Archive of Our Own

Work Text

People like to ask how it started, because at first glance it seems so unlikely as to be damn near impossible, for about a dozen really good reasons (and another thousand less coherent ones). Both Mike and Brooks have been getting media training since they were eighteen, so they’ve got a couple of solid G-rated stories that they drag out if the need arises (which it doesn’t, very often, because they’re smart and careful and, frankly, not as famous as Mike likes to think they are).Even though they’ve got canned answers, Mike can’t help thinking back and looking at the question anew each time it gets asked. There are three distinct “start” points, from his point of view, and the blame can be scattered liberally between the two of them.
Version One: Mike is a Self-Destructive Bastard.Blame: 100% Mike.
So, Mike has a problem with doing stupid, self-destructive shit. He knows it’s a problem, and most of the time he manages to keep himself from doing anything epically dangerous, but there are some days that he just gives up the ghost because why the fuck not.Dragging Brooks Laich, who is 200 pounds of blond-haired, blue-eyed prairie boy with a vicious back-check, out the back door of a bar and kissing him? That’s impressively stupid, even for Mike.Mike starts it looking for some punishment - he’d fucked up that night, cost them the game-winning goal because he’d been out of position, and he was pretty damn sure that coach was working his way up to sending his ass down to Carolina to rot like it deserved. Wasn’t like he could make things much worse for himself, and Brooks had the kind of reputation that meant he’d probably just man up and break Mike’s nose, instead of stringing him on and trying to get a blow-job out of it before asserting his unwavering straightness. Mike wants to hurt, to bleed, to feel something. He doesn’t particularly want the false sense of hope that comes with the “it’s not gay if I don’t suck his dick back” crowd.Brooks, well, he’s not quite what Mike expected. It’s not that they’ve never spoken, because they’ve been teammates for a month at this point and that requires a certain amount of time spent bonding over alcohol that neither of them were legal to buy in the States (and lamenting said age restrictions). It’s just that there’s only so much you really learn about someone who keeps to himself in the locker room and has the work ethic of a fucking puritan colonist, so Mike’s opinion is formed more on rumor and publicly available information than first-hand experience. Brooks is going places, whether through talent or pure grit, and guys like that don’t have time for bullshit.The one thing Mike doesn’t expect is for Brooks to kiss him back. It doesn’t happen immediately, because Mike lives in the real world and between the two of them they’ve killed a half-dozen beers in an hour, but when Mike presses in for a second kiss (because Brooks hasn’t gotten with the program and put him out of his misery yet), Brooks shakes off his paralysis and slips hands around Mike’s waist to tug him closer, hard and undeniable beneath his good pants where he rubs against Mike in a way that feels way too good to actually be happening. It’s like one of those wet dreams Mike still has occasionally (but will never admit to), heat and want and sweet friction that makes him want to close his eyes and ride it until his mind goes.Teeth tug at Mike’s lower lip, and suddenly he’s not the one in control anymore. It’s good - hell, it’s fucking fantastic - but it’s not what he wanted, what he needs, so Mike pushes. He breaks away, dropping to his knees and tugging at Brooks’ belt until the tongue slips free and he can shift his attention to the less-problematic zipper beneath it. Brooks says something, or tries (Mike makes a point of ignoring him, processing nothing more than the ragged sound of his breath over the blood rushing through his ears, because the whole point here is to provoke a confrontation). Brooks’ hands are making futile movements against Mike’s shoulders in search of space as he fumbles an attempt at the universal sign for “slow down, back off, too fast.”Mike intentionally misinterprets it as a sign to go faster, determined to push Brooks until he snaps, because even guys who are apparently too nice for their own fucking good have breaking points. The zipper comes down, boxer-briefs are next, and he’s hard and there, and Mike has to swallow hard and remind himself that he’s doing this for a reason and that enjoying it is a fringe benefit and not the main point. It’s been a while since he’s done this, but not so long that he’s out of practice. Brooks stops fighting the minute Mike’s lips close around the head of his dick, weight sagging back against the wall just enough to shift his balance and provide some much needed stability. It’s a clear signal that Brooks intends to ride this out to its conclusion, and even the reluctant part of Mike resigns itself to the fact that this is a blow-job first, pain later situation.Despite some of the cliches, Mike doesn’t actually think that giving head is the best thing ever. He doesn’t mind, sure. And it’s kind of a power trip, knowing he can make a guy like Brooks squirm against a damp brick wall in a way that’s got to be doing damage to his dress shirt. The noises, though, those are what make this different than it’s been for Mike in the past, because Mike has never gotten this turned on by the breathy noises that slip out every time Brooks opens his mouth for another hit of oxygen.For what it is, it’s over far too soon for Mike’s liking. He’s just settled into a rhythm, gotten a sense of “this, not that, oh - oh, fuck,” and Brooks is shoving at his shoulder in a completely different way than he had earlier, and then he’s stuttering apologies while Mike tries not to cough so hard he pukes. Mike’s more pissed at himself than Brooks, because it’s not like he’s never done this before. He’s young; he’s not that young. You would think he’d be able to tell when to make the call between swallowing and pulling off, but no, he let himself get distracted and BAM! - instant mortification. Way to go, Captain Smooth.The pity party doesn’t last. In fact, it’s barely gotten underway before Brooks recovers enough to be at least vaguely coherent and crouches down with a hand on Mike’s back. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”“Whatever, man. I’m fine, just-” Mike turns his head, spits onto the pavement again now that the coughing has subsided. The one good thing about the not-quite-alley they’re in is that it’s dark enough Brooks can’t possibly see the color staining Mike’s cheeks. “Just forget it, okay?”Mike stays on his knees for another few breaths, the silence growing awkward as their breathing settles back to something resembling normal. It’s becoming clear that Mike completely misread something about this situation, because Brooks doesn’t seem likely to punch him at this point (no, the fucker feels guilty, and that was not at all a part of Mike’s plan for the night) and he’s not even decent enough to just tuck himself back into his jeans and hit the road. Instead, he’s tugging at Mike’s belt. And once they’re both vertical again, he’s pressing Mike back against the wall and shoving a hand down his pants and that’s about the time things start getting a little hazy.
Version Two: They Decided to Go Exclusive.Blame: 50-50 Split. It just sort of happened, so Mike’s not even sure there *is* blame…

This one is exactly as exciting as it sounds, and probably says a lot about their relationship in general (by this point in the internal debate, Mike’s generally thrown in the towel and conceded that “relationship” is a lot more accurate than anything else he’s going to come up with unless he goes hunting for that thesaurus Nicky bought him as a joke one year).So, they were kind-of fuck-buddies when they were both on the Bears. Then Brooks bounced up, and down, and he was up in the majors a lot more than he was hanging out in Hershey. It was an if/then thing; if they were both in the same place and had nothing better to do, then they tore up the sheets. They were careful about it, mostly, and they only ever got caught once, so it worked just fine. Mike didn’t ask what Brooks got up to when he was down in DC, and Brooks didn’t ask what Mike did in Hershey. No strings, no hurt feelings, no questions asked if either of them wasn’t up for it (that had only happened once, and Brooks had been curled up on the couch looking pathetic as he alternated heat and cold in 20 minute intervals until he fell asleep halfway through DOOM, at which point Mike had killed the TV and headed home so his roommate didn’t end up asking questions for no good reason).By the time Mike made the majors for real, Brooks was already there and settled in, and it just made sense for Mike to crash in his spare room for a while until he found his own place. It kept Mike sane, while he clawed his way into the Top Six and then the Top Four, and if it took Mike a few extra months to find a place, well, Brooks never said anything about Mike cramping his style. It was a good location, and the building management was decent enough, so when a unit opened a few floors down, Mike snagged it and nominally moved out. It was nice, having his own space again, except for the part where he was pretty much always hanging out at Brooks’ place anyway.If it got to be longer and longer between girls, if Mike decided that he needed to focus more on his game now that he’d made it to the show for real, that’s something else that just made sense. He parties, of course - it’s expected, and it’s fun. DC might be expensive, but he’s still got the money to spend. He *does* makes an effort at picking up chicks, for a while (it even works, sometimes). But when he says “effort,” he means Effort with a capital E and full-bore italicization. It doesn’t even matter that he’s becoming Someone of Interest on the Caps, that the Caps are becoming a Topic of Interest in the district again, it’s pretty much impossible for him to land anything longer than a one-night stand. It’s kind of depressing, when he stops to think about it; Brooks fucking sneezes and women swoon - it’s not fair (yes, Mike is aware of the fact that Brooks is attractive and a “nice guy” and all that shit, there’s a reason he’s still willing to fall into bed with him after more than two years of up & down & maybe-next-week’s. That doesn’t mean that he needs to hear about it every time one of his teammates has a cousin who’s developed a crush on Brooks this month).Brooks was the one who brought it up, two and a half sheets to the wind in a back corner at the Old Dominion because someone had declared they wanted in-house microbrew and no one else had a strong opinion outside of “Food. Now.” Brooks hits the “I’m a five year old” stage of drunk well ahead of Mike, mostly because Mike was in the mood for nursing his beer instead of throwing it back, and Brooks started pointing out girls he thought would be willing to go home with Mike with some basic persuasion. It’s the kind of thing that Brooks only ever does when he’s completely smashed - normally, sex outside of whatever they do together is a no fly zone, because they’re both some weird level of embarrassed and confused about the whole mess. This time, though, there’s a tone to his voice that grates against Mike’s nerves in all the wrong ways as the “game” continues. “See that one, Greenie? Totally goes in for athletes. Bet she’d even stick it out past the first night, you play your cards right.”Mike snapped, because while he knew that Brooks didn’t mean to be insulting, it comes off that way all the same. His voice was hushed, but the anger in it was clear enough for even a less-than-sober Brooks to catch. “Look, has it occurred to you that maybe I haven’t been picking up chicks because I don’t want to?? Just, leave it the fuck alone, okay?”Brooks stared at him for a long moment, clearly thrown by the intensity even before he managed to puzzle his way through the words themselves. “You don’t… want to?” His face was adorably confused, as if the words weren’t lining up right even after they’d sorted themselves out.“I told you to let it go.” Mike sighed, resting his elbows on the table and rubbing at his face for a minute as he tried to decide if he was sober enough to be willing to walk over to Union Station or if a cab was in order. Brooks was probably a goner, though, which decided that one right there. “Right, we’re going home, and you’re going to sleep this off and forget we ever had this conversation.” Brooks agreed without a fight (small miracles were still small miracles, especially when Brooks had a BAC above .15 and Mike was stuck dragging his drunken ass around without a second warm body to help them ward off gravity), and that was the end of that. Right up until the next morning, when Brooks proceeded to grill Mike about things like his opinions on exclusivity. Which, man, so worth it? But still so incredibly awkward.
Version Three: Brooks Fucking Proposed. At Two In the Morning.Blame: 95% Brooks (Mike did say yes, even if he didn’t know what he was agreeing to)
They’ve talked about it. Like, a lot. But Mike has never completely understood why Brooks decided they should go from fucking to married. For the record, it’s not that he was ever against the idea (once it was raised), it was just out of the blue. Really, really out of the blue. One minute, Mike’s drowsing happily on his way to dead to the world. The next…“Marry me.”Mike mm-hmmed quietly, because he was tired and Brooks generally didn’t go around screwing him over just for the hell of it. Brooks just wasn’t that kind of guy. However, Brooks also tended to be normal and, you know, relaxed after sex, and that wasn’t the case at the moment. If anything, Mike’s agreement seemed to make Brooks even more unnaturally still, and it was unsettling enough that Mike forced himself to remember what it was he’d just agreed to. Suddenly, Mike was wide awake. “Wait, seriously?”He turned over and propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look at his lover, because there was no way he’d heard that right.Brooks’ eyes looked huge in the low light of the bedroom, maybe with more than just the natural reaction to the dark. Mike frowned, reached out and tapped Brooks’ shoulder lightly. “You did just ask me to marry you, right? I’m not asleep or something and getting weirdly sappy in my old age?”Brooks nodded and cleared his throat nervously. “Um, yeah. I mean, it would make sense, I think.”“Lot of risks.” Mike barely recognized his own voice in the rough whisper.“Could be.” Brooks held his gaze, voice surprisingly calm given the topic and his earlier tension. “Lot of risks in what we’re already doing, too.” He shrugged. “It’s been over a year, and this isn’t going away. If I love you enough to put up with your decision to model your fashion sense on Alex and let you drag me to Harris Teeter, and you love me enough to pretend you don't know what's on my DVR, it’s probably a lost cause. Maybe it’s time we get the benefits, too.”Mike knew that he should have been freaking out at that point, some part of him was probably throwing an absolutely stellar hissy fit just out of reach of his conscious mind, but at the same time, this was Brooks. Brooks never did anything more important than picking out a pair of socks without considering the potential fallout, even if it was just in passing. If he’d thought this through - he had to have thought it through, because he was way too old school to just throw it out there and not mean it - that meant it was okay. Maybe. Fuck, talk about blindsided. Sleep, Mike needed sleep, and then he needed coffee. Then it might sound like less of a good idea, and he wouldn’t be tempted to just say “yes” and nail down his foreseeable future on a whim. Of course, when he opened his mouth to tell Brooks that he needed to think about it, what came out was “Benefits are good.”Brooks fucking lit up at that, the bad cliche all that Mike could bring to mind in response to the soft smile that made Mike’s chest ache painfully and his breath stop altogether. He was too young for this - they were too young for this, even if they both knew younger guys who’d survived it just fine - and there were a million things that could go wrong in every direction. But when Brooks pulled him into his arms, all Mike could think was that maybe this was the best idea ever. No matter how it turned out. And, Brooks was right, it wasn’t like getting married would actually change anything…

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

#1 - HBC Point Blankets
(February, 2008)It’s an unspoken truth that professional hockey is hell on relationships. Good money, if you make the big show, and decent money if you make the AHL, but lots of travel and the ever-present threat of trades even if you never make it out of the ECHL.So when the schedule comes around and they’re on the road over Valentine’s Day (again), Shaone sits down with Krystal and makes plans. She’s the one with flexible vacation time, so they make reservations, and for once things actually go as planned. Dinner, a moonlit stroll on the beach, a suite to themselves - all the classic hallmarks of a romantic night away from it all.In fact, everything goes so well that it doesn’t even occur to him to knock when he swings by the room he shares with Brooks to grab his bag before they head to morning skate. His roommate had been clear about the fact that he planned to stay in, catch up on some sleep, and if he was feeling adventurous maybe order a pizza. Back when they’d first been assigned together, things had been a little rocky, but after four years of rooming together Shaone thought he had a pretty solid read on Brooks’ moods.He swipes his keycard and walks in, probably disgustingly cheerful, but he can’t help it - he’s relaxed and happy and feeling good for the first time since they hit the road last week. The feeling lasts until he clears the half-wall next to the washroom and gets an eyeful of what he’s pretty sure is a naked Mike Green in his roommate’s bed. He takes two steps backward before he states the obvious. “This is not happening.”He hears sudden movement, rustling sheets and a groan, and realizes belatedly that he’d flipped on the lights when he walked in. Brooks’ “Shaone?” is echoed by a “Fuck!” in Green’s sleep-rough voice.Yeah, that’s it. It’s way too early for this shit. And he’s stumbled through this exact conversation before, two years ago in the hallway outside of the trainer’s office in Hershey; he’s not doing it again. Hard-up fuck-buddies is fine, as long as he doesn’t have to fucking see it. “You know what? I’m going to turn around, go back down to the lobby and hit the Starbucks, and when I get back up here I’m going to find my roommate and that’s all. How does that sound? Personally, I think it sounds fantastic. Yup, I’m definitely in the mood for a latte…”Some days, Shaone is amazed by his own ability to predict the future. He’s a fucking prophet, really.(June, 2010)It was the middle of June - by all rights, Brooks was probably back home in Regina already - but Shaone made the effort to stop by because it was something to do and it was a way to avoid dwelling on things he doesn’t want to think about. Things like who might sign him - if anyone in the majors will sign him, or if he’ll end up back in the minors, and what he’ll make, and how different it’s going to be wherever he ends up. Things like whether Krystal will be willing to look for a job elsewhere, move with him, or whether they’ve been winding down in the wrong direction for long enough that this is an excuse to get out for good. He doesn’t think so, but he’s never been the best at judging that kind of thing.When he rang the doorbell, he knew it was a crapshoot. A couple of years back, Brooks had hit the road the day after clean-out and forgotten to tell anybody but the team management. Shaone had only learned about it when he broke down and banged on Greenie’s door instead.He was just about to ring again, for the sake of giving it a fair shake, but didn’t have to. He could hear feet hitting the floor, and a muffled voice calls “I’m coming, I’m coming” through the door. It opens a moment later, and Shaone blinked, because it wasn’t Brooks. “Greenie?”Mike was standing there, out of breath and staring at him in mild confusion. “Oh, hey Shaone. Sorry, thought you were the FedEx guy. Brooks said he had something showing up today, and they normally get here around eleven…” He trailed off, frowning a little.“Um, yeah, no. I mean,” Shaone shifted awkwardly, crossing his arms before uncrossing them and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Brooks here?”“Nah, had to run down and get his license renewed.” Mike glanced at his watch, then stepped back and opened the door wider in invitation. “He should be back soon, though. If you want to kick around until he does?”“I, yeah, sure.”“Sorry about the mess, you know how it goes.”Shaone nodded absently as he followed Mike into the house, eventually ending up in the living room. They made small talk for a few minutes, but they’d never been more than friends-in-passing, and Shaone didn’t want to tell Mike before he told Brooks, so he didn’t fight the comfortable silence. When Mike tossed him the remote for the tv, Shaone turned to the time-honored tradition of channel-surfing to kill the time until Brooks got back.In addition to keeping his mind off the impending move, he was also trying not to think about why Mike was answering Brooks’ door. It was one thing for Mike to be chilling on Brooks’ couch when they lived in the same building, but by all rights, Mike should be back up North at this point, which led to questions Shaone didn’t want to ask. He had a very firm policy of keeping his nose out of his teammates’ business, especially when it came to what they may or may not be doing in the bedroom. He had reasons for that policy, and they involved varying levels of psychological trauma that had come from walking in on Mike and Brooks back when they’d all been in Hershey and they’d been playing at friends-with-benefits. The only times he’d broken his own rules had been accidents that were better off not remembered.Brooks finally showed up almost an hour later, heralded by the sound of the garage door opener and a muffled litany against the state of Virginia, which rose sharply in volume when he opened the door to the kitchen and stepped into the house. “If I ever bitch about the bureaucracy in Regina again, you have my full permission to hit me.”“Brooks-”“I’m serious, Mike, that was ridiculous. I got some trainee clerk who took twenty minutes to figure out whether or not she needed to see my marriage certificate if I hadn’t changed my name. Never mind that Virginia doesn’t recognize it, because God forbid there be logic involved. I-”“Brooks!” Mike’s tone was sharp, and Brooks cut himself off just before he rounded the corner.“What?” He made it two steps into the living room before stopping dead. “Oh. Um, hey, Shaone.”“Yeah, that.” Mike made a face, and then pointedly closed his laptop and stood up. “Shaone said he needed to talk to you, so I’ll be in the study. Come and get me when you’re ready for the beer and awkward explanations part of the afternoon.”Brooks looked like he wanted to argue, caught Mike’s arm as the younger man walked past, but Mike just shook his head and walked out. With a sigh, Brooks dropped down onto the couch and turned his attention to Shaone, who was still trying to convince himself he hadn’t heard what he thought he’d heard. “So, what did you need to talk to me about?”That brought Shaone back to earth in a hurry, cold water and painful realities and all that, and he took a deep breath to ground himself. “I got a call from George last night. They’re not renewing me…”* * *Shaone swung by Brooks’ house just one more time that summer, the week before he made the drive to Buffalo. This time, it was no surprise when Mike opened the door and waved him in before wandering off to snag beers from the fridge. It wasn’t quite goodbye - the league is small, and they’ll run into each other one way or another - but it felt like it all the same.He wasn’t a sentimental person, no matter what Krystal said, but Shaone can’t deny the warm feeling it gave him when Brooks opened the box he dragged along and grinned at what he found inside. “Hey, Mike, check these out.”Mike pulled himself off the couch and made his way to the dining room table where Brooks was unpacking a collection of four point blankets. “Oh, hey, my Mom has one of these.”Shaone shoved his hands into his pockets in an attempt to look non-chalant, but he wasn’t sure that it worked. “I, uh, asked around a little. My mom said these used to be kind of traditional as wedding presents. Thought maybe you could use a few.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

