Keep Me Close- Chapter II
Sep. 28th, 2008 12:51 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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2minsforslashingTitle: Keep Me Close
Team: San Jose Sharks
Pairing: Joe Thornton/Evgeni Nabokov
Rating: T for language and racism for now (NC-17 later)
Summary: A new year, new players and new coaches bring the Sharks from the brink of repeating the catastrophe that was the 2007-2008 season. Not all in San Jose is sunny as the path to the Stanley Cup proves to be as difficult as ever, and trusting each other is the first step to winning; as a center and goaltender soon realize.
Disclaimer: No... but I wish...
Note: (Hopefully) All of the spelling mistakes are intentional, and are there to show accents and to differentiate the characters
( Chapter I )
-Chapter II-
"OhshitohshitohshitohSHIT!” Joe cursed as he dropped to the floor quickly, preventing Evgeni’s head from meeting the tile with the rest of his body. Cupping the goalie’s clammy face in his hands, Joe maneuvered the both of them so that Evgeni’s head could rest in the larger man’s lap while still on the floor of the bathroom stall.
Snapping his head to the side quickly, Joe’s forehead collided with the side of the toilet paper dispenser, “OW! Damn it, ow ow ow.” Joe mumbled, along with more obscenities under his breath as he rubbed his forehead vigorously. A breathy wheeze from his teammate distracted Joe from his own pain completely.
With new vigor, he attempted to grab his phone from his jeans to call for help. Though getting a hold on it proved to be difficult with a head lying in his lap. Slipping his hand into his front left jean pocket with minor difficulty, he closed his eyes in silent victory when he managed to pull it out. The center knew to call Patrick for help, “Or I would, if I had service. Great, this is just fucking great.”
Apprehensive panic began to creep into the edges of his brain, and Joe set out to find Evgeni’s phone before his condition became worse. Massaging his right thumb and forefinger deep into his eyes, he muttered, “Please be alright without me.” Joe removed the man from his lap carefully and placed his head gently on the tile floor with a dull thud. Joe winced at the sound, and backed slowly out of the restroom before breaking into a sprint.
Upon reaching his destination, Joe headed straight for Evgeni’s locker. The tip of the center’s ears reddened slightly at the thought of rummaging through another’s belongings, but he soon found what he was looking for. Grabbing the cell phone in one hand, he used his left to push himself off the wall and ran back to the goaltender’s side.
Joe dialed Patrick’s cell phone number on his way to the restroom, managing to bump into the walls only twice on his way. He punched the call button with his thumb the moment he entered the bathroom, then nestled the phone between his shoulder and his ear with care. The line picked up a second after Joe fell to the dirty floor to cradle Evgeni’s head between his thighs again.
There was silence, followed by a yawn and then, “H-hullo? Nabs?” Patrick mumbled into the other line, his words lingering with sleep.
“Patrick; It’s Joe. I-I found Evgeni and he’s not lookin’ too hot, i-if you know what I mean.” Joe’s words came out in a rush as he patted the goalie’s cheeks. His breath hitched when he found them to be burning hot.
“Whut? This is… Joe?” The captain asked, still confused.
Rolling his eyes, Joe rapidly explained. “Y-yeah, I’m calling on Nabby’s phone a-a-and he just got out from practice, or, ah w-wherever he was-” “-Calm down, calm down.”
“W-well I found him throwing up in the bathroom, and… and, and now he’s unconscious and fucking burning up man!..” Joe’s words catching in his throat.
No more words were necessary as Patrick perked up at the words ‘throwing up’ and ‘unconscious.’ “Whut? Joe, it’s twelve o’clock! How can you still be at the rink? Or-or Evgeni for that matter!?” Patrick nearly screeched into the receiver, now fully awake.
Flattening the hair of Evgeni’s head, Joe sighed heavily. “Ugh, I don’t know Pat, I wish I did. I just found ’im here lookin’ like crap, and now I need your help…” Joe trailed off, not knowing what else to say.
He apparently had said enough as Patrick made a loud squawking noise of disbelief. “Like you even ’ave to ask. I’ll be there in a few minutes, but you should, ah, get Evgeni to the back entrance.”
Joe muttered an airy “okay” of relief and pressed end call with his thumb. Sucking air in through his nose, Joe placed the Russian’s phone into his back pocket and wriggled out from under the goalie’s dead weight and soaking wet gear. Hovering over him, not knowing exactly what to do, Joe rested his sweaty palms on his jean clad thighs.
After a moments planning, the center bent down and gently slipped his right arm under the smaller man’s limp neck. His left hand gripped the shark insignia on the front of the jersey for leverage to drag Evgeni’s body out of the confined space.
A few feet out, and Joe rest the goalkeeper on the ground with more room, enabling him to lift the body properly. Joe kept his right hand between the junction of Evgeni’s neck and the base of his skull, while the other hand snuck beneath the goalies thighs.
With a grunt, Joe easily hefted the Russian up, his left arm sliding to rest under the unconscious man’s knees. With the padding and skates weighing Evgeni down, the larger man slowly made his way to the back exit.
The hall stretched on for miles it seemed, as he shifted Evgeni’s dead weight in his arms again. The extra weight was cumbersome, and Joe found himself stopping more than once. Another ten minutes passed of the same shuffle, stop and shift routine before the exit finally came into view.
Glancing down, Joe was glad to see the precipitation that was beading on Evgeni’s skin earlier had dried to nothing. Shifting majority of the body’s weight to his left arm and sliding the head to rest in the crook of his right elbow, Joe used his free hand to smooth back the untamed fringe covering Evgeni’s forehead. He lowered his face so that his right check was resting on the brow, surprised to find that he was still relatively hot. Eyebrows creased in confusion as he brought his head upright to get a better look at his teammate’s condition.
The black Under Armour stopped just above The Russian’s collarbone; and at the moment the clothing looked unbearably constricting. He noticed that the prominent Adams apple was subtly bobbing in an attempt to swallow something nonexistent. The sweat that had been creating tracks down his face and dripping from his chin had long disappeared.
In the back of his mind, Joe noticed the lightest trace of stubble growing along the edge of Evgeni’s sharp jaw and cracked a humorless smile. The goalie’s lips were parted slightly, the softest whistle of air passing between his teeth. Usual rosy lips were parchment white, chapped and cracking. Gradually sweeping his eyes up, Joe found himself staring at the other’s pronounced nose, right in the middle of his face.
