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Chapter Text

Stepping onto the ice is always a magical experience. Feeling his skates skim across the smooth surface never ceases to ground him and excite him all at once. And everything gets magnified after a few months of rest during the off season. Taking a lap around the rink and seeing his teammates filing out of the tunnel behind him just solidifies his confidence in how this season will go. Skating over to the bench, he joins his linemates Kelly North and Josh Sawyers, who seem to be ribbing their defensive partner, Simon Lambert, about something.

“I’m just saying, you absolutely should have said something to him,” North laughs.

“We’re not talking about this anymore North, it is hockey time, preseason training, all that jazz,” Simon says, with a very obvious blush on his face. 

“Markus! Come hear what happened to Simon last night, you’re not gonna believe it,” Josh says as Markus inserts himself between his linemates and leans over the boards to closely inspect a very flustered Simon who is sitting on the bench.

“Bad date?” Markus questions.

“I don’t know how you do that,” Simon remarks, always surprised by Markus’ ability to read his friends, “but yes, epically bad…”

“So…” Markus probes.

“So… I’m not gonna spill the details right now. The team is back together, we are going to play some hockey and I am going to forget about last night.”

“Don’t think you’re getting away that easy, but I’ll humor you for now.” Markus spots a disgruntled Hank Anderson, the Red Wings’ head coach, stepping out of the tunnel with his trademark coffee in hand. “So who are the new recruits?” Markus inquires, slipping seamlessly into his fearless leader captain persona. 

Hank looks at his first line with wide eyes, not yet comprehending the world around him this early in the morning. Kara Williams, Anderson’s co-coach, takes one look at Hank and seamlessly fields the question, knowing it will take at least another fifteen minutes for the man’s coffee to kick in. “We’ve got two fresh rookies. First is Adam Chapman, number 29,” Markus scans the ice, looking for the kid’s number. He eventually spots him, a young and tiny kid, he looks absolutely amazed at being on NHL ice, even if it is just for practice. “Just drafted from Princeton as a sophomore. Plays as centerman, he’s great at finding the slot and having defensemen forget about him due to his size.”

“No kidding,” North comments, following Markus’s gaze.

“Next up we have Josh Sherfield, number 12,” Markus quickly spots the rookie tailing after veteran right winger David Allen, seemingly talking his ear off. “The kid has been in the minors for two years and showed some promise, but this season will be his first in the big leagues. You might also remember number 18, Daniel Philips? He played a handful of games with us last season while people were out with injuries, but he’ll be with us full time this year. Last new guy is new to the team, but a vet of the league. Richard Perkins, number 2. He was a defenseman for the Lightning last season. ”

That seems weird to Markus. Why would the most recent Stanley Cup Champions trade a star defenseman to a team coming off a seasons-long building period? He asks Kara as much.

“Apparently he doesn’t have great people skills, said some undisclosed insensitive stuff and the team wanted him gone. If we can knock some sense into the guy and keep his mouth in check he’ll be an invaluable asset with his playoff experience.” Markus shares a look with his linemates, all understanding to keep a close eye on the man in question. 

“And our returners?” Markus asks, wanting to solidify his knowledge of who he will be working with this season. 

Hank, apparently deciding that he has woken up enough to take questions while he gets ready for morning skate, says, “Obviously our first offensive line is still together with you guys,” motioning to Markus, Josh, and North.

“Not a guy,” North says out of habit. Hank gives her a look, having had this conversation with her a hundred times before. He’s still not awake enough to deal with her teasing. North quickly flashes him a shit-eating grin, signaling that he’s okay to move on.

“Ralph is back from his injury at the end of last season, he’ll stay on his line with Reed and Allen. Defensively, the Jerry twins are still here. Simon is too, obviously, and we’re gonna pair him with Perkins and see how that goes. Luther Parke and Zlatko Andronikov are still our netminders, but I think we are going to start phasing Zlatko out as much as possible this year. Luther is coming into his prime and Zlatko had a lot of injuries last year, I don’t want to push him too hard and ruin any time he has left in his career.”

“Wait, so if the returners are staying on their lines that means you’re putting all the rookies together?” Josh, ever the insightful one, asks.

“That’s the plan for now, we’ll see how the kids play together and if we need to we can move some of the vets around,” Hank replies. He takes a deep breath before stepping onto the ice and skating to center ice. He blows the whistle hanging from his neck and the team forms a circle around him. Markus scans the crowd, seeing both new and familiar faces. He smiles as Hank begins his “welcome to the preseason” speech. He has a good feeling about this.

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With the alarm on his phone blaring, Connor opens his eyes to a cloudy sky and dark room. It might be raining, it’s hard to tell with how dark it is, but it’s still only September, so it could just be the full effects of fall settling in on New York. 

“Stern!!!” a loud knock startles Connor out of his momentary daze. “Turn off the damn alarm and get up! You’re gonna make us late for morning skate.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Connor calls back to his roommate, Tina Chen. Silencing his alarm and rolling out of bed Connor sets about his morning routine. He takes a five minute shower, gets dressed, brushes his teeth, shaves his face, grabs his phone, checks to make sure his bag by the door has all his things. Exactly fifteen minutes later Connor joins Tina in the kitchen where she hands him some toast and a cup of orange juice. 

“When I heard your alarm ring more than twice I was sure you were going to be late,” Tina comments. 

“Then you certainly don’t know me, Chen,” Connor teases, “I’m a creature of habit.”

“We do have to get going though, I want to be early to morning skate. Sniff out the new recruits, you know the drill.”

Half an hour later Tina and Connor arrive at Nassau Coliseum, ready to take on the rigors of preseason workouts and the grind that comes with playing for a team making a cup run this year. When Connor gets to the locker room he notices a few things. The most obvious being that there are way too many people here for the Islanders not to be making cuts in the coming weeks, whittling down their prospects until they determine everyone they’ll need to ensure a successful season and their best shot at the cup. The second is that many players are wearing different colored sweaters. The veterans and team staples seem to be wearing the blue jerseys, rookies in orange, and the floaters who have played in a handful of NHL games seem to be in white. Connor and Tina split off to go to their respective lockers, where Connor finds a white jersey waiting for him. 

When Connor finally makes it to the ice, he feels self conscious. He’s been in the league for a solid three seasons now, and two in the minors, so he has experience. But seeing players he’s played with last season in blue sweaters makes him even more aware of the fact that his sweater is, in fact, not blue. After a few passes around the rink a whistle blows at center ice, prompting all the players present to gather around Elijah Kamski, the Islanders’ head coach of five years. 

“Welcome to practice ladies and gents,” Kamski opens, “as you can tell we have a lot of people here today. The front office is still determining final rosters, so I’m here to help whittle you all down. The first two weeks of training will determine who’s staying and who’s going. We’re making a cup run this year, as you all know, so we need the best we can get. And with that I’ll turn it over to Captain Fowler.”

Connor remembers the captain, a no-nonsense man who gets his job done well. He isn’t necessarily friendly, but he certainly knows how to lead a team. Connor just hopes he’s made enough of an impression during his time with the Islanders so far to make the cuts. Regardless, he plans on throwing his heart and soul into the next two weeks. He’s spent his last three seasons fighting to keep a semi-permanent place on the fourth line, he’s going to make these next two weeks count. He has to. 

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Connor is dead on his feet when he and Tina get back to their apartment that night. He pushed himself as hard as he could, and his knee that got shattered blocking a shot last February seems to be back in working condition. Tina can tell that Connor won’t want to do much but go to bed tonight, so she sets about heating up some leftovers while telling him to go put on one of their shows they’ve been binging during the off season. 

Shambling over to the couch, Connor turns on the TV and quickly gets lost in listening to the MSG reporters talking about the start of preseason hockey and the feasibility of the New York teams taking a shot at the cup this year. The Rangers had a great run last season, making it to the second round of the playoffs, so their roster looks largely the same. The Sabres are still struggling to win games and are going through a complete overhaul of personnel just trying to find something that might keep them in the middle of their division this year. The reporters eventually begin discussions about the Islanders and their upcoming cup run. Connor’s thoughts inevitably drift towards his start in hockey, and daydreams about his name on the cup are soon to follow. As much as his analytical mind might not want to think about the probability of making the team with him in a white jersey today, his heart can’t help but yearn for a successful season. 

Connor wakes a few hours later with Tina standing over him, a concerned look on her face. “You were dreaming again,” she says. “Same stuff?”

Connor nods slowly, trying to remember the quickly fading pieces of his dream that made him react in his sleep enough to make Tina concerned for him. He glances at his phone, and sees two missed calls from one Amanda Stern. His face must fall at the sight because Tina immediately reminds him that he doesn’t have to call her back. 

“I know. I think I’m going to head to bed. Today was long and I don’t sleep well on that couch,” Connor says, retreating to his room while fiddling with his phone.

He rarely talks to Amanda anymore, hasn’t really since he got drafted and quit college to go play in the minors. Connor hates feeling like he failed her, even though he did. She adopted him when he was three and made him into the great analytical mind that he is today. She just doesn’t get how he applies that skill to hockey when he could have been a great businessman and joined her as a junior executive at Cyberlife Industries once he finished college. She gave him a chance at a great life, and he is forever thankful for that. He just, doesn’t want to be a businessman. He wants to play the sport that gave him some kind of outlet as a kid, that he dedicated countless hours to perfecting his positioning and tactics for. Hockey makes him happy, and Amanda doesn’t understand that. And he’s good at hockey, but Amanda never saw the sport as more than a hobby and never realized just how much it meant to Connor.

The two fought at the beginning of his senior year of high school when Connor wanted to apply to be a student athlete and continue to play hockey  in college while also completing his business major. He thinks that the only reason she let him play was because he got into Harvard. So even though it wasn’t his first choice, Connor pursued business and hockey at Harvard, getting drafted in his junior year, where he walked away from school and pursued hockey full time. Amanda was livid when he called her crying tears of joy at being drafted by the Isles. She urged him to decline the position and finish his degree and come work with her. Connor told her that he had already accepted and was in the middle of packing up his things. Amanda made it clear that he would not be receiving any aid from her if he walked away from Harvard. Connor did anyway. It was the first time he felt free. But also utterly lost at what came next.

Amanda tried to contact him a handful of times every year. Generally at the beginning of the preseason she calls trying to convince him to go back to school before he gets entrenched in the season. Whenever the Islanders’ season ends is another time she calls, saying that it’s over and he can make a clean break. The worst was last year when his season ended early with his injury. He woke up after surgery with Amanda across the room. It was the first time he had seen her in two years since she had showed up at the end of his first season in the NHL. She didn’t leave while he stayed in the hospital. She was fawning over the fact that his injury left him unable to play and that this was the perfect opportunity to leave the league, as he couldn’t be positive that his knee would make a full recovery. Connor had hospital staff remove her from his room when she told him he hadn’t made a name for himself yet, so there was “no point in continuing his hockey fantasies on a knee that wouldn’t work anymore.”

He hasn’t spoken to her since then, and recovery had been hell without a good support system. His saving grace had been Tina, his sole friend on the team. The two had bonded early after sharing their history of unsupportive family members. Tina’s parents had wanted her to be a doctor, lawyer, or engineer, and didn’t understand her pursuit of a career in hockey as a woman. Connor and Tina had become fast friends after that, despite both Connor and Tina jockeying for a permanent role on the Islanders’ roster. 

He didn’t want to call her back. He had no reason to. She hasn’t been a big part of his life in years, and has put a lot of stress on his shoulders trying to make her understand him. Make her see that he can be successful, that he can be something. But she took him in at a young age and made his career in hockey possible, even if she did it unintentionally, and he finds himself hitting the “call back” button out of obligation. He takes a deep breath, preparing to have the same conversation he’s had with her a thousand times over, preparing to feel like he’s failed her all over again. 

“Connor,” Amanda’s deceptively soft tone answers from the phone, “thank you for calling me back.”

