And Many Happy Tomorrows, Chapter 5 (Fic)

[paleogymnast]

Chapter 5:

“Do you even know what you’re going to wear?”

“Huh?” Mike murmured into his phone. Tom’s question pulled him out of a half-stupor he’d fallen into as he stirred the cream into his coffee. He was tired and lonely, having gotten back from Connecticut last night to be greeted by an empty apartment. All his friends were either working or in other cities (most of them working in other cities). Leaving “Smallville” had seemed like a good idea at the time-was still a great idea on many levels-but right now, it fucking sucked. He missed Chris. He had mountains of wedding plans to make, and the thrill he’d felt over booking the venue had dulled and worn off, replaced by low-grade panic. They had a venue, and music-although they’d have to plan the ceremony and pick a song list and ask their friends, because no way in hell was a DJ playing music during their actual wedding-and they had a bakery if they decided on a cake, and catering if they decided on a menu, and according to Chris they even had a likely videographer and invitation-maker. But it was the everything else, all the details and planning, and right now, Mike felt like there was no time. So, his attention was a little… scattered, at best.

“I said, do you know what you’re going to wear at your wedding, genius,” Tom snarked over the phone.

“Um, no,” Mike sighed, “and at this point, I’m seriously thinking of getting married naked. If anyone asks, we can pretend it’s actually a Star Trek-inspired thing, you know, a traditional Betazed wedding.” Ok, so no they weren’t going to get married naked, but he just didn’t have any time or energy to think about it.

“Ha ha, funny,” Tom replied, “but I’m not amused. You know this is a big deal for Chris, right. He cares about this stuff, and last I checked you did too, at least you want to make your fiancé happy, right?”

Mike chugged a large gulp of his coffee and walked over to their kitchen table, settling into the hard, wooden chair with an exhausted sigh. “Low blow, buddy,” he complained. “Of course, I care, and of course I want to make Chris happy. But I’ve got a fucking menu and invitations and a ceremony and officiant and a cake and like ten million other things I know I’m forgetting that will probably be waking me up at three am every day between now and the wedding, so I just don’t have the time to think about it,” he spat out in a hurried huff. “Besides, everyone’s working. All my friends are in Vancouver, well, not all of them, but you know what I mean. There’s no one around here to go with me,” he was positively whining by the time he finished speaking. He took another gulp of coffee and thunked his head against the table in frustration.

“Rosey, you sound like a fucking two-year-old! Now quit your bitching and go call Dave; he knows what he’s doing, he knows what Jen likes, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to help,” Tom argued back, sounding incredibly unimpressed with Mike’s complaints. “Besides, you’re making sound like we all abandoned you, and that’s not cool.”

“Wait, what? You want me to call… Dave?” Mike was almost going to say ‘Dave who,’ before the incredibly obvious Boreanaz popped into his head.

“God, are we having this conversation with you uncaffienated!?” Tom exclaimed, a large helping of disbelief in his voice. “Finish your pot of coffee before you do anything else, it’s just… scary. Anyway,” he rambled on, “David films in LA, and I’m sure he’s probably eager to get out of the house about now, considering he’s going to have a newborn on his hands in a couple of weeks, so just call him, and go figure out what everyone’s wearing,” Tom finished.

“Ok,” Mike said blearily, sitting up and finishing his cup. He looked over at the coffee maker and then back at his cup. Coffee maker. Cup. Shit, he was tired, and that was just so far away. Reluctantly, he got up, trudged to the coffee maker, grabbed the carafe, and headed back towards the table. At the last moment, he woke up enough to snag a pot holder that was hanging off the oven door and then sunk down into his seat, plopping the mostly full pot of coffee on top of the pot holder. Much better.

“And don’t forget to figure out what you want us, to wear. Your attendants, I mean,” Tom reminded, scoldingly, before disconnecting the call.

Ten minutes after getting of the phone with Tom, Mike had embarrassedly and awkwardly called Dave explaining his wedding formalwear dilemma. Much to Mike’s surprise, David seemed to be expecting his call.

“Look, I’m gonna wrap in about an hour. Early day today,” Dave explained. “Jamie’s got an afternoon with her friends planned-baby stuff, pedicures, that kind of thing, so she won’t miss me. Let me just give her a call and what do you say you meet me at that cafe Chris likes on Sunset. We can grab a bite and then go looking, I’m sick of the food on set anyway... same chicken salad all week.” Dave sounded way too cheery and all too eager to escape going home. Mike wouldn’t be surprised if Tom had texted Dave a heads up.