The tip, along with the apples of the goaltender’s strong cheekbones, was dusted with a vibrant flush. The prone man’s eyes were clamped tightly shut; brows knitted together even in unconsciousness. The skin around his eyes was a sunken grey, making the man appear sickly and frail.
Swallowing his bile, Joe tore his eyes away from his teammate’s pitiful state, blinking away tears. When he reached the back door, he was startled to at what he saw. Todd McLellan was observing the two Sharks through slightly hooded eyes on the other side of the glass. Keys in one hand, McLellan was in the act of locking up one the six back doors.
The two men eyed each other; Joe with disdain and disgust, and McLellan with vague amusement. Breaking eye contact first, the coach merely chuckled under his breath and let his gaze rest on Evgeni’s limp body. Rage engulfed Joe: how dare he even look at Evgeni after what he had done? He clutched the goaltender closer to his chest protectively; shooting one last glare then marched through the door furthest from the coach.
Four cars were parked in the parking lot, but his and Evgeni’s car could be picked up later. Headlights flared to life from the black BMW as the engine purred in anticipation. Patrick Marleau coasted to a stop in front of his teammates. Patrick’s lips formed a hardened straight white line in worry. “Get ’im in the back.” the captain managed before he tore his eyes away with shame.
---------
“I knew something was wrong! I should’ve stayed!” Patrick exclaimed once the car was cruising along the deserted streets of San Jose. He held the steering wheel with his right forefinger and middle finger resting at the base of an axel. His left elbow leaned against the side window, propping his head and massaging circles in his temple.
Evgeni was lying strapped down in the back and he curled himself into a ball to fit himself across the seats. Joe found himself peering over his shoulder for the eighteenth time and mentally scolded himself to stop. The center knew that Evgeni would be embarrassed that he was so helpless; Joe did not need to make the other feel worse unconsciously.
“I’m horrible at this.” Patrick broke the deafening silence with a hard voice.
“Huh? What are you talking about?” Joe asked, confused.
“This! What I’m supposed to represent with the “C” on my chest! I should’ve waited with you, or-or at least done something…”
“What do you think you could’ve done Pat? We’d still be in the same position even if you were there…” Joe mumbled as he caught himself sneaking another glance to the backseat.
“Boot I am the team captain! A-ah, the team is my responsibility, and I let Evgeni go to that monster! L-like it was nothing! Like he was nothing!” Patrick cried, jerking his head back to indicate the man lying there.
“And now he’s in the backseat of my car, unconscious… How am I supposed look at that and not take responsibility, eh?” His shoulders slumped in defeat and he released a strangled sigh. “I should’ve demanded that Nabby stay and practice with the team! And whut did I do? Huh?”
Patrick stared into Joe’s eyes, pleading for an answer. “I-I think… that what you said is what we were all thinking.”
“But I was stupid enough to say it out loud! It was a, uh, a rookie comment, Joe! And don’t you shake yur head at me, we both know it was.”
“I didn’t shake my head-” He mumbled, but Patrick gave him the look. “-Okay, maybe I did; but someone had to say something. It was a pretty ballsy move, Pat”
Patrick let out a tired sigh. “Not now Joe. Just… ugh, I’m being serious here.”
Eye’s narrowed and a growl escaped Joe’s throat, the captain’s self hatred frustrating him. He balled his fists in his lap, an angry flush coloring his ears and neck. “So am I Patrick. None of us could’ve done anything! What, do you wish that you pissed off McLellan more? You wanna get kicked off the team?”
Joe sent a hard glare towards Patrick. “So yeah, I was there and Nab’s looked like shit… But Pat, you forget who he is. He’s strong; one practice won’t kill nobody. He’s more than we give him credit for and I’m gonna have ta believe he’s gonna pull through for us; like he always does.”
The car was bathed in a red glow when the car slowed for a stop light. The driver removed his hands from the window and steering wheel, instead placing them in his lap and staring at them. Rumbling from the engine filled the silence between the two men. Seconds passed, green light replaced the red, but Patrick remained unmoving.
He muttered something, which Joe missed over the buzz of the engine. But Patrick looked up with a smile tugging at his lip. “Yeah, me too…” He trailed off, his quivering lips pursed together. Joe’s brow quirked in confusion as Patrick made faces as if he choking. A cough caught in the captain’s chest, then another, and soon he burst out with a bark of a laugh; startling Joe.
“Th-that, ahah, that had to be, hah, the…” He paused looking out his side window while regaining his composure. With a sigh he said, “The sappiest thing I have ever heard.” all hint of humor gone.
Joe was annoyed with the rapid change of behavior, and confronted Patrick about it, “What’s gotten into you Pat? You know it’s not yur fault, so why are ya acting like this? It’s like you’ve gone bat shit crazy, man.”
Patrick kneaded his eyes with the heel of his left hand and mumbled to Joe, “Right now, I really feel like it. I just don’t know what to do.”
Joe turned around in his seat, gazing at Evgeni’s lifeless form. “Yur not alone in that, Patrick. But I don’t think we’re supposed to know-”
“Then what are you saying we do, huh?” Patrick asked in a growl; gripping his denim clad thighs until his knuckles drained of color. “Last year was bad enough! What kind of captain am I if I refused to talk to the old one for six months and let the new one abuse his powers as coach? Hell, this team deserves to win the cup more dan anybody, but how can we if I let him walk all over us?”
Unlatching his fists from his jeans, Patrick stared straight into Joe’s narrow eyes. “I could’ve not been such a pussy about it and have Evgeni practice with us instead of going off with McLellan,” He spat the name with disgust, “I don’t think I’ll be able to respect that man as our coach after what he did. And I don’t think that the team can respect their captain cause of what I can’t do…” Patrick trailed off, his rant finally over.
“Don’t say that…” Joe began, but stopped at a loss for what to follow up with; he opted to sit, staring out the window for a few minutes. Choosing his next words carefully, “Even if you did tell McLellan… to, ah, let Nabby practice with the team… he still would’ve found a way to see ’im after…” Joe began, still staring out the window.