“Of course, Amanda.”

“Your season started today, did it not?”

“It did.”

“How did it go?”

Connor knows she doesn’t care. She’s just trying to find an opening to get him to quit and return to school. Regardless, he finds himself telling her the truth about the roster cuts and the tryouts that the Islanders are basically holding to find their top players. He knows, knows , that she’s going to turn the conversation around. That she’ll say that he can come back to her if he gets cut. The part of Connor that hopes for a support system in Amanda, however small that may be, hopes to hear her wish him luck in making the final cut. 

“Chances are you’ll be cut Connor. Your knee might never be what it was, and you can go back to Harvard instead of playing in the minors again.”

“I know,” Connor says. Because he does. He knows it was a bad injury. He felt good today but who knows how stiff he’ll be tomorrow after giving it his all. He’s tired. He doesn’t want to talk in circles with Amanda tonight, so he’ll concede to her point if it means being able to end the call and go to bed. 

“Let me know when you get cut Connor, I can make arrangements for you to continue your business degree where you left off.”

“Yeah, sure.” Connor hangs up, not giving a proper goodbye. No “if you get cut”, only when. He just wants to have her believe in him, just once, with something he wants to do. He’s angry, sad, and drained all at once. He plugs in his phone, strips to his boxers, turns the lights off and crawls into bed. With no energy to cry, he curls around one of his pillows and buries his face in it. His mind runs through endless what if’s for an hour before he manages to drift off into an uneasy sleep.

Tina doesn’t question him when she hears him playing his “angsty boi hours” playlist while he showers the next morning.

Chapter Text

The ice has always been Markus’s home. His earliest memory is him and his father out on the lake one winter, him tripping over his bulky skates with every other step. Hockey has been his strong suit since he was old enough to hold a stick. The skating came a little later, but he got there eventually. He remembers little league and being scared to tell his dad, the legendary defensemen Carl Manfred, that he hated defense and wanted to play as a centerman. 

Carl never lets him live that decision down. It always gets brought up during every family function and Markus knows he will forever be teased for needing to be the center of attention. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He likes the attention of being the first line centerman, though he’d never admit that he’s the star of the team.

“How’s the start of the season coming? Team shaping out okay?” Carl asks from across the living room, leaving Markus shaking away memories of the past. 

“As good as it could be. The new rookies are a handful but we’ll reign them in before the start of the season.”

“And how are you feeling about this season?”

Markus looks at Carl for a moment, debating how much he can tell without reminding Carl about how much he has lost. Markus must think too long as Carl calls out, “Markus, you know you can talk to me, right? I had my day in the limelight, and now I’m just an old man in a wheelchair. Life happens.”

Sure, life happens, but sometimes it sucks. And life has certainly dealt a shitty hand to Carl, and Markus can’t help but feel bad for not being there when he was most needed. Carl has always been there to cheer him on from day one, despite the fact that Carl’s heart broke just a little that his son hated being a defenseman. He taught Markus how to skate, how to hold a stick, how to shoot a puck. He was there for every little league, junior varsity, and varsity game he could attend with his own strenuous hockey schedule. Carl was the best father anyone could have asked for. A man busy being a major influence in the hockey world, but never too busy to dote on his son. 

That all came tumbling down during Markus’s second year in the NHL. 

He was coming off the ice after a spectacular game, he’d been immediately swarmed by his buddies on the Wild, all congratulating him on his first career hat trick. Markus knew he needed to get ready to face the press, but all he wanted to do was call his father, who he knew had been watching from back home in Detroit. He doesn’t remember anything he said to the press that night, all hopped up on adrenaline and the ultimate high of making those three beautiful goals. He doesn’t remember seeing the missed calls from Carl’s number, he only remembers calling his father and hearing an unfamiliar voice answer. 

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Carl had been out that night at a gala for his artwork, his new hobby now that he wasn’t playing professionally anymore. He had realized the time and, not wanting to miss Markus’s game, had gone to a nearby bar to watch instead of trying to make the ride back home in time for puck drop. Carl had seen the whole game, all of Markus’s goals, had even stayed to watch the post game interview his son gave. On his way back home he got hit by a drunk driver. It was the hospital who had called Markus, and a nurse that had answered his call. 

______________________________________________________________________

Markus had jumped on the first flight from Minneapolis to Detroit. He had paid a small fortune to get back home, get back to Carl, as soon as possible. By the time Markus’s plane had landed, the congratulating texts from his teammates had turned to well-wishes for him and his father. 

Carl was still in surgery with a critical spinal injury when he got to the hospital. All he could do was wait. Within a few hours he was allowed to see Carl, to hold the hand of his unconscious father while the doctors who operated on him walked him through the major injuries Carl had sustained, and the probabilities of complications once he woke up. 

Twenty-four hours later and Carl still hadn’t woken up. The Wild front office had called Markus a few times since he left, mostly asking how long he would be away so they could fill his position in the meantime. Markus didn’t have an answer for them. He didn’t know when Carl would wake up, he didn’t know how much help Carl would need during his recovery, he didn’t know how long he would be away from Minnesota, he didn’t know if he could return to hockey if Carl never woke up. He couldn’t answer a lot of things and for the first time in a long time he felt like a child again, scared of what would happen when he told his dad he didn’t want to play defense. Except this time he was a scared child waiting to see if he even had a dad to tell anything to.

Carl did wake up. It took thirty eight hours and twenty six minutes in total. Markus knows because he counted. It was all he could do while he waited to see what hand life was going to deal him. 

Things were touch and go for a while. Carl stayed in the hospital while he learned what he would and wouldn’t be able to do post accident. He made Markus go back to Minnesota after a week, saying there wasn’t a lot he could do and that he shouldn’t be missing out on the time of his life just because his old man got himself a bit hurt.

“A bit dad?!?! You did not get a bit hurt! You’re paralyzed, you can’t walk! And you expect me to leave you and go back to my life like nothing changed? Go back like the man who taught me to skate is still fine when, in reality, he will never walk or skate again? How can I go back? You got hurt staying out late to watch me. If I hadn’t gotten the hatty, I wouldn’t have had to stay for press and you would have been on the road sooner…”

“Markus stop. This wasn’t your fault. You know that so stop it. So, maybe I’m an old and paralyzed man now, but that shouldn’t put a stop on your life. Your life that is just getting started if that hat trick was anything to go by. You don’t need to be here to look after your old man when you could go back to Minnesota and become as good a centerman as I was a defenseman.”

“How am I just supposed to leave you, Dad?”

“You call the front office and tell them you’ll be back for Sunday’s game, simple as that.”

“And what about you?”

“I stay here for another two weeks while they get me set up with a slew of doctors, get me on a physical therapy schedule, and get me fitted for a new custom wheelchair. I get all the sports channels though, so don’t worry, I’ll still be able to see you in all your glory kid.”

Markus had been holding back tears the entire conversation, but having Carl joke about him needing to be the center of attention again broke the dam. He pulled Carl in close for a gentle hug and cried into his hospital gown, getting the emotional release that had been building since he learned of the accident. 

He played like shit for two weeks. Not a single goal to his name, and too many penalty minutes for the amount of ice time he was getting. Carl facetimed him from the hospital on more than one occasion to tell him he was fine and to get his head back in the game. Still, Markus felt like he should still be in Detroit helping Carl, not in Minnesota playing hockey. It really sucked that the thing that had been such a staple in his life now seemed to be the thing that hurt the most. What good was hockey if his father couldn’t enjoy it anymore?

Things got a little better once Carl got sent home. Markus had a little more peace of mind that he was safe and being cared for by the best caretakers he could hire. Carl had thrown a little bit of a fit at that, but had conceded when Markus threatened to come back home to take care of Carl himself. As much as Carl insisted that he should keep playing and not worry so much, all Markus wanted was to be back home so he could keep a closer eye on the man who had done so much for him. He wouldn’t be where he was today without Carl, so taking care of him in his time of need seemed like the logical thing to do. If only he wasn’t stuck in Minnesota, of course.

The end of the season brought on contract talks for Markus, now at the end of his two year junior contract. He never told Carl about the talks with the Red Wings, not wanting the man to think that he was coming home specifically to be closer, even if that was exactly what he was trying to do. 

Life decided to give Markus a break though, and Detroit quickly leapt at the opportunity to sign the rising star for a comparably cheap contract. So, in June, Markus packed all of his gear and moved back home. Carl was a little annoyed that his son was moving back in with him, but didn’t argue at being able to see Markus again on a more regular basis. 

They found a new normal together. Markus would take care of Carl while he was on home stretches, cooking meals that Carl could easily heat by himself, taking on minor construction projects to make the house wheelchair accessible, rearranging furniture to comfortably fit Carl and his wheelchair. And while Markus was on the road he hired a caretaker to come by and keep Carl company for a few hours a day. 

Markus’s playing got better too. He felt energized being back home and not constantly worrying about what Carl was up to. He felt like he was finally able to devote more of his time to the game, now that his heart wasn’t being split between playing and wanting to take care of his father. 

Two years later, an almost complete gutting of the Red Wings’ roster left Markus worried he might be traded and would have to make the decision to leave Carl or quit playing. Only three players on the entire team were kept, Markus and two rookies who had just completed their first NHL season. So, at the young age of 24, Markus was awarded the C on his jersey. It was also the first time since the accident that Carl brought up hockey directly to Markus. 

“Congratulations Captain. Awfully young aren’t you?”

Markus looked at his father for a moment, surprised that Carl mentioned hockey in any capacity. It had been the one thing that he knew still hurt after the accident, the fact that Carl wouldn’t ever be able to experience the sport as anything more than a spectator now. Markus’s silence must have been telling, as Carl wheeled over to where Markus had been making dinner.

“It’s a tragedy that I can’t play anymore Markus, but hockey is still a part of your life. Hell, it’s still a part of my life too, just in a different way. I’m proud of you kid, even if you still couldn’t suck it up to be a defenseman.”

A watery chuckle escapes Markus at that, and he looks up from his task to find Carl in a similar state. The two had gone nearly two years dancing around each other when it came to hockey, not quite sure how much the other was ready to talk about something that was so important to the other, but that only Markus would still get to experience. 

And life goes on. Sometimes they still dance around the topic. Just because wounds are old doesn’t mean they don’t still hurt. But life goes on and Markus only needs the occasional reminder that he can still talk to Carl about anything and everything hockey.

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“You still in there kid?” Carl chimes, tapping the table in front of Markus.

“Huh... yeah. I’m still here. Just thinking about everything leading up to this season,” Markus replies, plastering a smile onto his face. Carl understands the feeling, and smiles back at his son.

“Then you gonna answer my question about how you’re feeling about your team?”

“Right,” Markus says, gathering his thoughts and taking a deep breath before continuing. “I have an oddly hopeful feeling about this year. The team isn’t necessarily any more special than it was last season, but there’s something in the chemistry of all the lines this year. I just have a good feeling,” he says with some finality.

“Then here’s to a fruitful season,” Carl says, raising his glass in Markus’s direction.

Chapter Text

Despite his worries about wearing a white jersey during the preseason, Connor finds himself lacing up with the rest of the Islander crew for the first game of the season. Connor can slowly hear the crowd in the arena grow in volume as it gets closer to the start of the game. It gets his adrenaline going, and he feels prepared to take on the entirety of the Boston Bruins by himself. 

“You ready Stern?” Tina pipes up from his left.

“Of course, why would I not be?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say you robot.”

The two get interrupted by a call from Fowler at the center of the room. “Alright everyone I’m going to keep this short and sweet, we’re playing Boston tonight. Keep on your toes and don’t take penalty minutes, they have one of the best power play units in the league and we aren’t here to start off the season with a loss. Get shots on net, play the boards, and keep the game moving, we want to find a rhythm and keep it. We don’t want to let them know what hit ‘em,” Fowler finishes. He pulls on his helmet, grabs his stick and starts the procession down the tunnel and onto home ice. Connor and Tina wind up near the end of the line and only get a few minutes on the ice before it’s time for the national anthem and the game to begin. 

