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Bo was the first person to notice, like the good captain like he is. After practice he stood by the jersey bin and personally took everyone’s jerseys. Some of the older guys, namely Alex and Chris, gave him a knowing look and a pat on the back after they slipped off their jerseys. Marky watched in sympathy as Thatcher sat in his stall without taking any of his gear off.
Brock and Petey looked just as confused as Quinn felt, so at least he wasn’t alone. Once Bo was just about buried under everyone’s jerseys, he dumped the pile in front of the backup goalie’s stall. Thatch looked at him and nodded, taking off his mask.
“I’ll be good until after next practice, probably. I’ll take these home now though. Preparation, you know?” Thatcher shrugged and continued to shed his gear.
“Need a bag?” Alex asked, and after receiving a simple nod, went to get one. Quinn was just getting more confused by the moment, why was everyone being so normal about this situation? Stetch seemed to share the confused sentiment, because he pulled JT aside with a furrow in his brow.
The locker room energy was weirder than normal, partially because of the whole Thatch situation, and partially because no one was playing music. Everyone was either silent or talking in hushed whispers. It felt a lot like an OT loss, but they had just come from a great practice. Quinn hurried to untie his skates and get in the showers.
-
On the drive back to his apartment, Quinn couldn’t shake the weird vibe. Clearly there was something going on and either everyone assumed he knew what or nobody cared enough to tell him. What would cause everyone to act like that, especially Thatcher?
Once he got home, he decided to just ask Bo. It’s not like his captain would be made for not knowing, he was a rookie after all. And plus, he wasn’t the only confused person there. He shot Bo a quick text saying “hey, what was up with demmer today” and put on hgtv. (he planned on taking a nap and house hunters puts him to sleep).
It didn’t take long for Bo to reply though, but what he did reply with was very unhelpful. The only answer he gave was “nesting”. Like, what was Quinn supposed to do with that? Bo didn’t say anything else though, so Quinn tabled his nap and opened up a new google search.
The results for ‘nesting’ were based around pregnancy and the urge to clean for the arrival of a new baby. Thatcher definitely wasn’t pregnant, and a pile of sweaty jerseys definitely wasn’t clean, so that search yielded no information.
Adding ‘hockey’ to that search did nothing either, it only lead Quinn to a few listings for hockey nesting dolls on weird craft websites.
Only when he searched for ‘goalie nesting’ did he get some results. There were dozens of articles on this so-called phenomenon that goalies went through. They all had conflicting opinions on why it started. Some said it was a stress reaction, when the pressure got to be too much for a goalie, their brain would shut off. Others said it was a settling ritual that happened when a goalie felt truly comfortable with their team. Still others said it was a scheduled thing that happened every so often and most goalies knew when it was coming to the hour.
Quinn concluded two things about the start of the nest;
1. it takes more than just playing goal to be a goalie, and
2. goalies are weird, man.
The rest of the articles were mostly about times when nests had been hilariously inopportune (like the one time Marc-Andre Fleury had nested ten minutes before the start of a playoff game), but there wasn’t much about what actually happened during the nest. It seemed like no one really saw much of the goalies when they nested, aside from their nesting partner.
The whole concept of a nesting partner was weird, too. Apparently a nesting goalie would pick - or instinctively know - someone to join their nest. The nesting partner would have to take care of the goalie (or sometimes it was the other way around) until the nest was over. Length of time varied wildly from a couple of hours to a couple of weeks. Quinn hoped Thatch wouldn’t nest for longer than a few days, he didn’t want Marky to have to carry the load by himself.
After that little session, Quinn decided he was done with learning for the day and went to eat some ice cream.
-
True to his word, Thatch went ‘full nest mode’ after practice the next day.
It had started on the ice when they were running drills. Every time a skater got within five feet of his net, he would almost growl at them. It was very unsettling. When they lined up to take shots, Thatcher collected all the pucks and placed them neatly behind him in the net. Quinn was under the impression that goalies nested at their house, but it looked like Thatch was planning on making his house the net on the left side of the ice.
At the end of practice, Marky stayed on the ice with Thatcher and the rest of the team filed into the locker room. Bo rushed everyone through their post-practice routines and showers, but didn’t let anyone leave.