#2 - An Ordinary (if Stylish) Couch
(Spring, 2009)While he’d been considering breaking down and buying a house for a while - Brooks had three years on the books in DC and a contract good for another two with a coach who liked him - it took getting engaged to force him to follow through on the thought. It wasn’t that he’d never bought a house before, because he’d done that back home as soon as he’d scraped the cash together, but this was different. This was a leap of faith, both that Bruce and George would keep him around and that he and Mike were going to build something meaningful together.The team had the connections. Brooks knew that a few phone calls would get him names and information, but he didn’t want the team involved in this. It was a small thing, but he felt that this was something that needed doing outside of the franchise. So he talked to Brads, knew he’d been around and made the decision to settle for a while, and asked who he’d used when he and Sasha bought their house.Brads was less than helpful. “Don’t know. Sasha handled all of that, her schedule’s better than mine for that kind of thing. Why? You thinking of getting a place?”“Something like that. Could you ask her to give me a call, when she gets a chance?”“Sure, sure. Pass the tape, eh?”* * *Sasha called that evening, offering the name of the realty agency she’d dealt with and asking if he’d like to meet for coffee to hear what she’d learned during her own run-ins with the DC housing market. Most of the other wives, Brooks would have said no. But Sasha had a good head on her shoulders, and he’d known her going on three years, so they agreed on a time and place after only a token protest on his part.“So, what do you want to know?”The question was innocent enough, and Brooks knew what she was asking about, but the answers his brain supplied were entirely unrelated to real estate. Despite the fact that he’d finally started the process of buying a place, everything on his mind that didn’t revolve around hockey was centered squarely on Mike. Had been ever since that sleepy agreement and the weekend after when they’d talked about it like adults instead of lovesick and idealistic teenagers (god, was he really in love? Talk about a frightening concept). “Look, can I ask you something?”She blinked, confusion clear in the pause before she responded. “That’s why we’re here, right?” She waved a hand at the Thai cafe they’d settled on for lunch in lieu of a Starbucks or Cosi.“Yeah, um, I didn’t mean about the house thing. Just, it’s kind of personal, and I’m not trying to pry, but I don’t really talk to anyone else who would know.”“Okay…” She cocked her head, studying him far too intently for his own comfort. “What kind of question did you want to ask, then?”“What’s it like? I mean, as a hockey wife. Not the stupid stuff, the events and whatever, I mean the day to day. Brads being gone, getting hurt, never really living in one place. That kind of thing.” He shifted, focusing his attention on his water glass and trying to get the ice to float in a perfectly balanced configuration. It never worked, but it was a great distraction when he needed one. Asking this, it required a distraction, because as much as he needed to know the answers - to know what he was getting into, in a round about way, and what he was dragging Mike into - he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear them. Wasn’t sure Sasha would tell him, either.“Why are you asking, Brooks?”He looked up at that, something painful in her voice that made him regret bringing it up even though he couldn’t pin it down. “It’s not what you think.” He shook his head, laughed lightly at the private joke because it would never be whatever she might be thinking. “Just, put it down to wanting the balanced perspective, or curiosity, whatever makes you more comfortable. I’m not, Brads didn’t tell me to ask, if that’s what you’re thinking. Look, you know what? It’s not important, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I brought it up.”She pursed her lips, took a sip of her Thai iced tea in the silence that followed, before she reached over and placed a gentle hand on his wrist. “If you want to know, I’ll tell you. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I love Matt, and hockey makes him happy - I’ve made my peace with that, and there are a lot of good things that come with it. But…” She shook her head, pulled her hand back and sat up straighter. “Honestly? It’s hard. And we’ve been lucky, I know we’ve been lucky. No moves since we got married, no kids yet, none of the horror stories I’ve heard from the other women have happened to me, not yet. He’s got a good contract, I’ve got a good job, and most of the time we’re happy.” She sighed, fidgeting with the tablecloth. “All the same, I miss him during the season. Does that make sense?”Brooks nodded, swallowing hard against the pressure in his throat. “Has it, does it get better?”She shrugged, answer cut off as the waiter brought their food out and refilled water glasses before he left. She waited until the man was out of earshot before continuing. “Some of it does. Some doesn’t. The bruises get easier to take, and the silences. You learn to work around the road trips, and we trust each other when he’s away because that’s our decision. I know some of the other women do things differently - they don’t care, or they don’t want to know. I couldn’t, I can’t live like that.”Brooks nodded, spearing a piece of broccoli and studying it for a long moment. “I don’t know if he’s told you, but Brads wears his ring on the road. Not many of the guys do.”“I know.” They lapsed into silence for a few moments, working their way through the hot food while it was still fresh. Eventually, she looked returned her attention to Brooks, setting her fork down. “Why are you really asking, Brooks?”Brooks shrugged, poking at the few noodles that were still on his plate. “I wanted to know what I might be asking someone to get into, I guess. Eventually.”Sasha’s eyebrows rose. “Wait, does this someone have a name?”Brooks felt the warmth creep up his cheeks, but he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. “I, we’re not really making a big deal out of it. You know?”“So there is a someone, though?”Brooks smiled, because he couldn’t help himself. “Maybe. I don’t know. We’re still, they’re still thinking it through.”“Huh.”“Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to Brads. He’s, well, I take enough crap in the locker room anyway. Don’t want to add fuel to the fire, eh?”* * *Lunch with Sasha became, not a thing, exactly, but somehow Brooks wound up meeting her three weeks in a row. She offered input on the houses he was narrowing down, shared her experiences on the home-front of the hockey life, and pushed gently for more information on his “someone.” He had to give her credit, she was persistent, but she dropped it when he pushed back. And, while he’d never admit it (especially to Mike, who’d take it all kinds of the wrong way), it was nice to have someone to talk to about his fears - someone who understood the other side of things - even if he had to guard his words.“Finally picked one?” Her tone was light, but her smile was genuine when he slipped into the booth across from her.“I think so.” He took a long sip from his glass of water and passed her a manilla folder. “You know, Brads has started giving me shit for tying up your time.”She waved a hand dismissively as she paged through the information. “He’s harmless.” She paused a moment to skim the last page, then closed the folder. “Looks good, and it’s a fair price considering the market. Made an offer yet?”He shook his head, looking down to study the hangnail developing on his right thumb with a bit more interest than it probably deserved. “We’re doing a walkthrough tomorrow, and if we both agree, then I’ll put the offer in. You ordered yet?”“No, I’m not very hungry. Think I’ll just stick with some tea.”He shrugged, glancing over the menu before putting it down and flagging a waitress to put in his order, throwing in a bowl of soup for Sasha over her protests.She made a face as soon as the waitress was out of earshot, but acknowledged the fight as pointless and moved onto easier pickings. “So, letting her decide if you’re buying a house or not sounds pretty serious.”Brooks blinked, shoulders tensing before he consciously forced them to relax. “I’m not asking for a decision, just want another pair of eyes.”“Brooks, I’m hurt. Mine aren’t good enough for you?” She laughed, breaking the illusion of annoyance, and shifted the conversation smoothly to less sensitive topics.It wasn’t until they were standing to leave that she again grew serious, reaching over to still Brooks’ fidgeting as they waited for the waitress to come back with his card and the receipt. “Brooks, why don’t you come over for dinner next week. Matt’s been looking for an excuse to play around with the new grill, and I think I owe you a meal since you always pick up the tab.”He shrugged, giving her a small and uncharacteristically shy smile. “Well, I’m the one who was looking for advice, eh? Seemed like the right thing to do. I’ll check, but I can probably swing dinner next week, as long as it’s not a game night.”“Good. And…” She glanced around, looking for their waitress before dropping her tone. “Bring your boyfriend, too, if he’s free.”Brooks pulled away from her abruptly. He opened his mouth, made a soft unintelligible noise, and then closed it. He swallowed hard and tried again, finally managing coherency. “What are you talking about? What are you implying??”She shook her head, making a sympathetic noise. “Brooks, you’re a great guy, but you suck at the pronoun game. It wasn’t that hard to figure out why.”“I-” The waitress reappeared, leather folder in hand, and he signed and took his things with quick, sharp movements. Once she left, he turned his attention back to Sasha. “I’m not going to talk about this with you. There is nothing to talk about, okay? I’ve, I’ve gotta go.” He stood and headed for the door, ignoring whatever she replied as he headed toward the side street where he’d parked.She caught up with him just before he reached his truck, and laid a hand on his arm that he couldn’t dislodge with a shrug. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I know it’s a touchy issue in hockey, I get that. But I thought that we might be close enough to friends that you wouldn’t mind me knowing. I haven’t told Matt, wasn’t even sure about it until today, but I think you should tell him. He’s a good guy, Brooks, he wouldn’t judge you.”Brooks let out a sharp breath, remembering some of the things he’d heard come out of his teammate’s mouth over the years, and shook his head. “I can’t count on that. And I’m sure as hell not going to risk him on that, all right?” He reached up, scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not mad at you for figuring it out, Sasha. I’m not. But it shouldn’t have happened. I, this is why none of the team knows, and it needs to stay that way.”“I don’t know what you’ve seen or heard, Brooks, but I know my husband.” Her voice dropped, and she glanced around to make sure that the side street was empty before stepping closer. “His cousin’s married to another woman, all right? I’m not going to push, but maybe it would be good for you to have someone on the team who knows. Just, think about it. The invitation’s there, and if you decide against it then just come alone, okay? We’d still love to have you over.”“I’ll think about it.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders before leaning against the side of the vehicle. “I’ll talk to him, make the offer, but no promises. I don’t. I don’t make his decisions.”She nodded, stepping back. “I understand. But, I’ll see you next week? I’ll let Matt tell you when, once we’ve had a chance to talk.” She held up a hand when he moved to argue. “Not about that, not about that. Other things.”He nodded once, pushed off the truck and circled around to the driver’s side. “Take care, Sasha.”* * *It was a rough week, for reasons unrelated to Sasha Bradley’s unfortunate guess. There were two away games and a blocked shot that left Brooks pissing blood for three days, which meant that Brooks didn’t give Sasha’s invitation more than a passing thought until Matt tapped him on the shoulder after a game and reminded him that he was supposed to come over for dinner the next night.Mike found him a few minutes later in the washroom, his shirt unfastened as he leaned over the sink and tried to convince himself that he was over-reacting. Judging by the warmth of Mike’s hand on his back and the tentative sound of his fiance's voice, Brooks wasn’t doing a great job at it. “Brooks?”Brooks took a deep breath, in and out, but it didn’t help anything. He wanted to shrug off the concerned touch - even if it might appear casual to an outsider, there were risks they shouldn’t take - but all he managed was a tense jerky motion that did nothing to displace the burning warmth between his shoulder blades. “I’m fine, Mike.”Mike’s voice was soft, but the edge was unmistakable. “I didn’t ask if you were okay, Brooks. I’m not an idiot.”Brooks shook his head, trying to shake off the near paralyzing anxiety enough to avoid dealing with this right now. There were places and times for certain conversations, and he’d fucked up enough as it was by not keeping his mouth shut. He understood that getting married meant inviting these situations, to a degree, that someone would eventually find out. He did. He was okay with that, in theory. But this wasn’t ‘theory,’ this was real life. This was someone other than his family knowing, and he’d run up against a brick wall when it came to denial.“I think…” Brooks tried to take another breath, but this one was markedly less successful. He felt his stomach clench, knew what was coming. “I’m-” He pushed away from the sinks, shrugging off Mike’s concerned look and just barely making it to the closest toilet before his body decided to bring up whatever was left of his pre-game meal. There wasn’t much, it had been almost eight hours, but that just made it worse.When he dragged himself back out to the sinks, Mike was leaning against the counter, arms crossed the way they always were when he was forcing himself not to fidget. “Feel better?”“A little.” Brooks grimaced and spat in the sink before leaning over and turning on the tap to rinse his mouth out. When he looked up again, Mike was watching him in the mirror, worry subdued but still clearly visible. “Just…” He closed his eyes, shook his head once. “Not now, okay?”Mike uncrossed his arms, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and ruining the normally smooth lines. “Whatever. Come on, let’s get out of here. You need a Gatorade or something?”Brooks didn’t want a Gatorade, putting anything in his stomach sounded like a really bad idea at the moment, but he also didn’t particularly want to make an issue of it, so he just nodded and followed Mike back into the changing room.* * *Brooks took his time driving home, taking the long way in an effort to settle his thoughts. It didn’t help. He kept hearing the old jokes, the insults and insinuations. Kept trying to convince himself that because he’d only sort of meant them, even in the days before he’d made peace with the flexibilities in his own tastes, that Matt didn’t mean them, either.Brads was a good guy, Brooks had never found a reason to doubt that. And he wouldn’t be the first guy in the locker room to know, not exactly. Shaone had walked in on them, twice, but that was different. Shaone assumed it was casual, fuckbuddies between girlfriends, and hell - the first time he’d walked in on them, it had been. That kind of thing was tolerated with a blind eye, a coping mechanism that nobody talked about. Dating a guy, getting serious or committed or anything even remotely like it, that was different. It wasn’t done, wasn’t even considered, and Brooks was sure that there was some even greater taboo he was violating because Mike was a teammate.They weren’t new thoughts, not by any means, but the prospect of consciously agreeing to tell someone else on the team brought back every single argument for why he and Mike shouldn’t even be “Brooks and Mike” as a collective unit. Shouldn’t be buying a house or arguing over fucking curtains (all right, so the day he got into a fight with Mike over curtains was the day he jumped off the American Legion Bridge, but the point was still valid), never mind getting married. If they were smart, they’d make private promises and ride out their careers, but Brooks had never been the smart one in the family, and God help them, because Mike didn’t have the sense to end the whole mess before it got underway. Four years, and neither of them had walked out yet. It made for a pretty convincing argument that they were already in it for the long haul, formalities or not.Brooks was still thinking about the hows and the whys, hung up on the fact that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t convince himself that they should just skip the grief and nix the wedding, when he pulled into the garage. Mike’s escalade was already there, and Brooks wasn’t naive enough to think that Mike would just go to his own apartment and leave the issue for the morning. If nothing else, they were too used to sleeping in the same bed, completely independent of the sex. Despite his concerns, Brooks knew that this shouldn’t be the mess he was making it out to be - they’d both gone into this eyes open. Now, it was was just finally time that they started dealing with the consequences.Despite the fact that the lights were on, Mike wasn’t in the living room. Or the kitchen, although it was clear that he’d been there at some point; used silverware rested in the “dirty” side of the sink, and there was a receipt for a chicken caesar salad next to the concealed trash can. Mike was home, and fed, which meant the next logical stop was the shower. Brooks glanced at the clock on the microwave and winced when he realized just how late it was, leaving his keys on the kitchen counter as he followed the muffled sound of running water.* * *It was easy, far too easy, to pretend nothing was wrong when he slipped into the shower with Mike. It was a ritual of theirs, sharing a shower after the home games and warming each other up after they’d frozen their muscles for the sake of the morning. Brooks shook his head in warning as he pulled the door closed behind him, wanting just a few minutes of peace before he dredged up issues that might not be easily resolved.One of the nice things about having been together so long was that they knew each other - read each other. Mike acceded to his silent request, turning around and pressing his lips to Brooks’ shoulder, then the side of his neck. “Feeling better?”Brooks skated his hands along Mike’s ribs, too wrung out between the game and the anxiety to be interested in what Mike was offering. Instead, he just pressed his lips to Mike’s temple and soaked in the comfort of contact. Mike didn’t push, didn’t do much of anything up until they crawled into bed.“What did Brads say to you?”Brooks tensed, surprised at the apparent non-sequitor. “What?”Mike shifted, gently stroking the skin of Brooks’ chest beneath his hand. “After the game. You were talking to Brads, and then you went storming off to the washroom. So, what the hell did he say to you?”Brooks sighed, and pushed himself up to lean against the headboard, dislodging Mike in the process. “He asked me to come over for dinner tomorrow night. Sasha asked before, and I’d managed to forget about it.”“O…kay.” Mike let the word drag out, making his confusion clear.“So, maybe it’s not just dinner.”“Then what is it?” Mike finally sat up, clearly having deduced that this wasn’t going to be a two-minute conversation.“I, fuck. Sasha knows, okay?”“Knows?”“Yeah, knows. Like, that maybe there’s a reason I haven’t introduced my ‘girlfriend’ to the rest of the team yet, okay?”It took a long moment before Mike realized what Brooks was implying, but when he finally figured it out, his eyes grew disconcertingly wide in the light from the bedside lamp. “Wait, what? How?”“I don’t, I’m not sure.” Brooks looked down, avoiding Mike’s gaze and fisting a hand in the sheet. This wasn’t how he’d planned to break the news, but he hadn’t really planned on any of this happening. Not, not yet. “She said something last week, told me she doesn’t care and asked if she could meet you. Not you you, but, you know.” He shrugged, still unwilling to look up.“She wants to meet your boyfriend.”“Yes. That. I, she said something, and...” He shrugged, made a helpless gesture with his hands. “I overreacted, I guess. Or under-reacted. Fuck if I know. She just got this look on her face and said something about pronouns, and I am so fucking sorry, Mike.” He looked up at that, finally meeting Mike’s eyes.Mike blinked at him a few times, then reached over and placed a warm hand on his bare shoulder. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay, Brooks.” He tightened his grip, shook gently to emphasize his point. “It’s not, it’s not good, but this isn’t the end of the world. We knew this would happen, sooner or later. You said she didn’t mind, right? She’s been around a while, she has to know what it would mean if she outed you. Outed us.” Mike tried for an encouraging smile, but it was middling at best.“Us.” Brooks breathed the word carefully, still caught on the outer edges of panic even as Mike’s touch bled through his skin.“Yeah, us. Now, lie down.” Mike tugged, forcing Brooks to shift around until his head rested on the pillow and Mike could wrap his arm around him and rest his head on Brooks’ shoulder. They stayed that way until Brooks’ breathing slowed, not asleep, just quiet. “You want to back out?”“No.”“Me, either. Means this is going to happen, though. Maybe not tomorrow, but sometime. And there’s even more to lose after the summer. I think…” Mike shifted, squirming around until he could meet Brooks’ eyes again. “I think we’re better off doing it now, getting it over with. Even if he freaks, Brads isn’t the kind of guy who’s going to fuck us over.” Mike chewed on his lip, thinking it over. “Well, probably. But he’ll keep it to himself. That’s the best we’re going to get.”Brooks was quiet for a long time, pros and cons bouncing around his thoughts with enough velocity to make him dizzy. It wasn’t until he heard the familiar change in Mike’s breathing that signaled true sleep that he realized - really realized - that it wasn’t his decision to make anymore. “All right.”The following morning, Brooks left a message on Sasha’s phone telling her that he wasn’t coming alone, and took a moment to thank everything he could think of that she hadn’t answered. It was going to be hard enough watching her come to the right conclusion in person; he didn’t want to be forced to try to gauge her reactions over the phone. Brads, well, he was trying not to think of what Brads was going to do.* * *“Brooks, come on in. I’m so glad you were able to make it. And, Mike.” She paused, and did an admirable job at covering her confusion. “When Brooks said he might bring a friend, I didn’t realize he meant a teammate.”Mike shrugged and handed her the bottle of wine he was holding, then stuffed his hands into his pockets, every inch the Albertan farm boy he’d never been. “He mentioned real food, and I kind of invited myself along. I hope you don’t mind?” He gave her a self-deprecating smile.“No, no, of course not.” She shook her head, visibly relaxing as her smile reestablished itself. She stepped back and waited for them to clear the door before she closed it. “Well, Matt’s in back engaging in some kind of fight with the propane tank. You’re welcome to join him, or you can keep me company in the kitchen while I finish a few things up.”Brooks looked over at Mike, who shrugged one shoulder and nodded. “I think I’ll go see if I can give him a hand.” Brooks headed down the hall toward the back door, leaving Mike and Sasha to make their way to the kitchen. Mike paused in the doorway, unsure of what he was about to do.“Did you need help with anything?”“Hm? Oh, no. It’s mostly just busywork left over from earlier. Would you like something to drink? We’ve got the usuals - beer, soda?”“Beer.” Mike latched onto the offering before he realized he was doing it, and bit back a wince at the enthusiasm in his tone. All he needed was to come off as an alcoholic, that would make the conversation go so much better. He took a deep breath, pushing off the door jam and walking further into the kitchen proper. “A beer would be great, thanks.”She nodded and pulled open the fridge. “Got a preference? We’ve got, um-”“Anything’s fine.”“Are you sure? I-”“Really. I, damnit!” She looked up, startled, and he immediately felt bad. This wasn’t her fault, not really. It was just something that needed to be done. They’d decided Brooks would tell Brads first, but there was just no way Mike was going to last that long - not knowing what was coming. Maybe coming. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair before rubbing futilely at the tension in his neck. “Okay, look, I just need to say this, okay?”“Okay…” She closed the refrigerator and turned to face him more directly, leaning lightly against the island.Mike swallowed hard. “I know what you said to Brooks.” She started to explain, but he shook his head sharply. “No, don’t. Don’t say it’s none of my business, because it is. It’s my business, too. Okay? Do you understand what I’m saying?”“I…” Sasha’s voice trailed off, and she reached down and groped around under the overhang of the island before pulling out one of the stools and sitting down. “I had no idea.”“I know.” He looked away, walking a few steps before turning around and pacing back to where he’d started. “Nobody does, that’s the point. We don’t,” he broke off with a strangled laugh. “We don’t exactly advertise this, Sasha.”“No, I don’t suppose you would.” Her voice was scratchy and quiet, and her expression was still disconcertingly blank. It all added up to bad things, and man, Mike was just never going to learn, was he?“You know, Brooks was right, I shouldn’t have said anything. I wasn’t kidding before, you know - I invited myself along. Brooks, he told me this was a bad idea. Didn’t think we should say anything, but me? No, we’re getting fucking married, we should get used to it. I-” He closed his eyes, bowing his head and taking a quick breath before letting it out in a harsh burst. He looked up, then, but he was focused on the fridge door over Sasha’s shoulder. “Look, please. You told Brooks you were okay with it, and I hope to God you are, but just. I need you to not say tell anyone.” He finally focused on her face, stomach dropping as he took in the way she bit her lip, shaking her head slowly. “Please. This, this would mean our careers. I don’t care about mine, I mean, I care, but. Not like Brooks cares. This could ruin him.”“Mike, no, wait-” She stood up, circling the island and stopping just shy of him. She reached out, but pulled back before her hand made contact. After a moment of wary glances between them, she completed the motion and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Breathe, Mike.” She waited until he’d followed the direction before speaking again, her tone having regained its former confidence. “You startled me, that’s all. I thought, well…” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m not going to tell anyone, and if you tell Matt, he won’t tell anyone, either.”Mike stared at her for a long moment before nodding slowly. “I, thanks.” He took another deep breath, shifted his weight without dislodging her hand. “I’m sorry. We’ve just, I’ve never really done this before, you know?”He glanced over his shoulder, looking out the window toward the backyard where Brooks and Brads stood next to an obviously forgotten grill. It was clear that whatever was being said, it wasn’t going well. “Damn.”She followed his gaze, letting her hand fall back to her side but not stepping away. “Don’t worry about Matt.” She slipped her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “He doesn’t take surprises well, but he won’t judge you because of it. Give them a few minutes, they’ll be fine.”“I hope so.”* * *“Brooks, for the love of God, just spit it out. I don’t know what your problem is, but if you hurl on the grill you will be the one cleaning it.”“It’s, fuck, this isn’t easy for me, okay?”“What isn’t easy?”“Mike isn’t here as a friend tonight, okay? He’s here because Sasha wanted to meet my boyfriend. Is that clear enough for you?”“Your… what?” Brads blinked at him in confusion. “Brooks, that’s not something to fuck around about.”“You think I want to be having this conversation?” Brooks crossed his arms, the motion lacking his normal grace. “Fuck, Brads, if I had it my way we’d never be discussing this. Sasha’s a sweetheart, man, but she’s too perceptive for her own good.”“Hey, watch it.” Matt’s eyes flashed, and his jaw clenched before he visibly shook it off. “So what you’re saying is, you’re, what, bi?”Brooks nodded, turning his attention to the food that was slowly cooking on the grill. “I, yeah.” His voice was rough, but that was easily blamed on the smoke from the marinated steak. “Something like that.”Matt nodded, the movement just on the edges of Brooks’ peripheral vision, then grabbed the tongs and flipped a few of the darker pieces and adjusted the position of the rest. “Okay. How long has this - you and Mike - been going on?”“Um, I don’t.” Brooks sighed, because he never really knew the answer to that. “Is years good enough?”“Huh. Guess it’s not affecting the locker room, then, eh?”Brooks let out a startled laugh at that, glancing over to find that Matt’s posture had regained the ease it had held when they’d first arrived. “You really don’t mind?”Matt shrugged. “None of my business what you do at home, eh? You said years, which means it’ll be a bitch if it goes south, but you don’t need sex for that to happen.”“Well, I’m hoping it doesn’t go bad, you know? Best we can do.”“Just how deep into this are you, Brooks? Because I don’t mean to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but Greenie’s still pretty damn young. These things, sometimes they come and go, yeah?”Brooks glanced around, finally fixing his gaze on the bushes on the edge of the yard. “We’re getting married this summer.”“Oh.”“Yeah.”“Um, congratulations?”“That’s why, when Sasha pushed, Mike thought we should tell you. It’s, well, it’s going to come out eventually. Thought maybe we should start with someone we trusted, eh?”Matt studied him, expression thoughtful once Brooks finally got up the courage to meet his gaze. “Thank you. I mean it, I know this kind of thing isn’t easy.” He took a moment to flip the remaining steaks, testing the early turners to see if they were done yet. “I won’t tell anyone, Brooks. You have my word, and that goes for Mike, too. League isn’t ready for this, and we all know it. What you’re talking about doing, it’s risky, but I get it. If you ever need someone to talk to, somewhere to stay for a night, you’re always welcome here, okay?”Brooks nodded, swallowing hard. “Thanks. I, we, appreciate it.”“Just don’t think this means I’m going to stop giving you shit about monopolizing Sasha. Just so we’re clear.”“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

