moments so dear

[eggybread.livejournal.com]

title: Seasons of Love
involves: Ty Conklin/Marc-Andre Fleury
rating: PG-13 due to context
disclaimer: the parts of this that are not verifiable should be rather easily discernable from the parts that are.
notes: The limits of love and time.  Not much to do with the Rent song, really... but I didn't feel like 'Glory Days'.  Real-life (and real-wife, ha) discussion within, for those concerned.  UNH etc., is the University of New Hampshire, go Wildcats...
word count: 672

For nofaves , who knew this existed back last April...


It's his fault, Ty supposes. Marc likes to hear about UNH, and he likes to talk about it, think about kicking ass and robbing guys blind and taking down names. And going to class and trying to keep a GPA up (and when you're out of class, the task is keeping the GAA down), trying to do well in something you hope you're not going to have to use...and then trying to keep your BAL ("blood alcohol level") in moderation, those moments when you find yourself not immediately occupied with either athletics or academics.

"I want to see where you went to school." He'd like to take Marc; show him the Whit, introduce him to Dick (and he'd really like to see what Dick would make, of Flower's immense talent...because what would he know to make of it? Marc's like nothing Dick's ever had in the program, for the simple reason that guys like Marc don't go and play hockey in the NCAA; they go and play in the NHL, as soon as they can leave Canadian juniors. Maybe he just wants to show Coach the exotic specimen. The rare flower, from a far-off climate...), and just show Marc how and where he lived when he (never would have fully acknowledged it at the time but nevertheless he) was basically reigning supreme over Hockey East. Shit, Marc's still young enough to be playing college hockey, after how many seasons already as a pro... and 23, 24 seems so long, long ago, when he really thinks about it.

But he can't do it. Can't take Marc on campus, can't even take him to Durham. Not even for a beer. For the simple reason that all his UNH memories, inextricably -- the glory days and the falling-short, the good days and the fun times and the stress and the crap and the world shrunk so wonderfully, brilliantly, simply, small...all his UNH memories, in their physical location, are tied up into being the place where he met Erika, where they fell in love for what he thought was going to be the one and only time in his life.

Not the same love. Not even remotely the same relationship, he knows that. But he still just can't take Marc to a place in every square foot of which he can see himself having done something there with Erika.

Emotional betrayal like that is almost sickening, with the conflict involved. Not something he can rationalize. Not something he can accept.

"I can't go to New Hampshire with you," Ty says, under Marc's wide, dark, questioning gaze. "It's Erika."

"Erika?" Erika and the picture from their wedding in the goddamn alumni magazine.

"Yeah. Erika." Please, Maf, don't make me keep explaining...

Marc just looks at him, silently, searchingly...but after all, they do understand each other, very well.

"Okay." Calmly realizing, accepting, he circles around in back of where Ty sits, and rests his chin on top of Ty's head and hangs his arms over Ty's shoulders.

"You're going to be married to her for forty, fifty years, Ty. You need to be able to live with yourself."

"Thanks." Good to have approval from the person who, at the moment, is probably the biggest threat to destroy that marriage...

But he curls his own arms around Marc's.

"Forty years from now, what'll you remember about me?" The voice above his head wonders, breaking the quiet.

"...That I was good, close friends with a guy who won Stanley Cups, way back when he was still ridiculously young and stupid-- Stupid is as stupid does," cutting him off, indicating to a protesting Marc that it's a mutual stupidity. "That I watched him grow. Saw him transform...  When he was on the ice, too." Picking up Marc's hand, for some reason. Kissing it.

"That I smiled at him and he smiled back at me. Every goddamn day."

"That's not true." There were days when they were annoyed, mad.

"Yeah, but that's what I'll remember. You asked what I'll remember."

My glory days. You will be my glory days. Even more than you are right now.

Comments

[guitargirl39.livejournal.com]

Okay, so, true story, I was thinking earlier today that I missed your Ty/MAF fics. I'm not even kidding. And then I got back to my room AND THIS WAS ON MY FLIST! And I flailed.

And ohhh man, nostalgia for the present (as well as the past, of course, but talking about the present-that's-going-to-be-the-past always gets me, and with these two, gah). They're just so lovely, as usual. And hee, The rare flower, from a far-off climate - I love my goalie because he makes so many puns possible. ;D

(However, booo UNH, I say, sitting in my Boston University dorm room XD)

[eggybread.livejournal.com]

I'm always glad to cause flailage. Like I said, les gods du hockey, they work in mysterious ways. :D

Hope it was obvious enough that this was written with more Ty-the-prophet before nôtre MAF had won *any* of his Stanley cups... *cough*

And the f'ing CAPTAIN (and I have his blue jersey) says booooooo to you and your monopoly right back!:
(but hopes you and Ulfie Samuelsson's kid are having fun.)

[nofaves.livejournal.com]

So glad you made the right decision and shared this baby with the world. I loved it back then, but it's much sweeter now.

And yes, I remember well the emotional clash that fed into this in April, how we feared what became reality, how one was going to achieve his dream while the other one watched. Seems so long ago.

[belial.livejournal.com]

*sigh*

40 or 50 years, and he'll have good memories of MAF. That's Ty. He's just... dreamy. That's how you write him, dreamy. Like 1950s, aw-shucks sweet. Except with gay porn.

How do you do this? Repeatedly? :)

[eggybread.livejournal.com]

Ty is...kinda like that. All signs point to him being a lovely little human being who somehow exists in his own particular universe.

And gee-whiz, he sure is dreamy to see. ;)

I try the best I can?

(If you want non-dreamy, read anything I have with Tommy Barrasso in it. *grin*)