“Sit in your stalls and be quiet, for once in your lives, please.” Bo told the team, and there was a note of urgency in his voice that made everyone scramble to do as he asked. Brock was fidgety in his stall, bouncing his leg up and down. Petey gave him a look and he stopped. Whatever that meant.
Marky walked into the locker room, his mask tilted up and his arm wrapped around Thatch. The latter was walking very stiffly, his eyes narrowed in a predatory gaze, scanning the room. He spun to the left and pushed past Marky, walking very robotically to the nearest stalls. He very carefully looked each person up and down, appraising them like he was a jewelry dealer and his teammates were rare gems.
Quinn watched as his teammates shrunk under Thatcher’s gaze and he nearly laughed. What could be so intimidating about Demmer that it was making Rooster not meet his eyes? He found out soon enough when said goalie reached his stall. Thatcher’s normally bright and vibrant eyes were now dark and cold. If he was being completely honest, Quinn was a little scared.
That is, until Thatch turned around and very abruptly sat down in front of Quinn’s stall. He leaned back against Quinn’s legs and tucked his knees up to his chest. With his pads still on, it looked like he was a wall, protecting Quinn from the rest of the world. Everyone heaved a sigh of relief, but Quinn was still frozen.
“Hey, buddy. Can I talk to Huggy for a second? I promise I won’t take him from you.” Bo was using his kids and puppies voice to talk to Thatcher and it took a second for Quinn to realize what he was saying. Thatch didn’t say anything, but he edged aside just enough for Bo to reach Quinn.
“What’s going on Bo?” Quinn asked, and it came out a little squeakier than he would have liked.
“Demmer’s picked you to be his nest partner.” Quinn’s shock must have been evident on his face, because Bo put a hand on his shoulder and smiled softly. “He needs you right now. Like it or not, there’s a part of him that trusts you more than anyone else here. Nesting isn’t as bad as you might think. It’s like having a really clingy big dog who likes to cuddle. He’ll probably want to make a nest and keep you in it for a few days, and then he’ll be back to normal. We’ll have you both out from games until then. No big deal!” Bo clapped him on the shoulder and walked away, telling the team that they could leave.
Yeah. No big deal. That was the complete opposite of how Quinn felt. There was a lot to take in. Namely the fact that apparently Thatcher trusted Quinn more than anyone else, which was a lot on it’s own and would have to be revisited at another time. The other thing was that Quinn was going to have to deal with Thatch and his weird goalie nesting stuff for the next few days. (or few weeks, but he didn’t want to think about that).
The locker room had mostly cleared out when Thatcher turned around and looked at Quinn again. He was no longer cold or stiff, instead he wore the brightest smile Quinn had ever seen.
"Oh, hey there bud. What's up?" Thatcher made no attempt to answer and it looked like he didn't understand a word Quinn said. He just blinked and smiled impossibly wider.
"Alrighty then." Quinn sighed, resigning himself to this for the next few days. "Do you have the jerseys? I'm assuming you need them." Thatch perked up at that, but made no move to get anything. This was going to be a little more difficult than expected.
Most of the team had cleared out, but Marky was still in the locker room, so Quinn thought he'd get the older goalie's advice. He made to stand up and get out of his stall, but as soon as he shifted his weight, Thatcher jumped up in front of him. (An impressive feat, considering Thatcher still had all his gear on). His smile had turned unsure and his eyes were flitting around.
"Hey, hey, relax buddy. I'm not gonna leave you anywhere. Can I go see Marky?" Quinn gently put his hand on Thatcher's arm and the contact instantly softened the flighty goalie. Thatch stepped aside and Quinn went over to the starter's stall.
"So you've got a goalie!" Marky said in a teasingly fond tone. Quinn thought that was the understatement of the week.
"Yeah, I've got a goalie. What do I do with him? And how do I get him to take off his pads? He won't fit in my car like that." Quinn gestured to the 6'4 (6'8 in skates) giant that loomed behind him.
"Anything you want from him, ask nicely and pretend you're talking to a two-year-old. If that doesn't work, try helping him do it. If that doesn't work, he's not going to do it." Marky shrugged and looked at Quinn apologetically. "Just make sure he eats and drinks, try and get him to take at least one shower - it'll get sweaty in the best pretty quickly. Oh, you'll probably want to change your sheets and blankets after a couple of days, try your best, but he probably won't let you. Have fun!" Marky went back to his stall and that was that. Quinn turned to Thatcher and sighed.