#3 - Wedding Photos
(Summer, 2009)When Brooks proposed, impromptu appearance of the act or not, he knew what he was getting himself into. For the most part, that amounted to “not much,” since he and Mike were already spending most of their free time together and money wasn’t exactly an issue. There was the small possibility that he’d forgotten a few details. Such as, say, the wedding itself.It wasn’t that he’d never been to a wedding. Or even that he hadn’t stopped to think about the fact that they’d have to actually get married (if Mike said yes, which had never been a guarantee). They were both sensible guys, and (at least initially) it had seemed like a courthouse wedding would take care of the issue without drawing undue fuss. Clean and simple, right? Mike agreed, because they were doing this for them, not the general public, and the less chance of making the front page, the better.That idea lasted right up until they called his sister. “What do you mean you’re not having a real wedding?”“Jodi, a civil ceremony is a real wedding. Just because you had the whole nine yards doesn’t mean the rest of us want that.”“Have you talked to Mom yet?”“Of course.”“And what did she say?”“That she respects my decision, and she’s happy for us.”“Bullshit. You avoided the topic entirely, didn’t you?”“Maybe… But, come on, you know how she gets. We don’t want to make a big deal of this, okay?”“Evan Brooks Laich, you are getting married. That’s a big deal whether you admit it or not, and I guarantee you’ll regret it if you don’t do something memorable. I will make you regret it, are we clear?”He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, slumping back against the couch. “Fine, talk to mom. But I don’t have time to be dealing with this shit, and I want it clear that Mike and I have veto power.”“Sure!” There was something truly disturbing about the fact that she didn’t even bother to hide the glee in her voice, but Brooks didn’t have the energy to worry about it. After all, they still had to call Mike’s family.In a proactive “the best defense is a strong offense” move, they sat down the morning after spreading the news and had the “so, we’re really doing this, eh?” discussion. Brooks’ mother had emailed them a list of questions she needed answered, and they sat down and worked through it over coffee and bagels. Simple things like who and when and where, but the kind of details that made what they were doing real.The amazing revelation of that strategy session was that Mike was, if anything, even worse than Brooks was when it came to sorting out the odds and ends of social planning. Middle of July? Sure, no problem. Ass-end of nowhere Saskatchewan? Workable, but Brooks was paying any expenses which might crop up due to location (and no, the fact that everything cost more in Calgary didn’t mean that Mike was being unreasonable. Did Brooks really want to take out a full-page ad in the Globe & Mail?). Other than that, Mike was more than happy to cede control of the plans to Brooks (Brooks managed a token protest, which earned him a blow job and a pathetic look, followed by a muffled comment about Mike’s sister and terriers that Brooks was just as glad he couldn’t understand).In turn, Brooks was more than happy to turn things over to his mother and wash his hands of it. She had the time, the political acumen, and, unlike Mike’s mother, she didn’t have her hands full trying to convince her husband that her son was an adult and maybe he should shut up and be supportive because this was happening whether he approved or not.* * *As expected, the wedding itself was a perfunctory event. They signed papers, spoke their commitments, and exchanged rings in front of a handful of witnesses. The closest thing Brooks could compare it to was the start of playoffs - generalized background anxiety for weeks, leading to waking up the morning of the event in a cold sweat, and the whole thing shrouded in a haze of adrenaline. He remembered it after the fact, with that crystal clarity of overwhelming fight or flight, but the one thing he could never put a finger on was just why he’d been so nervous.The entire day was a study in compromise, balancing needs with wants. The wedding was private, parents and siblings, but the reception had a (slightly) larger guest list. It was a way of introducing the families, building casual relationships and laying the foundations for what they hoped would be a lifetime of support.Driving back from the courthouse, Brooks’ mind kept bouncing between the fact that nothing had changed - okay, technically there were now communal assets, but they both had multi-million dollar contracts, and it wasn’t like they’d be filing joint taxes any time soon - and the undeniable sense that something had changed. It was stupid and sentimental, but Brooks felt different. He knew Mike was feeling it, too, could see it in the way Mike shifted in his seat and kept fidgeting with his wedding ring until Brooks reached over and caught his hand, twining their fingers together and leaving them that way until they pulled into his parents’ driveway.One of the things that Jodi had been absolutely adamant about, and Megan had climbed right onto the bandwagon beside her, was that there needed to be pictures - if not of the wedding proper, then at least of the after-party.It was a touchy subject, because for all that they were comfortably out within their respective families (well, Brooks was comfortably out. Mike’s family was doing their best, but it was still eggshells more often than smooth sailing. In the months between the proposal and the wedding, Dave made it clear that he thought the relationship was just a phase and that they were jumping the gun. Mike never stopped speaking to his father, but it came close several times. Brooks had never been so happy to have a father who had only ever been partially engaged in his life), there were the realities of their profession to consider. Pictures were a lot harder to bury than rumors, far too easy to leak and capable of unspeakable damage.A few questions asked in the right places unearthed a cousin with a hobby, and she was pressed into service. As soon as they arrived at the Laich family home, Mike and Brooks were dragged to the back of the yard and run through the gamut of standard poses in front of the single copse of trees on the property. It was a familiar experience, given how often they worked with the Caps’ PR department. But unlike pictures for work, these were intimate and serious, laced with the thought that, someday, these might sit on a mantle or bookshelf as a reflection of something important. It was jarring, in a way that nothing else had been, and when Mike buried his face in Brooks’ neck between shots and asked if they were done yet, Brooks was relieved to find that he wasn’t the only one thrown off his game.Once the prereqs were done and jackets finally shed, that’s when the fun really started. A few choice words, a toast and a congratulations or three, and then those who made the trek out to Wawota descended quickly into the more familiar chaos of a family reunion. Small children ran here and there, introductions were made (or re-made, depending on how old one of the parties was at the last meeting), and formal gave way to the relaxed ease of belonging that came only from family - the kind irrevocably tied together by history and love.The one unfortunate fact was that the afternoon lived up to the Laich family standard for gatherings - namely that, despite the best of intentions, catastrophe of some variety was inevitable. And on a scale of one to freak firestorm, having the designated photographer’s digital camera gain an up-close and personal introduction to the mostly-melted contents of the beer cooler wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. That particular honor belonged either to the time that Brooks’ cousin had managed to find the only thin ice in an hour’s drive and go right through it on Christmas Eve, or to the year that his uncle had managed to somehow damage the septic system while putting in a pole for the volleyball net.Pictures might have been nice to have, somewhere down the line, but he and Mike would get by just fine without them. In related news, he owed Jordan a case of something really fucking expensive for rescuing him after the third round of bordering-on-tearful apologies from Sam. Mike had taken the coward’s way out when she’d burst into tears over the state of her camera, vanishing with a muttered comment about the washroom and an apologetic look that hadn’t been nearly sincere enough for Brooks’ tastes.Brooks felt really fucking old when he cut himself off at his own wedding reception, but with a three hour drive back to the house in Regina, there wasn’t really much choice. It was weird - not bad, just strange - seeing their families mingled so thoroughly after so little time together. Megan and Jodi’s husband had bonded over some obscure music group, their fathers knew each other from previous years’ Father/Mentor weekends, and Brooks was fairly certain that their respective mothers (and his grandmother) were already plotting potential options for his highly-hypothetical-and-by-no-means-guaranteed future children. So, okay, maybe he wasn’t completely heartbroken to be leaving that evening instead of the following morning like Mike’s family were.* * *Banff was just as beautiful as advertised, but they both knew that a week was all they could spare. When they left the park, it was to very different locales. Mike had to get back to training for the Olympic Camp, PT slotted in and around his regular sessions at Crash, and Brooks had his own off-season training to deal with. They’d known the timing would be tight, but having the wedding any earlier hadn’t been practical, especially not when there had still been the chance that the season would run into June.The day before Mike left for camp, Purolator dropped off a 10x14 envelope from Brooks. Inside was a second envelope with a note scrawled across it in an all too familiar hand. Jodi sent these my way, thought I’d pass them along. She and Megan may have had a point…Mike opened the unsealed inner envelope, and his breath caught when he got a good look at the contents. There were two 8x10 pictures, both obviously taken the day of the wedding. Unlike the portraits that had been lost, however, these were candid shots - moments in time filled with unguarded emotion. Mike flipped between them absently as he grabbed his phone off the counter and hit redial, jamming it between his ear and shoulder as his attention was drawn back to the images in his hands.“Hey, what’s up?” Mike smiled at the familiar query, glancing around out of habit even though he was the only one in the condo.“I need a reason to call?”Brooks laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Of course not.”“I got your package.”Mike heard Brooks still over the phone, a rustling sound loud in the silence, and when Brooks spoke again, there was a catch in his voice. “Thought you should see them before you left for camp, you know?”Mike nodded, the action unconscious rather than intended to convey meaning. “I’m going to have to apologize to your sister, aren’t I?”“Nah, I straightened things out on that end. She’s just glad we’re not upset over how things ended up with Sam. Said we should consider these a wedding present, until she figures out something to actually get for us.”Mike studied the pictures more closely, setting them down side by side on the counter and shifting to hold the phone in his left hand. The first had been taken while they were posing for the formal portraits during a momentary reprieve when they’d been wrapped up in each other by choice as opposed to direction. Brooks stared off to the right of the camera, and Mike could almost feel the light press of lips against his temple as he remembered the moment.The other picture was harder to place, taken sometime during the afternoon once they’d lost the jackets and ties, sleeves rolled up and collars unbuttoned. He was leaning over Brooks’ shoulder just enough to be heard, pointing to something in the distance while Brooks laughed without inhibition. Mike swallowed hard, wishing that it wasn’t an Olympic training year - that he didn’t have to sacrifice some of his sparse free days so soon after things had changed, even if he believed wholly in the cause. He wished that he’d asked Brooks to stay, instead of mentioning his own schedule constraints and hoping that Brooks would offer to stick around. “Mike?”Brooks’ quiet question brought Mike out of his thoughts, and he realized just how far he’d allowed them to wander. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat, closing his eyes briefly to settle himself back into the here and now. He forced a smile, because Brooks had the uncanny ability to know exactly what he was doing on the other end of any given phone call. “Let myself be distracted by a pretty face. It’s a bad habit, I know.” He trailed off, listening to the sound of Brooks breathing from far too far away. “Hey, Brooksie?”“Yeah?”“Tell your sister thank you for me, eh?”“Will do.” Brooks sighed quietly, and Mike again heard the rustling of papers through the connection. “I should let you go. You’ve got things to do, places to be starting tomorrow morning. Kick some ass in the name of Team Canada, and I’ll see you when you get home, okay?”“Okay.” Mike took a deep breath, then spoke before he could talk himself out of it. “Love you.”“Love you, too.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

