continues to stare determinedly. “My cock. Your mouth.”
“That’s not asking very nicely,” Michael says.
“Phelps,” Ryan says using the same I-am-an-adult voice Michael used earlier. “Now.”
Michael rolls his eyes and gives up on the hope of brushing his teeth. He gets to his knees and grumbles, “I’m not a dog and you can’t boss me around. This is spousal abuse.”
“Good boy,” Ryan replies with a smirk. Michael’s got Ryan’s half-hard dick in his hand and pauses.
“You shouldn’t be mean to the guy who’s about to suck your dick,” he says.
“I love you,” Ryan says and starts to rock his hips.
“Yeah, love you too,” Michael deadpans and takes Ryan’s cock into his mouth.
The weeks start to bleed together. Conor has two or three supervised visits with his parents that go better than the first and he receives a letter in the mail from Patrick the beginning of February. Nathan starts to come over a lot more and Ricky too and the three of them run around the backyard when they manage to get a day of good weather.
Near the beginning of March they make arrangements with Jane to bring Conor with them to Florida for spring break. He’ll have his first unsupervised visit with his parents on a Monday and then that Tuesday after therapy they’ll all be on a plane heading to Jacksonville. Conor’s never been out of Maryland before and he tries to pack his suitcase two weeks before they’re supposed to leave. He spends most days after he’s done with homework researching alligators.
A week before they’re set to leave Ryan’s in New York City doing a special correspondent gig for E! and Michael’s swamped with making deals with new sponsors for his foundation. For the most part Conor is left to his own devices but Michael makes sure to keep his office door wide open so he can hear any crashes coming from the living room.
Conor sticks his head into the office around 3 on a Saturday and says, “Why are you on the TV?”
Michael’s engrossed in an email and doesn’t hear Conor at first so Conor asks again. This time Michael hears him and says, “Wha?”
“You’re on the TV,” Conor says.
Michael can’t remember doing any new promos for anything unless Subway or Head and Shoulders have run out of celebrities or other athletes and are replaying old commercials.
“It’s probably just a commercial,” Michael says and goes back to typing. Conor doesn’t leave the doorway. “It’s not a commercial! Ms. Debbie was talking to some guy with white hair about you.”
Michael stops typing. “Mom was talking to a guy with white hair about me?”
“Yeah,” Conor says. “And like they keep showing you swimming and they said you and Ryan used to hate each other.”
It’s probably some bullshit report from TMZ but ‘some guy with white hair’ sounds a lot like Anderson Cooper. Michael types a few more lines and then shoots off the email before he follows Conor into the living room.
Michael’s pretty sure he left Conor in the living room watching Planet Earth on Disney but somehow the TV is on ESPN. The voice-over is talking about a football player Michael doesn’t recognize.
“You were just on!” Conor says and hands Michael the remote. “Can you make it go backward?”
Michael hits rewind and sure enough, after going through a couple of commercials, his face appears on the screen. Conor grins and says, “See!”
He hits play once they get to another set of commercials and soon realizes that it’s one of ESPN’s greatest athletes special. There seems to be no particular order to the list but Michael’s sandwiched between a racehorse and a football player.
The voice-over starts with his career in Sydney and spans all the way to London, piecing together tidbits of information and random interviews, some of which he can’t ever remember doing. They talk about Ryan and their rivalry and for what seems like the first time in any athletic segment about him ever they mention Ryan as just more than his rival in the pool. They end the segment in London, him on the podium crying as he receives his last medal ever.
“They called you the greatest Olympian of all time,” Conor says in awe. “Are you really the greatest?”
Michael just kind of shrugs and fast-forwards until the TV catches up in real time. “I guess,” he says. “Some people don’t think I am.” And he’s never really thought of himself as that either because that would make him a total dick.
“Do you really have twenty-two medals?” Conor asks. Michael nods. Conor chews on his bottom lip and asks, “Can I see them?”
The trek up stairs is short. Conor sits on the end of the bed as Michael fishes out the shoeboxes filled with his and Ryan’s Olympic medals from their closet. He isn’t sure which medals are exactly his and which ones are Ryan’s but it doesn’t seem to matter to Conor. He stares at them in astonishment and touches them like they’re delicate flowers. “You won all of these?!”