As per tradition when the friends play together, Tina leans into Connor and whispers “Let's go Islanders.” Connor nods, almost imperceptibly, returning his full attention to the puck drop at center ice and sinking into game mode. 

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Markus walks into a locker room full of noise after seeing Carl to his private box above the ice. There’s too many things going on at once to properly comprehend what is happening, but the first to catch his attention is Simon and Josh whispering near their lockers, clearly looking at North, who is talking to Richard Perkins.

“What’s that all about?”

“Apparently the undisclosed insensitive stuff Perkins said was about female players in the league,” Simon answers.

“And North just had to go over there and get some more information out of him,” Josh continues.

“She didn’t immediately want to rip his heart out?”

“Oh she did,” Josh says, “but Simon managed to convince her to go talk like a civilized person first. I imagine if he says anything stupid that’s when she’ll tear him a new one.”

It’s too loud to hear what North and Perkins are talking about, but North clearly has her “taking none of your shit” face on, while Perkins seems to be blissfully unaware of the true scope of the conversation he’s having. Very quickly, things seem to go south if North’s look of shock is anything to go by. She takes a deep breath and straightens her posture before starting what will likely be a very long speech. 

Markus turns to go to his locker, telling Simon and Josh to keep him updated if things get out of hand. He finds Adam Chapman sitting in front of his locker, very clearly nervous for his first NHL game.

“Take a breath, stop chewing your lip like that or you’re gonna get blood on your jersey before you even get out on the ice,” Markus tells him. 

“Yeah, right. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize kid, it’ll be alright. Just wait until you get out on the ice and then everything will melt away. Then it’ll just be you and the puck. I promise it’s not as scary as it seems.”

“What if I mess up, what if I can’t win any face offs, what if I miss a pass, what if --”

“Kid! What did I say about taking a breath?” Markus puts his hands on Adam’s shoulders and looks him in the eyes. “You’ve played hockey before. This is still just hockey. You’ll be great.”

“Has anyone ever told you your eyes are really calming?” Adam asks, his gaze flickering between Markus’s eyes, taking in the full scope of the man’s heterochromia.

“A handful of times, yes,” Markus laughs. His eyes are always conversation starters. Or stoppers in this case. “Go lace up and make your final gear checks Chapman, you’ve got a game to win.”

Ten minutes later Markus stands in the center of the locker room and clears his throat. The chatter stops almost instantly, despite Markus not making a big show about quieting everyone down. He turns around a few times, watching everyone’s gaze fall on him before he starts.

“The Red Wings haven’t been a great team in recent years.”

“Starting off strong Cap,” North chirps.

Markus shakes his head, a good-natured smile gracing his features, “but, I have a good feeling about this year. I have a good feeling about all of you. The team is nothing without its players, and each and every one of you brings something unique to the table. Some of you have 700 games of experience. Others are rookies experiencing their first NHL game. We’ve all got a different way of playing, a different way of reading the opponents, a different way of asking for the puck. But you’re all here today, which means you all can do your jobs and do them well. So have confidence in yourself and have confidence in your linemates. Don’t forget to call plays, let others know what is going through your heads, ask for help along the boards if you need it. We are a team, so let’s play like one. Good luck out there, and welcome to the big leagues rookies.”

“Let’s go kick some Panther butt!” Gavin shouts, starting off a string of similar calls as everyone grabs their gear and follows Markus out of the tunnel. 

Markus can never truly explain the rush he gets as he walks out of the tunnel and into the bright lights of the arena. He will never match the feeling of his skates hitting the ice as the goal horn sounds and the lights change into a mix of red and white. He’ll always smile as he rounds the far corner and sees his teammates rushing the ice behind him. All too soon the anthem is done playing and Markus finds himself at center ice, staring down the center for the Florida Panthers, waiting for the referee’s whistle. Everything goes blissfully silent as the world slows down, the puck drops, and Markus’s stick finds the ice first, winning the faceoff and starting the first game of the season on a win.

______________________________________________________________________

Connor resolutely marches back into the locker room at the end of the game, Tina chattering away behind him. She always talks, no matter his mood, so he is content to let her continue while he slowly comes out of the robotic state that games always leave him in. Connor goes through his post game ritual, taking off his pads with a methodical approach. Tina comes by at some time to mention that she’s going out to have a girls night to celebrate the season opener win with their other female teammates. He’s used to quiet nights by himself, and wishes Tina a fun night. 

It takes much longer than usual for Connor to be ready to go home. This was purposeful however, as Connor was waiting for the most opportune moment to speak to Captain Fowler. Also a creature of habit, or maybe just a little superstitious, Fowler is always the last to leave the locker room after a game. Regardless, it allows Connor to talk to the man after everyone else has left for the night.

“Captain Fowler, do you have a moment?”

“Sure Stern, but make it quick.” Connor takes note that Fowler uses his name, so perhaps he has made an impression over the years. 

“I was just wondering if there was something wrong with my playing, sir.”

“Nothing’s wrong with your playing. You did fine tonight.”

“Then why am I still on the fourth line?” Connor asks, getting straight to the point. “I’ve been here for three years now, I should have a solid position on this team by now.”

“Because you’re just fine. It’s a cup run year, and we’ve been building to this for a few seasons now. You joined a team that needs experienced players, not rookies with blown out knees. You’re a good player, Connor, but you’re not what this team needs for a playoff run. That’s just how it is, business is business.”

“Right. Sorry to bother you then Cap, have a good night,” Connor says, leaving the locker room and rushing to the arena’s exit. 

When the cold October air hits him he feels like he can breathe again. Hockey has always been something he fought for. He fought to keep it in his life throughout college, against Amanda’s wishes, and he fought to make an impact for the team whenever he was allowed on the ice. Hockey always came with some kind of challenge and lately he sometimes forgets why he keeps fighting. Maybe he should start hedging his bets and call Amanda. She’d be appreciative of his return and maybe she was right from the beginning, maybe he just wasn’t cut out for the sport. Shaking his head, he reminds himself that hockey has been the thing that made him feel sane while he was being pushed to breaking during fights with Amanda. It’s always been a place where he could shut down his brain and act on instinct, even if it made him look like a machine on the ice. He was good at what he did, and if others couldn’t see it, that was their problem. He had to believe in himself or he’d have nothing left. So, Connor repositions his bag on his shoulder and begins the walk home, determined to make this year his year. He’s going to win the cup with the Islanders, even if he has to do it from the fourth line. He’s going to do it, and that’s what matters.

Chapter Text

Sometimes just thinking things isn’t enough to actually make them come true. Connor is antsy as he laces up his skates for only the second time this season. Having spent the past week and a half on standby. Watching from home as Tina and the rest of the Islander crew played and won without him is enough to break him from his usual pre-game rituals. He knows that Tina knows he’s off his game too, which is just making him more anxious and it’s just a big mess that keeps feeding itself.

“You need to stop looking at me like that.”

“You need to get your robot face on then, what’s up with you? I’ve never seen you look so human-like this close to puck drop before.” Tina punctuates her statement by poking his cheek.

“Stop that,” Connor complains, grabbing her finger and trying to reel in a smile.

“Yeah that’s more like it, Mr. Roboto. You gonna be okay for this game?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got you next to me, we’re playing the Red Wings, which basically guarantees a win.” Throwing caution to the wind, Connor adds, “What could possibly go wrong?”

“Yeah… about that. Kamski moved me up to the third line, so you’ll actually be playing with Rupert as your linemate tonight,” Tina says, motioning in the direction of a big man who looks like he was meant to fight bears or some other large and dangerous beasts.

“You’re kidding right? You’re up on the third line and I’m stuck with the freight train?”

“Hey, play nice. He’s got a lot of heart. It’ll be fine Connor, besides we’ll still be next to each other on the bench most of the game anyways.”

Connor lets his face fall. He doesn’t want to be on the bench with Tina, he wants to be playing. With her on the ice next to him. He doesn’t want to be left behind on the fourth line. He doesn’t want this. But it’s what he has. And once more, he’s going to make the most of it. The realization that he’ll be playing with a new linemate and has to watch his friend move up the ranks has him humbled a bit. Connor, finally, manages to slip into machine mode.

______________________________________________________________________

They’re away, crisp white jerseys on everyone's shoulders tonight. Markus leads his team out of the tunnel to a chorus of jeers from the opposing fans. He’s not feeling as confident as he had at the beginning of the season. The Wings are coming off a three game losing streak, but he’s determined to put up a fight tonight. Everyone likes a good underdog story, right?

Markus takes a lap around the Coliseum’s ice, letting the way his skates glide across the frozen surface calm his nerves. He joins North, Josh, Simon, and Perkins on the blue line while the anthem plays. Humming along, his eyes trace the pattern of the laces on his skates. When the music ends he puts his helmet back on and skates to the bench. Hank gives everyone a short “go get ‘em boys” followed very quickly by “and you know you’re included in that too, North, don’t even start.” North just rolls her eyes before leaving for the far end of the rink. Markus winks at Hank, making the older man grumble something about “kids these days.”

Markus lines himself up across from Jeffery Fowler at center ice, preparing himself to win the opening faceoff. Apparently, Fowler isn’t content to just take the face off and play some hockey, as Markus feels the man poking his stick at his skates, making him need to reposition himself. 

“Need something Fowler?”

“Just want to know what made your eyes all fucked up,” the man states, motioning with his stick at Markus’s face and set of mismatched blue and green eyes. “Sure you can see okay enough to even win a faceoff?”

Markus has heard a lot of shit talking about his eyes through his entire career. Fowler isn’t even creative with his insults. He’ll just need to show him that his eyes are perfect, thank you very much. 

“My eyes are fine. At least come up with something I haven’t heard before. Keeps my life interesting.”

“Whatever, freak.”

Luckily enough, Fowler’s chirping distracts him just enough that Markus is able to get his stick down just as the referee drops the puck. Markus makes quick work of winning the faceoff, being sure to throw a pointed glare in Fowler’s direction before heading up the ice behind North and Josh. 

______________________________________________________________________

Connor had two minutes of ice time in the first period. Two measly minutes, and the Wings had managed to score in that time. Being on the ice while the other team scores is always hard, but that being the only thing you experience for an entire period absolutely sucks. Still, Connor remains as stoic as ever, waiting for his chance to redeem himself in the second. 

“Travis, Stern!” Coach Kamski calls, his nose buried in footage from earlier parts of the game.

“Yes sir?” Rupert asks, giving Connor a confused look.

“Their first line is being a little more aggressive than we anticipated. I want you two out there with them next shift. Get physical and keep them out of the zone.”

This is the break Connor needs. He’s getting a shot to play against another team’s first line. Connor closes his eyes momentarily, focusing on the sound of skates scraping across the ice and drowning out the noise of the fans. When he feels Rupert get up next to him, he snaps his eyes open and hops over the boards, making a beeline for the puck, which is streaking down the ice on the stick of a Red Wing player. Connor catches up to the man wearing number 9 just as he crosses the blue line into the zone and executes a perfect poke check, knocking the puck off his stick. The man has too much momentum and Connor easily recovers the puck off the boards, skating back up the ice and shooting the puck in deep towards the rival goalie. The whistle blows as the big man (Parke, if Connor remembers correctly) catches the puck in his glove, halting the play long enough for Connor to get a glimpse of the man he had stolen the puck from. 

He’s not bad looking by any stretch. He’s got mesmerizing eyes that threaten to pull Connor out of his machine mode for a moment. But just as quickly as those thoughts enter his mind, he filters through them and refocuses on the game. 