#4 - Silence
(November, 2009)The decision to tell the support staff was a conscious one, but that didn’t mean it was planned. Parts of it were, and once the process began it was easier to continue, but that didn’t make any of it painless.It started with the head trainer.Well, to be completely honest, it started with Mike’s shoulder getting injured at Olympic Training Camp. It healed, there was no way that the trainers would have let him back onto the ice if it hadn’t, but there were lingering problems. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal, except that Brooks wouldn’t let it go. Which was so fucking hypocritical it wasn’t even funny. It was even less funny when Brooks cornered him in the kitchen after the game against the Flyers.“What’s going on?”Mike had his head in the fridge when Brooks asked, debating their options for leftovers, because he was way too tired to bother with cooking. “Huh? With what?”“Tonight was your third cortisone shot this week. We need to talk about this, because I’m not going to watch you do this to yourself again.”“Do what again?”“Last spring. Don’t look at me like that, you know what I’m talking about. You fucking fell apart when they benched you. If we need to get something done about your shoulder, then we need to do something. Ignoring it and shooting before games isn’t going to get you through the season.”“We don’t need to do anything, Brooks. It’s my shoulder, and I’m dealing with it.”“Cort shots aren’t dealing with it, Mike.”“It’s not your problem!”“Yes it is! I married you, remember? And I’m sorry I’m not a fucking hockey wife who will look the other way as long as there’s a paycheck, but you get what you get.”Mike stared at him for a long moment, then set his bottle of water down on the counter and walked out of the kitchen. “I don’t need this.” He grabbed his coat, not bothering to pull it on as he headed for the front door.“Mike-”“No, I mean it. I am dealing with enough shit right now, I’m not dealing with you blowing a gasket over fucking nothing, and if you don’t believe me, then I’m out of here.”* * *It wasn’t nothing. Mike was hitting the bagged ice more, avoiding Brooks’ gaze in the locker room, and still clocking regular cortisone shots before every game and the second-practices. The small blessing in the situation was that Brads was too distracted by his impending fatherhood to notice that something was drastically not right. Brooks had no intention of explaining to anyone that Mike was currently sleeping at the condo for an unspecified length of time and that he’d ended up falling asleep on the couch more often than not because he couldn’t deal with the empty bed. It didn’t matter that the regularly spent nights apart, this was different. He didn’t care if Brads knew what was going on and might provide a sympathetic ear, this was not something that needed talking about. It was just that the house was too fucking big for one person - he hadn’t bought it for just one person - and it was screwing with his head.It boiled over a week and a half later, a rough morning skate where Mike took an odd hit and didn’t quite manage to hide the wince. The minute they were off the ice and stripped out of their pads, Brooks dragged Mike out of the locker room and into one of the small rooms the trainers used for storage. Before Mike could put up a fight, Brooks pulled him into a tight hug. It wasn’t an ideal arrangement, they were both still soaked from practice and badly in need of a shower, but at the moment Brooks knew that the contact was more important than anything else. “Pretend that the last two weeks never happened, eh? Talk to me, Mike.”Mike didn’t struggle the way Brooks had feared. Instead, he slipped his arms around Brooks’ waist and pressed his face into the side of the taller man’s neck. He said something, but it was too muffled for Brooks to make out.“What?”Mike sighed, and pulled away just enough to speak. “It’s not getting better.”Brooks closed his eyes, because that was what he’d thought Mike had said, and even if it confirmed his own observations, it’s wasn’t what he’d been hoping to hear. “I know.” He ran a soothing hand down Mike’s back. “What do the trainers say?”Mike shrugged, the movement tellingly minimal. “They’re treating game by game, right now.”Brooks pulled away enough to look Mike in the eye. “It’s not working. Have you pushed for other options?” Mike looked away, focussing his attention pointedly on the edge of Brooks’ under armor. “Mike?”“I just wanted it to go away, okay? And the last couple weeks have been a mess, and I know I’m the one who walked out, but I just…” He shrugged again. “I thought I could just work through it.”“I know.” Brooks bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself not to make the comment he wanted to. Instead, he opted for neutral ground. “Have you talked to Greg about this since it got worse again?”Mike shook his head. “He did an eval after I got cleared again, but mostly it’s just been Pete, since he handles the cort shots.”“Right, we’re going to talk to Greg.” Mike started to argue, but Brooks spoke right over him. “When I say ‘we,’ I mean it. Space is one thing, Mike. You want to keep sleeping at the condo to make a point? Fine. That’s a fight for another day, but this can’t wait. If it means we have to tell somebody on the training staff so I can drag your ass down there and make sure you’re following orders, then I will. I love you too much to let you fuck with your career this way, and this will fuck with your career if it gets any worse.”“I know. I mean, I get it, and you’re probably right. I just, fuck, I don’t want to be treated like a kid, okay? I know the difference between good pain and bad pain. This isn’t my first injury, and I know what I was like last spring. You think I want that again?” He shook his head sharply, pushing away and stepping out of Brooks’ embrace. “I just wanted to know I could shower first.”Brooks laughed softly, the action increasing in enthusiasm in response to the annoyed expression on Mike’s face. “Sorry, sorry.” He pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”“Did you just call me cute?”Brooks shrugged, and reached for the door handle. “What, you think I married you for your slapshot?”“No, I think you married me for my sparkling personality. You’re certainly lacking in that department, lately… Brooks?”Brooks stood in the doorway, door cracked open a handspan and his posture screaming ‘fight or flight.’ “Greg. Just the man I was looking for.”The head trainer smiled lightly. “What can I do for you, Brooks?”“Um,” Brooks glanced back over his shoulder, then opened the door the rest of the way. “Actually, Mike’s the one who needs to talk to you.”“Okay…” Greg shot them both a curious look. “Does it need to be in the storage room, or can we do this in my office?”“Your office would be great.” Mike jumped in, stepping closer to the door as he did so.“Right, just let me grab a couple rolls of tape, and we can head back now. Or…” He stopped, midway through grabbing a second roll of J-Bird, and frowned at the two of them when he realized that Mike was shivering. “Is there a reason this couldn’t wait until after your showers?”“We needed to catch you before you left for lunch, and it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes…” Brooks trailed off, ending with a shrug.Greg just rolled his eyes heavenward and gestured for them to precede him into the hallway. “I swear, you guys are worse than mini-mites, some days.” When they reached the office, Brooks carefully closed the door behind them.“I know they tell us in camp every year, but I need to ask you about this again before we talk about anything else. How confidential are the things we tell you?”Greg shot him an odd look as he settled behind his desk. “That depends on what kinds of things we’re talking about, here. I’m not your priest, if that’s what your asking. If Bruce or McPhee wants to know something and it pertains to your ability to play, I’ll tell them. But I can’t release information outside of the organization without Front Office approval, and I take patient confidentiality seriously - all of our doctors do.”Brooks nodded, and leaned against the door. He looked over at Mike, sitting in one of the chairs across from Greg, and made a decision. “I - we - need to tell you something, and it can’t leave this room.”“Well, I’m not sure-”“He’s right. This is something you need to know, but it could cause a lot of problems if it got out. Not just for us, but for the team.” Mike shifted in his chair, expression as serious as Brooks had ever seen him. “We need to be sure.”Greg looked back and forth between the two of them for a long moment before he nodded. “All right. Whatever you tell me, it stays here.”Brooks and Mike shared another look. By mutual agreement, it was Brooks who spoke. “Four and a half months ago, Mike and I got married.”Something in Greg’s face tightened. “Legally?”Mike nodded. “We’re Canadian, eh?” It was a poor joke, and it fell flat in the awkward silence.“I see.”“The real reason we needed to talk to you today was because Mike’s still having problems with his shoulder, the kind of problems that cort shots before the game aren’t fixing. You needed to know about the marriage because you organize the medical care for the team, and if DC decides to recognize marriages performed elsewhere, then we have full spousal rights if anything happens down at Verizon Centre.”Greg studied the two, visibly weighing his words before speaking. “I’m not going to pretend that you’re putting anyone in a good position here, boys. It’s a mess waiting to happen, and I’m glad that you at least seem to be aware of that fact. No matter my own feelings on the matter, I won’t go spreading it around, though.”“That’s all we’re asking.”Greg nodded once, decisively. “So what’s this about your shoulder? I thought we had that sorted out a month ago…”While Greg interrogated Mike about new developments with his shoulder in preparation for a physical exam, Brooks exhaled two weeks worth of stress. Things were great, but it was a start.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

#5 - A Padlock & a Bottle of Русский Стандарт

(January-September, 2010)
By his third year with the Capitals, everyone knew that Sasha spoke English. Sasha knew that everyone knew he spoke English. But they were kind enough to pretend that he didn’t in front of the media, and he didn’t shirk when it was his turn to pick up a round, so everyone was mostly happy. Well, except for the temps who occasionally popped up from Hershey, who didn’t realize the veterans were fucking around with them until game two or three. They didn’t find the “I don’t speak English” thing quite as funny, for whatever reason.In his defense, it was neither a quick nor painless transition from his mother tongue. When he started with the Caps, he could barely string a handful of words together in English, and few of them could be spoken in public. Sanja helped him with the new language, bits and pieces and half-muffled phrases, but it took time. His first year had been full of awkward misunderstandings that taught him to keep his mouth shut when he wasn’t 100% certain of both what was being said and what was meant. While he was comfortably proficient by his second year in the states, it was nothing spectacular, just enough to get him what he needed - there was never time for more, and language did not come naturally to him.On the plus side, he learned a lot while quietly clinging to the corners of the locker room. He learned how to avoid pranks, and he learned which hoops were worth jumping through and which he could (and should) ignore. He learned who laughed when they meant it, and who spoke quietly and viciously behind their hands when the hour was late and the alcohol too free. He learned the unwritten rules of the NHL, and when the letter of the law mattered more than its spirit. Most important of all, he learned how to read people.It was a useful skill, even in the days after his English progressed beyond figuring out how to buy cigarettes or a beer when he didn’t have Sanja along to pester into doing it for him. Take women, for example - being able to read people meant that he knew exactly which women to steer clear of in a bar, careful to sit back and enjoy the show when one of his teammates missed the signs and headed for an absolute disaster in heels. Of course, every once in a while he encountered something that made no sense whatsoever, and he was left wondering if he put just a little too much faith into body language (and that wasn’t counting the time he’d accidentally taken home a girl who turned out to be a man. That was one of those things that just never happened, regardless of what Sanja might say on the subject).The first time Sasha saw something unusual between Brooks and Greenie, he wrote it off as exhaustion and nothing more. A touch lingered too long, a glance shared and small tired smiles exchanged, it was the hour and the relief of a game won.The second time was nothing like the first. A quiet bar and a warm night in Tampa Bay, light drinks and nothing but practice in the morning, it all added up to the kind of mellow mood that they’d been desperately needing since the New Year rolled around and the Olympic pressure started to trickle down. Even those who weren’t on the rosters - didn’t have a prayer of landing on the rosters - felt the tension building. The games were still a month away, though, and an oceanfront bar and 20 degree weather was the perfect remedy to tight muscles and aching heads.Sasha was leaning on the railing of the oversized porch, just on the inside edge of the smoker’s corner as he finished one off before heading back in to rejoin the group that was sprawled over half the interior of the place. He was people watching, because some habits are hard to break, and as his eyes wandered across the patio of one of the small cafe/bars along the strip he did a double-take, because Mike and Brooks were sharing a table in the corner. There was nothing wrong with the way they shared the table, casual hand gestures and the occasional sip of beer as they exchanged words, but it was still uncommon enough that he took notice and studied them.Mike and Brooks were normally at the heart of the group, although for very different reasons. Mike sought the attention, craved it the way that he craved the coach’s approval. Brooks, on the other hand, tended to keep a finger on the pulse of the team. He was quiet, but he was always there, making sure things never got too far out of control. Tonight, however, they were very clearly not with the group. While the rest of the them were killing off chips and salsa by the bowl, relaxing with the aid of strong mojitos and stronger tequila, Mike and Brooks were relaxed in a different way, shoulders loose but with only a couple of bottles between them. It was easy, the way they spoke and touched each other across the small table, and Sasha was jealous even before he realized what it was he was seeing.When he finally put it together, he didn’t want to believe it. It isn’t, they weren’t like the men he’s seen down on Dupont Circle. Or even the ones he knows frequent certain clubs in Moscow, dark shadows and darker business that they engage in. They were, well, Mike and Brooks. It didn’t make sense, and in reaction he put it from his mind - the Olympics were coming, and then the playoffs. So when Sanja put a hand on his shoulder and scared the living hell out of him, Sasha turned and walked back into the bar to the rest of the team and told himself that Mike and Brooks were just friends.They were barely back from the Olympics when he stopped being able to ignore it, mostly because he ended up sitting next to Nika on the bus to the Buffalo airport and every time the poor kid looked at Greenie, he blushed so hard Sasha was worried the boy was going to hurt himself. He knew that he shouldn’t ask, because there was no way that anything making Nika blush that hard was a good idea to share through their spotty mutual language. But it was crappy weather, and Sasha had been bored almost since he’d dragged himself out of bed that morning. That, coupled with the fact that Mike had an aisle seat halfway up the bus, therefor right in Nika’s line of sight, served to tip the scales. So Sasha asked, and learned more than he ever wanted to know about Mike Green’s preference for sucking dick. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, and it was possible that there was some confusion over the details, but it made his suspicions real in a way that he’d really rather have avoided. In addition, his attempts to relate his experience trying to wake Greenie after they’d forgotten to set a wake-up call did nothing to subdue the color riding high in the young center’s cheeks.Because misery loved company, the following Friday they split a bottle of Vodka (Russian Standard, because Sasha has some class) with a very oblivious captain (because Sasha also saw no reason to pay for alcohol when he didn’t have to), and hope and pray that Sanja’s ignorance was contagious (just this once). It worked, sort of. For a while.