“Ryan’s are in here too,” Michael explains, picking through the medals. “He won these in Rio.” Ryan’s four golds and two silvers from the Rio games are easy to pick out; they’re the only medals with a green lament attached to them.
“You guys won all of these by swimming?” Conor has two of Ryan’s golds around his neck and he turns around to check himself out in the full-length mirror attached to the closet door. The medals look huge against his small frame and probably weigh more than what Michael remembers.
“That’s how we met,” Michael explains. “They have this other big competition, just for swimming, called Worlds. And Ryan and I met there in 2004. He beat me in a race and I didn’t like it.”
Conor whips around and almost smacks himself in the face with the medals. “You weren’t mean to him cause you lost, were you? Cause Mrs. Parker says if you’re mean to a girl then she won’t like you back. Matt’s being really nice to this girl in his class named Annie. It’s making Nathan really sad.”
Michael starts to hand Conor more medals to put around his neck. He adds a bronze from London, definitely Ryan’s, and then adds another gold from Beijing, which is probably his. “I tried to be but the meaner you are to Ryan the more he wants to be your friend.”
“So you didn’t like Ryan at first?” Conor has to take one of the gold medals off because the weight is starting to hurt his neck.
“Like for the first ten minutes,” Michael says because he doesn’t think he’s ever disliked Ryan. It’s kind of hard to. Ryan’s the kind of guy who can just mold to anyone’s personality and being mean to him is like clubbing a baby seal - you’re just a straight up dick that needs to be clubbed yourself. “But after that we became best friends.”
“And then you got married?” Conor starts to help Michael put the medals back in the shoeboxes. He looks reluctant to see them go.
“No, we were boyfriends and then we got married.” Michael closes the shoeboxes and starts for the closet but thinks twice about it. “If I let you keep these in your room do you promise to keep them safe?”
Conor’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas. “I promise,” he says and takes one of the boxes from Michael when he offers it. He hugs the box to his chest and then races down the hall towards his own bedroom.
Michael follows after and finds Conor placing the box on the top of his dresser. Michael sets the other box down and watches as Conor makes sure that they’re far away enough not to fall off the dresser but close enough that he can open the boxes whenever he wants and look in. “Mommy and Daddy weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend,” he says out of the blue.
“They weren’t?” Michael asks and takes a seat on Conor’s bed.
Conor shakes his head and continues to peer at the medals. “Mommy got knocked up so Daddy married her. I don’t think they like each other very much.”
“My parents didn’t like each other very much either.” It’s not exactly true; they did love each other at one point, and then his father fell in love with another woman and left them to start a new, more important family. Michael still looks back at the divorce with bitterness on his tongue.
“But you and Ryan like each other, right?” Conor’s looking at him like the entire world depends on Michael’s answer.
“We like each other,” Michael replies honestly. “We love each other.”
Conor grins and then goes back to peering at the medals. “Do you think I could win as many medals as you guys?”
“Jeah!” Michael stands up and leans over Conor to look at the medals one last time. “All you have to do is practice.”
Conor runs his tiny fingers over the medals before he closes the box. “Can you teach me?”
“Like how to practice?” Michael can do that. He coaches some of the kids down at the aquatic center when Bob needs a break.
“No,” Conor says. “How to swim.”
It’s kind of like being slapped in the face. Michael literally feels like he’s been slapped in the face. “You don’t know how to swim?”
The seven-year-old shrugs. “Daddy said it was stupid to learn.”
Michael kind of wants to grab Conor’s father by the shoulders and shake him while screaming “WHY?” It’s just not right for a seven-year-old not to know how to swim.
Conor’s looking at Michael expectantly. “Yeah, yeah,” Michael finally says. “Of course I’ll teach you how to swim.” Conor grins and hugs Michael’s knees. “Thanks Mike!”
“He doesn’t know how to swim Michael hisses into the phone later that night when Ryan calls to check on Carter (“You’re an asshole,” Michael says but he’s grinning).
“What?!” Ryan asks, sounding just as flabbergasted as Michael feels. “MP that’s a sin.”
“I know,” Michael replies and works off his shoe. “They had this thing on TV about athletes or some shit and then he asked to see our medals and he kept asking questions, his parents are fucking assholes Ry, and then out of nowhere he asked me to teach him because his parents thought it was stupid to learn. What kind of shitty ass parents don’t teach their kid how to swim?”