“Ok,” Mike agreed. “If you’re sure it’s not an inconvenience. I guess I could eat,” Mike mused.

“Great,” Dave affirmed, sounding genuinely pleased. “Anything for Chris, man. See you in a few.” And like that, Mike found himself en route to go tux shopping with his fiancé’s best friend.

Knowing that Dave would probably want to drive them around in his SUV, and really not wanting to contemplate the horrors of trying to navigate two vehicles all over LA, Mike gave in and called a cab. It was a long ride, but at least it gave him time to think. Plus the cabbie must have sensed his nervousness, so he asked what Mike was doing. Not thinking of a better excuse, Mike told the truth, mostly, that he was meeting one of the best men in his wedding to try to go find tuxes. Of course the cabbie assumed he must be marrying some “very pretty girl,” but the guy was really nice after that, rambling on giving long stories about his daughters’ weddings and not expecting Mike to make any idle chitchat back.

Mike’s suspicions that Tom must have talked to Dave about the whole wedding apparel thing were heightened when he got a text from Allie that read, What about using the rings as color? Turquoise and platinum? Pewter maybe? Don’t forget my dress! Typical, Allie and Jensen were the only people he knew that insisted on proper capitalization and punctuation on their text messages. Well, at least it was an idea.

As he sat in traffic, twiddling his thumbs and wondering if he was going to need to call Dave and let him know he would be late, he got yet another text this one from a number not on his contact list. Hi Mike, Jeri here, FedEx swatches to Chris for invites, tkx! J

Huh, he thought, trying to unpack the message and make sense of it. Jeri? Oh right, Chris had mentioned Jeri having a friend who was going to do invitations for them, but swatches? He wasn’t following.

His phone rang, startling Mike from his contemplation and drawing the cabbie out of hit story of his cousin’s wedding that lasted five hundred days and had three guests-or maybe it was three days and five hundred guests. “You should answer that, yes?” The cabbie said, then added, “Traffic is much better, we will be there soon.”

“Oh right, and uh, thanks,” Mike stammered fighting to dig his cell out of his pants pocket. It was Chris’s ringtone. “Baby?” he said as he flipped the phone open.

“Hey to you, sweetheart,” Chris said, sounding way too excited, “I like Allie’s idea about the colors; did you get her text?” He rushed on, barely stopping to breathe. “Jared says if you do turquoise it should be green if it’s for the best men and blue if it’s for us, something about it matching our eyes better.” Mike could hear the happiness in Chris’s voice, and ached for him. As fun as spending time with Allie finding a location had been and as-interesting-as looking for tuxes with Dave was sure to be, it just wasn’t the same as having Chris there. It was their wedding, and right now Mike wanted to curse circumstances that kept them apart. They should be planning together!

Mike snorted, “I feel like I should be horrified that your entire set and half of Vancouver knows what I’m doing.” He paused, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. “I miss you; wish you were here; I’d rather have you with me than Dave,” he admitted.

“Dave doesn’t bite, and he knows what I like. Plus he likes you, so just relax and let him help you out. He’ll have your back, plus it will be a good bonding experience. You two have never bonded as much as I’d like,” Chris reassured, the warmth and calmness in his tone reassuring Mike and settling some of his nerves. “Where are you now?”

“In a cab; stuck in traffic,” Mike answered, then remembered the confusing text from Jeri. Chances were Chris knew what it was, especially since he was handling the invitations. “Hey, what’s this text from Jeri mean, about sending swatches?”

“Oh,” Chris laughed. “Fabric swatches of anything colorful you get-you know tux accessories, Allie’s dress-it’s so her friend can coordinate the invitations to the color scheme.”

“Wow, that’s a good idea. Tell Jeri I said ‘thank you,’” Mike added as the cab rolled to a stop. Huh, it looked like the cabbie wasn’t kidding when he said traffic was clearing up. After an eternity of going no where they’d covered the rest of the distance between Mike and Chris’s apartment to the café in a flash. “Hey, we’re here,” Mike said into the phone, surprised. “I think I see Dave.”

“Well I’ll let you go. Send Dave my love, and tell him to say ‘hi’ to Jaime and Jayden and the baby, I gotta get back in makeup. Love you,” Chris added.

