Hating Russians

[savvyfan.livejournal.com]

Title: Hating Russians
Characters: Vladimir Sobotka, Marc Savard, Zdeno Chara, Boston Bruins: Alex Ovechkin, Washington Capitals
Rating: PG for language
Time: 2008 playoffs
Summary: In which we discover why Vladimir Sobotka hates Russians
Disclaimer: Fictional story, which means untrue. 
Note: Still living in Marc Savard's  universe. 

Stupid fucking Russian, Vladimir Sobotka thought. 

Alex Ovechkin had scored against the Bruins, and, as usual, had gone totally off his rocker celebrating his goal. Only this time, as he slammed himself against the Garden glass, he hit a stanchion and knocked it off its foundation. The stanchion cracked, and a pane of glass fell, the players ducking wildly out of the way. Ovechkin grinned and shrugged, sheepishly. Sobotka scowled. Fucking showoff. 

Vladimir skated slowly in tight circles, looking down at his feet, as the bull gang worked to hammer in a new stanchion and replace the glass. He didn't notice that Ovechkin has come up behind him until the Capitals wing spoke in his ear. 

"You don't like Russians, do you?" he asked. 

Sobotka turned, startled. How would he know? "No," he said curtly, gliding backward on his skates, not wanting to get into any sort of back-and-forth with the bastard.  

Ovechkin nodded. "I know. I know why." Vladimir stopped and stared. Ovechkin moved in closer, speaking in a low, rapid monotone. "It was at the end of the Great Patriotic War, wasn't it? The Red Army was in Czechoslovakia. Looting, burning,  killing. Raping." 

Vladimir's mouth went dry. He looked around the rink. The players were watching the bull gang. His linemates, Shawn Thornton and Jeremy Reich, were sharing a laugh next to the Bruins' bench. Zdeno Chara had his back to him. Nobody was looking his way as Ovechkin leaned in, firing the words into Vladmir's face. 

"Your grandmother was just a young girl. That didn't stop them. They raped her, over and over and over. They almost killed her. She wished they had." 

Sobotka felt the dasher against his back. Ovechkin was leaning into him, eyes glittering. "And you, little Czech pretty boy. You're not just Czech, are you? That's why you hate us so much," he poked a gloved hand into Vladimir's chest. "You've got Russian blood in you, don't you? That's why, isn't it?" 

"You're LYING!" Vladimir knocked Ovechkin's hand away and tied to skate past him, toward the Bruins bench. Ovechkin's stick flashed, and Sobotka suddenly found himself face down on the ice. How the hell could this be happening? He looked for the officials, for his teammates. There! Reicher and Thorny had finally noticed. But they simply stood by the bench, staring at him, unmoving. Chara was looking too, his face expressionless. Ovechkin was standing over Sobotka as the Czech pushed himself up to one knee. The Russian grinned. "Here you are, pretty boy," he said, pulling his stick back. Then he swung. 

Vladimir saw it coming, but he couldn't move, couldn't react, as the blade of the stick smashed into his face. He could feel the bones crunch as blood and teeth fountained into the air. He was falling, falling, falling into the ice, his arms pinwheeling for purchase, and then the ice was gone, he was falling through the air, Ovechkin's mocking laugh sounding in his ears, his own shrieks of pain lost in the blood that was blinding him, choking him... 

"Vladie! Vladie! Wake up! VLADIMIIR!! WAKE UP!!!!" 

Sobotka felt strong hands on his arms, shaking him; an urgent voice broke through the unholy combination of screams and laughter. He opened his eyes to the concerned face of Marc Savard, haloed by the golden light of a bedside lamp. 

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You can't say you weren't warned, Savard thought, as a violent kick to his backside by Vladimir Sobotka jolted him out of a restless sleep. Krejci had said Vladie had a tendency to flail in his sleep. Unlike David, Savvy was accustomed to sharing a bed, so he wasn't disturbed by Sobotka's twists and turns. But this seemed beyond the pale, he thought, watching Vladie's body jerk and his fists clench as he muttered in Czech. He must be having a terrible nightmare. The thought had barely formed in his brain when Vladimir cried out, a heartrending cry, and tears began streaming out from under his closed eyelids. His arms jerked into the air, a fist connecting with Marc's jaw. 

"Vladie! Vladie! Wake up!" Marc shook his teammate, shouting down at him. "VLADIMIR! WAKE UP!!!" 

Sobotka's eyes flashed open, filled with tears and terror. "Where is he? Where is he?" he cried in Czech, his eyes unfocused.

"Vladie, Vladie, it's me, Marc." Savard gripped the young Czech's arms as hard as he could.