* * *
Pre-Season, 2010“Hey, Greenie, you know what’s up with Brooksie?”Sasha leaned down, unlacing his skates as he listened to the banter around the locker room. Preseason was always an odd time, too many bodies and too much uncertainty, with the bitter taste of the spring before lingering for those of them who remained from one year to the next. It was a time to watch the new kids and transfers, pretend that he spoke no English and see who cared and who was an asshole about it.Alex nominally disproved of the practice, but he’d given up trying to break Sasha of the habit (and late at night, he’d admit that not only was it entertaining, but it was useful in gauging the temperaments of new players on the team). Since Sanja was really just bitching about having to make Sasha’s excuses, it was easy enough to ignore his complaints.After a hard practice, it was just nice to sit back and listen to the interactions swirl around him, let the voices blur at the edges as he slowly peeled off his sweaty gear. Alex was a few stalls down, his laugh loud and obnoxious as he explained his latest epiphany to the closest willing ear. It was soothing, right up until Sasha realized just what Sanja’s latest epiphany was.“He needs to relax, Greenie. He doesn’t, he gonna snap sooner or later. Maybe you talk to him?”“I don’t think my talking to him is going to do anything to chill him out, Alex. Sorry, you’re on your own there.”“Okay, you know what I really think? I think Brooksie need to get laid, and I think as good friend you should take him out and find him a nice girl.”Sasha looked up at the suggestion, saw a flicker of emotion cross Mike’s face with preternatural speed before the defenseman grinned and dissolved into quiet laughter. “Needs to get laid, eh? Sorry, Alex, I like my head attached to my shoulders right now.”“Come on, Greenie.” Sanja’s tone went from jovial to serious, volume dropping as well to the point where Sasha could barely make out the words. “He’s not himself. Is not good for him, for the team. You know him better, so I think you can help.” Sanja shrugged, the motion uncharacteristically awkward. “Is not problem problem, but is concern - you understand?”Mike glanced around, confirming for himself that almost everyone had made the dash for the showers and an afternoon’s freedom, before he sighed quietly. “I’ll talk to him, Ovi. No promises, though - he’s taking last spring hard, harder than usual.”Sanja nodded, and clapped Mike on the shoulder. “Thanks, Greenie.”Sasha waited until Mike had crossed the room back to his own stall before he moved down one slot and cleared his throat quietly. He’d been going back and forth over whether to discuss the matter of Brooks and Mike with Sanja, hadn’t wanted to make a decision at all if he could help it, but he felt that he owed it to his friend to provide at least some understand of what he’d accidentally stepped into. “We need to talk.”Sanja made a face, stripping the tape off of his socks and balling it up. “Does it have to be now?”Sasha looked down, contemplating his own flip-flops as he listened to his teammate go through the familiar process of removing the lower half of his pads. “Soon. Now is better, but soon will work. It is, it’s important, Sanja.”
“Tell me now, then.”
Sasha shot a glance over at Semyon, the goalie one of the few players still quietly stripping down, his stall just close enough to be within earshot, and was reminded of just how young the goalie was. How many things about him were still unknowns, even after a year of camaraderie. Sasha shook his head. “This needs to stay between us.”
“You didn’t wake up this morning with a dead hooker, did you?”

“What? No! I’ve told you before, I don’t have to pay women for sex!!”
Sanja laughed and held his hands up in what was probably supposed to seem like an apology. “Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist. You are so easy, sometimes, Sasha. Good heart, but you wear it too loosely. So we need to talk, yes? Let me shower, we can grab pirozkhi on the way back to my house, since my parents are out of town and my kitchen empty. Da?”“Fine.” Sasha stood, muttering under his breath as he grabbed his towel and headed for the showers. Sometimes, he really didn’t know why he bothered. Except that was a lie, because for all the teasing, Sanja had always been good to him, and this time it was serious. Sanja needed to know, because if he found out otherwise he might take it badly, and Sasha didn’t think there was any reason to take it badly.They stopped briefly on the way to Sanja’s house, and Sasha was reminded of the little ways in which Sanja saw more than he let on. The conversation promised to be difficult - even if Sanja took the news well, it was still an uncomfortable topic, and more importantly, it was something they do not speak of - and familiar tastes and smells provided a simple but welcome comfort.Alex put on the tea when they walked in, the familiar spices mingling with the intangible aura that came from freshly baked sweet dough, and was considerate enough to leave Sasha his silence until the tea had been poured and they were both settled at the kitchen table.“Now, we talk.”Sasha nodded, staring down into his tea and stirring in the sugar that had long since dissolved. “I would have told you sooner, but I wasn’t sure I saw things properly. I thought, I don’t know what I thought, but I couldn’t say anything to someone else until I was sure. Now, I am sure, but I’m not certain that it’s my place to tell. But…” Sasha shrugged, finally looking up. “It’s something you should know.”Sanja moved his own teacup and braced his elbows on the table. “Talk to me, Sasha.”“It’s…” Sasha looked down again, taking a deep breath before straightening in his chair and drawing himself up to face his best friend more directly. “Brooks and Greenie are sleeping together.”Sanja blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “What?”Sasha rolled his eyes and took a sip of his tea, leaning back into his chair now that he’d broken the news. “You heard me. Brooks. And Greenie. Are sleeping together. Maybe more than that, if they’re as involved as I think they are.” He set his cup down, tapping his fingers against the table once his hand was free. When he realized that Sanja was staring at the motion, he forced himself to stop.“You’re serious?” Sasha nodded. “It’s a very serious accusation, Sasha. Not the kind of thing to toss around lightly. Things like this, they have consequences.”“I know, Sanja.” Sasha took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I know. That’s why I said nothing before, why I said nothing in front of Semya. Things are different here, but I don’t know how different. I’m never sure. You understand things better, and you’re the Captain. You should be the one who decides what to do.”Sanja shook his head, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “If you’re right, and I don’t think you are, but if you’re right about this, what do you want me to do?”“I don’t know.” He clenched his right hand into a fist, dropping it to the table in frustration and making the teacup rattle. “Nothing. Something. Just, I watch people, Sanja. It’s a bad habit, I know. I see things, and this I have seen for too long to ignore.” He sighed, standing up and wandering over to look out the window over the sink. It was easy to think it was actually fall, instead of the bastardized summer that seemed to have swept in since they’d flown back into the Washington area.“What do you think I should do, Sasha?”He turned back to face Sanja, leaning back against the stainless steel as he considered his options. He’d been the one to bring this up, and it was the right thing to do, telling Sanja, but now… He knew it was selfish, but he wanted Sanja to decide what to do now. He wanted things to just go back to the way they’d been, so that he didn’t have to care and think about this anymore. “Nothing. You need to do nothing, just know.”Sanja nodded, less an agreement than an indication of consideration as he visibly pieced through the things Sasha had told him. “You think this, whatever it is, has been going on for a long time?”“A year, maybe longer. Nika has noticed, too, I think.”“And you think nothing has changed?”“Things change, Sanja, don’t be stupid. But nothing bad. It’s like what we have, friends and help, but different. When I first saw it, I thought I was wrong - that it couldn’t be what I thought it was. But Greenie seems better for it, and maybe Brooks, too - I never know with him. What he is right now, I don’t think it’s because of them.”“Hm.” Sanja pursed his lips, tonguing the gap in his teeth for a moment, then turned his attention back to the table. “If it has been going on for a year, then it can wait a few more days. Right now, these pirozkhi will not wait another ten minutes, so can we eat now and I will tell you when I decide something?”“Of course, Sanja.” Sasha pushed off the counter, walking back over to reclaim his chair. “But the beef, that is mine.” Sanja’s eyebrows raised, and Sasha glared pointedly. “Put that down. You always leave me with the mushroom and egg, even though you always say you want the mushroom.”“But-”“Sanja…”“Fine.”
* * *The pre-season bled into the regular season more quickly than Alex expected, and one morning after practice he was called up to George’s office to talk about the fall road roster. It was the first year he’d been involved in the discussion, his first full year as Captain, and he’d completely forgotten about it until George stuck his head in the locker room after practice to remind him.“Now, this is mostly a formality, but I like to ask the captain’s opinion on pairing off the new guys and any of the adjustments after trades. This is the list I’m working on right now. Think it over, let me know within the next few days if you’ve got any suggestions, okay?”“Of course.”He glanced at the list as he walked down the stairs from the main offices, pausing when he reached the landing when he saw Brooks Laich in the midst of the new acquisitions. In the confusion of the summer, off-season training and working with UHC Dinamo, he’d forgotten about Shaone’s move to Buffalo. Brooks had settled out, calmed and buried himself in conditioning in a way that was probably less than healthy, but he was more relaxed around the locker room, so Alex was happy to take what he could get. Apparently the talk with Greenie had done some good, even if he hadn’t known about whatever it was they were doing when he’d asked the d-man for help.That brought his thoughts around to the topic of Brooks and Greenie, something that Alex still wasn’t sure held any legitimacy outside of Sasha’s head (even if Sasha claimed that Nika agreed with him). The change in rooming assignments provided an opportunity to quietly test Sasha’s theory, and do something good for his friends whether or not Sasha was correct.Alex caught Mike as they headed up for off-ice training the next day, because he was easy to find and always willing to talk. Alex dragged him into the video review for privacy because, if he was honest, it wasn’t often that Sasha was wrong about these things. “Greenie, how you doing?”Mike blinked and shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “I’m fine. Sore and tired, sure, but it’s camp. What’s up?”“How you like rooming with Nicky last year?”“Um, we get along fine. Why, did he ask for a new roommate?”Alex shook his head emphatically in response to the concern in Mike’s voice. “No, no, not like that. Is just, Shaone is gone, and Brooksie needs a new roommate.”“Oh.”“You and Brooksie are very close, yes?” Alex made a vague motion with his hand, fishing more than anything else, but the way Mike’s eyes widened confirmed the guess. “If I say to put you with Brooksie, George will listen. Do you want that?”Mike studied him for a long moment, then shook his head. “No. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but things are going well with Nicky. No reason to change them up.”Brooks’ answer was similar, although with a different explanation once he realized why Alex was offering to switch the rooming assignments (and stopped looking like he was going to pass out). “It wouldn’t be fair, you know? The rest of the guys, the wives and the girlfriends stay home. Mike and I, neither one of us needs the distraction. We knew what we were getting into when we signed on for this, what kind of risks we were taking. We’re not asking for special treatment.”“Brooksie, you still need a roommate.”“I know, but it shouldn’t be Mike. I don’t think the Front Office would allow it, anyway.”That was an unexpected piece of news. “They know?”Brooks nodded. “Since the city laws changed, last spring. It didn’t matter before that.”Alex nodded like he understood what Brooks was talking about, and decided to leave the matter alone. That night, he spent half an hour with google.ru before he managed to figure out what laws Brooks had been talking about, and by extension realized just what Brooks was implying. After some careful consideration, and possibly more vodka than was strictly wise on the night before a scrimmage, he called his mother. She and his father were in Moscow for the month, and it took very little effort to convince her to buy what he needed. He spent the next three weeks wondering if it had been a good idea or not, and dodging his mother’s questions about just which of his friends had gotten married, and did she know them?When he told Sasha what he’d done, his friend offered none of the criticism that Alex had been expecting. Instead, he said that it was a good thing, and provided a bottle of good vodka to go with it.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