“And you’re here now, aren’t ya? Prolonging this wouldn’t have helped anyone, ’specially Nabby. Does it make you a bad captain to care about his teammates?” Joe finished, but the captain remained silent, not answering the question. A moan broke the silence between Patrick and Joe. Both men whipped their heads around, Patrick accidentally slamming on the gas in the middle of the empty street.
Accelerating pushed Joe into his seat, then sudden brakes jerked Joe forward and his skull was once again met with a hard object. This time the rear view mirror proved to be as hard as a toilet paper dispenser. Ignoring his misfortune with inanimate objects, Joe turned watched the goalkeeper intently.
Out of the corner of his eye, the center saw Patrick stare at Evgeni like a hawk watching its chick take their first step out of the nest and hoping to god that it spread its wings. At long last, he began to stir and Joe let out a long sigh of relief.
Evgeni’s eyelids flickered with movement, before opening the tiniest fraction; the two men in the front row held their breath in anticipation. Another throaty moan passed the man’s lips as his eyes closed again. “Vwhuthappen?” The goalie slurred.
Before Joe could say anything, Patrick pressed a water bottle to Evgeni’s lips. “Just drink this,” the captain soothed, tilting the bottle and letting the liquid drain into the other’s parted mouth.
Chugging the water greedily, the bottle was soon drained of every drop of water. Joe gave Evgeni a simplified diagnosis his situation, it being very much along the professional lines of ‘I found you hours after practice in the bathroom and throwin’ up and then you passed out and now you’re in the back of a car.’ Patrick nodded and added that the goaltender was probably dehydrated, but not enough to be life threatening.
Letting the words mull around in his head for a minute, Evgeni let out a tired “Hright” before bringing his right hand up to massage his throat. “Ya vwouldn’ ’ave mourh vwhater, pauhsivbly?” His Russian accent was thicker than normal due to his parched throat.
The leather seats squeaked unpleasantly as the captain reached in the back row and produced three frosty water bottles seemingly from no where and handed one to Evgeni. Patrick waited patiently when his teammate missed grabbing the slick bottle for the fifth time. Barley conscious, Evgeni fumbled for the water with numb fingers before getting a good grasp and pulling it to his chest protectively.
“Where are you getting all of these?” Joe asked, dumbfounded. “Do you just… I don’t know, have a stash of cooled water at your house for emergencies?”
Patrick’s seat squeaked again as he turned back to the steering wheel and resumed driving. “Eh? The water?” Joe nodded once when Patrick paused for emphasis, “I y’always come prepared.”
The clichéd comment frustrated Joe, so he turned his attention to the man in the back seat. “How ya hanging in there buddy?” He asked the goaltender, at the same time sweeping the stray hairs from Evgeni’s face with his fingertips.
He “hmm”’ed a response and cracked open an unfocused eye, looking in Joe’s general direction. “To tehll the truth, I’vea been bhetter.” He answered in a scratchy voice before taking a small sip from his water bottle. Pausing to swallow, he closed his eyes to savor the fresh water that effortlessly slid down his throat. Neck giving way, his head fell back on the seat and Evgeni heaved a tired sigh.
“Well, at least that was to be expected,” Patrick interjected. He revved the engine once and shifted around in his seat. Joe noticed the small smile that graced the captain’s lips, even though he tried to hide it behind the manly act of gassing the car and a smooth one-liner. Continuing the drive down the deserted street, it became obvious to Joe how relieved his captain was.
The crease between his brows has lifted, causing his twinkling eyes to grow wide. Color returned over his skin that spread taut like a canvas over his cheeks because of a smile he could not retain. Patrick was just relieved that Evgeni is going to be okay, Joe realized.
Patrick turned towards Joe when the center was staring intently at him; Joe looked away, false innocence masking his face. If Joe was caught, he did not mention that the stare made him uncomfortable. Rather, he only stated with a straight face, “Ya’ve done enough for now Joe. Get some rest.” But his eyes betrayed his hard exterior by twinkling with joy.
He only nodded once and patted Evgeni’s arm without complaint from the snoozing goaltender. He then turned to his captain with a tight smile and nodded again. Looking at the quiet man before him with wonderment, Joe pondered if Patrick knew how much the team does respect him. He leaned his burdened head upon the side window, the last thing on his mind before he drifted to sleep were the words ‘probably not’.
------
Joe was jostled awake when bright lights seared through his eyelids and practically burned his pupils. Moaning in pain, he tried to bat the offending light away from his face with no avail. Squinting towards his lap to avoid the blinding heat, Joe turned to his left in a haze. Patrick was saying something, but Joe yawned loudly, making him miss the majority of what the captain was saying.
Sighing with exasperation, Patrick repeated himself after Joe’s generous display of his tonsils. “Whut I said was, I got ya a room at the Hilton tuhnight, ah, for convenience, that alright wit’ you?”
Joe nodded in a haze; he did not expect the captain to drive across all of San Jose, dropping Evgeni and himself off at their designated destinations. Still, the center was mildly surprised by Patrick’s dedication to keep them comfortable. Unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door with clumsy hands, Joe managed to heave himself out of the car and onto his feet by willpower alone.
He shuffled over to the driver’s side and stumbled upon Patrick trying to get Evgeni out of the back seat, lacking the “in control” image he maintained before Joe took his quick nap. Patrick was cursing up a storm, not bothering to keep his voice down. He pulled on Evgeni’s practice jersey, digging his fingers into the fabric and tugging hard, biceps solid and veins bulging. He stomped the ground with his heel and huffed. “This- ah, this is not going quite as I planned, yeah?”
Joe squat next to the captain and gently took Evgeni from under the arms muttering with a laugh, “Yeah, no problem Pat.” Backing up slowly, Joe shifted the goaltender in his arms slid out of the car. Patrick watched apprehensively as the blades of Evgeni’s skates barely grazed a seat.
He sucked air through his teeth and winced every time Joe took a step back with the goaltender limp in his arms. His hisses and jerky movements began to aggravate Joe when the skate’s toe snagged on the door hinge and he was smacked in the back of the head, Patrick muttering, “Don’t do that!” Joe shot an icy glare towards the nervous man, hissing back at him, “I wouldn’t if you weren’t breathin’ down my neck!”
Huffing, he crossed his arms over his chest and turned around as was implied. One last step back and Evgeni’s body landed gracelessly on the pavement, all of his weight carried by Joe. Much to Patrick’s relief, the skates miraculously missed the exterior of the car completely.