“Love you too.” Mike reluctantly disconnected the call, paid and thanked the cabbie, and stumbled out onto the curb still in a daze. He really wanted Chris there, but it just wasn’t going to happen.

Ten minutes later, he and David were seated, had placed their orders, and were waiting for the food to arrive. Mike had already finished his first French press of coffee and was working on his second, while Dave was sipping at his iced tea, still on the first glass and looked positively worried.

“Mike, why don’t you slow down with the coffee,” Dave suggested, voice sounding hesitant, as if he wanted to say a lot more, but was holding back. He kept picking up and putting down his glass.

“I’m good,” Mike insisted after another sip of coffee, “Hasn’t Chris explained I pretty much need coffee to function?”

“Yeah, I know that, Chris has told me,” Dave chuckled, “But I also know you’ve probably already drank a pot or two at home, and if you keep up this way you’re either going to be vibrating off the walls, pass out, or have a heart attack before we get to the second tux shop,” he added, reaching across the table to still Mike’s hand, which was reaching for the French press yet again to top off his existing cup. It was a friendly, almost intimate gesture, and under other circumstances, Mike might have been worried about it looking like he was holding hands with David Boreanaz, if only for the reason that someone might get the right idea about him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone thinking that just yet. But the reason why Chris, and many of their other friends, loved this café was its location. On the border between West Hollywood and Hollywood, there were plenty of more important celebrities around to capture tourists’ and paparazzi attention, and plenty more gay couples that no one was likely to bet an eyelash or pay them a second glance.

“Ok, ok,” Mike agrees, pulling his hand back and picking up his coffee mug instead, sipping at the coffee still inside.

“I’m not trying to be mean, I just…” Dave started. “Look, I’ve been through two weddings of my own, one kid being born, and I’ve got another on the way. These things make people stressed out and crazy, and I don’t want you hurting yourself. Chris would never forgive me,” He added with an amused snort.

The mention of Chris and his overprotective nature was enough to get Mike to relax. He took a deep breath, put the coffee down, and leaned back in his chair. “You’re right, don’t want to upset Chris,” he agreed. “But, I mean, how?” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask.

“How are you supposed to get through this without freaking out?” Dave supplied, mirroring Mike’s actions. He shrugged. “Realize that this is important, but it’s supposed to be fun and not make people crazy or turn them into…” he scrunched up his face into a an expression half way between disgust and confusion, as if he wasn’t quite sure he had the right word, “bridezillas.”

Mike snorted, “Wouldn’t that be ‘groomzilla’?” he asked, amused.

“Do you want to be one?” Dave asked, smirking.

“No,” Mike shook his head, looking down at the empty place setting in front of him on the table, “thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dave replied, as the waiter arrived with their food. As the waiter stepped away to help another table, Dave looked disapprovingly at Mike’s food. “Seriously, a salad?”

“Too nervous,” Mike admitted. “I can’t imagine stomaching a bowl of chili,” he added, nodding at the elaborate, steaming bowl that had been placed in front of Dave. “Or a-side of turkey breast?” he asked, questioningly at the plate beside Dave’s bowl.

“Ahh, see, the turkey is for you,” Dave explained. “No way am I dragging you all over LA on just a salad. I knew you wouldn’t order it for yourself, so…” Chris slid the plate across the table

Mike chuckled, “You learned that one from Chris, didn’t you?” before taking a bite of his salad, and sliding the turkey off of its plate and onto his.

“Actually, I taught him, that,” Dave said, spoon paused half-way to his mouth. Dave’s eyes took on a haunted look for a moment, then seemed to shutter and go back to the knowing, happy, expression they’d had before.

Mike got it. He wanted to kick himself for forgetting, but like Jared was always telling him, don’t beat yourself up for not remembering things you never knew happened-if you weren’t there for it, if you only heard about it third-hand, no matter how much it hurts, it’s not your fault. He knew Chris hadn’t always been the strong, happy, resilient guy he loved. There was a time when Chris had been just as fucked up as Jensen or the rest of them-he had needed saving too once, and a big part of that had come in the form of Dave. “Sorry,” Mike shrugged, “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dave said with a genuine smile, “Now eat up and think about how you want to work out the colors so that we can actually get something done today!”

Mike chuckled again, shaking his head, but obeyed, and dug into his food with more gusto.