And okay, Michael knows there are some legitimate reasons why some parents haven’t taught their kids how to swim; his foundation has taught him that. It’s just that not knowing how to swim is one of the top ten sins according to the Phelps-Lochtes. It’s right up there with killing your neighbor and leaving an empty carton of juice in the fridge.
“We have to teach him.” Ryan sounds panicky. “Mike we have to fucking teach him.”
“Well duh,” Michael’s finally gotten his other shoe off. He flops back on the bed and almost smacks his head into Herman who’s claimed all the pillows as his own. “It would be morally irresponsible if we didn’t.”
“Dude just imagine if it leaks to the press,” Ryan says and Michael can just imagine his eyes getting wide. “’Michael Phelps and Ryan Lochte Don’t Teach Own Foster Kid How to Swim’. The scandal Mike,the scandal.”
Michael laughs into the phone.
“This isn’t a laughing matter Michael,” Ryan says but Michael can tell that he’s joking. “We’ll go down in history as the worst foster parents ever.”
“Oh the horror,” Michael laughs. “The horror!”
Ryan laughs along with him and then the subject changes to the usual shit; Lil Wayne, how the event went, what’s going on at the aquatic center, how the dogs are doing and then finally, “We need to talk to Jane, Mike,” Ryan says seriously.
“Yeah?” Michael questions but he already knows what they need to talk to her about. They’ve been mulling over how to go about it for months now and they need to grow some balls soon. If Conor is already on unsupervised visits with his parents then that means the end is coming near. And it’s not like they haven’t prepared themselves for it; they went through twenty-seven hours of training just to prepare themselves for everything having a foster kid would entitle but they weren’t prepared to get attached, not like this, not so soon.
There’s a 95% chance that the Dwyer’s will get their son back and Michael and Ryan will just have to deal with it and decide what to do after that step by step, but there’s another 5% chance that the Dwyer’s will sign their rights over or get them provoked and Michael Phelps has never given up on anything in his life and he’s not going to start now. He’s going to take that 5% and work with it the best he can.
“When we get back from vacation,” Michael finally says. “We don’t want to ruin our trip.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, quiet.
They sit in silence for a while and then say their goodbyes and hang up. Michael flops over onto his stomach and pulls Herman closer and Herman snorts.
Ryan comes home two days later. He brings home a miniature version of the Statute of Liberty for Conor and a new Lil Wayne poster to hang in the art room.
“You didn’t bring home anything for me?” Michael asks with a pout. When Conor’s not looking Ryan crowds into Michael’s space and humps his leg. “You know what I brought home for you baby.”
Michael makes a face. “I was hoping for a Statue of Liberty. It would have been bigger.”
“You’re a dick, Phelps,” Ryan says. Michael just kisses him.
They wait to start Conor’s swimming lessons until they get to Florida. He goes to his first unsupervised visit with his parents, which goes off without a bang (Michael is secretly upset about this but he has to remember that Conor isn’t theirs), therapy the next day, and then after that he’s sandwiched between Michael and Ryan on the plane to Jacksonville.
By the time they arrive in Florida it’s nearly nine. Conor passed out right before the plane landed and Michael swings him over his shoulder and carries him through the airport while Ryan handles their bags.
They rent a too small car and drive the hour and a half from Jacksonville to Ryan’s old place in Gainesville. It’s just how Michael remembers it except ten times cleaner. He has to wake Conor up to get him dressed for bed and then gets him settled in the guest room before he finds Ryan in the kitchen. He’s talking to someone on the phone, probably his mom, and grins when Michael slides up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist.
“Jeah Ma, we’ll be over tomorrow,” Ryan says into the phone. “Yeah, love you too. Bye.”
“Dude, not fair,” Michael mumbles into Ryan’s shirt. “You never let me talk to Ike.”
Ryan turns in Michael’s arms and rolls his eyes. “You’re seeing her tomorrow. Is Conor still asleep?”
Michael nods, Ryan gets a mischievous look on his face. “I had Mom get a new mattress in our room. One that doesn’t squeak.”
Michael grins and pulls away from Ryan. “We better break it in, y’know, just to make sure it’s comfortable to sleep on.”