Boneless in Joe’s grasp, Evgeni’s head flopped to the side when the other man shifted to place his arm around jersey clad shoulders. “Any help would be appreciated, Pat.” He tossed over his shoulder as he began dragging his teammate towards the hotel entrance.
Jogging to Evgeni’s side after inspecting his car thoroughly, Patrick took Evgeni’s limp arm and wrapped it around his own neck. He placed a comforting hand between Evgeni’s shoulder blades and fell into step besides Joe. Jostled awake, the goaltender mumbled something in his native tongue, but both Joe and Patrick knew it was a rude comment, so neither asked Evgeni to repeat himself. “~ПО-ПОЛОВОЙ АКТ, вы выходите меня одинокий, или в-ва-ваша жалость! Вы не т-трогаете меня, проклятие оно, Я не нуждаюсь в вашей помощи!~”
“Huh wow, yeah, really? That’s great Nabs.” Joe answered distractedly as Evgeni struggled briefly. “~Дерьмо… Это отлично. Г-где мы?~” He fell limp in the other men’s hold, his struggles useless.
Thanking whichever god was on his side this night, Joe nearly broke into tears when he discovered the front door was automatic. It graciously opened for the three hockey players when they hobbled near.
Two men where sitting at the lobby’s bar; watching sports news while they sipped on their beer. The obnoxious scrapping of Evgeni’s skates on marble floor caused the men at the bar to swivel around in annoyance, nearly falling off their stools. After both took a couple seconds to compute the scene before them, they broke into earsplitting grins.
“H-heeey guuuuys! I-I, ah, I didn’ think you’s fuckers were’s comin’ round t-’til next… weekend! Wh-what a god damn greeeat surprisssse hmmm?” The bulkier of the two slurred. From their flushed faces and foggy eyes, each man had their fair share of alcoholic beverages earlier that night. “Ma-man, Niiicky, I’ve missssed-!” He hiccupped and slipped off his chair before righting himself. “Missed dese sonsabitches, y… ya… ya know?”
The second man, dubbed “Nicky,” began giggling while his face turned a beet red. “Da-da Shaaarkies? Daaaaamn Daaaaan!” He hiccupped and snorted into his beer. “Woah, d-dude! Your fuckin’ name’ssss like-like damn! That’s so cool!”
“Dan” wiped at his face sloppily, tears streaming down his face. “Heh, Lo-looks liiike good ol’ Naa~aabby can’t ’old ’is li~quor!” he sing-songed, vaguely pointing in Evgeni’s general direction. “A-and here I t’ought R-R-Russians c-could driiiink up bo~oze likenobodysbusiness!”
“~бог, эти люди тупоумны! Поистине, не могут они даже держать их спирт как реальные люди? Сволочи… думая они высоки и мощны. Но в конце дня они приходят здесь выпить себя тупоумное с кто-то из равный интеллект.~” Evgeni trailed off, his eyes drooping from exertion.
The way he spoke the Russian language seamlessly from the tip of his tongue and the way each word was filled with such passion sent shivers down Joe’s spine. One could easily mistake the elegant way the Russian spoke his last tirade to be a line of poetry, if it was not for the deadly glare slapped across his face.
Not noticing the general hate sent in there direction, the two men continued with their drunken stupor while Joe and Patrick dragged a furious Evgeni with them. They staggered to the elevator, Patrick grazing the up button with his free hand. Joe crinkled his brow in confusion. “Uh, shouldn’t we-” “Already took care of it.” Patrick interrupted, and he reached for something then flashed a swipe key before pocketing it again. “Room two-twenty one, second floor, yeah?”
-----
Pushing slightly, the heavy door thudded against the wall behind it when swung fully open. A curtain of darkness stopped the overhead lights from entering the room almost completely. Flicking on the light with the side of his forefinger, Joe turned to his captain in confusion. “There’s, ah, only two beds here.”
Patrick nodded and helped Joe guide the goaltender to the closest queen sized bed. “I wasn’t able to stay; my wife sends her regards though.” Joe remained silent as he and Patrick shrugged Evgeni off their shoulders to flop the man onto the bed.
More hushed Russian spewed from Evgeni’s mouth, but quieted down after no response from either of his teammates. Patrick turned, glancing back over his shoulder once, and headed for the open door with nimble steps. Joe obediently followed, and met the captain in the hallway.
They studied each other silently and Patrick handed Joe the room key with a crestfallen smile. Joe looked at the object he held with uncertainty, then his eyes flickered back to the man in front of him. “Look Pat… Thanks for, ah, everything I s’pose. I mean you didn’t have to come back and pick us up ’n all.”
Lip twitching in an almost smile, Patrick punched Joe lightly on the shoulder. “Ah, boot then I wouldn’t be a very friend now, eh?”
The center let out a soft snort. “No, and you wouldn’t be a very good captain, either.” Patrick flushed at the complement, but quickly waved it off. “Well you don’t expect me to just watch from the sidelines, do ya? Next time someone bugs my man Evgeni, they’re gonna get a good ol’ one-two.” He swung playfully for emphases. The two shared an honest chuckle before Patrick waved goodbye. He walked down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.
The room key felt waxy between his fingers as he watched Patrick leave, a faraway look in his eye. Remaining still for all of thirty seconds, Joe wrenched his eyes away from the hallway and back towards the ominous hotel room.
He huffed as he flopped onto a corner of the bed that Evgeni was sleeping on, whose back was leaning against the headboard and body sprawled across the sheets. Joe sucked in a deep breath, only to realize how pungent the goalie’s clothing was. Joints protesting, Joe leaned his weight forward to let his momentum push him off the bed’s welcoming mattress. Analyzing the scene before him, Joe barely contained a despondent groan, and opted to hang his heavy head instead.
-----
Translations:
~ F-FUCK, leave me alone! Don’t you t-touch me, damn it, I don’t need your help, or y-yo-your pity! ~
~ Shit… This is excellent. S-so where are we? ~
~ God, these people are stupid! Truly, can’t they even hold their alcohol like real men? Bastards… thinking they are high and powerful. But at the end day they come here to drink themselves stupid with someone of equal intellect. ~
If Anyone Cares:
Patrick's car, actually was in the San Jose Sharks parking lot, but I don't know whose car it was, but it seemed very "Marleau-y"~
Team: San Jose Sharks
Pairing: Joe Thornton/Evgeni Nabokov
Rating: T for language and racism for now (NC-17 later)
Summary: A new year, new players and new coaches bring the Sharks from the brink of repeating the catastrophe that was the 2007-2008 season. Not all in San Jose is sunny as the path to the Stanley Cup proves to be as difficult as ever, and trusting each other is the first step to winning; as a center and goaltender soon realize.