Forty minutes later, they were whizzing through LA (as much as anyone is ever able to whizz through LA) in the last of the non-rush hour traffic in Dave’s SUV.

“I don’t really want anything platinum colored, clothes-wise, ‘cause that’s just a little too…” Mike thought out loud.

“Ostentatious?” Dave supplied.

“I was going to say ‘bling-y,’ but yeah, exactly,” he said, looking down at his wedding ring. “I do like the pewter that Allie suggested though. And I like turquoise, but I actually would rather see it on you guys than on me and Chris,” Mike added.

“Ok, well do that, I don’t think Chris would disagree with you at all, he’d say that sounds dignified.” Dave shot Mike a suspicious look, “Unless you’re like thinking of actually ordering pewter and turquoise tuxes?”

Mike coughed, with surprise, “Oh god no, that would be evil, like putting a bridesmaid in a pink taffeta bubble dress,” he looked warily at Dave, “you and Jaime didn’t have any of those at your wedding, did you?”

“No, don’t worry, I’m not offended,” Dave chuckled, sparing Mike a smile before returning his eyes to the road.

“Good, because my sister had to wear one of those to a wedding and it was…” he shuddered, “hideous. I’m thinking more like bow ties, or ascots-I think I want a tux with an ascot-and cufflinks and that kind of stuff, the accessories.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Dave agreed, “so why am I sensing a catch?”

Mike sighed, “If I put us in pewter, that means we’re doing turquoise, either blue or green, for you and Jensen and Tom and Allie, and while I like the idea of some turquoise green accessories for you guys, I don’t think Allie would appreciate being stuck in a matching dress.”

“So don’t,” Dave said, as he pulled into the first of a dozen or so tux shops and bridal salons on his list (he insisted Jaime had helped, but Mike got the sense that probably all of his friends had had a hand in it), you can have Allie wear a black dress or just have turquoise trim or even put her in pewter like you and Chris, or do whatever you want that she won’t mind wearing.” He slipped the SUV into park in the tiny parking lot attached to the bridal and tux shop. “It’s your wedding; you can do whatever you want.”

“Really?” Mike asked, feeling like he was asking for permission.

“It’s not like someone will mistake her for the bride,” Dave quipped, dodging Mike’s swat as he slipped out of the car.

“Ok then, that sounds good,” Mike answered.

Three shops later, Mike had received a texted confirmation from Allie that pewter would be fine, and no she didn’t mind if she matched them and not the other attendants. But that was about all they’d managed to do. Shop number one didn’t have anything available in anything close to the colors they wanted, and the clerk had mumbled some obnoxious thing about actors and demanding and Rodeo Drive. She had also complained to them about how inappropriate it was to wait until there were less than three weeks before the wedding to order tuxes. The second shop looked way too… high school. They didn’t have anything available to buy on the tux side of things, only rent, which might be OK, Mike hadn’t actually decided whether he really wanted to buy his wedding tux or not (but he had a feeling Chris would want to keep his), and everything in the shop looked like it had drunkenly stumbled from a limo on its way to either a prom or quinceanara. They also didn’t have rush delivery. The third shop was actually quite nice, with friendly staff, who quickly assured Mike they would be able to process the order in time for the wedding. But on the downside, the shop only did tuxes, which meant they’d have to go elsewhere for Allie’s dress (she’d made it clear she wanted a dress and not a tux, Mike had checked), which would be tricky to coordinate fabric-wise, and they wouldn’t have time to get a dress custom made. Still that shop was on their list to come back to if nothing else panned out.

Which is why they were standing in the foyer of the fourth shop, having driven over half the city (or at least it felt that way), waiting for one of the somewhat snobbish-looking clerks to come their way. This shop seemed to be a little to the upscale side of middle-of-the road in terms of price, selection, and styles, and it was coordinated with the bridal salon next door, so there was a chance they could get Allie a dress as part of the same rush order, or maybe get something off the rack in a coordinating fabric. At least Mike was confident “Smallville’s” costume department would be willing to alter Allie’s dress so they wouldn’t have to worry about dealing with some shop’s alteration schedule. He’d heard horror stories, and he didn’t want to inflict that mess on anyone, let alone one of his best friends.

“One of Jaime’s friends recommended this place, said they had really good service, fast,” Dave said as they waited.