______________________________________________________________________

Markus had it. He had a perfect opening, the Islanders had botched their line change by just a few seconds and he had a clear lane down the ice and was about to be staring their goalie in the face. He looked up to line up the shot as he crossed the blue line and in that split second someone was on him and knocking the puck away. He was so dumbfounded that he lost his footing trying to turn around fast enough to get the puck back. All he could do was watch as number 24, Stern, according to the name across his shoulders, raced back up the ice and took a shot on goal. 

He knew Carl would have a field day with that play when he got back home. 

Markus lines up behind North, protecting the goal, and watches as Josh takes the faceoff in the defensive zone. Josh loses it, and the Islanders quickly take action. One pass to the opposite corner has Markus and North scrambling to intercept the pass, Josh is still tangled up with his faceoff partner, and Perkins and Simon both end up covering the Islander streaking towards the net. It was a mess of a play from the start, with too many people by the net, blocking Luther’s line of sight, and too many Islanders left unguarded. A pass back to the defenseman on the right finds its mark, and Stern rips a beautiful one timer. The world falls silent for a moment, and then a harsh clink of the puck hitting the post rings out. The following seconds are deafening as the goal horn sounds and the fans start celebrating. A chorus of “yes, yes, yes” eventually takes hold in the stands. 

Markus can’t help it as his gaze follows Stern where he celebrates with his team. He has no idea where the man came from, but he had effectively stopped Markus from scoring a goal, only to then score a goal himself. So maybe Markus is a little dumbfounded as to how his perfect breakaway turned into the tying goal. It’s fine, everything’s fine. Now that he’s got a read on the man, he can keep it from happening again. They still have over half the game to play and everyone’s tied at one. Anything can still happen. 

______________________________________________________________________

Connor is very slowly coming down from the extra adrenaline of scoring the tying goal. Tina congratulates him on his perfect steal that set up the offensive zone face off. He manages a smile, the best she’s going to get from him while they’re still playing, before turning his attention to the jumbotron above him to watch his own goal play for the crowd. 

Kamski seems pleased with his and Rupert’s performance against the Red Wings’ first line, so Connor manages to get more ice time than he’s ever seen in a game before. He spends a significant amount of time tailing the man named Manfred around the neutral zone. Manfred can’t seem to find a clear lane and Connor hopes that being a thorn in the man’s side might eventually cause him to make a mistake and cough up the puck. On a botched zone entry, Connor manages to poke the puck off of Manfred’s stick again, right onto the stick of Rupert, who expertly passes it up the ice towards Fowler. Fowler manages a showy deke and easily slides the puck right past Parke. 

More noise and more cheering drowns out the fact that Markus is once again staring at the man who ruined his play. 

______________________________________________________________________

Connor’s machine mode slips easily at the end of the game, unable to contain his joy at the 6-1 win the Islanders pulled. Tina actually runs up and hugs him, congratulating him again on his goal that started the team on its road to victory. Rupert claps him on the back a little harder than Connor would have preferred, but even that can’t shake the smile from Connor’s face. 

He’s happy. He hasn’t felt this way in a while, and maybe it’s just the high of winning, but Connor feels relieved that hockey can still make him feel like the world is his. Connor starts to remove his pads, sharing small talk about the game with some teammates, a rare sight considering it normally takes an hour for Connor to become a person again after a game. Tina notices the drastic change in behavior today and decides that maybe Connor deserves a little bit more happy news.

“So how ‘bout that game, huh?” she asks once they’re ready to leave. Connor grabs his bag and the two exit the locker room.

“I don’t think I’ve ever played that well,” Connor says, holding the door open. The two walk slowly towards the back exit, neither quite wanting to burst the bubble the game had put them in by leaving the arena. 

“You had some great stops, and you were all over their captain, wouldn’t even let him get a foot in the offensive zone. I swear you looked so cool, even with your robot head on. And don’t even get me started on that goal!”

“I felt good Tina. A lot better than I have in a while. I might even say I feel better than I did before I shattered my knee.”

“I knew all you needed was a little ice time, Connor. Don’t worry, you’ll get more starts after that game you just played. They’d be ridiculous not to have you play. Hell, I’ll even let you have my spot on the third line if they don’t start you more.”

The conversation lulls as the two exit Nassau Coliseum, taking in the fresh air and feeling the wind in their hair. As Connor and Tina make their way towards their apartment Connor can tell there’s more she wants to talk about. Connor brushes a hand through his hair, brainstorming a few things Tina might be thinking about. Barring anything catastrophic like Tina being traded, or her wanting to move out he can’t think of what she might want to say, but she looks like she’s about to burst with whatever information she has. He bites the bullet and asks.

“Oh great!” Tina starts. “I just thought that you could use something else happy. Or potentially happy at least. It’s just that, y’know, you haven’t really dated anyone since you got here three years ago and I know it’s because you think hockey should take up all of your time but what if there’s someone who definitely was looking at you like you were the whole world?”

“I think I would know if someone was looking at me like that Tina. I might be a robot sometimes, but I’m not oblivious.”

Tina laughs, sighing out a quick “oh if only you knew” under her breath. 

“I’m serious Tina, no one looks at me like that and even if they did it’s probably because they recognize my obviously superior hockey talent.”

“Oh he recognized your hockey talent all right.”

“Okay fine, I’ll bite, who was it?”

“Oh so now I’ve got your attention? Well… I don’t know maybe I was wrong and he wasn’t actually looking at you that much.”

“Tina. Who was it?”

“Oh y’know. Just the captain of the Red Wings.”

“Their captain?”

“Yes, dumbass. Number 9. Markus Manfred. The guy you harassed in the neutral zone all night. Big C on his shoulder. Blue and green eyes, kinda super hard to miss. Maybe you’re more oblivious than you think.”

“I had eyes on him all night. He wasn’t watching me in anything but a professional capacity, even if I was annoying the shit out of him during the game.”

“So you admit to watching him?” Tina asks. Connor glares at her, trying to make her get back to the point of the conversation. “Okay, okay. So, you were watching him during the game. But did you see how he looked at you after you scored that goal? The whole time he was serving his penalty he was staring at you across the ice too. Hell I even caught him watching you skate off the bench to celebrate with everyone at the end of the game. The man was looking. And I think he liked what he saw is all I’m saying.”

Tina concludes her big speech as the two of them arrive home. They throw their bags down before Tina announces she’s taking a shower and then going to bed. Connor still isn’t quite tired enough to settle down yet, so he grabs his laptop and settles on the couch, the latest Halsey song playing from Tina’s playlist in the bathroom. Connor doesn’t really have an idea of what he’s looking for when he types “Markus Manfred” into the search bar. He carefully steers away from the news articles detailing the crash that happened years ago. He remembers all that from when it broke the news. Carl Manfred had been a legend to him as a kid. Growing up, Carl had been Connor’s hero. Connor had spent many nights watching highlight reels of the older Manfred, only to try and replicate the man’s moves the next day in practice. The crash had been a big blow to the hockey community and Connor doesn’t need to hear the story again.

He doesn’t find much on the younger Manfred in question. Finding his Wikipedia page and his profile on the NHL website is his biggest source of information. Markus had spent time in the minors, before being called up to play for the Minnesota Wild. He spent two years there before the crash happened and then got traded to the Red Wings. Another two years and he was named captain. His stats are impressive but, with many abysmal Red Wings seasons, he has very little name recognition. Connor didn’t recognize him as Carl’s son even after he had learned the man’s name. I guess that’s what you get when you don’t play in the same position as your father, Connor absentmindedly thinks to himself. 

With little more than basic stats to go on, Connor finds himself clicking on the recap for tonight's game. Sure enough, one minute and thirty-two seconds into the video, he manages to pause on a shot of him celebrating with the Isles after his goal. The camera angle offers a good view down the ice, capturing Markus in the background looking at the group of Islander players with a mix of awe and amusement. Not convinced that one shot confirms Markus was looking at him, Connor continues watching the video. There are a few shots of Markus in the box, but the highlights panning across the ice show that he was never following the plays on the ice, but instead looking directly across at the benches. Right before the video cuts to the post-game interview section another shot catches Connor’s eye. It’s one that shows Markus’s face as he looks back at center ice just before smiling, shaking his head, and disappearing down the visitor’s tunnel. Connor can’t tell who he was looking at in the shot, but the few seconds of screen time perfectly capture Markus’s unique eyes and slight stubble across his jaw. Fuck, this man is gorgeous. Connor doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it when he was standing two feet away from him all night. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He couldn’t have been staring at Connor. Because if he was, then Connor might be more than a little screwed.

Chapter Text

Connor paces his living room, listening as the announcers call the plays on the ice. He isn’t really paying attention to the game, the Isles are up by two in the third period. Still, Connor enjoys hearing about the team’s success, even if he isn’t directly contributing to it. 

Even only half paying attention, Connor sees the play coming before it happens. He realizes that the Flames player is going to dump the puck in deep towards the far corner. He notices that Rupert is in the wrong position to go chasing after the puck or to squish the Flame against the boards to prevent her from retrieving her own dump. He notices more red jerseys streaking down his TV, and can’t find enough of his own teammates to cover them. He sees the empty slot and knows with his whole being that he would plant himself there if he was on the ice. 

But he’s not on the ice. He’s stuck in his apartment, standing behind the couch, watching this disaster unfold. There are no Islanders protecting the goal, and the Flames take advantage of it. The woman that Rupert let skate by him passes to a wide open Flame right in front of the Isles’ netminder, who easily redirects the puck on net. The Flames’ bench erupts in cheers as the goal horn goes off. Connor glances at the clock in the corner of his screen. They’ll just have to hold the lead for another five minutes.

______________________________________________________________________

Markus leans over the counter, slipping the bartender a five dollar bill and asking him to switch the TV to the Islander game that he knows is playing right now. He thanks the man, grabs his drink and walks back to his table and friends. Simon and Josh are bickering between themselves, Luther and Kara are watching Alice as she excitedly talks about her day to the Jerry twins. Ralph and Adam are discussing theories for the plot to the new season of the Mandalorian. Gavin is off playing darts across the bar and Perkins is… He doesn’t know where Perkins ran off to, but he does see North looking at him with a very pointed look. 

“What?”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. I saw you slip that guy some cash to change the channel.”

“Sue me, watching hockey is better than Thursday night football anyway.”

“You play hockey, Markus. You don’t need to be watching it on your nights off too.”

“I just wanted to see the end of the game, North. It’s not that big a deal. Cole would have asked to change the channel anyway,” Markus says. Hank’s son caught the hockey bug at a very young age. The fact that his dad is the Red Wings’ head coach and he gets to hang out with the team on a regular basis only exacerbates Cole’s obsession with the sport.

“Cole’s not even here yet! You can’t use that as an excuse!” 

The Anderson’s have impeccable timing though, and Cole comes bounding over to the crew, followed by Hank a moment later. 

“See he’s here, it’s a perfectly valid excuse.”

“Oh sweet, the Islanders game is on,” Cole remarks, looking above the bar. Markus gives North the best “I told you so” look he can muster in polite company. 

“You kids are on Cole duty. I need to go find Reed and talk to him about his contract extension,” Hank grumbles, upset that he can’t have a quiet moment to sit down with his son and team to enjoy a quiet night. 

Cole is enraptured by the game, so Markus and North go back to fighting about why he turned it on in the first place.

“I think there’s another reason why you turned on the game tonight.”

“And what could that be?”

“I think you knew the Isles were playing and you wanted to get another look at Connor Stern after he whooped your ass during that last game.”

Cole must hear enough of their conversation to pipe up, “Stern isn’t playing tonight. He hasn’t been on the Islander bench since he played you guys actually.”

“He hasn’t played since we faced each other? That was close to a month ago. Cole, why hasn’t he played since then?” Markus can’t fathom why a team making a cup run would bench a guy who very clearly had the skills to stop him in his tracks. On multiple occasions throughout an entire game. 