Disclaimer: No... but I wish...
Note: (Hopefully) All of the spelling mistakes are intentional, and are there to show accents and to differentiate the characters
( Chapter I )
-Chapter II-
"OhshitohshitohshitohSHIT!” Joe cursed as he dropped to the floor quickly, preventing Evgeni’s head from meeting the tile with the rest of his body. Cupping the goalie’s clammy face in his hands, Joe maneuvered the both of them so that Evgeni’s head could rest in the larger man’s lap while still on the floor of the bathroom stall.
Snapping his head to the side quickly, Joe’s forehead collided with the side of the toilet paper dispenser, “OW! Damn it, ow ow ow.” Joe mumbled, along with more obscenities under his breath as he rubbed his forehead vigorously. A breathy wheeze from his teammate distracted Joe from his own pain completely.
With new vigor, he attempted to grab his phone from his jeans to call for help. Though getting a hold on it proved to be difficult with a head lying in his lap. Slipping his hand into his front left jean pocket with minor difficulty, he closed his eyes in silent victory when he managed to pull it out. The center knew to call Patrick for help, “Or I would, if I had service. Great, this is just fucking great.”
Apprehensive panic began to creep into the edges of his brain, and Joe set out to find Evgeni’s phone before his condition became worse. Massaging his right thumb and forefinger deep into his eyes, he muttered, “Please be alright without me.” Joe removed the man from his lap carefully and placed his head gently on the tile floor with a dull thud. Joe winced at the sound, and backed slowly out of the restroom before breaking into a sprint.
Upon reaching his destination, Joe headed straight for Evgeni’s locker. The tip of the center’s ears reddened slightly at the thought of rummaging through another’s belongings, but he soon found what he was looking for. Grabbing the cell phone in one hand, he used his left to push himself off the wall and ran back to the goaltender’s side.
Joe dialed Patrick’s cell phone number on his way to the restroom, managing to bump into the walls only twice on his way. He punched the call button with his thumb the moment he entered the bathroom, then nestled the phone between his shoulder and his ear with care. The line picked up a second after Joe fell to the dirty floor to cradle Evgeni’s head between his thighs again.
There was silence, followed by a yawn and then, “H-hullo? Nabs?” Patrick mumbled into the other line, his words lingering with sleep.
“Patrick; It’s Joe. I-I found Evgeni and he’s not lookin’ too hot, i-if you know what I mean.” Joe’s words came out in a rush as he patted the goalie’s cheeks. His breath hitched when he found them to be burning hot.
“Whut? This is… Joe?” The captain asked, still confused.
Rolling his eyes, Joe rapidly explained. “Y-yeah, I’m calling on Nabby’s phone a-a-and he just got out from practice, or, ah w-wherever he was-” “-Calm down, calm down.”
“W-well I found him throwing up in the bathroom, and… and, and now he’s unconscious and fucking burning up man!..” Joe’s words catching in his throat.
No more words were necessary as Patrick perked up at the words ‘throwing up’ and ‘unconscious.’ “Whut? Joe, it’s twelve o’clock! How can you still be at the rink? Or-or Evgeni for that matter!?” Patrick nearly screeched into the receiver, now fully awake.
Flattening the hair of Evgeni’s head, Joe sighed heavily. “Ugh, I don’t know Pat, I wish I did. I just found ’im here lookin’ like crap, and now I need your help…” Joe trailed off, not knowing what else to say.
He apparently had said enough as Patrick made a loud squawking noise of disbelief. “Like you even ’ave to ask. I’ll be there in a few minutes, but you should, ah, get Evgeni to the back entrance.”
Joe muttered an airy “okay” of relief and pressed end call with his thumb. Sucking air in through his nose, Joe placed the Russian’s phone into his back pocket and wriggled out from under the goalie’s dead weight and soaking wet gear. Hovering over him, not knowing exactly what to do, Joe rested his sweaty palms on his jean clad thighs.
After a moments planning, the center bent down and gently slipped his right arm under the smaller man’s limp neck. His left hand gripped the shark insignia on the front of the jersey for leverage to drag Evgeni’s body out of the confined space.
A few feet out, and Joe rest the goalkeeper on the ground with more room, enabling him to lift the body properly. Joe kept his right hand between the junction of Evgeni’s neck and the base of his skull, while the other hand snuck beneath the goalies thighs.
With a grunt, Joe easily hefted the Russian up, his left arm sliding to rest under the unconscious man’s knees. With the padding and skates weighing Evgeni down, the larger man slowly made his way to the back exit.
The hall stretched on for miles it seemed, as he shifted Evgeni’s dead weight in his arms again. The extra weight was cumbersome, and Joe found himself stopping more than once. Another ten minutes passed of the same shuffle, stop and shift routine before the exit finally came into view.
Glancing down, Joe was glad to see the precipitation that was beading on Evgeni’s skin earlier had dried to nothing. Shifting majority of the body’s weight to his left arm and sliding the head to rest in the crook of his right elbow, Joe used his free hand to smooth back the untamed fringe covering Evgeni’s forehead. He lowered his face so that his right check was resting on the brow, surprised to find that he was still relatively hot. Eyebrows creased in confusion as he brought his head upright to get a better look at his teammate’s condition.
The black Under Armour stopped just above The Russian’s collarbone; and at the moment the clothing looked unbearably constricting. He noticed that the prominent Adams apple was subtly bobbing in an attempt to swallow something nonexistent. The sweat that had been creating tracks down his face and dripping from his chin had long disappeared.
In the back of his mind, Joe noticed the lightest trace of stubble growing along the edge of Evgeni’s sharp jaw and cracked a humorless smile. The goalie’s lips were parted slightly, the softest whistle of air passing between his teeth. Usual rosy lips were parchment white, chapped and cracking. Gradually sweeping his eyes up, Joe found himself staring at the other’s pronounced nose, right in the middle of his face.