Mike nodded, fast sounded good. They definitely needed fast.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” said a fifty-something, tallish, severe-looking Caucasian man with graying hair, glasses, and a vague accent that could have been anything from British to Southern to Australian; it could be dignified sounding, but to Mike it just rings as off somehow. Mike and Dave turned in near unison from the display of cufflinks they were perusing while they waited.

“Yes,” Mike started, clearing his throat and holding up the brochure he’d picked up just inside the door. “We need five tuxes for a wedding, and if possible, coordinated with a dress, but the wedding’s in three weeks, so I was wondering if your express service might be able to handle that?” The words tumbled out almost to his embarrassment, but after three shops, he just wanted to get all the questions out there in one fell swoop rather than picking through them bit-by-bit and then discovering somewhere down the line there was absolutely no way in hell the shop could meet their needs.

“You have a woman standing up on the groom’s side?” the clerk asked, eyebrow raised in question. “I suppose that is why you are looking for a coordinated dress?”

“Uh, yeah,” Mike said with a little chuckle, considering it was kind of all the grooms’ side.

“Well, the dress may be a challenge, but if the, best woman?” the clerk answered, “can be fitted to one of the samples or perhaps a return,” we may be able to work something out.” The man smiled, but again, his smile made Mike feel more uneasy than reassured.

“That sounds great,” said Dave, his voice cheery, maybe a little overly cheery. “So can we have a consultation, or do we need to set up an appointment, or…” he added, looking to the clerk for an answer.

“Which of you is the groom?” the clerk asked.

“I am.”

“That would be him.”

Mike and Dave spoke simultaneously, smiling a little as they tripped over each other’s words.

“He’s one of the best men,” Mike explained, indicating Dave.

“Wonderful,” the clerk said, clapping his hands and rubbing his palms together. “Now do you know the style or manufacturer of the bride’s dress, or perhaps a swatch-if you don’t know and your fiancée is a customer at our sister store, we can look it up,” he added, eyes twinkling, expression eager, still in a vaguely unsettling way.

Mike and Dave exchanged glances, trying to figure out what to do. Ok, so, most weddings did have brides and probably a lot of the time people tried to coordinate tuxes with the wedding dress so they at least didn’t horribly clash, but it was kind of a presumptuous statement, and surprisingly off-putting. None of the other shops they’d visited had started out with a question about the bride. Besides, with Mike wearing a close-fitting pink t-shirt and body-conscious jeans and Dave wearing his usual loose jeans and a short-sleeved button-down, two of the last three shops had assumed they were a couple, were both the grooms.

“Um,” Mike chuckled nervously, trying to sound amused, “no, not a customer, there is no wedding dress, because there isn’t a bride,” he explained, wringing his hands with a hint of embarrassment.

He looked to the clerk for recognition, but was met with a confused, almost suspicious stare.

“My partner’s a man,” Mike elaborated, keeping his voice low.

More silence.

“We’re getting married in Connecticut and we need tuxes for us and three best men and a dress for our best woman, and we’re hoping to have the accents in pewter and tur-”

“I’m sorry I cannot help you,” the clerk responded, his voice cold and distasteful. “Now if you could please leave the premises, I have customers to assist.” He turned towards a frat-boy looking guy and his three friends who had just come in the door.

So it was like that. No wonder Mike had been getting a weird vibe off the guy. He’d probably seen Mike, well groomed, dressed in “stereotypical” clothes, and jumped to the right conclusion. Mike was just glad Chris wasn’t here. Mike had no desire to stick around where he wasn’t wanted and his response to homophobic idiots in this kind of context was generally to just, not give them business. If they didn’t want his money, he was happy not to give it to them. Chris, on the other hand, tended to get angry. Not just voice-raised, say-how-you-really-feel angry, but in-your-face, red, spittle flying, nose flaring, righteously pissed off angry. If Chris was here they’d probably wind up getting outed, having the cops come, and spending the night in jail. Mike shook his head and stepped back, about to turn to leave.

“Excuse me,” Dave said loudly. Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw Dave step up to the clerk, getting right in the clerk’s personal space. “Excuse me, sir,” Dave said again with a sneer. “My friend is getting married, and he just wants to rent or buy tuxes for his wedding party. What’s it to you whether there’s a wedding dress? Hmm? I fail to see how who he’s marrying makes any difference in this business transaction.”

And then again, Dave was one of Chris’s best friends for a reason. Apparently the angry response was something else they shared.