"You ready to go bud?" He asked and Thatcher made a weird little purring noise.
"Oh, Huggy!" Marky said. "The bag of jerseys is in the weight room. You'll need those. And don't forget to cuddle Thatch. He needs you right now." It wasn't the first time Quinn had heard that, and it wasn't any less weird.
Getting Thatcher home was easier than expected. Getting his gear off was less of a struggle than Quinn had anticipated. All he had to do was assist with pulling Thatch’s practice jersey off, and the goalie did the rest.
It was a good thing Thatcher could take a hint well enough, because he had to carry his massive bag of jerseys. Quinn tried to hoist it over his shoulder and promptly stumbled, causing Thatch to get very worried. They’d been delayed for five minutes because Thatcher had to check over every inch of Quinn to make sure he was okay.
The hardest part of the journey back to Quinn’s apartment was actually getting in the car. He put Thatcher’s stuff in the trunk, opened the passenger side car door and gestured, but the goalie refused to get in the car. After some pushing, prodding, and too many reassurances, Thatch finally sat down in the seat, grumbling all the way. Quinn shut the door and went around to the driver’s side. When he sat down in his own seat and shut the door, Thatcher was gone. Well, not gone, just staring at Quinn frantically through the driver’s side window.
It took them 45 minutes to leave the parking lot. Quinn was already exhausted from the amount of times he’d said “it’s okay bud, I’m not gonna leave you here.” It was kind of sad, actually. There was something deep down inside Thatcher that made him believe people would abandon him. Quinn didn’t want to think too hard about it. Thatch clearly fed off of Quinn’s emotions, so he was trying his level best to stay happy (or at the very least, nonchalant, Quinn wasn’t very good at staying happy all the time).
-
As soon as they got in the door of Quinn’s apartment, Thatcher dropped the bag of jerseys and made a curious little noise. Quinn nearly tripped over the bag, which sparked major concern in the goalie. As soon as he was certain Quinn was okay, he disappeared down a hallway. Quinn pushed the bag out of the way and followed after Thatch.
It seemed impossible for someone to have created that level of chaos in just under a minute, but Thatcher was standing in the middle of the disaster zone that Quinn used to call his bedroom. His megawatt smile was back, so that was one good thing. All of the blankets and sheets had been stripped off of the bed, and it looked like Thatch was in the middle of moving the mattress off of the bedframe.
“Wow bud, okay, well.” Quinn trailed off, not knowing exactly what was happening. “This is your nest, right? Do you need help? Do you want help?” Thatcher just ushered him out of the room and closed the door, all with the brightest smile on his face. Quinn stared at the door for a moment before walking to the kitchen to grab his usual after practice snack.
-
It wasn’t long before Thatcher emerged from the room and spotted Quinn eating a banana in the kitchen. Quinn had his back turned and was surprised when Thatch slid up behind him and wrapped his arms around Quinn. They were pressed against each other, Thatcher’s chest to Quinn’s back. Thatch made a little rumbly noise deep in his chest that could best be described as a purr and Quinn could feel it. It was comforting, somehow.
Quinn threw the banana peel into the trash can (an impressive feat, considering his upper arms were trapped under Thatcher’s) and looked up at the goalie.
“Are you done with your nest, bud?” Thatch purred again, and Quinn took that as a yes. “Do I get too see it?” Quinn asked, and Thatcher immediately let go of him, only to grab his hand.
Apparently all of Thatch’s concern for Quinn flew out the window when the goalie was excited, because the next thing he knew, Quinn was being dragged down the hallway towards his bedroom. As soon as the door opened, Quinn was speechless.
The bed frame was pushed to the front of the room, forming a small barrier between the door and the nest. The mattress that had previously been on said bed frame was now in the corner of the room and formed the base of the nest - at least it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable to sleep there. Thatcher had taken just about every spare soft thing (blankets, pillows, towels, etc.) in the apartment and stacked them in an architectural masterpiece that Quinn didn’t know was possible around the sides of the mattress.
“It’s so good, bud. Really, really wonderful.” Quinn smiled bigger than he had in a while and turned to Thatcher. The goalie preened in satisfaction and hugged Quinn to his chest.