They don’t end up breaking the mattress in. They start to but then a vicious storm starts up and Conor comes knocking on their door.
Ryan is shirtless and Michael’s only in his boxers. “Mike? Ryan?” Conor asks from just outside the door. Michael groans because seriously, first time getting his dick wet in a week, but they can’t turn Conor away. “What is it Conor?”
Conor pokes his head in, his eyes wide and his body shaking. “I’m scared,” he says and jumps when there’s a clap of thunder.
They have awful storms like this in Maryland, maybe even worse because they don’t happen every day. Conor’s never shown any fear of them before, except for that one time when Ryan was running around the backyard trying to get a frightened Carter to go back inside.
“We have storms like this in B-more bud,” Ryan says and climbs off of Michael to sit at the end of the bed.
“I know,” Conor says and looks down at his feet like he’s ashamed. “But Sydney’s usually with me and she doesn’t make me scared anymore and she’s not here.”
“Come here,” Michael says and pulls back the covers while discreetly hiding the lube under his own pillow. “You can stay in here with us until the storm stops.”
It’s like the biggest no-no ever for Conor to even sleep in their room with them. They had an entire three-hour long session about the whole legal and ethical mess it can be but they can’t just send the scared kid back to his room to ride out the storm alone.
Lightning flashes through the window and Conor runs across the room and jumps onto the bed before anything can stop him. He wiggles across the bed on his knees until he settles down next to Michael. “Thanks Mike,” he says and leans his head on Michael’s shoulder.
“No problem,” Michael says and pokes Ryan with his foot until Ryan climbs up the bed and settles down next to Conor. Conor stays with them well past after the storm ends. They should move him back to the guest room but both of them are too tired to even think about getting up.
In the morning they head over to Ike’s place where she’s assembled the entire Lochte family, including Steven. Michael’s kind of jealous how Ryan’s parents are still so friendly after their divorce, but just brushes it off; there’s nothing he can do about his own parents failed marriage.
The Phelps family can be loud when they want to be but there’s nothing compared to the commotion that is the Lochte household. It’s not that they’re ignorant loud, but there’s just so many people running around that there’s no possible way for anything to be quiet.
Ike pulls him into a bone-crushing hug and complains about how Ryan isn’t feeding him enough, which Michael agrees with whole-heartedly. Ryan makes a face and rolls his eyes. She fawns over Conor when he emerges from behind Michael’s legs and gives her his most charming smile. He’s gotten better at opening up around strangers and blends into Ryan’s family just as easily as he blended into Michael’s.
When Steven finds out that Conor can’t swim he disappears into the attic for a while and then comes back down with an old kickboard and some goggles. “Ryan used these,” he says when he hands them over and Conor’s face lights up. “T-Thank you,” he finally says when Ike reminds him kindly to use his manners.
They spend all day with the Lochtes, playing kickball and doing other assorted activities that Ryan and Devon come up with. There are a few select ones that Michael sits out and then a few that he steers Conor clear of, like skateboarding down the steepest hill in the neighborhood. Ryan miraculously survives that one but Brandon hits a rock halfway down and skins his knees. Conor thinks it’s pretty cool. Michael just turns his nose up.
When it’s time to return to Ryan’s place Conor doesn’t seem to want to go. “I like Miss Ike and Mr. Steven,” he mumbles in the car. He just might be sniffling.
“Dude no worries,” Ryan says happily from behind the wheel. “We’re totally gonna see them again before we leave.”
“Really?” The seven-year-old asks and leans forward in his booster seat. Michael would reply but he’s busy clutching his seatbelt and praying to everything holy that they make it home in one piece. Like, he loves Ryan. He loves Ryan a lot but riding in a car with Ryan is like riding the world’s most fucked up and scariest rollercoaster; you never know if you’re ever going to make it off alive.
They make it home safely and in one piece. Michael silently thanks whatever god allowed him to live.
Since they’re on vacation Conor’s bedtime gets extended by one hour and he decides the best way to spend that hour after he’s had his nightly bath is by making a detailed drawing of the Lochtes. It’s not the most artistic picture in the world because he’s seven but he manages to fit all the Lochtes into the picture.