“Excuse me, sir,” the clerk spat back, “but I won’t tolerate you making a scene. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone,” he said gesturing to the sign above the door. “And we are declining to provide service to your friend and his ceremony,” he added talking down his nose, which was almost funny considering that he was probably about two inches shorter than David and no where near as built. “Our resources for such a rush order are better reserved to helping someone with a real wedding,” he added, lowering his voice, and turning towards Mike.

Mike was looking longingly for the exit, trying to slowly inch his way over there, caught between wanting to escape with his dignity and privacy intact and being completely in awe of Dave’s reaction.

“Oh, and I suppose you wouldn’t mind if the Human Relations Commission and the Better Business Bureau heard about the discriminatory way you refuse service, how you pick and choose which kinds of people to refuse service to?” Dave said, stepping closer, shoulders hunched, hands clenched into fists.

“Sir, leave now, before I call the police,” the clerk said with an edge of malice to his voice, almost as if he wanted David to stay and fight, just so he’d be able to make good on his threat.

“Dave,” Mike said, softly catching David’s eye and shaking his head, “he’s not worth my money or your time.”

Dave paused to consider Mike’s words, looking back and forth between the clerk and Mike. He took a step towards Mike, seemed to reconsider, and stepped back towards the clerk, leaning right into his face, and shaking a finger at him menacingly. “Don’t think I’m not going to file complaints.” He rocked back on his heels. “But my friend’s right, this establishment isn’t worth our money.” And with that, Mike turned and stalked out of the shop, frat-boy dude and his friends stepping timidly aside as David hulked past.

David held the door once he’d stepped through it, and the gesture sprung Mike to action, snapping him out of the frozen, fugue state he’d sunk into. As he hurried out of the shop, he realized everyone else in the store had been frozen too. They seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief and return more or less to normal.

Mike followed Dave around the corner and down the street to where they’d parked. “Shit!” Dave exclaimed, slamming his hands against the hood in frustration. He looked back at Mike, seeming surprised maybe that Mike was so composed. “Let’s go,” he said, unlocking the vehicle.

Moments later they were both strapped in and on the road again, moving at a fast-ish crawl as LA’s interminably long rush hour had descended upon them.

“Ok, we’re only trying shops in WeHo from here on out,” Dave said, seemingly out of the blue, shocking Mike out of the silence he’d fallen into. “I’m not going through that shit again, and you really shouldn’t have to.” He looked over at Mike, expression guilty and dismayed. Glancing back at the road, he exclaimed “Shit! Fuck!” He slammed his hands on the steering wheel. “Damn it! I should have known better than to listen to Jamie’s friend without thinking about the… context,” he added.

“Dude, chill,” Mike said, leaning back in the seat and regarding David with mild trepidation. He’d seen Chris like this enough times, and that was scary, David, with his added height and bulk and well, without Chris’s heavy layer of cynicism was much more frightening.

“How can you just, take that?” Dave asked, glancing at mike again, “Oh shit, I’m sorry,” he said, face tinged pink with regret and embarrassment. “That’s not what… that… I didn’t me- that totally didn’t come out right,” he struggled, continuing with his self-flagellation.

“It’s ok. Not the first time I’ve encountered a pompous homophobic dick who had a problem with me,” Mike replied, keeping his voice calm and even. “Won’t be the last,” he added somberly. “Welcome to our world.”

“Sorry I reacted like that, it’s just…” Dave tried again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mike said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Dave looked unconvinced, so Mike continued.

“Look, if Chris had been there, he would have done the same thing, you know that, but he probably wouldn’t have backed down when you did, and we’da gotten arrested and would be spending the night in jail, right now, probably getting outed in the process.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t think-” Dave interjected. “I hope I didn’t just get you outed now,” he added, ashamed.

“Nah,” Mike shook his head, “I’m not worried. People back there barely even noticed me. They were all focused on you. Plus, fans don’t recognize me as much with hair, and that shop wasn’t exactly filled with “Smallville’’s target audience. I’d be more worried about getting a snippy voicemail from your publicist, if I were you.”

Dave chuckled, then almost doubled over laughing, the mood in the SUV breaking.

Mike let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and relaxed properly into the seat for the first time since leaving the store.

“Yeah, I might have gone overboard there; it’ll be ok, though,” Dave answered, shooting Mike a grateful smile.

