2minsforslashing | Wildest Dreams 1 (Reply)

Title: Wildest Dreams
Chapter: 1
Pairing: Alex Ovechkin / Nicklas Backstrom
Rating: G
A/N: Nicklas's POV; at the 2006 NHL Entry Draft, Vancouver

The pile of shredded paper in my lap got bigger and bigger with every passing second. Any minute now they would call my name - someone would - and I would have to go up there, in front of everyone.

Everything would be fine if I could make it to the stage and back without falling down.

I heard Erik’s name called, then Jordan’s. I saw them both go up and get their jerseys, shake hands, take pictures as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Jonathan followed, same thing. Why was it so easy for them? I had met them all briefly and everyone had admitted to being nervous. The potential horror stories had flown around – what if you tripped? What if you threw up all over the commissioner? What if you didn’t get picked at all?

Horror stories, yes. Probably not feasible ones, either. But now they all seemed like possibilities, potential disasters now staring me in the face as I awaited my turn. I glanced at my mother to my right as Washington made their way up to the podium; her face was ashen, a pile of shredded tissue in her lap rivaling my paper mountain.

Did she think I was going to fall too?

A cheer from the crowd filled the air, a cheer louder than before, and I frowned, glancing at the stage to see what the fuss was about. Clad in the black Capitals jersey next to the general manager was Alexander Ovechkin, a calm smile on his face as he gave a little wave to the crowd. Mr. McPhee was saying something but the nerves and adrenalin in my body had filled my ears with a soft buzzing noise and I couldn’t hear, didn’t know why Ovechkin stepped to the podium.

His thick Russian accent tumbled out of his mouth, forming words that washed over me but didn’t register.

“The Washington Capitals are happy to pick Nicklas Backstrom.”

I knew all those words. I did. They were familiar to me. But I didn’t know what they meant - in that moment, just then, it was another language. After a split second I realized my mother was crying, my father hugging me tightly, strange hands patting my back from the rows behind me as I stood robotically and started to walk down the stairs.

The weight of the moment eluded me. All the way down all I could think was…don’t fall. Don’t trip. One foot, the other foot, all the way to the stage.

Don’t fall.

The stairs seemed to be a mile high but I was up them before I could register their presence. I pasted a smile on my face, shook hands with Mr. McPhee and someone named Mr. Patrick.

And then someone handed me a black jersey, someone already clad in a matching one, someone tall and broad-shouldered. It was Alexander Ovechkin. His smile was big and warm, bordering on goofy, his nose just a little crooked, and his eyes were shining down at me beneath a crop of messy brown hair. As he shook my hand I noticed how firm his grip was, how confident…how big. My hand looked so tiny in his, the strong, sun-kissed hand dwarfing my pale white one as he held on for just a moment longer before letting my sweaty palm slide from his grasp.

“Welcome,” was all he said. The word sounded more luxurious with his accent, though, and I had to focus my mind to remember its meaning. Welcome. You know this one, Nicklas, I told myself. Now you say…

“Thank you,” I managed, earning another smile.

Finally I broke eye contact with him and returned my focus to the finely choreographed dance that everyone else had done. Pose for a picture here. Shake his hand, say thank you, walk down the steps again, shake more hands, sit.

Don’t fall.

Back at the table I was introduced to everyone and then I was done, left to cling to the chair shakily and watch as the rest of the draft unfolded. I felt someone sit next to me but I stared straight ahead, unsure of what I was supposed to do now.

“Nervous?” came a voice next to me, thick with accented syllables and echoing a friendly smile. I bit my lip and nodded, finally turning to see the same beaming smile that had greeted me on the stage.

“Is okay, you do good, Nicklas.”

I felt my eyes grow wide at the sound of my name. It was so beautiful and different and mysterious in that accent. Neek-las. I repeated it in my mind a few times and suppressed a shiver. Neek-las.

“Thank you,” I said shakily, trying to smile.

“Alex,” he finished. “You can call me Alex.”

“Thank you…Alex.”

He laughed. “Is all you say, thank you?”

“No,” I answered, feeling a faint blush start to creep up my face. “I…can say other things.”

“Good,” he said with a wise nod of his head, a falsely serious expression on his face. After a minute he broke the façade, laughing happily at his own joke. The sound and the look on his face was contagious, even when it was laughter at my expense, and I couldn't help but laugh with him.

I was about to say something else when I was pulled away to do a series of interviews. After that both Alex and I were whisked off with the other new Capitals to a team-hosted reception in one of the hotel suites. Throughout it all Alex seemed to be watching me carefully, shepherding me through the process and taking it upon himself to introduce me to people or to taste test the food before I put it on my plate. I watched in awe as he seemed to instantly feel at ease with everyone, attracting people from across the room to his side. He was perfectly content to have me trail after him like a puppy, and when I got left behind he would crane his neck around and shout my name without caring what anyone thought until once again I was securely at his side.

By the end I was full of good food and I had dozens of names and faces running through my head – but one stood out more than the others. As my family and I started to leave Alex pulled me aside and reached out to shake my hand.

“I will be seeing you soon, Nicklas,” he said with a smile that already felt familiar.

I could only nod, still overwhelmed and awed by the enormous presence he brought to even the simplest conversation, and after I left his side I found myself wondering just how he did it. There was just something magnetic about him. He was everything I wanted to be and wasn’t - rebellious yet motivated. Arrogant but not obnoxious. Larger than life and still personable on the most basic level.

And I wanted more.