“Totally awesome,” Ryan says when Conor shows him the picture. “But like you gotta add Mike into it too ‘cause he’s an official Lochte.”
“Phelps-Lochte,” Michael mutters innocently and takes a sip of his Coke when Ryan glares at him.
“Oh,” is all Conor says and then he gets a weird look on his face and goes quiet, the type of quiet he only gets when he has to visit with his parents.
He doesn’t make any attempt to add Michael to the picture. He just says, “I’m gonna go to bed.”
“You still have thirty minutes before bedtime dude,” Michael says and sets down his Coke.
Conor bites his lower lip. “I’m tired.”
There’s obviously something that’s upsetting Conor and he’s not tired, but Michael doesn’t want or know how to push it and Ryan looks as lost and confused as he is. “Okay,” Michael says slowly. “Night buddy.”
“Night,” Conor whispers and heads off towards his room.
“The fuck?” Ryan says when Conor is out of earshot. “What did I say MP?”
Michael shrugs but Ryan looks crushed. “He’s probably just tired,” Michael says. “He spent all day running around with your family.”
Ryan looks unconvinced and resembles a kicked puppy. Michael wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Little Jeezy says jeah?” He hasn’t said that to Ryan in what feels like years and Ryan lets out a soft sound of laughter.
“Little Jeezy says jeah!” Ryan bumps his fist in the air and looks considerably brighter.
The next morning Conor is back to his normal self but he doesn’t ask to hang his drawing on the fridge. It worries Michael because their fridge back home is covered in Conor and Ryan’s drawings, but Conor just insists that it’s because he wants to hang it up when they get home. Michael lets it go.
After breakfast Conor calls Nathan because, “Mike it’s been three days I miss him,” and then Ryan decides it’s time to begin Conor’s swimming lessons. Conor looks apprehensive but he puts on his swim trunks anyway and Michael retrieves Ryan’s old kickboard and goggles from the car.
Conor takes to the water like a cat.
He clings to Ryan’s neck with wide eyes and looks at Michael like Michael’s trying to kill him.
“Dude,” Ryan says, “you’re going to have to let go if you wanna learn.”
“What if I drown?” Conor clings tighter and Ryan starts to choke a little bit.
“You’re not going to drown.” Michael manages to pry the seven-year-old off his husband and sets him on the highest step leading into the pool. “You have to trust Ryan and I.”
Conor puts his elbows on his knees and rests his chin in his hands. “What if I’m not good at it?”
“No one’s good when they first start out,” Michael says and Conor looks doubtful. If he was older he’d probably make a lame joke about Michael being part dolphin or a like a demigod who could swim from birth but he’s seven and Michael’s not even sure if Conor’s managed to comprehend the scope of the Olympics or the other various international competitions Michael’s aced.
Ryan rubs at his neck where it’s red from Conor’s grip. “Lil C - don’t look at me like that Mpeezy, our bro needs a gangsta name too it’s about time he got one - I was so bad when I first started that my dad had to kick me out of practice but look at me today I got like a ship ton of medals.”
That’s a total bullshit lie. Ryan got himself kicked out of practice, on purpose, repeatedly. Michael’s heard about every single dumb thing Ryan’s ever done and most of them revolve around his beginning days in the pool, but he doesn’t call him out on his bullshit because a, that wouldn’t really help and b, Ryan used ship instead of shit and it’s really endearing. Michael needs to reward good behavior.
Conor looks a little more convinced. “You won’t be mad if I don’t do good?”
“Nah!” Ryan moves forward and gently pulls Conor off the step. “Why would we? You just gotta work at it, become one with the water. Find your Zen.”
They start off with just getting Conor used to the water. He loosens up after a couple of minutes and lets Ryan pull him through the water and to the deep end without trying to strangle him in fear. They have to start slow, just basic how to keep yourself afloat and don’t be afraid to get water in your face kind of stuff, and eventually they work their way up to some kicks but of course Conor isn’t going to become a swimming pro with just one lesson.
They eat lunch out on the deck, Ryan sunbathing while Michael and Conor dip their feet in the water.
The days continue like that. Sometimes they go over to Ike’s house and just chill with her and then come home and resume Conor’s swimming lessons or they’ll swim first and then go over to Ike’s or simply stay at home. Eventually they have to go back to Baltimore and Conor cries his eyes out in the airport lobby because he doesn’t want to leave Miss Ike.