“Stern’s a fourth line floater. He doesn’t normally see a lot of ice time. He had a major injury at the end of last season so he’s probably still recovering from that too.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. The guy skated circles around me all night. Why would they pull talent like that?” At this, North laughs to herself. It draws Markus’s attention, but Cole remains glued to the game on the screen. 

“What? It doesn’t make sense North.”

“You should see yourself Cap. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this invested in a guy… ever.”

Markus blushes. “It’s not like that. He’s just really skilled and I hate to see talent be wasted.”

“Mhm, you keep telling yourself it’s not like that. Y’know you were staring at him the entire game right?”

“She’s right,” Cole comments. “You stared at him the entire time you were in the box. I remember thinking that was weird for you. You’re normally more focused on the game when you’re in the box because you hate feeling like you failed the team.”

“See even the kid knows something’s up,” North says as she gives Cole a high five.

“He just. He came out of nowhere. And I’ve never heard of him before. Obviously the Isles don’t even know what they have in him. He--”

“--amazes you?” North tries to finish for him. Markus’s flat face isn’t enthused at her interjection. “Look, I’m not here to judge. I just think you absolutely knew they were playing and you were hoping to catch another glimpse of him.”

Markus is looking down at his drink when he mumbles something that sounds like “I knew they were playing tonight.” He looks up to find North grinning at him from ear to ear, obviously very pleased with herself. 

______________________________________________________________________

Connor is beside himself when the Islanders take a penalty with just under two minutes to play. Not only will they be a man down for the rest of the game, but the Flames pull their goalie, making it six skaters to the Isles’ four. It makes for a very stressful two minutes. Shot after shot from the blue line hits defensemen left and right. Rupert manages to make up for his bad positioning earlier and blocks a shot followed by two rebounds, saving the game from going to overtime immediately after the puck drops. 

He watches the clock tick down as the Flames hold the zone for a total of 47 seconds. They never once lose possession of the puck. They pick up every rebound, and are playing a flawless game until the end. Connor only sees one opportunity to clear the puck. He shakes his head at Fowler, who he thinks should have gotten a little more aggressive along the boards to force a clear. 

47 seconds. About one and a half shifts, and the four Islanders on the ice have been pushed well past breaking. Connor can see it clear as day as they lag behind the fresh Flames on the ice, trying and failing to poke the puck away from their sticks. Three passes in quick succession leaves three out of four Islanders along the boards, and a perfect shooting lane for the Flame at the blue line. The puck glides nicely through the air, right over the pad shoulder of the Islander netminder. 

With 58 seconds left in the game, the Islander in the box skates back to the bench, head held low. It only takes a second to score a goal , Connor thinks to himself. They could still win this.

______________________________________________________________________

“But Dad! C’mon it’s going to overtime, we can’t leave just yet.”

“Cole, I told you we were stopping by to talk to Gavin. It’s a school night, you’re lucky I let you come with me at all.”

“But the Isles have won every game that’s gone to OT so far this season!”

“Great, so you already know how it ends. Let’s go kid.” Cole looks to Markus and North for help, desperately wanting to stay until the actual conclusion of the game.

“I mean, it’s just a five minute overtime Hank,” Markus tries.

“No, you don’t get to start, hot-shot. The game is in Calgary, which means it’s already too late to be staying up for. And you should know that the actual five minute overtime comes after a normal seventeen minute commercial break. God-forbid it goes to a shootout.” Hank rounds on Cole, grabbing his son’s coat from the chair and tries to get Cole to put it on. “We are going and maybe I’ll let you listen to it on the radio on the ride home.”

“Sorry kid, I tried,” Markus says, giving Cole a fist bump. “I’ll text you if anything drastic happens.”

“Thanks Markus. I’ll look up more facts on Stern, see if I can’t figure out why he’s not playing for you.”

“Oh, uh,” Markus fumbles, hand coming to rub the back of his neck, “you don’t need to do that.”

Markus sees Cole glance over his shoulder, presumably at North behind him, before doubling down. “No, no. It’ll be fine. I’ll figure out why your boyfriend isn’t playing.”

Markus starts to sputter out a few words about how Connor isn’t his boyfriend. He’s never even had a conversation with the man. Stern was an absolute annoyance on the ice. Sure, he was rather good looking, but that wasn’t the point. He was just interested in the man’s playing ability. Before he gets a chance to make his point, North is hopping up beside him and wishing Hank and Cole a rushed goodnight. 

“We gonna wait for OT before we leave?”

“If you don’t mind,” Markus says sheepishly.

“You know I’m just giving you shit right? I’ll back off if you want.”

Markus shakes his head. North is essentially family, and family means you get ruthlessly hounded when you show a fraction of interest in someone. It’s just how it goes, and Markus considers himself lucky that he has people he can trust in his life. The two friends turn their attention back to the highlights from the game that are playing on the screen. 

Before overtime starts, Luther, Kara, Alice, and the Jerry twins all make their way over to say goodnight. As their group whittles down in size, more of them join North and Markus in waiting for coverage of overtime to begin. Gavin joins Adam and Ralph, the three of them talking stats about the game. Gavin quickly tries to get the other two to place bets on who is going to win. Simon and Josh have migrated to North and Markus’s table. Markus scans the bar, realizing he hasn’t seen Perkins since they all arrived. 

“Has anyone seen Perkins tonight?” Markus throws out to no one in particular.

“Oh, did we lose the asshole? Good riddance, he’s absolute garbage at darts and wouldn’t shut up about picking up some girl tonight,” Gavin helpfully supplies. He has no love for the man, but Markus can’t help but feel responsible for his team. Even when they aren’t on the ice. Markus has a feeling that Perkins is probably somewhere stirring up trouble, but there isn’t much he can do if he can’t find him. 

Not even two minutes later Markus’s question gets answered. Perkins is in fact around the corner of the bar, apparently playing pool with some women. All attention gets drawn to their section when one of the women loudly shouts, “Get your hands off me!”

Perkins, apparently, doesn't get the hint. He continues to make a fool out of himself in his drunken state, grabbing at the woman in question and trying to kiss her. The woman swiftly knees him in the groin, knocking Perkins flat on his back. 

“What the fuck!?! I buy you drinks and play with you all night and I can’t so much as get a kiss you bitch!?!”

The bartender is standing over him a second later yelling at him to get the hell out of his bar. Markus, after a split second of shock at the whole situation, immediately jumps from his spot at the table. The rest of the Red Wings crew is close behind him. Markus profusely apologizes to the woman for Perkins’ behavior, before turning to the bartender and promising they are all leaving right now. 

The Islanders losing eighteen seconds into overtime is missed as everyone tries to get Perkins under control.

______________________________________________________________________

Connor is surprised to get a call from the Islander front office moments after watching his team lose on television. He wasn’t expecting any calls from them, and he tries to slow his rapidly beating heart and rid his brain of any thoughts of bad news. He quickly shuts off the TV, wanting to focus his full attention to this call.

“Hello, this is Connor Stern,” he answers.

“Hi Connor. This is Chloe from the front office. I was just calling to formally let you know that you will not be playing in any more games with the Islanders this season. I can make arrangements for your contract to be bought out or traded. You can also return to playing in the minors for the remainder of your time with the Islanders.”

Connor has no words. Sure, he had been a little worried that he hadn’t played in any games since his start against the Wings. He certainly wasn’t expecting to be benched indefinitely. He wasn’t ready for his career in hockey to be over after one great game. He wanted more time, he should have more time. Shit, Amanda had been right after all hadn’t she?

“I, uh, can I get back to you with a decision?”

“Sure. We will need an answer by the end of the business day tomorrow.”

Looking at the clock, Connor sees that it is nearly 12:30 am. He’s got about eighteen hours to decide what he’s going to do with his career. Despite himself Connor lets out a small chuckle. Something about poetic irony, the Isles lose in 18 seconds and now he’s got 18 hours to make a decision that could make or break his entire career in hockey. 

“That should be fine. Thank you Chloe, have a good night,” he says before hanging up. 

He flops onto the couch, only just beginning to process the conversation he just had. He doesn’t have any immediate gut feelings as to what he should decide. Sure, things hadn’t been going how he planned them when he decided to pursue a career in hockey. He’s had to fight for every minute of ice time he’s ever gotten. But Connor never expected his journey to be easy. He never expected to ever be as well known as someone like Carl Manfred either, but he definitely thought he’d be able to find a solid spot on a team three years into his professional career. 

Part of him doesn’t want to be greedy. He doesn’t want to be traded to another team where he’ll just have to fight for a spot on a line again when he already has some repertoire with the Islanders. He’ll just stick it out in the minors for the rest of the season and try again with them next year. Another part of him wants more than he’s been given. He wants to play, wants to become a staple in the hockey world, and he knows his best chance at that is to start the trade talks. The last part of him, the voice that isn’t his, but Amanda’s voice, is telling him to just walk away, since he clearly isn’t wanted any more.

Chapter Text

Tina arrives home the next morning to find Connor curled up on the couch that he hates. 

“You okay there Con?” Tina asks, gently nudging his shoulder. Connor manages to flick his eyes open and over to Tina, but there’s no real recognition behind them. This obviously worries Tina. She’d expect that reaction during a game but he hasn’t played in close to a month.

 “Okay, I’m gonna go make us some coffee and then we’ll talk.” She keeps up a constant stream of mindless chatter while she finishes her task, hoping that something might break him from the state he’s in. When she hands him a warm mug he seems to come back to himself a little, realizing that he’s being handed something and that Tina is in front of him now. 

“When did you get home? 

“About a half hour ago. What happened to you? You seemed really out of it just now.”

“Oh it's…” Connor starts, but trails off, not really knowing how to break the bad news when his teammate is out having a successful year for herself.

“Connor seriously, I’ve never seen you in robot mode outside of a game and you were in some next level robot mode when I found you. Did Amanda call you again?”

“No she didn’t. It’s not about Amanda, actually. It’s… It’s about the team. The front office called me.”

“Oh my god did they trade you? I swear to god if you’re leaving me…”

“I’m not leaving. Well not yet, not officially anyway. They uh… they don’t have room for me on the roster this year. They’re sending me back to the minors but said they’d open up my contract to potential trades if I wanted that instead.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what to do. New York has been my home for the past five years, the Isles have been my team for the last three. I don’t… I don’t know anything else.”

“Shit, Stern. I’m so sorry. I feel like a dick just coming back from a game when--”

“No, no, Tina. Don’t do that. You’ve found your spot. I’m never going to fault you for that. I just haven't found mine yet.”

“Then you are leaving me you asshole,” Tina says, punching his arm and letting her eyes well up with tears a little. Connor stares into his coffee, trying to will his voice not to break as he says, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Connor calls the front office back before noon, well within his eighteen hour time limit. He’ll be back to playing in the minors consistently until he gets traded. So, at least he’ll have some ice time to look forward to in the coming weeks. Probably best that he gets some practice in before being thrown back into the deep end of professional hockey. He certainly hasn’t let himself get rusty in his month off, but training is hard when you’re not consistently on the ice.

The next few hours are consumed with many phone calls between him and his agent. The man isn’t exactly pleased at this sudden turn of events but does his best at fielding Connor’s questions and keeping him in the loop of what teams would even be in need of a right wing defenseman. Connor tries to keep himself hopeful by consolidating some of his belongings. He assured Tina that he won’t be moving out while he’s still in New York, but trades happen fast sometimes and he’d rather be prepared. 

______________________________________________________________________

Kara and Hank had been tense all morning. The two had unanimously kicked Perkins out of the locker room and banned him from morning skate when they had heard what happened at the bar the previous night. Some patrons had even managed to get videos, and sure enough, by the time Perkins had made it to the rink they’d been circulated through twitter and had even made some of the local news outlets. Kara and Hank had left Markus, North, and Gavin in charge of practice while they dealt with the PR nightmare that was brewing. 

“Leave it up to the defending champ to go and screw this season up for us,” Gavin comments, obviously annoyed at all the negative attention that the Wings are getting. 