#6 - Bottle Cap (Big Rock - Grasshopper)
(July, 2010)Mike loved Calgary. He loved the fact that his family lived there. He loved the fact that he could be himself there and not worry about being recognized; it still happened, but not the way it did down in DC. Calgary had the Flames to worry about, and man, was he glad not to be a part of that headache. So when he was up in Calgary - when they were up in Calgary, because he’d convinced Brooks that months apart over the summer wasn’t worth it and been willing to make concessions of his own to swing the time together - Mike never stopped to think about the ring on his finger. That was one of the perks of the off-season, those few months out of the year where he could just be Mike and not “Mike Green, #52 of the Washington Capitals.” When he could wear a wedding ring and not draw a dozen questions he had no intention of answering.Practicality meant that the ring came off when he shoved his duffel into a locker, vanishing into a side pocket along with his watch and keys. It was a pleasant surprise when Duncan Keith showed up half an hour into Mike’s session, but gaining a workout partner had the inevitable side-effect of pushing both of them harder than they’d worked in weeks. By the time they made it into the showers, two and a half hours had passed (the last hour independent of their mutual trainer), and the combination of soreness and the endorphin rush meant shaking hands and muscle spasms. Mike didn’t even bother with more than a token curse when his bag hit the ground harder than intended when he tugged it out of the locker. When the side pocket popped open and spewed its contents all over the floor, however, that earned something a bit more heartfelt.Duncan knelt beside him to help pick up the scattered odds and ends. “First week back’s always the worst, eh?”Mike grinned sheepishly in response. “Definitely. Always gets better, though.”Duncan made a half-coherent noise of agreement, attention distracted by the final item that he’d picked up - Mike’s wedding ring. Fuck. It had the potential to be nothing or incredibly awkward, there couldn’t really be anything in between. Duncan held it up, squinting at what Mike knew to be the etching on the inside. Living La Vida Loca since 2009. He read it aloud, then looked over at Mike. “Can I ask?”It was a pro forma question, and they both knew it. Mike held out his hand, taking the band and self-consciously sliding it onto the finger it belonged. “Wedding ring.”Duncan shot him a look which expressed clearly that he wasn’t brain dead, thank you very much. “I hadn’t heard. Congrats, man.”Mike smiled tightly. “Thanks. Yeah, we, uh, didn’t want to make a big deal, you know?”Duncan nodded with a sympathetic grimace. “Can’t blame you there.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “So, how long…?”“A year. Well, almost.” Mike shrugged, tamping down on the urge to grin that always came with talking about Brooks like this, even if no one knew who he was talking about.“And things are, they’re working out for you?” Mike nodded, but was saved from having to answer by the ringing of Duncan’s phone. “I-”Mike waved him off and shouldered his bag. “Catch you later, man.”Duncan nodded and answered his phone as Mike headed out. “For the last time. If you kill your brother, I am not bailing your ass out of jail. You’re just going to have to wait a few more weeks until I get out there…”* * *Every once in a while, traffic in Calgary proved capable of surprise and the roads opened up in the middle of rush hour. Those mornings always left Mike wondering when the karmic payback was going to come due, because when traffic was bad, it was terrible. When Brooks pulled into the Crash Conditioning lot twenty minutes early, and that after hitting up a Timmy’s on the way, Mike couldn’t decide whether to be wary or just roll with it. Brooks made the decision for both of them when he killed the engine and rolled down the windows.“Drink your coffee.”Mike smiled, letting his head fall back against the headrest. “Yes, Mom.”Brooks laughed and rested his hand on Mike’s thigh, squeezing gently. “I’ll tell her you said that.”Mike took another sip of coffee. “Go right ahead. She’d probably take it as a compliment.”“Yeah, probably.”“When’s your class, anyway?”“Nine-thirty, then I’ll hit the weights for a while before I swing back and pick you up so we can make it to that lunch with your sister.”“Meg, lunch, right.” Mike dropped his free hand down to rest on Brooks’. “Right, okay, I should get going.”Brooks made a hmm noise deep in his throat, brushing his thumb back and forth along the fabric of Mike’s gym shorts. “You should.”Mike groaned, slouching lower down in his seat and stilling Brooks’ movement as he shot a glance at the digital clock on the dash. “Not fair. So not fair.” He sighed, regret audible, before taking a final sip of coffee and removing Brooks’ hand from his leg. “I need to go, before I’m late. Last thing I need to do is give Doug an excuse to kick my ass, eh?”Brooks smirked, and reached up to give the closer of Mike’s shoulders a shove. “Tough life, I know. Now get out of the car.”Mike grumbled, but obeyed. “I’m going, I’m going.” He snagged his duffle from the back seat and climbed out, then leaned back in the open window. “Hey, you want to swing by the pickup game tonight?”Brooks nodded behind his own coffee cup. “Sure, sounds good.”“I’ll double-check the details, then. Make sure they didn’t change the time on me.” Mike straightened up and adjusted his bag before heading toward the entrance. “Later.”He found Duncan already in the locker room, lacing up his runners. “Hey.”“Hey.”“Was that Laich who dropped you off?”Mike froze, because he’d known this morning was going to come back to bite him in the ass somehow. “Um, yeah. He’s in town for a few weeks, snagged my spare room while he’s here.”Duncan stood up, taking a moment to shake out his arms as Mike finished stowing his gear. “You should invite him to the pickup tonight. We can always use a few more on the front end.”“I’ll do that.”“Good.” Duncan nodded decisively, then shifted smoothly onto the next topic, for which Mike was incredibly grateful. “So, still think you can get more length on the jump series?”Mike shook his head, because this so wasn’t even a contest. “You’re fucking right I will.”* * *The game itself proved to be an excellent idea, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. The mixed group as solid as it had been the year before, even if a few of the members had changed and a few of the players were short term visitors as opposed to locals. It was a tight game, 3-2 and hard fought, but while they knocked each other around plenty, almost everyone made it to the bar afterwards for drinks. The only exception had a six-month-old at home, and nobody held it against him. The rest of them took over the back half of a bar that belonged to somebody’s something-or-other, and the losers sucked it up and bought the first round. They kicked back and shot the shit for a while, comparing notes on their summers thusfar. Mike and Brooks both kept to themselves on the topic, sticking to the occasional comment here or there without giving details. No one pushed the issue - they weren’t the only ones keeping to themselves, and several of the guys were more than happy to fill the silence.Between the first and second round, the guys with local girls and wives started petering out. By the time the waitress asked about a third round, the group was down to Duncan, Mike, and Brooks, and the three of them migrated to an out-of-the-way corner.“So how did you end up in Calgary, anyway? You’re from the coast, right?” Mike took a sip of his beer, and set the bottle down so that it was balanced just on the edge of its coaster. The question startled Duncan, because they’d trained together on-and-off for a couple of years and never really done the small talk thing. World’s in 2008, Olympic Camp in 2009, and Duncan couldn’t even bring to mind the name of Mike’s girlfriend-now-wife. At a certain point, you were just sort of buddies, and it was easy to forget how much they didn’t know about each other.“The Interior, actually.” Duncan shrugged, because to a lot of people BC was just BC - it was that whole Federal Budget from the Atlantic to the Rockies mentality. “My sister moved out here for University, and she just never moved back. I try to get in some time with her ever summer.”Brooks reached over and adjusted Mike’s bottle so that it rested in the exact centre of the cardboard square. Mike made a face, but made no direct comment on the action. “Huh. Yeah, I meant to ask you about that last year, but things got kind of crazy. You here for long, this year?”“Just a few weeks, do some work with Doug face to face before I head back home for the rest of the summer.” Duncan shook his head, taking another sip of beer. “God, time is fucking flying this year.”“Yeah, I’ll bet.” It was the first time Brooks had spoken up since they’d swapped tables, although Duncan had pegged him as an introvert half an hour into the evening so that wasn’t too surprising. Mike shot Brooks a look, before shaking his head and taking another sip of beer and putting the bottle down half-off his coaster again. Brooks was adjusting it before Mike had even finished letting go, this time.Duncan gestured vaguely at the surrounding area. “You’re here for the summer, though, right?”“Nah.” Mike shook his head, picking up his bottle again and studying it with an intensity it didn’t deserve. “Just long enough to set up a training regimen, see the family, that kind of thing. Too many things to do, places to be, so we’re, I’m cutting it short this summer, too.”Brooks shifted, reaching over and placing a hand on Mike’s shoulder before standing up. In the low light of the bar, the wedding ring on Brooks’ hand caught Duncan’s eye, and he wondered just how many of the men he knew on a casual level kept their relationships as quiet as the two Capitals apparently did. “I’m going to hit the washroom.”Mike stared after him for a long moment, then turned his attention back to Duncan. “Don’t take it personally, okay?” Duncan frowned in confusion and took a sip of his fresh beer, because as far as he was aware, there wasn’t anything to take personally. Mike glanced over his shoulder again. “He’s taking it hard, this summer. Montreal was,” Mike closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories. “It was bad, and then he went over to Germany and it didn’t get much better. So, it’s not about you, okay?”Duncan shrugged it off. “We’ve all been there.”Mike nodded, but didn’t look reassured. “It’s just, this isn’t normal for him.” He looked down, staring at his wedding ring as he worried at it. “He takes things seriously, sure, but not like this.”Duncan studied his friend, trying to discern a reason behind the unsolicited disclosure. “Have you talked to him about it?”“Talked to who about what?” Brooks reentered the conversation abruptly, dropping back into the seat beside Mike. “And for the record? Your brother has terrible taste in beer.”The non-sequitor broke the tension admirably, although Duncan didn’t know Brooks well enough to judge if it had been intentional or not. Mike started to voice a retort, but stopped abruptly with a helpless shrug. “Yeah, maybe. Not like you didn’t know that already.”“The fact that he cleared half the cooler of Molson at the wedding doesn’t mean-” Brooks broke off mid-sentence, face going pale as he seemed to remember that Duncan was still sitting at the table, and the distinctly on-going argument was dropped like a stone. “Um, right. Anyway, Matt owes me a case of something good. My friend came through, and I’ve got the tickets for the Rough Riders game this weekend.”“I’ll make sure to let him know.” Mike squirmed suddenly in his chair, and shot Brooks a suspicious look. Brooks shrugged and leaned back, conspicuously and pointedly placing his left hand on the table. Mike gave him another skeptical once over, then returned his attention back to the conversation they’d been having before Brooks left earlier. “You said you’re out here for a few weeks, right? Heading back to the coast afterwards?”“Yeah, I want to spend some time at home. I stopped in earlier in the summer, but I can finish up my conditioning work in Kelowna, so I figure I might as well take advantage of the opportunity. Won’t get back up here again for a while.” Duncan laughed softly, shaking his head. “Besides, somebody’s got to save Seabs from himself. He’s been threatening to commit fratricide for the last week, and I don’t doubt his resolve.”“That bad, eh?” Mike’s head whipped around to stare at Brooks again, expression going from casual interest to exasperation. “OK, that’s it, what did you get at the bar while you were talking to your friend?”Brooks shrugged as if to dismiss the question, although his expression had a definite tinge of guilty. Now that Duncan was looking for it, Brooks definitely looked more relaxed than he had before, even if he was still pretty damn sure that Mike had been seeing behavior that hadn’t actually happened when he’d apologized earlier.“Brooks…”“Look, Duncan’s your friend, and he’s a good guy. And I know I’ve been in a pissy mood lately, okay? I get it, and I’m sorry. So I thought it would be better if I just,” Brooks shrugged, “I got something to settle things down.”Mike threw an apologetic glance at Duncan before standing and hauling Brooks to his feet next to him. “We’ll be right back, okay?”“Take your time.” Duncan’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out to check his text messages. Seabs, Seabs, his sister, Seabs complaining about his brother, Keith Seabrook wanting to know when he was going to show up and drag Brent up to the Okanagan and out of his hair so he could enjoy a week of peace before heading back to Abbotsford. Yeah, nothing unexpected there. As he closed out of his inbox his phone flashed over to the date/time stamp, which informed him that it was later than he’d planned to be out. That was the bitch about the off-season; once you started training again, you started needing regular sleep again, and he’d never even managed to catch up from the playoffs.He looked around, finally spotting Mike by the sign for the washroom, and headed over to tell his training partner that he had to bail.* * *Mike dragged Brooks across the room, pulling him around the corner into the hallway where the washrooms were, and pressed him up against the wall. “While some part of me appreciates the intent here, the last thing you need to be is drunk tonight. So I’m going to ask again, what did you order? And I swear to god, if you hit the Cuervo, I am hauling your ass home now. Last time you drank that shit we almost got charged with public indecency.”“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t like it.”“That’s not the point.”Brooks shifted his weight, bringing a hand up to rest against the side of Mike’s neck. “Oh, I really think it is. Come here.” He tugged, closing the distance between them and brushing a teasing kiss against Mike’s lips. Before Mike could voice a protest, he shifted his attention to Mike’s jaw, biting lightly at the sensitive skin. Mike caved with a quiet groan, tilting his head to allow Brooks better access. This was a bad idea, but a minute or two wouldn’t hurt, and, fuck, Brooks knew what it did to him when he scraped his teeth right there.When Brooks shifted his weight and flipped them around so that he was the one pressing Mike into the wall, Mike just closed his eyes and hoped things would happen fast enough that Duncan wouldn’t come looking for them. Maybe, maybe he could get Brooks to at least move it to the washroom where they could lock the door…“Mike?”Mike pulled away so hard he banged his head on the wall. “Fuck.”Duncan was standing there, staring them with a conflicted look on his face. “I was just… Does your wife know about this?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Duncan’s expression changed, and it was clear that he wished he could take them back. Around the league, it was standard practice to keep confidences of this nature, no matter where one might stand on the morality of an act. Mike would have been perfectly happy to let him take them back, too.Brooks, however, was feeling less inhibited. “Yes, his wife knows about this. And I-”Mike pushed hard against Brooks’ shoulders, dislodging him and creating enough space to step away from the wall. “That’s it, we’re going home.”“But-”Mike grabbed Brooks by the arm and gave a sharp tug. “Now. And tomorrow morning, we’re going to have a long talk about why you drinking tequila is a very bad idea. Now shut up.” He swallowed hard and turned his attention to Duncan, who seemed to have settled on thoughtful for the moment, which was a hell of a lot better than the alternatives. “I have to, I don’t-”“Look, I need to get home.” Duncan waved of Mike’s lack of coherency. “If this didn’t happen, it didn’t happen. I’ve got bigger problems.”Mike nodded sharply, then startled visibly when Brooks shrugged out of his grip and threw an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, Greenie. ‘M not so bad, just all light. It’s off-season, eh? Means I get a night off, sometimes.”Mike snorted and shook his head at the partial logic, slipping an arm around Brooks’ waist to stabilize him as they started walking into the main area of the bar. “Yes, Brooks. It’s the off-season. And that means I have to be up early tomorrow to go running, so we’re going to go home, okay?”“Mmkay.”Mike shot one more glance at Duncan, but the other defenseman had migrated to the bar to make sure their tab was clear. Mike really, really wanted to hit the wet bar when they got back to his condo, but he had no desire to face conditioning work hungover, no matter how tempting the temporary reprieve. Instead, he let Brooks pull him into bed, and spent the rest of the night trying not to think about Duncan’s lack of reaction. Either Duncan honestly didn’t care, or he was a ticking bomb, and Mike knew that the rules were very different outside of the safety of the team.The next morning, Mike met Duncan for their scheduled pre-workout run, and Duncan proved true to his word. The weather, Canadian Idol, even the Stampede - anything that could qualify as small talk without touching on hockey came up over the course of the morning. Lifting, plyometrics, and stretching all followed the same theme. When they were getting dressed after hitting the showers, Duncan broke the quiet no fly zone.“Hey, I know I said it didn’t happen, but I thought you might want to know that, um, Brent wanted to get a cat as soon as he got his own place a few years back.”“Okay…”“My sister, she’s allergic. Sneezes, eyes run, whole nine yards. So, um, this summer he got a puppy, instead.”It had been a long and mostly sleepless night, and Mike wasn’t the best at abstract connections, so they lapsed into silence while he tried to figure out what Duncan meant. He still hadn’t figured it out when Duncan spoke again.“I’m just saying I’m not going to judge you. As long as everyone’s on the same page, you do what you have to do, eh?”Mike looked down, twisting his ring after he slipped it back on his finger. “I guess you do, yeah.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

#7 - Matchbook from “House of Ribs” in Boston
(October, 2010)“Come on, Brooks. Just a drink, maybe two.”“Look, I’m tired. I just want to go home.”“Seriously, I promise. One beer.”“Mike, it’s never just one beer. Not when we win.” Brooks sighed and turned away.“Well, okay, no. But we can bow out. Nobody will care. Come on, please.”“What part of ‘not tonight’ do you not understand, Mike?” Brooks clenched his fists and made a sound low in his throat, turning back around to face his companion. The lighting in the hallway was bright, sharpening the lines of Brooks’ face. “I’m tired. I’m hungry. I have spent the last hour putting up with the media, Boyd’s bad attempts at humor, and Backy’s decision to play the music at five-fucking-thousand decibels.”“Brooks, look-” Mike reached out, the gesture visibly aborted before his hand connected, and Brooks shook his head.“No, Mike. I am going home. You want to join me, that’s fine. You want to go out drinking with the Russians? That’s fine. But do not, I repeat, do not expect me to come and get your drunk ass at two in the morning. Is that clear enough?” Brooks didn’t wait for an answer, resuming his previous trajectory down the small hallway in the direction of the secondary player’s exit - the one they used when they needed to avoid the fans, whatever the reason. Mike was left standing in the hallway, chewing distractedly at edge of his lip where the skin had begun to peel. Brooks got like this, Mike knew Brooks got like this, but he never saw it coming. He nearly twisted something important when someone cleared their throat behind him.“The fuck?” The exclamation was out of Mike’s mouth before he had a chance to register who had made the sound, and he frowned when he realized it was one of the Bruins’ goalies - the one who’d been starting more often than not, thus far. “Um, Rask?”“Sorry.” Tuukka stood just inside the propped door to the alternate exit, face blank enough that Mike knew he must have seen or heard something telling. Mike knew he should be worried, upset, something, but he knew that the kid was European, which meant that Mike could probably bullshit out of whatever had been inferred. Call it a misunderstanding or a mistranslation, whatever, just as long as it didn’t take all night. Mike knew Brooks, and he knew that by the time Brooks crawled into their bed at the house he’d be feeling guilty and worse than ever. There was only one solution for these nights, and it was quiet company and a good night’s sleep followed by a blow-job. Mike had learned that much the hard way, he just hadn’t figured out how to head them off before they happened. At least this time they were in Washington; it was worse when the were on the road, because Brooks didn’t have the sense to just shut himself away, there, he played the expected role until they finally did get home, at which point he crashed badly. Those times, it took a lot more than a blow job to get things back on an even keel.Mike shrugged, the weight of Tuukka’s gaze making him itchy. “You need something?”The goalie’s expression softened, and he leaned against the door jam. “Are you all right?”“What? I mean, yeah. I’m fine. Just, you know, whatever. Bad night.” Mike waved his hand dismissively, hoping that Tuukka got the point and didn’t push the issue. The “keep your mouth shut and turn a blind eye” policy of the league was an unofficial one, and all Mike needed was someone drawing attention where it didn’t need to be paid.Tuukka nodded slowly, gaze drifting over Mike’s shoulder and turning thoughtful. “Of course.” He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them and stuck his hands in his pockets and shifted his attention to his shoes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be here. I needed something from the locker room, took a wrong turn.”“Don’t worry about it. Um, go back down that hallway, take a right, okay?”“Thank you.” He didn’t leave, however, just stood in the doorway and fingered the knot of his tie - possibly a necklace beneath it, if the flash of light was anything to go by. Nerves already frayed by the fight with Brooks, Mike wasn’t in the mood to sit by and wait for Tuukka to decide if he wanted to share whatever was on his mind.“You need something else?” His tone may have been sharper than he’d intended, but it got the point across well enough.Tuukka startled, and his hand fell to his side as he met Mike’s stare head-on for the first time since announcing his presence. “Just…” He took a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together and bracing himself. “You are sure it is ‘nothing’?”Mike rolled his eyes, in part because he was too tired to restrain himself and in part because Brooks was always telling him it was a nasty habit. Of course he got the one European who decided to misinterpret things in exactly the right way and had the nerve to offer honest sympathy. Stupid kid, hadn’t he learned to stay the fuck out of other people’s business? “Look, I said it’s nothing. That means it’s nothing. Personally, I’d be a lot more worried that the bus was going to leave without me, yeah?”Tuukka shot him a nasty look, muttering in Finnish as he turned on his heel and stomped off, but he left, so Mike’s purposes were served. Whatever the kid knew, or thought he knew, Mike could deal with it later. Right then, he had bigger things to deal with. Like convincing Ovi that he wasn’t actually in the mood for drinking when all he wanted was a shot of tequila and a strong beer to chase it. God, Brooks was a prissy little bitch, sometimes.* * *As expected, Brooks was curled up in bed by the time Mike got home, lights off and house quiet in a way that screamed ‘nobody’s coming home, and I hate my life.’ That wasn’t to say that he was asleep, however, though he made no effort to move when Mike slipped into bed beside him.“Thought you were going drinking.”“Hm-mm.” Making a conscious effort at ignoring what he knew would be coming, Mike physically manhandled Brooks until there was enough room for both of them to lie comfortably in the centre of the bed. “Got an early practice tomorrow. Sleep sounded like a good idea, you know?”“Since when have you done anything because it sounded like a good idea?”“Dude, just shut up and go back to sleep.”Brooks muttered something and pressed his face into the pillow, edging away until there was enough space between them to be noticeable. Mike shifted around and frowned, poking Brooks in the shoulder until his eyes were again small spots of reflected moonlight before demanding clarification. “What?”“Wasn’t sleeping.”“Oh.” Mike squirmed around, putting a hand on the back of Brooks’ neck and forcing it against his shoulder. When Brooks finally relented, Mike left his hand in place, slowly stroking his fingers against the tense skin furrowed just below his husband’s hairline. “Well, now you will.”“Mike…”“Shh. I know, okay? Just, go to sleep.”Wonder of wonders, Brooks did.* * *Mike tried his best to put the thing with Rask out of his mind, because it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. And if he was lucky, Rask would write the whole thing off as fallout from a hard game and forget it had even happened. It worked, up until fucking Savvy cornered him as he was coming out of the locker room.“Green.”“Yeah?”“We need to talk.”Mike frowned, and glanced over his shoulder into the locker room where the rest of the team was slowly getting their shit together. “Um…”“Alone.” Mike considered arguing, because it wasn’t like Savvy had the authority to just order him around, but Savvy was a stand-up guy. Also, if it turned out to have anything to do with what Tuukka thought he’d seen, Mike didn’t need anyone else watching him explain his way out of this one.“Give me a minute, okay?” Savvy nodded, but the seriousness in his expression didn’t ease. Mike stepped back into the locker room and tapped Brooks on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m going to step out and have a word with Savvy. I’m not back in five, come get me for the bus, okay?”“Sure. Anything I should worry about?”“Nah, I’m sure it’s nothing.” Brooks looked like he wanted to argue, but Mike just shook his head and stepped back out into the main hallway. Savvy started walking as soon as Mike re-emerged, forcing Mike to jog to catch up with him. “So, what’s up?”Savvy didn’t say anything until they rounded the corner and stepped into a conference room. The moment the door closed behind them, Savvy had Mike pressed back against it with a hand on his chest. “Before you say anything, I need to know that you’re not going to cause problems for Tuukka. I’m on my last contract, there’s only so much I have to lose, but he’s still got a future in the league.”Mike blinked in confusion. “Wait, what?”Savvy glared, voice taking on an even sharper edge. “You heard me. I don’t care what you saw, what you think you saw, but you need to just forget it and leave it be. Do you understand?”Mike opened his mouth, then closed it again, because seriously, What the Fuck?? “Um, isn’t that supposed to be my line?”Savvy paused, narrowing his eyes as if he suspected Mike was the one fucking with him, and Mike let out a frustrated groan. The whole thing made no sense, from Savvy being the one to come calling to warning his ass off of Tuukka like he’d been the source of the problems. “Explain. Now.”“Nope.” Mike shook his head, because clearly Savvy thought he knew what was going on, and one of the things Brooks had been making a point of lately was how much better it was to find out what the fuck someone else thought before opening your mouth. Mike had (sort of) been making an effort to get better at it. “And if there’s an issue with Tuukka, why the fuck isn’t your captain the one talking to me? Or, you know, Tuukka.”“Because this is personal.” Savvy stepped back and crossed his arms, hovering just on the edge of Mike’s personal space. The movement made something flicker, and drew Mike’s attention to the chain at Savvy’s neck that was just visible in the open space of his unbuttoned collar.“Personal, like, you’re going to kick my ass for whatever it was your goalie thinks he saw? Or personal like this is your twisted idea of how to proposition someone on the opposite team?”“Personal, in that I have to share a locker room with Tuukka, okay?” Savvy looked away, and ran a hand over the back of his head before returning his attention to Mike. “Since we’re clearly talking about two entirely different things, why don’t you tell me what happened on Wednesday night?”“Um, your goalie walked into the middle of a fight I was having with a teammate?”“And…?”“And nothing. I told him how to get back to the locker rooms, and that was it. Okay, so maybe I told him off for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, but team business is team business.”“Try again.”“What?”“Look, Tuukka doesn’t get that upset over nothing. It takes a lot to set him off like that.”Mike let out an exasperated sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets as he slumped against the wall next to the closed door. “Explain to me again why I’m having this talk with you and not your captain?”“Because when it comes to Tuukka, Z leaves things up to me. I need to know if whatever threw him off on Wednesday night was a bad game, or if it was something else, and he won’t fucking talk to me about it except to say that he walked into something and pissed you off.” Savvy reached up again, this time scrubbing tiredly over his face, and the movement tugged his shirt just enough that the glimmer at his throat resolved into a ring - simple and undecorated, the kind designed for practical wear instead of drawing attention.“Savvy, honest, I didn’t fuck with your goalie. Brooks didn’t fuck with your goalie. He was just having a bad night, and the kid sort of stepped into the middle of it. I’m sure he’s fine, will be fine, whatever. You know how goalies get. I-”“Marc, quit screwing around.” A vaguely familiar voice came through the closed door, followed almost immediately by the goalie it belonged to. “I need to get home so I can put some heat on my… Oh.”Savvy closed his eyes, just for a moment, but it was long enough for Mike to recognize the expression on his face and put two and two together. “Wait, that’s what you thought this was about?”“What?” Savvy tried playing dumb. He wasn’t very convincing at it, which just reinforced Mike’s guess. Tuukka was slightly more credible, although that was probably because he really had no idea what he’d walked into the middle of.“You know what, I’m not going to ask.” Mike bit down on his lip, hard, in an effort to contain a bubble of inappropriate laughter. This was so far from funny they weren’t in the same fucking league, except at the same time, it was the kind of shit that movies were made about. Really bad movies. “Let’s just say I’m in no position to judge, and leave it at that. Put it down to stress or exhaustion or, fuck, a desperately overriding desire for a cheeseburger.”“I, um. Huh.” Savvy did something weird with his eyebrows, before his expression settled somewhere in the vicinity of relieved. “Cheeseburger, eh? I was thinking ribs, but I know a place that does both…”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