"Marc? Marc?" Vladimir sounded confused. Then his eyes cleared a little. "Marc! Savvy!" He lunged forward, grabbing Savard around the waist, hanging on for dear life, weeping and babbling in Czech. 

"It's OK, Vladie, it's OK, I'm here, I'm here," Marc hugged his young teammate to him, trying desperately to calm him, but Sobotka was inconsolable; sobs wracked his body. Savard grabbed at the phone on the bedstand and hit the speed dial for  Zdeno Chara. 

"Marc?" Zdeno picked up almost immediately. "What's wrong?"

"It's Vladie. He's had a terrible nightmare. I can't understand a word he's saying. He's hysterical. You've got to talk to him."

"Put him on."

Marc pressed the phone to Sobotka's ear. "Vladie, it's Zee. Vladie, listen to him." He was relieved when Sobotka shifted one arm from the death grip around Savard's waist to grab the phone, holding it tight.  

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Zdeno Chara shot a glance at the bedside clock as the phone burred in his ear. 2:10 a.m. He grabbed the phone quickly, before his wife could wake up, and wasn't surprised to see Marc Savard's name on the screen. It was Vladimir, he was sure of it. Another nightmare.

He heaved himself up out of bed and left the room, his long legs moving soundlessly. He pitched his voice low, listening to Vladie's sobs rattling in his ear. 

"It's OK, Vladie. It's Zdeno. I'm here. Don't worry. Everything's fine. You're OK. It was just a dream," he said in soothing Czech. Nonsense words, calming words. 

"Nobody helped me! You all stood and watched! You, and Reich, and Thornton! You let him do it! I was all alone. All alone!"

"A dream, Vladimir, a DREAM. You know - you KNOW - that would never happen. You know we'd kill anyone who hurt you. Anyone who'd TRY to hurt you. Come on, now." Chara chided, gently. 

"Are you sure?" Sobotka said. "Do you really think Reicher and Thorny would... if they knew...." 

"Yes," Chara said firmly. "Vladimir, trust me on this. They would." So this was what it was all about, the Bruins captain thought. One fear hidden under another. The poor boy. "Vladimir, as your captain, I promise you, your teammates will always support you. Always. No matter what." 

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Sobotka had stopped crying, Marc was glad to see, and was llistening intently. He nodded into the phone, then tried a tentative smile, spoke a few more words, snapped the phone closed and handed it to Marc. Savvy smiled. "Better?" 

"Yes, I'm OK," Vladie said, swiping at his eyes. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't be sorry," Marc said. "If anything, it's my fault. Marco warned me about giving you nightmares. I guess he wasn't kidding after all." 

 "Thank you, Savvy," Vladimir rolled over on his back. Marc got up, found a towel and handed it to the rookie center. The young man wiped his face. "Thank you for..." he frowned, trying to think of the English words. "I can't think."

"You don't have to," Marc said. "Just remember this, Vladie - if for some reason I'm not here, it's Zee, or David, or Marco, or any one of those guys wearing the same jersey. Do you understand? Don't ever think you're alone."

Sobotka nodded and turned on his side, curling backward into Savvy's embrace as the older player snapped off the light and wrapped his arm over the young Czech, holding him close, keeping him safe.  
  

 

Comments

[fic-of-elise.livejournal.com]

This was so sweet, and had a fantastic angst twist. I love it, and hope you continue it (and selfishly- soon!)

[savvyfan.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much for the lift. It's much appreciated. :-)

And yes, there will be more Sobotka. He seems to be coming out of his shell to me, so I'm looking forward to seeing more of him. As is Marc. ;-)

[jennyagain.livejournal.com]

sobotka in trouble is awfully beguiling, isn't he? eep. savvy's rescuing impulses look particularly good here, too, because he can't do it himself, he's gotta call in the big dogs to help. it's even sweeter, really, that he knows how to fix it even when it's outside his own power. (that sobotka calms enough to curl back up with savvy - lets him try to protect him again - makes it perfect.)

"Just remember this, Vladie - if for some reason I'm not here, it's Zee, or David, or Marco, or any one of those guys wearing the same jersey. Do you understand? Don't ever think you're alone."

the above is why i love team sports so much. no word of a lie.

[savvyfan.livejournal.com]

I agree - even in real life, it appears the Bruins would do anything for each other, which makes them so endearing. One reason why I love hockey so much is that it seems to feature this charactaristic more than any other sport. Perhaps it's because they so often have to fight or retaliate for each other on the ice, I don't know. But hockey teams often seem to be extremely tight.

As for Vladimir, yeah, something about him just makes torturing him so irresitible, poor guy. And of course caring for him is a perfect role for Marc, as he's been a pretty selfish guy for most of his life, and Vladimir is jolting him out of that, big time. :-)