“I should have seen it coming. The shit he said to me before the first game of the season… it was bad and I didn’t say anything,” North says. 

Simon goes next. “It wasn’t just you North. I was on a line with the guy. The amount of times I’ve had to keep myself from punching him in the jaw whenever he said something about your ass was way too many to count.”

“Look, we all knew he got into some trouble back in Tampa last year. Obviously they’re either really good at covering up their tracks or this was the first time he ever got physically involved with anyone. Either way, it happened and now we have to deal with it. But, as a team, we need to be united on our stance when we face the media,” Markus tells the others, thinking three steps ahead. 

“Excuse my language Cap,” Adam pipes up from the crowd of people, “but fuck that dude.” North lets out an overexaggerated gasp at the kid’s cursing, but quickly schools her features, realizing that this is still a serious conversation.

“I second the kid,” Gavin agrees. More teammates add their agreements, until everyone is on the same page. 

“I’ll go talk to Kara and Hank then. Everyone split into two groups, start running power play drills. Cole has informed me that our power play stats are ass and that we need to be more aggressive with our zone entries and shots on net. Gavin and North oversee each group, you two shouldn’t have a problem with the whole “aggressive” part,” Markus says, punctuating his statement with a wink at his two assistant captains. 

Markus skates over to the bench and makes his way down the tunnel towards the locker room. He drops his gloves and stick on a bench before removing his helmet and placing it on the shelf of his cubby. He’s still planning on getting some ice time in after he finds Kara and Hank so he doesn't remove his skates or any other practice gear before setting off to find the pair in the media room.

He hears the clicks of the cameras before he even steps foot in the room, and is greeted by several disorienting flashes as some cameras get turned his way. Some reporters start asking for statements from the team’s captain, but he ignores them for now, instead making his way towards his coaches. 

Hank and Kara both hold up a hand to cover the microphones in front of them before leaning backwards towards Markus. Markus squats between Hank and Kara, which is not an easy move when he’s still wearing all his pads, but it allows him to whisper to the two. 

“The team’s done with him. North and Simon both had more stories than what happened last night. He keeps playing and this won’t be the last time we all end up in this situation.” Markus’s statement surprises neither of them, but both remain studiously poker faced in front of the media. 

“How fast can we get a replacement defenseman to Detroit?” Hank asks Kara.

“We don’t play again until tomorrow night. If we work fast we could probably find a trade before the day is out and they might be here for the game tomorrow? Worst comes to worst we’ll pull someone up from the minors for a game before the replacement can meet us in Anaheim for the start of the road trip.” Kara is always optimistic when it comes to trade deals. 

Markus is a little more realistic, but understands the time crunch they’re all on. “And you’d have us play with someone we’ve never even practiced with for the start of the road trip? We may as well just keep whatever kid we pull from the minors.”

“Have you seen our minor prospects Markus? They’re not great. Kara’s right, we'd rather have someone with experience in the NHL, even if they won’t have experience with the team,” Hank decides. “Go find whoever is at the front office and get them started on this right now. Kara and I can check in with them when we finish up here.”

Nodding, Markus gets up from his position on the podium and starts walking out. His hand goes to push the door open, but he hesitates for a moment. He hears Hank sigh into the mic and when he turns back around he sees the man wave his hand in Markus’s direction as if to tell him to go on with whatever he has to say. 

Markus remains by the door, but clears his throat before proceeding. Very quickly all eyes are on him. “On behalf of my team and myself, I would just like to say that we are glad to see Perkins go. Hockey, and any sport for that matter, is not a place to breed misogyny, racism, homophobia, or transphobia. I, personally, won’t stand for it and it has no place on my team. The Red Wings strive to be an inclusive group, we’re like a family here. When Perkins decided to get drunk and make a fool of himself and say nasty and downright hurtful things it reflects on all of us. There are consequences for people that promote hate, and the league needs to see that for every situation like this that occurs. The team, collectively, has decided not to play if Perkins remains on our roster, so he will be leaving effective immediately. Thank you.”

The questions begin immediately, reporters wanting to know if he had the power to fire Perkins, or how hard it was to convince the whole team to take a stance that extreme against him. It wasn’t exactly what Markus had discussed with Hank and Kara, or his team for that matter, but Perkins was going to be removed as quickly as possible anyway. The majority of his friends on the team would have followed him in a walk out too, he wasn’t lying when he said that the Wings were like a family. Hank might get a little upset at having to field all the questions his speech undoubtedly churned up, but he quickly bids everyone another farewell, ignoring their questions in favor of returning to practice.

Markus makes a quick detour to the front office to tell them to start looking for a right wing defender and to make it quick before grabbing his gear and skating back onto the ice. Practice stops pretty quickly. Once again, all eyes are turned on the captain. 

“Perkins is out. I told them we were all going to walk if he kept playing, not that I would have expected you all to, I just figured taking an extreme stance against hateful speech isn’t a bad thing.”

“So who’s going to be my linemate then?” Simon asks, obviously doing some quick math and realizing they don't have a lot of time before their upcoming game to get a new person to fill Perkins’s spot. 

“Front office is on it. Worst case scenario we pull someone from the minors for a game or two.”

“We don’t need any more rookies,” Gavin grumbles.

“I know, I’d rather have someone from the league next to Simon anyway. Hank and Kara do too. They’ll push for a replacement. We just have to wait and see.” Markus takes a calming breath before continuing, “So how are the power plays coming?”

______________________________________________________________________

By the end of the business day on Friday they still don’t have a replacement for Perkins. There are some options to choose from, but most of them are either very new players or veterans with expensive contracts. They don’t have a whole lot of wiggle room in the budget, so finding a replacement for Perkins is proving a little more challenging than originally expected, especially with the tight turn around. 

“Hey Markus!” Hank shouts just as Markus was exiting the building. He waits for Hank to catch up to him at the door. 

“Look Hank, I get if my little speech earlier--”

“Nah kid, shut up. Cole’s on the phone, said something about a Connor Stern?” Hank is holding out his phone to Markus and clearly has a puzzled look on his face. Markus tries to battle down his blush as he accepts the phone. At least North left early today so she isn’t here to see this. 

“Hey Cole, what’s up.”

“Connor’s available.”

“I -- what?” Markus asks, mind racing towards thoughts of being able to talk to Connor and get to know the man who has occupied a corner of his brain for the past few weeks. Talking turns into dinner and dinner turns into things decidedly more romantic than they have any right to be. He quickly pushes those thoughts away, not really sure where they came from in the first place. God, what did North say to the kid to get him to pull this crap on me.

“Stern, the guy who you were moping about last night when he wasn’t on TV?”

“I wasn’t --” Markus starts rather loudly, earning him a strange look from Hank. He turns around, affording him a little privacy and hiding his reddening face from Hank. “I wasn’t moping.”

“You totally were. But that’s not the point. The point is, Dad said you were looking for a defenseman. He’s available.”

So that’s what the kid meant by available. It made more sense, he should have thought about hockey first. Cole’s always thinking about hockey anyway. 

“I thought he had a contract with the Isles? They’re just benching him?”

“Yup,” Cole responds, popping the p.

“Shit.”

“Alright, no cursing at my kid.” Hank holds his hand out, silently asking for the phone back.

“Thanks for the info Cole, I gotta go.” Markus hangs up and absent-mindedly gives the phone back to Hank. Markus is lost deep in the possibilities of getting Stern to Detroit by tomorrow night when Hank asks if he’s gonna let him in on the big secret. 

“Connor Stern. Right wing defenseman on the New York Islanders. Cole says he just got benched for the season.”

“If he got benched why is he important.”

Markus refuses to let his personal feelings about the man come into his answer, instead choosing to focus on the man’s talents on the ice. “He absolutely ran circles around me the last time we played. I have absolutely no idea what they’re doing benching a guy like him.”

“You’re gonna vouch for him that hard?”

“You’re seriously leaving this decision up to me, Hank?”

“No, the front office makes the final decisions once they run calculations on the guy’s stats and contract. But if you vouch for him I can maybe help speed things up.”

Markus takes a moment to reflect on the one game he had seen the man play. There was no doubt in his mind that it wasn’t a one off occurrence. The way the man skated, the way he always found the perfect position to be in to shut Markus out of the zone spoke of true talent. His only hesitation in recommending him came with the fact that Markus definitely felt a tug to the man. He’d never even spoken to him, so the whole thing was utterly ridiculous. He shouldn’t have feelings for a guy that kicked his ass and has never spoken a word to, but here he is. Personal feelings aside, Markus thinks Connor would be a shoe in for the team.

“I want Connor Stern.” Hank nods, and immediately gets on the phone. Now all Markus has to do is reign in his own thoughts. He wants to do what is right for the team, and he knows that that means bringing Connor to Detroit. He just hopes he can keep his own heart in check.

______________________________________________________________________

It’s 8:27pm when Connor’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He picks it up after registering that it was his agent calling him. Tina perks up from the next room, coming to stand in front of him while he talks.

“We got you a deal in Detroit if you want it. It’s time sensitive, they’re not going to wait for long.”

“Detroit?” Connor asks, clueing Tina into the subject of conversation. She makes a happy dance at this. Despite the fact that he’ll be leaving her, he can’t help but feel warm at the fact that someone is happy for him. A moment later Tina’s dancing stops though, and she gets a mischievous look in her eye. Connor knows this can’t end well for him, but he can’t exactly ignore her or hang up either. 

“Yes, they’re going to buy out the rest of your contract and add a relocation package since you’ll be leaving on the red eye tonight if you take this deal.” Tina moves towards her computer on the coffee table, opening it up and typing something into Google. 

“I -- that’s uh,” Connor stumbles. He’s at a loss for words at how fast everything is moving. He wasn’t expecting a trade for weeks, nevermind hours. 

“Connor, we need an answer.” Tina holds up her laptop to show him the picture of Markus Manfred that she had pulled up. It was a still from the recap footage of him looking out at center ice. Connor can feel his face soften at the image. Fantasies of a guy that hot looking like that at Connor of all people has his heart doing flips. He almost answers in the affirmative, but eventually his brain catches up. The disastrous what-ifs enter his mind. What if Markus had just been looking at something else? What if Connor had gotten it in his head that this man could have any interest in him at all when he only saw Connor as the guy who annoyed him for an entire game? What if they did get together and it ruined the team dynamic? 

Connor accepts the deal. He wills his heart to get with the program and come at this from a purely analytical view. He’ll get ice time in Detroit. He’ll be able to play in every game in the season. It will let him actually show the world that he can play, that he’s been benched too many times before. Career-wise, this is the obvious choice for him. Connor just hopes his baseless feelings won’t ruin that. 

Tina’s ecstatic at his decision and doesn’t seem to register Connor’s internal conflict. She instead pulls the picture up in MS Paint and starts drawing pink hearts around Markus’s head.

Chapter Text

North is the first one to spot Connor walking into the locker room before the game. She immediately runs to his side to introduce herself and get a feel for the man Markus has most definitely been crushing on. 

“So you’re Connor Stern, huh?”

“Yes, presumably you’re North Kelly?”

“Ah, a man who’s done his homework. What, did you read all about us on the plane over here?”

“Yes, actually. I figured if I wasn’t going to get time to actually practice with you all before the game the least I could do was learn your names beforehand.”

“Not bad Stern. Your locker is over there by Simon’s. He’ll be your linemate for tonight.”

“Sorry, isn’t Simon on the first line?”

“Yeah, you’re here to replace Perkins. Perkins was on the first line. So now you’re on the first line.”

She says it like it should be obvious that he’ll be playing on the first line. Connor is poorly hiding his shock, and he can feel the blood drain from his face.

“You okay? You look like you got paler. I didn’t think that was physically possible.”

“I-- I'm okay. I just, you all know I’ve never moved off the fourth line right. I’ve barely played more than ten minutes in a game before.”