#8 - Cold Pak (Labeled in Purple Sharpie: “Property of L. Pronger”)
(January, 2011)Three hard knocks on the door, and while Backstrom wasn’t sure who he expected to find there, but it certainly wasn’t Chris Pronger. That much was written in dayglo across his face. “I want to talk to Green.”“Um,” Backstrom glanced back over his shoulder at where Pronger suspected his roommate was currently icing his face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”“I’m not asking, kid. I want to talk to him, and I’m going to do it without an audience.”Backstrom studied him for a long moment, and then shut the door in his face.Chris sighed, and banged on the door again. He didn’t want to be here, shouldn’t have to be doing this on a fucking game night, but it was his own damn fault for not pulling Bissonnette aside earlier and telling him how things worked on the Flyers. Richie was a good kid, but some things were better handled by the old men. This was one of them, he’d just expected to have more time before it became an issue. He knocked again. “I’m serious, kid, open the door.”There was movement behind the door, but when one finally opened it was further down the hall. Two doors over, Ovechkin stepped out of his room and frowned at him. “Is there problem?” Another player leaned out behind the Russian captain - it might have been Semin, but he wasn’t sure - expression curious, and Chris had to fight the urge to grind his teeth. This was ridiculous, and going to turn into a fucking circus if he wasn’t careful. All he wanted was two minutes to make sure Bissonnette hadn’t done enough damage to be a serious problem and to make it clear that the issue was being handled internally. It shouldn’t be this complicated.“He asked if you had a problem.” Chris turned, and found Brooks Laich standing behind him. He had no idea where the winger had come from, but this was clearly becoming a family affair in a hurry.“Look, I just need to talk to Green for a minute. You really want to make an issue of this?”“You show up at our hotel in the middle of the night, demand to talk to one of our guys, and don’t take no for an answer? Yeah, we’re going to make an issue of it.”Chris turned his attention back to Ovechkin, because there was something in Laich’s expression that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “All I want to do is talk to the guy. Alone. You want to fucking frisk me? Whatever. But I’m not leaving until this is settled, and it’s between me and him.”“You do not have, how do I say, best reputation, Pronger.”Chris reached over, took a fistful of Ovechkin’s shirt and tugged. “On the ice is on the ice; that gets settled out there. This is off the ice, so don’t you fucking think you know me.”“I’ll talk to you.”Chris turned, and found Green standing in the now-open doorway, his blond roommate unhappily stepping into the hallway with the rest of the roused Capitals. Bissonnette hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he’d landed a few, the kid’s face was already coloring up nicely. “Fucking finally.”As he walked in, he heard Laich take a sharp breath beside him. “Mike, what-”“Leave it, Brooks.” The defenseman closed the door on his teammates and crossed his arms. “Talk.”“I need to make something perfectly clear. I know what Bissonnette did, I know why he did it, and I don’t give a damn if his information was right or not. That’s not how we do things here in Philly, and he’s being dealt with.”Green looked confused, or at least as confused as one could look with half of his face in varying stages of swollen. “Um, okay?”“Look, we’ve got a reputation here, and we’ve worked hard to earn it. But that,” he gestured to Green’s face, “that’s something else, and that’s got nothing to do with the club. Locker room trash-talk is one thing, but outside of the game, who you spend your time with is your problem. It’s off-limits, you got that? When I found out what happened, I came over here to make that clear. That’s all.” Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out the ace-wrapped cold-pack he’d grabbed at home on his way to the hotel, once again thankful that his wife and the kids were out of town for the week. He handed over the still-cold gel pack and caught Green by the chin, turning his head to get a better look at the damage. “Got you good, kid, didn’t he?”Green shrugged, looking less antagonistic and more resigned at this point as he accepted the peace offering. “Gave what I got, and I’m not going to apologize for it.”“Not asking you to. Like I said, we’re dealing with it. We’ve got our own to worry about, no need to go borrowing trouble. Last thing I need is to lose a winger to this shit.”Green looked like he was going to ask for details, but thought better of it and simply nodded. “I’ll bring this back next time I’m in town, eh?” He waved the cold pack vaguely in Chris’s direction.“Whenever you get around to it. We’ve both got plenty of time left in the show, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you on the ice for a while.” Chris turned to leave, but stopped before opening the door. “And I’d appreciate it if you reminded Laich that it’s a criminal offense if he murders me in my sleep.”Green laughed softly, the sound abruptly cut off with a sharp breath as the movement pulled on tender skin. “I think I can manage that.”“Also, it’s none of my business, but if you ever need advice about…things… I have a few names I can pass along. If you want them.” Chris didn’t wait for a response, just walked out of the room and through the small gathering of concerned Caps players hovering in the hallway.* * *Six years later, Chris retired out of the league. The last game they played against each other, Green caught him afterwards to return the still-on-loan cold pack (which, he had discovered later, bore the label “Property of L. Pronger” in purple sharpie). Chris shook his head at the offer, although he respected Green’s tenacity.“Look, you’re going to have kids one day, right? You’ll need it when you do. And if you don’t, Laich will. Don’t give me that look, Danny was the worst gossip in the league before he retired, and you damn well know it. Besides, you’re going to need it when we wipe the floor with your asses in the playoffs this year.”Green shook his head, letting out a quiet laugh. “In your dreams, old man.”Chris shrugged, and turned to walk back into the visiting locker room. “We’ll see.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

#9 - A Business Card for J.P. Barry, Creative Artists Agency
(February, 2011)Alexandre Burrows has a reputation for being an asshole on the ice. It might, just possibly, be based in something resembling fact. To be honest, he’s kind of proud of it, because it means that he’s good at his job. The fact that he can score goals just as often as he can annoy the shit out of players on the opposing team doesn’t hurt, either.He’s been back on the roster two weeks when they play the Caps, and GM Place (it will always be GM place to him, no matter who owns the naming rights) had never felt better than it did this season. Everything was falling into place in his life, and he was damn well going to make sure it kept happening. Six minutes into the first, he ran into fucking Laich at full speed, and both of them went down on their asses. Laich landed badly, slow to his feet and right off the ice.Bradley’s the one who starts it, maybe, although Alex will admit he’s been itching for a fight since he first hit the ice tonight, and he’s known it was coming. Ovechkin hits hard, and he’s an asshole about it, and just because you’re a skill player doesn’t mean you get to drill other skill players. He might not be the frontline tough guy on the team, but he can pick up the slack when it’s called for. So when Bradley starts making the all too familiar moves, Alex is right there with him. “Hey, Burrows! Heard Nancy’s sick of you already. That bad in bed, eh?” He circles once, debating whether it should be now or later, calculating whether they can spare the instigator penalty and whether Bradley will feel like following up on his taunts.It’s not time, yet. There is no comfortable lead, the offense is just a touch too light to call out. There are two more periods to play, plenty more chances to clean house. “Fuck you, at least I married a girl.” He goes to jostle Bradley’s shoulder on the way past, and that’s when he sees it. Just behind the ref, circling with the rest in case it gets ugly, Green goes sheet white.It’s an unexpected reaction, and when Alex glances back again Green is skating away fast enough that he’s not sure he really saw it. The lights are bright, and things happen so quickly over the course of a game, it might have been nothing more than a reflection or the aftermath of a flash. He’s certainly not sure what it means, but reading people is one of the things he does for a living, so he files it away to poke at the next time they’re on the same patch of ice. Green is too good to be left in peace; if he’s got a way to distract him, Alex can’t hesitate to take it.The opportunity comes a few moments before the end of the period, less than two left on the clock. He’s jostling with Green for space near the net, watching Hank out of the corner of his eye for the cue that something’s coming, and trash-talking out of the side of his mouth because there’s nothing better to do until the twins decide to fucking share. “Ran into your girlfriend last time I was down in DC, Mikey.”Green is watching the play, facing away from Hank as he tracks the puck and tries to stay out of Varlamov’s way while he does it. “Uh-huh.”“Real free spirit, eh?”“Uh-huh.”“Free with her number, free with her address.”“Uh-huh.”“So, is she such a bitch about condoms with you, too? Because I gotta say…”It doesn’t get the response he’s hoping for, which is to piss Green off enough to move out of position and take a swipe at him. However, it does the next best thing in a truly bizarre way - Green laughs, startled and honest, and it distracts him just enough for Hank to take a chance. It doesn’t work, but it gives Alex another piece of the puzzle. Whatever the fuck the puzzle is, well, that’s another story.* * *Laich is back in the second, jaw set and unresponsive enough that Burrows is pretty sure the guy took the earlier hit badly. It’s a weakness he can exploit, and the next time their lines match he makes sure to bump into him at the boards and brace his stick at just the right angle for a nice little love tap between the ribs. Laich finishes his shift, but he’s clearly hurting by the time he’s back on the bench. Alex watches for retaliation, keeps an eye out for the grinders and the big boys, but the second hit was just as clean as the first, so they seem to let it slide.It’s midway through the period when he starts getting shit he didn’t specifically cause, and it comes from Green of all people. Compared to the first, the guy’s wound tighter than a fucking spring, and after the second shove that almost knocks him off his feet, Alex wonders if he’s high on something. “Back the fuck off, asshole.”“Make me.” It’s an invitation to fight if Alex has ever heard one (and he’s heard plenty), but it’s a bad time for dropping the gloves. Alex jostles for position, ignoring the comment as Kes makes a run on the goal and the Russian kid clamps down on the rebound. Faceoff, reset, and he ends up stuck with Green riding his ass again. It would be good, the pissed off fixation Green’s apparently got going, except that Alex knows he didn’t cause this one, and it makes for a liability if he can’t gauge where Green’s attention really is.Alex settles for a couple of pointed checks, hoping that Green gets the message and runs off to play offense like a good little defensive failure. He doesn’t, and the next time they’re both on the ice he’s even more blatant about it. To anyone else, it probably looks like he’s just being more home-ice minded, like maybe Boudreau got bitchy about covering your man and your zone and tore Green a new one. Alex knows that’s not it, though - that’s not what it feels like. Green isn’t sacrificing the game for some personal issue, but he’s sure as hell making Alex’s life more difficult for no fucking good reason.It’s not until they’re into the third that he figures it out, and even then it’s more of a hunch than a fact. He’s pretty sure that he’s wrong, in fact, up until he tests it. “Are you seriously this pissed about me busting up your boyfriend?”Green checks him so hard that Alex nearly gets whiplash, and while it’s clearly bordering on an involuntary move, it’s also just enough to draw the penalty Alex has been shooting for all game. He heads for the bench, grins at SOB as he scoots over to make space, and grabs a bottle before turning his attention back to the ice. They’re down by one; they need this goal.He lands on the ice across from Green just once more before the final buzzer, the 2-1 buzzing quietly in his ears and echoed in the muttering of the crowd. Green is subdued, eyes wary, and it just reinforces Alex’s earlier guess. They still jostle, but this time the movements are punctuated by grunts instead of insults. The tension is thick, Alex and his linemates just as desperate to land the OT as the Caps are to hang onto their lead. When the puck breaks on a bad turnover, Mike is gone down the ice in a way that he hasn’t been all game. Alex is two steps behind, but it doesn’t matter. They’re all tired, and it’s pinball until he lands back on the bench. The score never changes.It’s not until he’s in the showers that Alex gives himself a chance to think about what it means, to put the pieces of Green’s failed poker face together and draw together a complete package. He wishes he could just brush it away, forget that he’s learned it. But not only is it part of his job to know the competition, his brain doesn’t work that way. God, there are days he wishes it did, but it takes a lot more than wishful thinking to black things out of his memory, and the costs are never worth the rewards in those cases. Never mind that promise to Nancy that he’d stay clean, which mattered a lot more than any of the rest of it.It’s that thought which brings him back to the matter at hand, and casts a new light on the situation in the process. Green wasn’t a rookie, and it wasn’t his first time around the block when it came to trash talk. Alex would claim he was just that good, but he’d tried his brand of magic on Green before and it had been far less effective. No, he’d touched a nerve that was raw and red with the comment about being married, and Green had spent the rest of the game tamping it down. What that meant, well, Alex didn’t need to know the details to know that there was something serious going on in the Caps’ locker room. Thing was, there were a lot of things that mattered out on the ice - got said out on the ice - but that didn’t mean they mattered at the end of the day.It took a bit of doing, and a promise to buy the first round the next time he made it to the bar, but he managed to duck out after only a couple of interviews. This wasn’t his first choice of ways to blow his good will with the guys, but he needed to catch Green before the Caps left. This was something that needed doing, even if it was probably an exercise in futility.He’s outside of the visiting team’s locker room before they start to filter out, Green one of the first and looking rather worse for the wear. “Can I talk to you?”Green’s eyes go wide, but he recovers quickly and shrugs off the concerned glance that Laich throws his way. “Um, not really. No.”Alex looks down, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “Please. I, it’s important.” Green glances at Laich, clearly looking for input, and Alex realizes how to win this particular fight. “Not, it doesn’t have to be alone. He can come. It’s not that kind of talking.”Green’s shoulders don’t relax, exactly, but he nods and follows Alex away from the locker room to a side corridor. Laich trails them more slowly. They end up in the room where they prep their sticks, Alex on one side and the two Capitals on the other. “You seem serious.”“What exactly do you mean by that?” It’s Laich who replies. While it’s clear that Green knows exactly what Alex is talking about, it’s also just as clear that he’s letting his older teammate - partner, maybe? - take control of the conversation.Alex doesn’t want to be having this conversation. What he wants is to go back to the locker room, get a giant bag of ice, and freeze his shoulder one more time before he has to face the drive home. Unfortunately, this isn’t about what he wants, so best to get it over with as quickly as possible so that he can go back to the earlier plans for the evening. “I mean that you’re fucking, and it’s been going on long enough to be ‘serious.’”Laich looks like he’s swallowed something unpleasant, and Green looks like he’s working his way back to pissed off again. “You got a point?”“Look, all I want to do is clear this up, then we go our separate ways. I’m a shit-kicker, it’s what I do. But I’m not going to tell the rest of the league, eh?” He ran a hand through his hair, turning away for a minute and pulling his thoughts together. “I just got married, yeah? I’m not going to hold who you fall in love with against you. But… If you ever hit me like that again, I won’t hesitate to cave your face in. You understand me?”It’s not exactly an idle threat, but it’s close - a warning in not so many words, and one that Green clearly understands. He nods and reaches over to put a hand on Laich’s shoulder, visibly settling both of them down before he speaks again. “Thank you.”Laich chimes in, then, surprising both Alex and Green. “For the record, it’s not just serious. I - we’ve - been married a year and a half.”Alex feels his jaw drop at that particular piece of information, but he really can’t help himself. “Oh. Wow. Um, congratulations, I guess?”* * *Ten months later, Brooks is going through the mail when he finds an envelope with the return address “A & N Burrows.” In it is a standard ‘Happy Holidays!’ missive (and one that even Matt Bradley would be proud of, if the logo on the back of the brown paper is to be believed). The handwritten message is brief, standard well-wishes in a flowing script that screams “wife” and signed from Alex & Nancy.It’s the card-inside-the-card that catches Brooks’ attention. It’s a business card for “J.P. Barry,” a name that both Brooks and Mike are familiar with in passing, in that way that professional bigwigs tend to ring a non-specific bell when mentioned, without bringing to mind the useful details like what it is they do for a living. The card stock is useful in that regard, however; Creative Artists Agency is well known in hockey circles, even if they tend to handle European clientele.On the back of the card is a note in a much more jagged script, the content brief and to the point. “Call. He’ll give you an hour, and some honest answers.”* * *They schedule the call for early January, a stretch where they’re home and have their lives more or less under control. It’s a good time for fact-finding - Mike’s renewal is coming up faster than either of them is prepared for, and Brooks has a year before he’s on the chopping block. They’ve talked about contracts, but only in the vaguest of terms. When Brooks’ had come due, they’d been married just under a year, and it had been an almost frightening sense of relief that had accompanied the 2 year extension offer that was waved under his nose. Now, things were different - it was Mike on the auction block, for one. Not only was he worth more, but as a rising talent nearing his UFA-elligibility, there was pressure to lock him in just incase the new CBA turned out to be a clusterfuck.So the morning after the card arrived from Burrows, Brooks put a legal pad out on the kitchen counter and they’d started writing down questions as they thought of them. One here, two there - by the time the call finally happened, they had almost three full pages worth of thoughts (although, to be fair, some of that length was a direct result of Mike’s penmanship and their unfortunate initial decision to use ink instead of a pencil). Three pages or not, it all boiled down to one thing: trades.Barry doesn’t tell them anything they don’t already know, not really. He spells it out in more detail, perhaps - what they’re worth, what they might manage to snag in an extraordinary year, what the rumors are coming out of the NHLPA about the upcoming CBA. What restricted trade clauses really mean, and why they’re never going to be able to swing them - Mike might, if he’s lucky and a team he trades to takes a liking to him, but Brooks never will.It’s depressing. Of course it’s depressing. Trades are a part of life in the NHL, and it’s remarkable that they’ve both been stationary enough to fall in love and build a life together, but that doesn’t make facing the realities any easier. All the same, it’s a comfort to have things laid down in black and white. Relationships can last across the continent if they have to - the rumor mill has had interesting things to say about Ryan Whitney on that topic over the years, although Brooks isn’t sure he puts much stock in things that come out of Pittsburgh - and they’re both willing to bend when they come up for free-agency, if it comes to that. Brooks already knows that the pay cut will be worth the sanity, and Barry said that teams are a lot more interested if you’re willing to give-and-take a bit to fit under the salary cap.So, it’s not impossible, what they have together - nothing is impossible if you put enough work into it. When one of them trades (when, not if, Barry was emphatic on that part), they’ll make it work. On that, there is no debate.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