“Debs would be so jealous right now,” Ryan whispers to Michael as Conor hiccups and cries between them as they wait for their plane to board. Michael arches an eyebrow. Ryan says, “My mom’s the best.”
“Don’t start Lochte,” Michael says sharply. “This is not a fight you want to start.”
Ryan shuts up but doesn’t hide the smirk on his face. Conor just hiccups and drags his knees up to his chest.
Michael and Ryan make a pack to talk to Jane the first day they get back to Baltimore; they lose their nerve the minute they drop Conor off for his therapy session.
“We need to grow some balls MP.” Ryan’s managed to curl himself into a very tiny chair in the therapist’s lobby. Michael flips through a magazine and scoffs when he reads the latest celebrity gossip; Lindsay Lohan, is once again, going to jail. “I have balls, Doggy.”
“Yeah well,” Ryan says and uncurls his legs. “You need bigger ones.”
Michael would reply with something indecent but the receptionist is eyeing them and the other foster parents are sitting too close for him to get away with it. One mother stares at them over the top of her own magazine and Michael glares her down until she adverts her eyes.
Ryan scoots his chair closer to Michael’s and swings his legs over the arm until he can put his sneakers on Michael’s lap and cover up the magazine. Michael makes a noise of disgust and tries to push Ryan’s feet off but Ryan just locks his knees and bats his eyelashes prettily at the receptionist when she opens her mouth to complain. “Seriously MP,” he says after he’s done seducing the woman via his eyes, “we need to grow some balls and stop pussying out.”
Michael manages to pry his magazine out from under Ryan’s feet. “I can’t believe you just made the word pussy into a verb and stop saying balls and pussy. We’re in a child psychologist’s lobby, Ryan.”
Ryan leans forward until his chest is against his knees. “Seriously MP we need to get on this.”
“I know,” Michael says and turns his head. Ryan’s face is so close that they could kiss but Michael just leans his head into Ryan’s neck. “What if she says no?”
Ryan shrugs. “Then we just have to deal with it and make sure he has the best time of his life while he’s still with us.”
Michael lifts his head for a kiss but the receptionist is clearing her throat. “Seriously,” she says. “Get a room.”
Michael turns red and Ryan laughs before he’s climbing out of his chair and going over to her desk. He spends the rest of the time waiting for Conor talking to her and playing Tetris on her computer.
They try again while Conor’s in school a week later. They blare Lil Wayne on the way over to get their heads in the game. On the way in Michael grabs Ryan’s hand and doesn’t let go.
“Hi guys!” Jane says happily and closes out of whatever she’d been working on. “Everything going okay? How was your vacation?”
“It was fun,” Ryan says and starts to jitter. Any sort of calmness Jane seemed to have about Ryan being in her office disappears. She straightens the pictures on her desk and pulls her lamp a little bit closer.
“We need to talk to you about something,” Michael says and clutches the arm of his chair to keep from doing any nervous habits. “About Conor.”
Jane’s face drops. “Oh,” she says. “Is something wrong? I thought everything was going fine. Our phone conferences have been excellent and you guys pass the home visits with flying colors. Is Conor starting to rebel? Sometimes children who go through this process rebel because they don’t know how to appropriately express the emotions they’re feeling.”
“Conor’s like the best kid ever,” Ryan says. Michael can feel him shaking from where their hands are joined. “We were. Like, um.”
Michael can see Ryan’s face going blank the same way it does when he’s in front of a camera and he hasn’t been given a script or a copy of the questions an interviewer is going to ask. Michael clears his throat. “Ryan and I wanted to know if we could adopt Conor.” When Jane’s lips go into a thin line Michael quickly adds, “You know if something happens with his parents.”
Jane looks down at her desk and then back to them, her eyes sad. “I’m glad you two have become attached to Conor. It’s obvious he has the same sentiments towards you but Conor’s parents are making progress and I’m afraid you two adopting him is not an option.”
Michael feels something in his heart crush, the same way it used to when he lost to anyone who wasn’t Ryan. Ryan squeezes Michael’s hand so hard he cracks a knuckle.