“Are we gonna go in there now, or do you want to chill out here for a bit?” Quinn asked and Thatch prodded him further into the room. He carefully made his way around the bed frame and got up close to the nest. If he was being completely honest, it looked way more comfortable than his normal bed, if a little stuffy.
Thatcher gently pushed at Quinn’s back, wanting him in the nest. Quinn obliged, careful to not disturb the meticulously constructed walls. As soon as he was inside, he was hit with a particular odor. It was one he was quite familiar with by now, but not one he’d expect from his bed. Sweat. Thatcher had taken all of the worn and dirty practice jerseys and stuffed them in the walls and under the blankets. It wasn’t too unpleasant, and in some odd way, felt like home.
Thatcher climbed in after him and immediately pulled Quinn into his chest. They sat like that in the middle of the nest for a while, and Quinn thought he might not mind this whole nesting thing if it meant Thatcher would hold him like this.
-
Quinn didn’t know when, but at some point, they had fallen asleep. He woke up to light streaming through the blinds and Thatcher at the opening of the nest. Thatch’s body language was the complete opposite of what it had been the day before. His eyes were narrowed at the door and every muscle in his body was taut. Then Quinn recognized the “threat” he was reacting to.
There was someone at the front door and Quinn was willing to bet everything that it was Bo, because who else did that stupid five knock pattern. He sat up in the nest and immediately drew Thatcher’s attention. The goalie scanned over Quinn’s body, making sure nothing had hurt him in the few hours they’d been asleep. Once he deemed Quinn was alright, he resumed his post at the entry to the nest.
“Hey, hey bud, can I go get the door?” Thatch recognized the words he was saying and responded by frantically pushing Quinn further to the back of the nest. “Woah buddy, I promise no one’s gonna get me. How about you go first and you can make sure there’s nothing scary.” Thatcher seemed to consider it for a moment before conceding and stepping out of the nest. He turned around and offered a hand to Quinn.
They walked down the hallway together, hands still connected and Thatch a half-step ahead of Quinn. Bo was still knocking at the door and Thatch was getting more and more on edge as they approached the source of the sound. Quinn stroked the back of Thatcher’s hand with his thumb, which seemed to calm him.
“Okay, I’m gonna open the door now. Just be prepared.” Quinn called out to Bo. He murmured a couple of reassurances to Thatch and pulled open the door.
Thatcher immediately jumped in front of Quinn, trying his best to protect him from the perceived threat. As it turned out, Bo had brought other people. Marky, Jake, and Brock were standing behind their concerned captain.
“We brought food,” Bo said, peering inside the apartment, “since it’s hard to go outside during a nest, you know.” Thatch still looked very hesitant to let them inside, but had relaxed a bit after seeing it was people he knew. Quinn tugged a little on their still intertwined hands and Thatch turned to look at him.
“It’s okay, they’re friends, everything’s fine. They’re not gonna disturb the nest.” Quinn said soothingly and it seemed to do the trick. The menacing goalie quickly shifted into the lovable puppy Quinn had seen before and stepped aside to let their teammates in.
“Wow Huggy, I’ve never seen you be that soft before.” Jake chirped, going to punch Quinn’s arm but quickly retreating after seeing the look on Thatcher’s face.
“Taking after Sunshine over here?” Marky asked, nodding towards Brock. Brock just rolled his eyes and walked through to the kitchen.
After everyone was inside, Thatcher peeked out into the hallway before quickly shutting and locking the door. This protective side of him was unexpected but not totally unwelcome. Quinn felt safe with Thatch. He could hear Bo unpacking the bags that he had brought and the boys laughing in the kitchen. They probably should join the gathering, but Quinn felt compelled to stay in the entryway with Thatch for a moment.
“Hey Thatch, I’m here, you know that right? I’m here.” Quinn said, and wrapped his arms around the goalie.
-
Marky said that Thatch should be nesting for the next few days, based on his symptoms. Thatch had acted like a big dog the whole time the boys were over, even cuddling up on Quinn’s lap while they played video games. It was quite the picture, all 5’10 of Quinn covered up by a happy 6’4 goalie. Jake definitely took blackmail pics, but it was worth the happy purring noise Thatch made whenever Quinn stroked his hair.
Thatcher had retreated into the nest about an hour before everyone left and Quinn felt like a piece of him was gone. It was probably just because they hadn’t been apart at all (literally) for over 24 hours. When he kicked the guys out, Bo was concerned, but Marky understood. Goalie things.