The tip, along with the apples of the goaltender’s strong cheekbones, was dusted with a vibrant flush. The prone man’s eyes were clamped tightly shut; brows knitted together even in unconsciousness. The skin around his eyes was a sunken grey, making the man appear sickly and frail.
Swallowing his bile, Joe tore his eyes away from his teammate’s pitiful state, blinking away tears. When he reached the back door, he was startled to at what he saw. Todd McLellan was observing the two Sharks through slightly hooded eyes on the other side of the glass. Keys in one hand, McLellan was in the act of locking up one the six back doors.
The two men eyed each other; Joe with disdain and disgust, and McLellan with vague amusement. Breaking eye contact first, the coach merely chuckled under his breath and let his gaze rest on Evgeni’s limp body. Rage engulfed Joe: how dare he even look at Evgeni after what he had done? He clutched the goaltender closer to his chest protectively; shooting one last glare then marched through the door furthest from the coach.
Four cars were parked in the parking lot, but his and Evgeni’s car could be picked up later. Headlights flared to life from the black BMW as the engine purred in anticipation. Patrick Marleau coasted to a stop in front of his teammates. Patrick’s lips formed a hardened straight white line in worry. “Get ’im in the back.” the captain managed before he tore his eyes away with shame.
---------
“I knew something was wrong! I should’ve stayed!” Patrick exclaimed once the car was cruising along the deserted streets of San Jose. He held the steering wheel with his right forefinger and middle finger resting at the base of an axel. His left elbow leaned against the side window, propping his head and massaging circles in his temple.
Evgeni was lying strapped down in the back and he curled himself into a ball to fit himself across the seats. Joe found himself peering over his shoulder for the eighteenth time and mentally scolded himself to stop. The center knew that Evgeni would be embarrassed that he was so helpless; Joe did not need to make the other feel worse unconsciously.
“I’m horrible at this.” Patrick broke the deafening silence with a hard voice.
“Huh? What are you talking about?” Joe asked, confused.
“This! What I’m supposed to represent with the “C” on my chest! I should’ve waited with you, or-or at least done something…”
“What do you think you could’ve done Pat? We’d still be in the same position even if you were there…” Joe mumbled as he caught himself sneaking another glance to the backseat.
“Boot I am the team captain! A-ah, the team is my responsibility, and I let Evgeni go to that monster! L-like it was nothing! Like he was nothing!” Patrick cried, jerking his head back to indicate the man lying there.
“And now he’s in the backseat of my car, unconscious… How am I supposed look at that and not take responsibility, eh?” His shoulders slumped in defeat and he released a strangled sigh. “I should’ve demanded that Nabby stay and practice with the team! And whut did I do? Huh?”
Patrick stared into Joe’s eyes, pleading for an answer. “I-I think… that what you said is what we were all thinking.”
“But I was stupid enough to say it out loud! It was a, uh, a rookie comment, Joe! And don’t you shake yur head at me, we both know it was.”
“I didn’t shake my head-” He mumbled, but Patrick gave him the look. “-Okay, maybe I did; but someone had to say something. It was a pretty ballsy move, Pat”
Patrick let out a tired sigh. “Not now Joe. Just… ugh, I’m being serious here.”
Eye’s narrowed and a growl escaped Joe’s throat, the captain’s self hatred frustrating him. He balled his fists in his lap, an angry flush coloring his ears and neck. “So am I Patrick. None of us could’ve done anything! What, do you wish that you pissed off McLellan more? You wanna get kicked off the team?”
Joe sent a hard glare towards Patrick. “So yeah, I was there and Nab’s looked like shit… But Pat, you forget who he is. He’s strong; one practice won’t kill nobody. He’s more than we give him credit for and I’m gonna have ta believe he’s gonna pull through for us; like he always does.”
The car was bathed in a red glow when the car slowed for a stop light. The driver removed his hands from the window and steering wheel, instead placing them in his lap and staring at them. Rumbling from the engine filled the silence between the two men. Seconds passed, green light replaced the red, but Patrick remained unmoving.
He muttered something, which Joe missed over the buzz of the engine. But Patrick looked up with a smile tugging at his lip. “Yeah, me too…” He trailed off, his quivering lips pursed together. Joe’s brow quirked in confusion as Patrick made faces as if he choking. A cough caught in the captain’s chest, then another, and soon he burst out with a bark of a laugh; startling Joe.
“Th-that, ahah, that had to be, hah, the…” He paused looking out his side window while regaining his composure. With a sigh he said, “The sappiest thing I have ever heard.” all hint of humor gone.
Joe was annoyed with the rapid change of behavior, and confronted Patrick about it, “What’s gotten into you Pat? You know it’s not yur fault, so why are ya acting like this? It’s like you’ve gone bat shit crazy, man.”
Patrick kneaded his eyes with the heel of his left hand and mumbled to Joe, “Right now, I really feel like it. I just don’t know what to do.”
Joe turned around in his seat, gazing at Evgeni’s lifeless form. “Yur not alone in that, Patrick. But I don’t think we’re supposed to know-”
“Then what are you saying we do, huh?” Patrick asked in a growl; gripping his denim clad thighs until his knuckles drained of color. “Last year was bad enough! What kind of captain am I if I refused to talk to the old one for six months and let the new one abuse his powers as coach? Hell, this team deserves to win the cup more dan anybody, but how can we if I let him walk all over us?”
Unlatching his fists from his jeans, Patrick stared straight into Joe’s narrow eyes. “I could’ve not been such a pussy about it and have Evgeni practice with us instead of going off with McLellan,” He spat the name with disgust, “I don’t think I’ll be able to respect that man as our coach after what he did. And I don’t think that the team can respect their captain cause of what I can’t do…” Patrick trailed off, his rant finally over.
“Don’t say that…” Joe began, but stopped at a loss for what to follow up with; he opted to sit, staring out the window for a few minutes. Choosing his next words carefully, “Even if you did tell McLellan… to, ah, let Nabby practice with the team… he still would’ve found a way to see ’im after…” Joe began, still staring out the window.
“And you’re here now, aren’t ya? Prolonging this wouldn’t have helped anyone, ’specially Nabby. Does it make you a bad captain to care about his teammates?” Joe finished, but the captain remained silent, not answering the question. A moan broke the silence between Patrick and Joe. Both men whipped their heads around, Patrick accidentally slamming on the gas in the middle of the empty street.