“Well if it’s any consolation, you looked like you were going for ‘ally of the year’ or something there, so bravo, thanks man, I appreciate it,” Mike replied sincerely. “So,” he said, after a small pause, “we were almost in WeHo earlier, why didn’t we start there instead of driving all over LA?”

Dave glanced over at him looking guilty, “Well, I didn’t want to just look there. Seemed kind of,” he shrugged, “Cliché? Like it was wrong to limit you, and all the places we’ve been to have had recommendations from people, I wanted to give them a try.”

Mike understood that by “people” Dave meant his friends and Jaime’s friends; straight people, and Mike could sense Dave was ashamed that he hadn’t thought about the social dynamics that might make some of those places less desirable to his gay friends. Still… “Seriously, quinceanera central had a recommendation?” Mike asked, incredulous. “From someone who used it for a wedding?”

“One of Jaime’s friends,” Dave admitted. “Although, seriously, the woman’s got good taste, so I was really surprised,” he shook his head, focusing back on the road to change lanes, and steer them back towards their starting point. “Anyway, there’s one place on the list,” he pointed to the piece of paper that was curled up in a cup holder in the center console.

Mike reached over to pick it up. “Yeah?” he asked.

“I think it’s the second one on the list that’s actually in West Hollywood,” Dave continued. “Allison said that Danneel’s ex used that place and highly recommended it.” He shrugged. “Let’s start there. Maybe we won’t have to go anywhere else.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mike agreed.

It turned out that the salon that came with a third-hand recommendation from Allie worked out great. It was run by a very glamorous older gay couple, one of whom was a trained master tailor. They specialized in “exceptional, nontraditional pairings” as their sign said, and their shop had a great blend of everything from the offbeat and funky to edgy to high-class traditional.

“It’s the people, not the clothes that are nontraditional,” explained Marcos, the tailor.

As luck would have it, they had silk satin in a nice, soothing pewter grey, and a green that looked suitably like turquoise. Mike matched swatches of both fabrics to his ring, and was genuinely thrilled with the look. They settled on a basic, black notch-collar three-button tux design with vests and ascots made out of the colored silk, and even found coordinated cufflinks. Mike explained about the rush and the reasons for it, before branching off into a rant about their experiences at other shops-honestly not because he wanted sympathy from the shop owners, but because by this point he was feeling genuinely overwhelmed.  His relative Zen-like calm after leaving the last shop had already burned off into a tense frustration that had him spilling his guts to the kindly, indulgent shop owners.

Whether they took pity on him or just liked and wanted to help out, Mike didn’t know, but he certainly was grateful when the tailor even said he could finish a dress for Allie in the time allotted, as long as Allie decided on a design right away, sent him her measurements by the next day, didn’t want anything too complicated, and of course, as long as Mike was willing to fork over a rush fee. He didn’t care. It was well deserved and worth it, and just having one more thing checked off the “to do” list made Mike feel like an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He and Dave got their measurements done right then, and took measurement sheets, a list of basic designs and their sketches, and two sets of swatches-”One for your intended and one for the invitations,” Sean, Marcos’ partner explained-with them to overnight to Portland and Vancouver.

“Thanks, Dave, I really appreciate it,” Mike said, slapping Dave on the back as he dropped Mike off at the apartment that evening.

“No problem, just glad we got things worked out for you and Chris. I’m really looking forward to the wedding, man,” Dave said genuinely.

“You really think you’ll be able to make it, with Jamie’s due date and everything?” Mike asked, still feeling a little guilty for scheduling their last-minute wedding so close to the impending birth of David’s second child.

Dave smiled and shrugged. “Jamie and I have talked about it. Unless she’s in labor or looking like she’s gonna go into labor any minute, I’m going to at least fly out for the ceremony. Her due date’s actually in about a week, so we’re hoping the baby will already be here, and then we can figure out what to do from there, whether she’ll be up to traveling or the baby, or if I’ll just go. But… you know Chris means the world to me, right?” he said, looking for understanding in Mike’s eyes. “You’re wonderful for him, and seeing him this happy, makes me happy. I want to be there.” He squeezed Mike’s shoulder in return before stepping back into the SUV.

“Thanks, for being such a great friend,” Mike said, voice catching a little.

“You too,” Dave replied, driving off into the evening.

Master Post | Chapter 4 | Chapter 6