“Just can’t wait to go cuddle your goalie, can you Huggy?” Jake teased, but it was partially true. Quinn planned on curling up in the nest with Thatch as soon as they left.
“Leave ‘em alone, Tuna. I think it’s sweet.” Brock elbowed Jake and smiled at Quinn.
“Of course Mister Sensitive would think it’s sweet.” Jake swiftly doged Brock’s arm and made for the door. “Nice knowing ya, Huggy!”
Once everyone was out the door, Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. He went down the hallway and knocked on the bedroom door. When there was no response, he softly opened the door to see Thatcher, asleep in the nest. He looked so peaceful like that and Quinn smiled. He crawled in the nest with Thatch and tucked himself into the goalie’s side. Cuddling was nice.
“You know, Thatch,” Quinn said, taking advantage of the fact that Thatcher was asleep and couldn’t hear him, “this is nice. This is real nice. I wouldn’t mind doing this when you’re back to normal. Or not, I know this is a weird situation. Whatever you want, I’ll do my best. I’m here for you.” Quinn yawned and nestled his head right above Thatcher’s heart, falling asleep almost immediately.
-
It had only been a couple of hours when Quinn woke up. He could tell because it appeared to be around sunset by the look of the light through the window. It took him all of two seconds to notice that Thatcher wasn’t in the nest with him. He could smell someone cooking and a painful thought weaseled it’s way into his brain.
What if Thatcher was back to normal? That wasn’t the painful part, Quinn would be glad to have Thatch back. The painful part was what if Thatcher regretted choosing Quinn to be his nesting partner? What if he was weirded out by how Quinn had taken to the whole nesting thing? The idea settled into the corner of Quinn’s brain as he got out of the nest.
Rubbing the leftover sleep from his eyes and running a hand through his eyes, Quinn walked out into the kitchen. As suspected, a normal looking Thatcher was standing over the stove. Quinn stood at the entrance to the kitchen and watched Thatch for a moment. Quinn didn’t mind the nesting thing, but he also wouldn’t complain if Thatcher did this more often. He’d like it if Thatch was around more. He liked Thatch.
“Hey,” Quinn said softly, not wanting to spook the goalie, “You back?”
“Yeah.” Thatcher looked at him, really looked at him, and smiled softly. “Yeah, I’m back.” Quinn wasn’t an expert on reading people, but there was something about Thatcher that seemed a little sad. Disappointed, maybe.
“What’s all this?” Quinn gestured to the variety of food that was on his kitchen counter. It had likely come from Bo’s care package.
“I just, ah,” Thatch rubbed the back of his neck, “wanted to thank you, for, you know, putting up with me. Nesting isn’t fun, I know. I appreciate it.” Quinn frowned.
“You didn’t have to do anything, it’s not that big of a deal.” Thatcher looked quizzically at him.
“I wasn’t too clingy? Or too cuddly? I tend to get like that.” Thatch looked away from Quinn and back to the stovetop.
“No, I actually, I actually enjoyed it. It’s nice to cuddle every now and then.” Quinn felt his face heat up and could see a similar flush spreading across Thatcher’s cheeks.
“I just, I get worried when I nest-”
“-You don’t have to tell me, I’ve seen that firsthand.” Quinn interrupted, and Thatch flushed further.
“I just don’t want to be an inconvenience to anyone, and I know nesting is like, the biggest of all inconveniences.” Quinn stepped into Thatcher’s space and put a hand on his upper arm.
“Hey, listen. You’re not an inconvenience to me, or to anyone. I’m here for you, got that?” Thatcher nodded weakly and Quinn drew him into a hug. Thatch rested his head on Quinn’s and they both took a deep breath.
They still had a ways to go and a lot of talking to do, but they had each other.
-
Bonus:
Thatcher normally nests for two or three days. A lot shorter than most goalies, and for that, he’s grateful. As soon as he feels the nesting instinct kick up in his chest, he’s on edge. He’s never had a solid nesting partner before, but the short amount of time and a good meal usually are enough to make it up to the people his nesting brain chose.
It’s different this year though. This year, Quinn is on the team and Thatcher’s not quite sure how his nesting brain is going to handle it. He hopes he won’t mess things up too badly, Quinn’s too important to lose.