Accelerating pushed Joe into his seat, then sudden brakes jerked Joe forward and his skull was once again met with a hard object. This time the rear view mirror proved to be as hard as a toilet paper dispenser. Ignoring his misfortune with inanimate objects, Joe turned watched the goalkeeper intently.
Out of the corner of his eye, the center saw Patrick stare at Evgeni like a hawk watching its chick take their first step out of the nest and hoping to god that it spread its wings. At long last, he began to stir and Joe let out a long sigh of relief.
Evgeni’s eyelids flickered with movement, before opening the tiniest fraction; the two men in the front row held their breath in anticipation. Another throaty moan passed the man’s lips as his eyes closed again. “Vwhuthappen?” The goalie slurred.
Before Joe could say anything, Patrick pressed a water bottle to Evgeni’s lips. “Just drink this,” the captain soothed, tilting the bottle and letting the liquid drain into the other’s parted mouth.
Chugging the water greedily, the bottle was soon drained of every drop of water. Joe gave Evgeni a simplified diagnosis his situation, it being very much along the professional lines of ‘I found you hours after practice in the bathroom and throwin’ up and then you passed out and now you’re in the back of a car.’ Patrick nodded and added that the goaltender was probably dehydrated, but not enough to be life threatening.
Letting the words mull around in his head for a minute, Evgeni let out a tired “Hright” before bringing his right hand up to massage his throat. “Ya vwouldn’ ’ave mourh vwhater, pauhsivbly?” His Russian accent was thicker than normal due to his parched throat.
The leather seats squeaked unpleasantly as the captain reached in the back row and produced three frosty water bottles seemingly from no where and handed one to Evgeni. Patrick waited patiently when his teammate missed grabbing the slick bottle for the fifth time. Barley conscious, Evgeni fumbled for the water with numb fingers before getting a good grasp and pulling it to his chest protectively.
“Where are you getting all of these?” Joe asked, dumbfounded. “Do you just… I don’t know, have a stash of cooled water at your house for emergencies?”
Patrick’s seat squeaked again as he turned back to the steering wheel and resumed driving. “Eh? The water?” Joe nodded once when Patrick paused for emphasis, “I y’always come prepared.”
The clichéd comment frustrated Joe, so he turned his attention to the man in the back seat. “How ya hanging in there buddy?” He asked the goaltender, at the same time sweeping the stray hairs from Evgeni’s face with his fingertips.
He “hmm”’ed a response and cracked open an unfocused eye, looking in Joe’s general direction. “To tehll the truth, I’vea been bhetter.” He answered in a scratchy voice before taking a small sip from his water bottle. Pausing to swallow, he closed his eyes to savor the fresh water that effortlessly slid down his throat. Neck giving way, his head fell back on the seat and Evgeni heaved a tired sigh.
“Well, at least that was to be expected,” Patrick interjected. He revved the engine once and shifted around in his seat. Joe noticed the small smile that graced the captain’s lips, even though he tried to hide it behind the manly act of gassing the car and a smooth one-liner. Continuing the drive down the deserted street, it became obvious to Joe how relieved his captain was.
The crease between his brows has lifted, causing his twinkling eyes to grow wide. Color returned over his skin that spread taut like a canvas over his cheeks because of a smile he could not retain. Patrick was just relieved that Evgeni is going to be okay, Joe realized.
Patrick turned towards Joe when the center was staring intently at him; Joe looked away, false innocence masking his face. If Joe was caught, he did not mention that the stare made him uncomfortable. Rather, he only stated with a straight face, “Ya’ve done enough for now Joe. Get some rest.” But his eyes betrayed his hard exterior by twinkling with joy.
He only nodded once and patted Evgeni’s arm without complaint from the snoozing goaltender. He then turned to his captain with a tight smile and nodded again. Looking at the quiet man before him with wonderment, Joe pondered if Patrick knew how much the team does respect him. He leaned his burdened head upon the side window, the last thing on his mind before he drifted to sleep were the words ‘probably not’.
------
Joe was jostled awake when bright lights seared through his eyelids and practically burned his pupils. Moaning in pain, he tried to bat the offending light away from his face with no avail. Squinting towards his lap to avoid the blinding heat, Joe turned to his left in a haze. Patrick was saying something, but Joe yawned loudly, making him miss the majority of what the captain was saying.
Sighing with exasperation, Patrick repeated himself after Joe’s generous display of his tonsils. “Whut I said was, I got ya a room at the Hilton tuhnight, ah, for convenience, that alright wit’ you?”
Joe nodded in a haze; he did not expect the captain to drive across all of San Jose, dropping Evgeni and himself off at their designated destinations. Still, the center was mildly surprised by Patrick’s dedication to keep them comfortable. Unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the car door with clumsy hands, Joe managed to heave himself out of the car and onto his feet by willpower alone.
He shuffled over to the driver’s side and stumbled upon Patrick trying to get Evgeni out of the back seat, lacking the “in control” image he maintained before Joe took his quick nap. Patrick was cursing up a storm, not bothering to keep his voice down. He pulled on Evgeni’s practice jersey, digging his fingers into the fabric and tugging hard, biceps solid and veins bulging. He stomped the ground with his heel and huffed. “This- ah, this is not going quite as I planned, yeah?”
Joe squat next to the captain and gently took Evgeni from under the arms muttering with a laugh, “Yeah, no problem Pat.” Backing up slowly, Joe shifted the goaltender in his arms slid out of the car. Patrick watched apprehensively as the blades of Evgeni’s skates barely grazed a seat.
He sucked air through his teeth and winced every time Joe took a step back with the goaltender limp in his arms. His hisses and jerky movements began to aggravate Joe when the skate’s toe snagged on the door hinge and he was smacked in the back of the head, Patrick muttering, “Don’t do that!” Joe shot an icy glare towards the nervous man, hissing back at him, “I wouldn’t if you weren’t breathin’ down my neck!”
Huffing, he crossed his arms over his chest and turned around as was implied. One last step back and Evgeni’s body landed gracelessly on the pavement, all of his weight carried by Joe. Much to Patrick’s relief, the skates miraculously missed the exterior of the car completely.