“Except for the one where you handed me my ass on a silver platter,” a voice says, hopping right into the conversation.  

Connor looks up at the man and gets his first glimpse of Markus Manfred without the backdrop of a game. Yeah, he’s totally screwed if Markus is going to be consistently looking at him like that. 

“I-- uh,” Connor scrambles for words. Unable to connect his brain to his mouth, the best he can do is make sure his mouth is closed and that he isn’t staring too much.

“No, no, it was impressive. That’s why you’re here Connor. You ran circles around me that game. Playing on the first line will be just like that, but every game. I promise, there won’t be any more fighting for ice time in your near future.”

“Maybe let’s see how the guy actually plays first before we start making promises, Markus,” North says with a smile and a wink in Connor’s direction. 

“Nah, I’ve got faith I can make good on that one.” Markus punctuates his statement with a wink of his own. “Welcome to Detroit.” 

All Connor can do is watch as Markus turns and walks back towards his locker.

“Holy shit,” North whispers next to him, punctuating the statement as if she’s just had a major revelation.

Blinking any and all thoughts about that wink and Markus in general, Connor returns his attention to the woman beside him. “What?”

“You like him.”

“I don’t--” Connor starts, unable to beat down the flush rising to his face.

“Nope, nothing you’re about to say will convince me otherwise. Your blush is very telling. Oh, this is going to be so much fun. You need to go suit up loverboy,” she says, physically pushing him further into the room and towards his new locker. 

______________________________________________________________________

Markus trails the rest of his team as they all file off the ice, heads hung low. Their game hadn’t gone as swimmingly as Markus had hoped with their new defenseman. Connor had been great, he’d had lots of good stops and zone clearings. However, he did have a tendency to not communicate his thought process during plays, leaving the rest of the line scrambling to catch up with him. Markus isn’t really sure what he expected when Connor began playing, but the lack of practice with the team was evident when they were all on the ice. 

Everyone is quiet as they take off their gear, the rustle of fabric and clunk of skates hitting the floor the only reprieve from total silence. Markus has the feeling that he should make some kind of speech, welcome Connor to the team officially, tell him they were glad to have him there, anything to take the team’s mind off the fact that they’ve now extended their losing streak to eight games. Anything he comes up with though doesn’t seem to fit the mood, so he refrains from speaking. The last thing he wants is to sound ingenuine when welcoming Connor to his new team. 

They all have to be on a plane early tomorrow to start their five game road trip, so teammates start to leave, wishing others solemn goodnights. Eventually, just the first line remains, and all eyes turn to Markus. He still isn’t quite sure what he wants to say, but with only four pairs of eyes staring at him he feels less pressure, knowing what he has to say doesn’t need to be perfect. 

“That wasn’t really the welcome I wanted you to have in Detroit, Connor, just for the record.”

Connor smiles briefly, before returning his features to a rather blank appearance. “It wasn’t exactly the performance I wished to show either.”

“Please, don’t worry about it. I’m sure that it will come as we actually get some practice time under our belts.”

“Godddd, you two are going to be the death of me,” North chimes in. “You know why we sucked today? It’s because Mr. Machine over here doesn’t talk during plays. I don’t know about you all but I’m not a mind reader.”

“North-” Markus tries to interject, pleading with both his tone and his eyes for North to play nice with the new guy.

“No, she’s right,” Connor interrupts. “That’s how the Islanders operate. We run plays left, right, and sideways until nearly every contingency is drilled into everyone’s heads so that we all know exactly where the play is headed. Obviously the game style is a little different here.”

Markus can’t stand how dejected Connor sounds. He sounds like he’s let each and every one of them down, and yeah sure, they lost. But that burden is not placed solely on Connor’s shoulders. Connor’s acting like it is, and Markus feels compelled to dissuade him of that notion. 

“This loss isn’t on you, Connor. Lines change all the time, they need to practice together to get efficient. I’ve seen what you can do on a team that you’ve practiced with, you’re talented. But change is change, and we’ll all have to adapt.”

Simon also adds his two cents, “Hockey is a fluid game, I can’t fathom knowing every contingency for every play. Just remember that we are all out on the ice with you. We’ll ask for the puck, we’ll come running if you call for help along the boards. We are there to support you, and you to support us. Maybe the first step is to try and break out of that mask you had on today?”

Connor chuckles at this. Who would have thought that his robot mode, which brought him success with the Islanders, would be the thing immediately dragging him down with a new team? “Tina called it my machine mode, I kind of fall into this weird space where everything but the puck disappears. It's uh,” he pauses and scratches at his neck. “It’s the only way I really know how to play.”

The group goes silent at this, all mulling over solutions for how to bridge the gap between two very different styles of playing.

Josh is the first one to voice an idea. “Did any of you have plans tonight?”

“Other than sleeping before our early flight, no,” Simon responds. Markus, North and Connor shake their heads too. 

“Well then, why don’t we practice? Rink staff is still here, we can just lace up and get a few hours in, no pressure just us and some pucks.”

North and Simon jump at the chance for more time on the ice, even if that means forgoing some sleep time. Markus is also prepared to do anything needed to get Connor feeling welcomed on this team, but he can sense the man hesitating. “What about you Connor?”

“Well we don’t, uh, we don’t exactly have a coach to run drills or a goalie for the net. So I guess I’m just confused as to how this is going to constitute a practice session.”

“Have you ever just played hockey for fun Mr. Machine?” North questions. “Get your skates on big boy and get on the ice. We don’t need a goalie, we’ll just play to have fun, get some blood flowing, maybe break you out of your shell a little bit.”

Connor hasn’t played hockey for fun since high school. Ever since then he’s had to fight for it to stay in his life, and somewhere down the line it had become his job, rather than something he loved to do just for the hell of it. Still, Connor smiles to himself and begins lacing his skates back up. 

______________________________________________________________________

It took his brain some convincing, but two hours later Connor and his new teammates leave, having made some progress in getting him to be an actual human on the ice. He still has a long way to go in recognizing that he can count on these people, but being able to let loose for a little and just have genuine fun has made him see that maybe he doesn’t need to be so uptight about hockey here in Detroit. 

The four linemates are laughing amongst themselves, and Connor smiles as he watches them tease each other. He didn’t think it was possible to smile this much when he was surrounded by teammates. Especially when they had all lost a game together only a few hours ago. 

Connor feels content, bordering on happy even. The game might not have gone well, but the weight of the loss definitely dissipated as he played with nothing at stake afterwards. He feels rejuvenated and is actually looking forward to getting on the plane at an ungodly hour tomorrow morning in preparation for another game with these people. The fact that he doesn’t have to ask management if he’ll even be playing tomorrow helps too. 

The five Red Wings file out of the arena together, all starting to make their way towards their cars. Connor starts walking towards the parking lot’s exit, when North calls out to him, asking where he thinks he’s going.

“My hotel is five blocks from here, I was just going to walk.”

“We can’t have the newbie walking around town at night. We busted our asses to get you here in time for this game, we don’t need you getting lost and not showing up for the flight tomorrow.” North looks around the parking lot, taking in the locations of Markus, Simon’s and Josh’s vehicles. Markus’s car is definitely the farthest, but she can’t resist playing matchmaker. “Markus can give you a ride, he knows the city the best anyway. He grew up here so he can give you a tour on the ride back.” She then turns to call out to the man, who is maybe ten paces away from them. 

“So, you’re gonna give Connor a ride back to his hotel, show him the sights or something,” she says, beaming at Markus.

Markus’s mismatched eyes go a bit wide, before he stammers out, “But your car is right--” 

“Okay cool, thanks, goodnight!” North says, blatantly ignoring Markus’s protests and getting into the car right next to the three of them. She starts the car and gives Connor a thumbs up before pulling away. 

Connor looks at Markus, who is watching North exit the lot. The man has a striking profile, made even better by the fact that Connor gets to admire it in person this time. Close cropped hair and the slight stubble accentuating his jaw line make for a sight that Connor could get used to looking at. Markus eventually sighs, turning his attention back on Connor. He drinks in the look on Markus’s face before scolding himself for staring, averting his gaze, and kicking some rocks by his feet.

“You don’t have to drive me, it’s only a few blocks. I made the walk earlier today so really it’s no problem.”

“Connor, it’s fine. North’s just… being North. She’s right though, I can let you see some of the sights before I take you back.”

Connor realigns his gaze with Markus’s, the two men sharing a bashful smile before walking to the car. 

Connor has to refrain from looking back at Markus after being dropped at the hotel. Had he looked back, he would have seen that this time it was Markus who was unable to do anything but watch as Connor left.

Chapter Text

Markus knows that she’s staring. She’s been staring all night and he can’t figure out how to bring it up. So, he does what has become his favorite pastime on the bench, and leans into Connor to talk to him. 

“North’s been weird this game, right?”

“Correct, she’s been staring at Rheaume every time we get the puck in the offensive zone. Or whenever she lifts her helmet up to get a drink.”

“We’re gonna need to talk to her about this.”

“I assume by talk you mean tease relentlessly.”

“See there you go, Connor. I knew we’d eventually get to the point of reading each other’s minds during games,” Markus grins, the wide smile lighting up his face. The lights of the arena are bright and Connor swears that Markus’s eyes come close to sparkling. 

Connor glances down the bench at North, who is looking the wrong way to be following the play. He nudges Markus, who stands up and waves his arm frantically in North’s line of sight. 

“See something you like, North?”

“Fuck off Cap,” is North curt response. She takes one last look down the ice at the Tampa Bay netminder, before refocusing on the play in the defensive zone.

______________________________________________________________________

The Red Wings are down 2-0 at the end of the first period. They’ve managed to end their abysmal losing streak during their roadtrip, but against the defending Stanley Cup Champions they hadn’t exactly expected to win. 

Markus thinks that the fact that they’re only losing by two is probably a testament to how well Connor has adjusted to life on the Red Wings in such a short time. Not that he’s biased or anything. Markus shakes his head, zoning in on the conversation Connor seems to have struck up with North.

“So you gonna stop staring at Rheaume or what?” 

“Shut up!!! I wasn’t staring. She’s just like, ungodly hot or whatever. Look, all I’m saying is that if you were into girls you’d also have the hots for the first woman to ever play professionally in the NHL too.”

“Who said I wasn’t into girls?” Connor asks, stealing a quick glance in Markus’s direction.

“Connor, just stop. You’re really not kidding anyone and no one here gives a shit.”

Markus decides that it’s time for him to step in to stop the incessant quarreling between his two friends. “Okay okay. Look, I’m into both, and I will say that Rheaume is attractive. But that doesn’t mean we can afford to have you looking at her the whole game. I need your head back in the game North, we still have two periods left, we’re not out of this yet.”

“You don’t get to talk Markus! You stared at--” North’s eyes go wide before she actually clamps her hand over her mouth. “You know exactly what I’m talking about so don’t even start,” she corrects, poking her finger between Markus’s pads and digging it in as hard as she can.

Markus’s face has grown a shade darker, and to Connor, it seems he and North are having a conversation with just their eyes. They’re obviously battling over some information that he’s not privy to, but his gut is telling him to let it go.

Hank disturbs the whole mess by calling for a team meeting before they head back out to the ice. Markus puts his hands up, conceding whatever point they were arguing over to North. The two eventually turn towards Hank and give him their full attention.

Connor finds himself alone on the bench a few minutes later. Neither Markus or North are around when they usually file out directly after him. 

The two are still bickering in the tunnel. 

“Seriously Markus, talk about hypocrite. You stared at Connor that entire game and you know it, so you’re not allowed to come out here and yell at me for looking at Rheaume.”

“North, I’m really not mad. I just want to make sure your head is still on hockey.”

“Of course it is. The fact that you even have to ask me that is ridiculous.”

“Look I’m just saying, maybe infuriate her by scoring on her and it’ll get you noticed. Worked for Connor didn’t it?”