“Don’t think as this as a bad thing,” Jane continues. “The purpose of foster care is to remove children from negative situations and to help their parents or guardians correct negative behaviors and become one again. This is a positive outcome for Conor.”
Michael doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything at all. Jane sighs and clears her throat. “If you were looking into adopting I could give you the business card of my associate. Adoption is practically the same process as fostering and I’m sure you two will be approved within a year or two.”
“No,” Ryan says sharply and when Jane looks hurt Ryan forces a smile. “It’s - thank you but Mike and I gotta figure some things out before we look into that.”
Jane nods and chews on her lip. “I’m sorry this situation isn’t working out in your favor, but it’s what’s best for Conor.”
Michael sees red. He clenches his jaw and tightens the grip he has on the arm of his chair but it doesn’t keep him from walking out of the room. He wants to kick over a couple of chairs and scream but that would be childish; instead he collapses into one and shuts his eyes tightly.
A presence settles next to him and without even having to open his eyes he knows that it’s Ryan. Ryan doesn’t say anything, just sneaks his hand out to rub at the back of Michael’s neck.
“We need to pick Conor up,” Ryan says after it feels like it’s been hours. Michael opens his eyes and turns his head to look at his husband. Ryan offers him a soft smile. He leans forward until their foreheads knock together. “We knew this was gonna happen, MP.”
“I know,” Michael replies softly but it doesn’t make anything better. He - they - knew the chance of Conor being theirs was slim, but they were holding out for a miracle. They should have known better; miracles don’t happen to Ryan Lochte and Michael Phelps.
When they pick Conor up they try to be as happy as possible but Conor knows something’s up.
“What’s wrong?” He asks as he settles down in his seat. His eyes are wide and his cheeks are red and usually by now he’s telling whoever’s come to pick him up a story about something Ricky’s done or the ever evolving love triangle between Nathan, Matt, and that new girl Annie (who Ryan thinks is a total boyfriend stealer and Michael has to remind him that they’re ten).
“Nothing’s wrong,” Michael says, lying through his teeth. “How was school?”
Conor doesn’t reply but Michael can see him watching them in the rearview mirror.
“Is Annie still trying to steal Matt away from Nathan?” Ryan asks to try and get conversation going. Michael doesn’t think Conor’s going to reply but finally he says, “Annie’s not talking to Matt.”
Ryan raises his eyebrows and turns as far around in his seat as his seatbelt will allow. Conor continues, “Matt said he wanted to play with Nathan at recess instead of playing with Annie and Annie said that Nathan was a stupid first grader so Matt called her a stupid fifth grader and now she’s not talking to him.”
“Women,” Ryan comments, “I’ll never understand them.”
“Yeah,” Conor agrees like he’s had a ton of experience with them. “Girls are mean.”
Michael nods because yeah, they’re horrible. Not all women, of course, because Allison is pretty chill and Missy too but Michael remembers how shitty dating used to be before he and Ryan started hooking up regularly.
By the time they get home Michael still feels like shit but they’ve managed to convince Conor that everything’s okay. They go through the regular routine of homework, TV, dinner, bath time and then bedtime but Michael feels numb and Ryan doesn’t seem to be holding out any better. He goofs around with Conor and helps him do his homework but when Conor’s distracted he lets his guard drop and Michael can see the disappointment in his eyes.
After Michael’s put Conor to bed he drags himself into their bedroom. Ryan’s on the bed, face down, Carter curled up at his side, head on Ryan’s lower back. Even the dog looks depressed, like he knows his new best friend isn’t going to stay with them for forever.
Michael gently pushes Carter’s head off of Ryan’s back and spreads himself over his husband. “I’m sorry,” he says, lips right next to Ryan’s ear.
Ryan doesn’t exactly look like he’s been crying, but his eyes are puffy and rimmed in red. Michael’s so used to Ryan being easy-going and letting things just roll off his shoulders that Michael forgets that things actually do get to him.
“I knew she was going to say no,” Ryan says, voice hoarse, “but like it fucking sucks, y’know?”
“I know.” Michael kisses at the skin just below Ryan’s ear. “Fuck, Ry, I know.”
They lie in silence, Michael kissing at Ryan’s skin and Ryan making humming noises into the comforter until things start to feel like normal again.
part one part three AO3