#10 A Toaster, Drinks, & A Cottage in Sweden (sort of)
(Fall, 2011)“Okay, I’ll admit, this place is pretty cool.”Brooks grinned and took a long swallow of his beer. “And you say I never take you anywhere.”Mike kicked him under the table. “That’s not exactly what I said.”Brooks reached over and stole a fry off of Mike’s plate. “Close enough.”Mike leaned back, stroking his foot slowly up and down the shin he’d formerly been striking as he looked around the section of the bar they’d ended up in. It’s a neat place, chic without being chintzy, and he had to give Brooks credit for remembering his love of Warhol. He’d spotted at least two on the walls, originals by the looks of them, and it was just cool.As he was skimming the crowd, however, he caught sight of a familiar face. Well, sort-of familiar. Normally, when he saw Henrik Lundqvist in person, the man was functioning as the bane of his existence and his face was obscured by an artfully decorated mask. This time, the only thing artfully decorated was the swede’s t-shirt. Before Mike could decide if he wanted to wave in the other man’s direction or sink further down into the leather and just enjoy the private night Brooks had planned for them, Lundqvist’s expression shifted to one of curiosity and the goalie was cutting through the crowd in their direction.“Hey, Mike. Been a while.” Lundqvist grabbed a chair and pulled it up to their table with a nod of greeting. “I didn’t know you were in town.”Mike shrugged and raised his glass in a perfunctory introduction. “Brooks, Hank. Hank, Brooks. Hank is one of those guys I keep running into at media day. We’re just killing a spare day before the Isles tomorrow. You guys at home for a while?”“Just a few games. Long enough to sleep, not long enough to really recover. As it always is.” Hank turned and waved to the waitress. “Sylvia, can I get a refill and some calamari? Thanks. And these men are with me. If you want to put it all on the same card, I’ll clear it later.” She nodded and made a note on her order pad, then turned away.“Hey, you don’t have to-”“Don’t worry about it.” Hank waved off the concern. “I know one of the owners, so they comp me when I stop in.”Brooks blinked at the casual explanation, and settled further back into his seat. “Must be nice to have friends like those.”“It can be. Every once in a while, we get into a fight over something inane and pointless. Then, he’ll cut me off for a few weeks, but it never lasts.” He laughed quietly to himself. “Some people just land in your life and stay there, you know?”Mike glanced over at Brooks, sharing a private smile before turning his attention back to their unexpected companion. Who was turning out to be surprisingly welcome, even if they were probably going to run out of non-career related topics in the next half-hour and descend into awkward silence. He and Brooks could always bow out and continue their evening elsewhere, like the conspicuously not-team hotel Brooks had mentioned having a reservation for. Just because they had curfew didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy the evening…It became clear that Hank hadn’t been kidding about his relationship with the owner when his food appeared moments after he’d placed his order. Given that the crowd had grown markedly more dense in the two hours since Brooks and Mike had ordered (and waited at least half an hour), it would have been impressive even if the only thing Sylvia had been holding when she returned a few moments later was Hank’s refill.Mike’s estimate of half an hour turned out to be a bit on the pessimistic side, but only because Hank and Brooks discovered a mutual love of Hugo Boss suits and Audrey Hepburn (which, honestly, Mike didn’t begrudge them the commonality in the slightest. While a stylish suit was one thing, he’d never managed to figure out what Brooks saw in the classic films, and that wasn’t just his masculine pride talking. Then again, he also couldn’t understand why Brooks insisted on being all old school and claiming that WWE was better than MMA. Marriage had taught him that some things you just overlooked in the name of love and blow jobs).When Hank again flagged down the waitress, beginning to make the universal signs for ‘leaving soon,’ Mike found himself of mixed mind. It had been good to see his friend again, and he’d forgotten just how well they did get along when there wasn’t a sheet of ice between them. He was surprised when, instead of asking for the bill or whatever it was he did got things comp’d so that the waitstaff didn’t get shafted, Hank asked for a favor instead.“Sylvia, I need you go in the back and tell Sean that it’s after ten.” She made an uncertain noise, clearly unhappy with the request. “I promise, he’s in a better mood than last week.”“But-”“Please?” She sighed, resigned, and headed back toward the bar with the look of one marching to their death.“What was that all about?” To say Mike was curious would have been a criminal understatement.“Oh, the whole reason that I come down here on Tuesdays is that my friend and I grab dinner after he’s done looking over the books. Well, when we’re both in town, at least.”Mike wasn’t really sure what he expected of Hank’s mysterious bar-owning friend, but it certainly wasn’t the very familiar face who stepped out of the crowd a few moments later with an annoyed look on his face. Regardless of what other attributes he might be lacking - such as common decency and a respect for his fellow man once he stepped onto the ice - Sean Avery was one of the most distinctive-looking men in the NHL. He also had a bone to pick with Lundqvist, which both Mike and Brooks were more than happy to side-step entirely.“Hank, what did I say about scaring the staff?”“That it’s a bad habit and I should break you of it?”“Try again, King. What the fuck happened to calling when you got here?”Hank shrugged, and casually took a sip of his drink before pushing away from the table and standing up. “Ran into a few friends, lost track of the time. So did you, clearly.” He reached over and pointedly shook Brooks’ hand before nodding to Mike. “It was nice meeting you, Brooks, and it’s always good to see you, Mike. Sean would be polite, but paperwork makes his head hurt and he feels an obligation to share the pain.”“Hey!”“Don’t bother, you know it’s true. Come on, you’re buying me real food somewhere that doesn’t only provided forks ‘if necessary.’”As surreally as the exchange had begun, the two Rangers departed, and Mike and Brooks were left in a bubble of stunned silence that lasted until someone asked if they could snag Hank’s chair. After that, the evening descended into a jumbled mess of “what time is it?” and “why did we fall asleep?” and “I told you to wake me up in five minutes” and some serious favors owed to their respective roommates.* * *Two weeks later, Brooks received a package from “Espressonist.” Inside was a toaster that could give the space shuttle a run for its money in the complexity department. When he pulled it out to try to figure out why on Earth Mike had decided that there was anything wrong with his current toaster, a gift card slipped onto the table.Contrary to popular belief, I can keep my mouth shut when the situation calls for it. Congratulations.Sean AveryThe phone call that followed was awkward, to say the least. Brooks didn’t even make it halfway through his planned denial of, well, anything, before Avery cut him off and informed him that in over fifteen years, his gaydar had yet to be wrong. Brooks quit while he was ahead, said a grudging thank you, and stuck the toaster in the empty cabinet under the sink.Mike found it a week later and declared it the best thing ever, even though he nearly burned down the house figuring out how to make it work.* * *
(Spring, 2013)
The thing with Avery was that he really was a pest - it was a basic element of his personality, even when he wasn’t trying to be actively obnoxious. He meant well - or, at least, Mike was pretty sure that he meant well. He certainly hadn’t spread any harmful truths around in the wrong places, so that earned him some credibility - but he had odd ways of showing it. A VIP card for Warren 77 here, an invite to fashion week and a classic broadway musical there - roughly fifty percent of the time, whatever he sent their way proved useful and appreciated. The rest of the time, Mike got the distinct impression that Avery had seen one too many episodes of Queer as Folk and thought that it was an accurate reflection of gay life in North America.So when Sean called in the middle of the spring stretch, Mike was torn between curiosity and dread. “Hello?”“Hey, Mike. Long time no see, eh? How you been?”“Since we played two weeks ago? Um, fine, I guess.”“I know this is out of the blue, but you said something last fall about how you and Brooks try to travel every summer, and it got me thinking. I’ve got a place in Sweden, about an hour outside of Gothenburg. Something’s come up, and I’m not going to make it out during the midsummer season this year. I thought maybe you’d be interested.”Mike opened and closed his mouth about three times before he was able to get anything coherent out. “Ah, come again?”“I mean, it’s not fancy or anything. A couple of bedrooms, some obnoxious kids that live down the street who like to trespass all over the lake-access, but it’s a nice place to get away from everything, you know?”It was true that Mike and Brooks made it a habit to spend their anniversary somewhere they’d never been before, taking a week or two in the middle of the off-season to explore Ireland or climb Machu Picchu or kayak the Na Pali Coast (and hadn’t that been a fun round of PT after the fact). Although, upon reflection, Mike was also fairly certain that he’d told Hank, not Avery, about the practice. Sweden certainly qualified as somewhere neither of them had been before, and they could probably work in a visit with Nicky or Makkan while they were over there.“You still there?”“I, yeah, sorry. Um, look, it’s a great offer. Let me talk to Brooks, and I’ll get back to you.”“Like I said, somebody might as well get some use out of the place this summer.”The morning after arriving in Sweden, Mike and Brooks poke about the place as they settle in for a week away from everything. In the small library, Mike finds a picture of a clean-shaven Hank with his arm around a beautiful blonde who’s swimming in a Gothenburg jersey, and wonders just why it is that Sean’s not coming over this year.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Epilogue: Giving Back
(Fall, 2013)Mike wasn’t sure when he and Brooks became the “Mr. & Mr. Well-Adjusted” of the NHL, though he had a sneaking suspicion that there was supposed to be some kind of consolation prize that came with the title (and, consequently, felt wholly cheated each time a phone call resulted in bizarre and vague conversations that only made sense after he ran them through the Brooks-filter).He did, however, have a few general ideas about the why. By the start of the 2013-4 season, he and Brooks had been married for four years. They’d continued to post good seasons with distinct improvement, despite the expected peppering of injuries that came with starting to age in a league that weighted youth as heavily as as experience. Brooks had turned into a fucking machine on the second line, regularly landing just shy of the top twenty league-wide and clinging faithfully to a top five ranking on the Caps. Mike knew his own accomplishments were nothing to sneeze at, either - he’d managed to snag three Norris nominations in a four year span, even if only one of them had resulted in a trophy (it wasn’t his fault that Hedman had accomplished a fucking miracle during the 2011-12 season, and Mike was man enough to admit that the kid actually deserved the trophy that year).They’d also had the presence of mind to actually consider the decision to get married before actually filing the paperwork, even if Brooks had proposed in the middle of the night when they were both half-awake (and that particular part of the story had never been shared, no matter how much mileage Mike might have gotten out of it). Their families knew, had been involved in the wedding, and were still speaking to both of them (well, as much as they ever had, at any rate. It wasn’t Mike’s fault that his cousin was a maladjusted lawyer with a chip on his shoulder).It wasn’t that they were the only gay (or bi, whatever, Mike didn’t actually give a rat’s ass about the party line these days in his little corner of the universe. It wasn’t like he was in the market) players in the NHL. Between one thing and another (combinations of good and terrible luck that still gave Brooks nightmares about what could have happened if events had gone just a little bit differently), Mike knew at least a dozen of his peers who periodically did or had walked the other side of the street. Hell, Savvy and Rask were married, albeit as the result of an ill-advised prank they’d never bothered to annul more than any burning desire for formal commitment (and, to be fair, they seemed to be making it work just fine, although neither Mike nor Brooks knew them well enough to judge beyond the surface).It wasn’t even that they were among the eldest of their crowd, small though it might be - Savvy was just this side of retirement, Danny B wasn’t far behind (and, okay, both of them had ex-wives that counted as big fucking skeletons in the closet, but progressive times or not, beards were still a lot closer to the norm than anyone liked to admit), and Havlat was getting up there (unfortunately, he was also on the Wild, which sort of answered that unasked question). Of those closer to Mike’s own age, the array was no better - Avery was a no go for a whole host of reasons (starting with chemicals and ending with therapists), Orpik and Whitney were a dysfunctional clusterfuck in their own right, and the Euros just didn’t understand the North American mindset outside of the emphatic warnings by their agents to keep their private lives to themselves if they didn’t involve women.That being said, even if Mike could understand some degree of the reputation he and Brooks seemed to have earned, that didn’t mean that he felt comfortable being the go-to guy for NHL closet cases. Not that there were many of them, of course, because no matter how much people might like to claim things were changing, silence was still golden when it came to being gay in the NHL. So when Duncan Keith called at two in the morning to ask a favor, Mike’s first inclination was to say “no.” His second, more logical set of inclinations agreed wholeheartedly with his gut instinct.Somehow, twenty minutes later, Mike had agreed to meet Keith and an unnamed rookie for drinks after the game when the Caps visited Chicago the next week.* * *Mark Alt wasn’t quite what Mike was expecting when he stepped into the quiet bar a few blocks off of Madison. He had the look of a bruiser, complete with built-in warpaint, and gave off a distinctly MidWestern vibe. The kind of vibe that meant corn fields and protestant churches and no view of the world outside of what you stumbled onto while furtively looking for porn on the internet. Brooks gave off that vibe, sometimes, so Mike knew it wasn’t always accurate, but it was very distinct.Duncan had called back a couple of days after the initial request to explain the situation in more detail, so Mike had a general idea of why he was there. Much as he wanted to point out that Duncan was fully qualified to handle this kind of thing in-house, he understood exactly why the older man refused to do so. From what Mike knew, Duncan and his partner were engaged in a damn near permanent dance around the issue of the ubiquitous future, and it wasn’t an exclusive one. He didn’t know the details, didn’t want to know the details, but he was informed enough to be willing to respect Duncan’s preferences without pushing the issue.Mark was a solid defenseman with attitude issues, the kind that got you kicked back to the minors for good if they weren’t dealt with immediately. He’d bounced up and down a few times, but never more than a game or two before he was sent down again. When Mark made the roster on a more permanent basis due to Campbell landing himself on the injured reserve again, Duncan had ended up taking him on as a mentoring project. All it took was too much beer and a few lingering glances at the wrong members of the bar staff for Duncan to figure out what the real problem was. Cue Mike.In the darkest corner of a quiet bar, Mike and Duncan walked a fine line. It was two beers before Duncan even touched on the real reason for the meeting, roundabout though his approach was. “Why do you think you need to fight in order to be a good d-man?”Mark shrugged and kept his attention on his beer. “Want to make the big show, you’ve got to be tough, right? That’s what I always heard, growing up, so when I stalled out in the minors, well, you do what you have to do.”Mike snorted, which, okay, probably not his best move ever, but he couldn’t help it. “Tough doesn’t mean throwing punches, kid. Yeah, the enforcers are tough, but that’s only one kind of tough. You want to be first pair, someday? That’s 25, 30 minutes of ice time. That’s losing blood and teeth and crawling back out onto the ice for your shift because you know you can do it better than anyone else. You’ve been around long enough to know that much.”Mark nodded, making a small sound in the back of his throat.“You know what else is tough? Making a relationship work across three thousand miles and a few hundred cell phone minutes. Knowing that one day, you’re going to wake up and home isn’t home anymore because somebody fucked up the accounting and veterans cost more than rookies.” Mike shook his head. “You’ve been in the minors, what, almost two years since your first call-up? You don’t have to prove to anybody that you’re tough, kid. They all know it. You’ve got you prove that you’re what they need.”“Yeah, well there are some things that no team needs, okay!”“What, like a queer hockey player?” Mark went still, just as Mike had intended. On the plus side, the kid didn’t look green enough to actually puke. On the minus side, they still had a few bridges left to cross. “Because I got news for you, kid. Every time I hear that, it makes less and less sense, and not because I grew up North of the 49th.”Mark’s eyes were wide, whites visible in the dim light, and Mike shook his head softly to negate whatever denials were coming. “I’m not asking, kid. I’m not saying anything, okay? You’ve got your demons, we’ve all got our demons. Maybe Duncan called me for a reason, maybe he just called because he wasn’t sure what to say and wanted to talk to a friend. World is full of maybes.” He looked around for a moment, then snagged a pen from a nearby table and wrote his cell number down on a napkin. “You ever need to talk about any of them, you call me.”Mark nodded shakily, and Mike had a sinking suspicion that most of what he’d said had gone in one ear and out the other, but it was a start. He reached over and rested a hand on Mark’s shoulder, squeezing the muscles there for a long moment before letting go. “You’ll be okay, kid.”The incredible thing is, he means it.~ Finis ~