Boneless in Joe’s grasp, Evgeni’s head flopped to the side when the other man shifted to place his arm around jersey clad shoulders. “Any help would be appreciated, Pat.” He tossed over his shoulder as he began dragging his teammate towards the hotel entrance.
Jogging to Evgeni’s side after inspecting his car thoroughly, Patrick took Evgeni’s limp arm and wrapped it around his own neck. He placed a comforting hand between Evgeni’s shoulder blades and fell into step besides Joe. Jostled awake, the goaltender mumbled something in his native tongue, but both Joe and Patrick knew it was a rude comment, so neither asked Evgeni to repeat himself. “~ПО-ПОЛОВОЙ АКТ, вы выходите меня одинокий, или в-ва-ваша жалость! Вы не т-трогаете меня, проклятие оно, Я не нуждаюсь в вашей помощи!~”
“Huh wow, yeah, really? That’s great Nabs.” Joe answered distractedly as Evgeni struggled briefly. “~Дерьмо… Это отлично. Г-где мы?~” He fell limp in the other men’s hold, his struggles useless.
Thanking whichever god was on his side this night, Joe nearly broke into tears when he discovered the front door was automatic. It graciously opened for the three hockey players when they hobbled near.
Two men where sitting at the lobby’s bar; watching sports news while they sipped on their beer. The obnoxious scrapping of Evgeni’s skates on marble floor caused the men at the bar to swivel around in annoyance, nearly falling off their stools. After both took a couple seconds to compute the scene before them, they broke into earsplitting grins.
“H-heeey guuuuys! I-I, ah, I didn’ think you’s fuckers were’s comin’ round t-’til next… weekend! Wh-what a god damn greeeat surprisssse hmmm?” The bulkier of the two slurred. From their flushed faces and foggy eyes, each man had their fair share of alcoholic beverages earlier that night. “Ma-man, Niiicky, I’ve missssed-!” He hiccupped and slipped off his chair before righting himself. “Missed dese sonsabitches, y… ya… ya know?”
The second man, dubbed “Nicky,” began giggling while his face turned a beet red. “Da-da Shaaarkies? Daaaaamn Daaaaan!” He hiccupped and snorted into his beer. “Woah, d-dude! Your fuckin’ name’ssss like-like damn! That’s so cool!”
“Dan” wiped at his face sloppily, tears streaming down his face. “Heh, Lo-looks liiike good ol’ Naa~aabby can’t ’old ’is li~quor!” he sing-songed, vaguely pointing in Evgeni’s general direction. “A-and here I t’ought R-R-Russians c-could driiiink up bo~oze likenobodysbusiness!”
“~бог, эти люди тупоумны! Поистине, не могут они даже держать их спирт как реальные люди? Сволочи… думая они высоки и мощны. Но в конце дня они приходят здесь выпить себя тупоумное с кто-то из равный интеллект.~” Evgeni trailed off, his eyes drooping from exertion.
The way he spoke the Russian language seamlessly from the tip of his tongue and the way each word was filled with such passion sent shivers down Joe’s spine. One could easily mistake the elegant way the Russian spoke his last tirade to be a line of poetry, if it was not for the deadly glare slapped across his face.
Not noticing the general hate sent in there direction, the two men continued with their drunken stupor while Joe and Patrick dragged a furious Evgeni with them. They staggered to the elevator, Patrick grazing the up button with his free hand. Joe crinkled his brow in confusion. “Uh, shouldn’t we-” “Already took care of it.” Patrick interrupted, and he reached for something then flashed a swipe key before pocketing it again. “Room two-twenty one, second floor, yeah?”
-----
Pushing slightly, the heavy door thudded against the wall behind it when swung fully open. A curtain of darkness stopped the overhead lights from entering the room almost completely. Flicking on the light with the side of his forefinger, Joe turned to his captain in confusion. “There’s, ah, only two beds here.”
Patrick nodded and helped Joe guide the goaltender to the closest queen sized bed. “I wasn’t able to stay; my wife sends her regards though.” Joe remained silent as he and Patrick shrugged Evgeni off their shoulders to flop the man onto the bed.
More hushed Russian spewed from Evgeni’s mouth, but quieted down after no response from either of his teammates. Patrick turned, glancing back over his shoulder once, and headed for the open door with nimble steps. Joe obediently followed, and met the captain in the hallway.
They studied each other silently and Patrick handed Joe the room key with a crestfallen smile. Joe looked at the object he held with uncertainty, then his eyes flickered back to the man in front of him. “Look Pat… Thanks for, ah, everything I s’pose. I mean you didn’t have to come back and pick us up ’n all.”
Lip twitching in an almost smile, Patrick punched Joe lightly on the shoulder. “Ah, boot then I wouldn’t be a very friend now, eh?”
The center let out a soft snort. “No, and you wouldn’t be a very good captain, either.” Patrick flushed at the complement, but quickly waved it off. “Well you don’t expect me to just watch from the sidelines, do ya? Next time someone bugs my man Evgeni, they’re gonna get a good ol’ one-two.” He swung playfully for emphases. The two shared an honest chuckle before Patrick waved goodbye. He walked down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.
The room key felt waxy between his fingers as he watched Patrick leave, a faraway look in his eye. Remaining still for all of thirty seconds, Joe wrenched his eyes away from the hallway and back towards the ominous hotel room.
He huffed as he flopped onto a corner of the bed that Evgeni was sleeping on, whose back was leaning against the headboard and body sprawled across the sheets. Joe sucked in a deep breath, only to realize how pungent the goalie’s clothing was. Joints protesting, Joe leaned his weight forward to let his momentum push him off the bed’s welcoming mattress. Analyzing the scene before him, Joe barely contained a despondent groan, and opted to hang his heavy head instead.
-----
Translations:
~ F-FUCK, leave me alone! Don’t you t-touch me, damn it, I don’t need your help, or y-yo-your pity! ~
~ Shit… This is excellent. S-so where are we? ~
~ God, these people are stupid! Truly, can’t they even hold their alcohol like real men? Bastards… thinking they are high and powerful. But at the end day they come here to drink themselves stupid with someone of equal intellect. ~
If Anyone Cares:
Patrick's car, actually was in the San Jose Sharks parking lot, but I don't know whose car it was, but it seemed very "Marleau-y"~
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