North doesn’t have a response for that. She stares at Markus for a moment before breaking out into a grin. “See now if only you told him that you noticed him and maybe you might put him out of his misery.”

“I don’t--”

“No no, you both were painfully obvious in the locker room earlier. He looked at you when he tried to deny liking guys, you dropped your super subtle I’m into both. C’mon Markus, maybe clue the guy in.”

Markus looks towards the bench from where he’s standing to find Connor looking back at him with a confused expression. Connor pats the empty space on the bench next to him, clearly asking if Markus was going to join him anytime soon. Markus returns Connor’s question with a clumsy thumbs up, a hard maneuver with his gloves on. 

“He’s literally saving you a seat, you two are actually children.” North rolls her eyes, and makes her way to the bench, leaving Markus alone with his thoughts.

Sure there have been stolen glances here and there. The night he showed Connor around the city briefly had been enjoyable. And maybe he had dropped the whole “I’m into both” thing on purpose. So what. Connor’s nice, he’s talented, and he’s been coming out of his shell more and more with every game he’s played. Maybe Markus likes making Connor’s face light up when they talk, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’s been trying to be subtle so that if Connor wasn’t comfortable everything could be swept under the rug and easily forgotten. 

“Cap!” Connor’s voice calls.

Markus looks up to find the biggest pair of puppy dog eyes on the man’s face. Connor’s big brown eyes immediately pull him in, and Markus finds himself sitting next to the man a few seconds later. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Markus lets out a deep breath, steeling himself. When Markus returns his gaze to Connor’s face, though, he remembers just where they are. They aren’t alone by any stretch, they’re in front of thousands of people, they’ve got their teammates on the bench next to them, they’ve got cameras looking at them from every angle. Despite how he feels about Connor, there’s one thing he won’t jeopardize and that’s Connor’s relationship to hockey. So he forgets about asking Connor out or telling him how he feels and says, “Let’s get those goals back.”

Connor can tell by the look on Markus’s face that there was something left unsaid, but the whistle blows and the second period is quickly underway. 

______________________________________________________________________

After a scoreless second period they managed to tie the game in the third. North had scored both goals. Maybe Markus’s comment about annoying her until she got noticed was actually coming true. 

The five minute overtime was eventful, three pucks hitting the crossbars of both goals, but the game was still tied at the end of it all. 

So Markus finds himself giving a mini pep talk to himself, North, Josh, and Luther. He wishes Luther good luck, reminds him to watch his posts, and thanks the man for keeping the game tied throughout overtime. He then turns his attention to his linemates, reminding them to keep things effective. Shots don’t need to be flashy, they just need to find the back of the net. Both of North’s goals had beaten Rheaume over the glove, so he reminds the group of that fact before the shootout begins.

Luther locks onto the first shot by the Lightning, gloving it down with little issue. Josh’s shot on Rheaume’s pad side ricochets off the post but doesn’t go in. The next Lightning shooter tries a showy fake before reaching around Luther to wrap it into the net. The move has Luther scrambling, but he manages to catch the puck on his skate blade, knocking it just wide of the net. Markus is up next, North wanted the pleasure of closing out the shootout, which she had confidence she would do. Markus stutters a little at the beginning of his run up, but his feet eventually catch back up. His shot is read perfectly by Rheaume however, and the goaltender easily knocks it aside. Shaking his head, Markus returns to the bench. The Lightning send out one of their rookies to take the shot on Luther. The kid misses well wide of the net. 

So now the game comes down to North. She’s already scored on Rheaume twice tonight, and now it’s up to her to end the game. Connor, Markus, and the rest of the Red Wing’s crew watch with baited breath as North calmly skates up the ice. She fakes a shot on Rheaume’s glove side, pulls the puck across the goal to the pad side, and while Rheaume is sliding across the crease to adjust North slides the puck right between the goalie’s legs. The goal horn sounds and the Red Wings rush the ice to celebrate with North. 

Rheaume finds North directly after the handshake line ends. North is smiling like an idiot when she gets back to the locker room.

“That good huh?” Markus asks.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“All I’m saying is that you look happy.”

“I am happy. I know who else you can make look happy,” North says with an obvious nod in Connor’s direction.

“I can’t just--”

“Oh but you can! I’m going out with Rheaume tonight, I want a full report tomorrow on how it goes with Connor. And if that means just having more than a ten minute conversation with the guy then I’ll take it.”

“You’re not my mother!” Markus calls out to North, but she is already halfway out the door and definitely didn’t hear him over the racket of the others celebrating their victory. 

Markus’s eyes inevitably drift to Connor, who is looking down at his phone with a scowl on his face. Markus makes his way over, determined to have Connor enjoy this win rather than be bothered by whatever his phone is telling him.

“Why the long face?”

“Oh uh, nothing. It’s just Amanda, my mother, tried calling me.”

“You call your mom by her first name?”

“She’s not my biological mother and I do because we also aren’t really on speaking terms.”

“Shit, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to pry.” Markus immediately tried backpedaling. This wasn’t at all how he imagined this conversation going. 

“No it’s fine. I don’t mind you knowing that I have a shitty relationship with the woman who raised me.”

“But you do mind if I know that you like men.” The words are out of Markus’s mouth before he even has a chance to filter them. 

Connor blushes. He doesn't have a problem with Markus knowing he likes men. It’s just that it makes it that much easier for Markus to see right through him and realize that he has a crush on one very specific man. And as much as Connor might want Markus to realize that fact, he knows it’s a bad idea.

Connor is finally starting to feel some sense of belonging. It’s something he never felt with the Islanders. In New York he had a sense of duty to the team, but in Detroit he’s finally feeling like the team he plays on is his team. He has meaningful conversations with his teammates. They hang out on off days. He’s been to some of their houses on occasion. They’ve welcomed him with open arms and Connor has been riding that feeling since he arrived. Hell, last week Connor finally bought an apartment and half the team showed up to throw him a house warming party.

The whole Detroit experience has been surreal and as much as Connor wants to explore his feelings for his ridiculously attractive captain, he doesn’t want to jeopardize his spot on the team. Not that he ever thinks Markus would do something like that. But if anything ever happened and then it didn’t work out he knows that teammates would pick sides. There’s always sides in a break up, and Connor doesn’t know if he can handle losing the best thing that’s happened to him in a while. 

So as much as Connor wants to say something to Markus, he just smiles politely and tells him he really doesn’t mind that Markus knows he’s gay. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off as insensitive. I just, um,” Markus runs his fingers over the faint scar on his hairline. Connor has a feeling he knows where this is going, and he doesn’t know if he can hear Markus continue his train of thought. However he also can’t find it in himself to interrupt the man. “North’s been giving me shit about it for weeks and then I came and yelled at her tonight for looking at Rheaume and I was being an ass. Because I’ve been doing the same thing lately and it wasn’t fair to her. But she’s out being happy right now and so I just thought that maybe I’d come talk to you.”

Connor can feel his heart beating in his chest, but he refuses to jump to any conclusions. “I don’t see the correlation.”

“God, you really do talk like a robot sometimes,” Markus chuckles, a quiet and wistful sound. “What I’m trying to say is that talking to you makes me happy. And if you maybe wanted to go out and get some dinner with me I’d appreciate the chance to get to talk to you more.”

Connor is blown away. He has everything he wants right in front of him. He’s got a team that appreciates him, a team that he is slowly starting to love. He’s got genuine joy for hockey again. And he’s staring at a pair of blue and green eyes that he’s been hoping would notice him. And then he goes and shoves his foot in his mouth anyway.

“I’m flattered, Markus, but I’m not sure that’s a great idea. I’ve barely been here a month and I’m finally starting to find my groove and I’m not sure that getting into a relationship right now is what I need. Especially if that relationship is with a teammate. I appreciate the sentiment and I’m glad you told me, but I can’t risk this,” he motions between the two of them, “ending badly and ruining the team. I came from a broken team, I don’t need to break one that obviously has a good thing going.”

Markus is silent, and Connor hates himself a little bit. 

“Sure, forget I asked then. No hard feelings?”

Connor is afraid that his voice won’t work if he tries to talk. He wants to console the man that he has very clearly hurt. Markus has always worn his emotions on his sleeve, but Connor can’t do anything but nod in agreement. 

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow for practice.” Markus gets up to leave, but turns around to take another look at Connor. “If I ever do anything that makes you uncomfortable please tell me and I’ll back off.”

Connor nods again, before watching Markus disappear into the hallway. Connor’s heart feels split in two. Sure, rejecting Markus is the smart career choice, but is it really the correct choice if it makes him feel this bad?

Connor’s thoughts eventually drift back to the phone in his hand. Amanda has always made Connor feel bad about making hockey his first priority. So, Connor had doubled down and made hockey his life. Markus is making him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s more to life than hockey.

Chapter Text

The run up to the holiday break has been going better than anyone could have hoped. Cole is constantly updating Markus on the team’s statistics, often dropping hints as to just how effective Connor has become. 

“That Connor kid seems to be doing wonders for you all so far,” Carl says.

“Yeah, he’s been fantastic. Cole keeps tabs on his stats and they have gone way up since he’s been able to get in some actual ice time with us. And the more I get a chance to skate with him the more I get a feel for how he plays the game which just leads to our top line being that much more effective. He’s finally starting to drop his whole robot mode and communicate on the ice. He’s just kind of this unstoppable force and I’m happy that we were lucky enough to snag him before someone else bought out his contract. It’s nice to see him really find his own, and he’s really just fit right in since day one.”

Carl throws his son a knowing look. He’s heard Markus gush about star players before. This is over the top even for him.

“What?” Markus asks when Carl just keeps watching him. 

“Oh, nothing,” Carl chuckles, “I just haven’t seen you this whipped for anyone since you had that crush on your right wing in high school.”

“I’m not whipped. He’s just a good player, and he’s been getting better with every game he skates with us. He’s good for the team is all.”

“Right, the boy skates circles around you in one game, then you go and beg Hank to get him on your team, and then you talk about how well he’s fitting in with the team. It’s not just stats Markus, I can see right through you.”

“I’m not, Dad. I’m just glad the team is doing well.”

“Mhmm, sure. I must have the wrong definition of whipped then.”

Markus rolls his eyes at Carl, but is also unable to contain the lighthearted smile on his face. Okay, so maybe Carl had a point. A very, very tiny point. His whole thing with Connor started when he skated circles around Markus all night. Markus had looked him up after the game that night. He’d poured over all the footage he could find of Connor’s games in the minors and even some college games. The man really had been stupidly talented. Once Connor Stern had made it to the NHL his name rarely made the news, which perplexed Markus. So what if maybe that mystery kept him interested in the man all the way until that night when he learned Connor was available to come to Detroit. 

Watching Connor during practices and games didn’t shed any light on the subject, but Markus was all too happy to see Connor finally get some well deserved recognition once he started playing regularly. Red Wings fans quickly realized just what they had in Connor, and every jersey with the number 24 on it was soon a best seller. 

The change in Connor had been hard to miss too. His first few games were rough, he still shut down before the start of every game, running on autopilot. It was endlessly frustrating for Simon, who had no idea what his defensive partner would be doing at any given moment, which threw off the rhythm of the offensive trio too. North finally knocked some sense into him one night. She’d forced Connor into her car, rather than letting him ride with Markus as had become customary after home games ever since that first night. Markus could still hear North from his car three rows down. After that, Connor had started to communicate during games, and Markus couldn’t help but marvel at how lively and cheerful Connor could be when he wasn’t focused on being perfect. 

Connor had started to smile more during practices, laughing off his mistakes and listening to criticism rather than just blindly following directions. He had started initiating conversations on the bench, leaning into Markus to talk instead of shying away when Markus leaned in. Markus would be lying if he said that wasn’t his favorite part about having Connor on his team, and even as a friend. 

And ever since the beginning of December, the Red Wings have been scoring goals left and right, winning enough games to make impressive win streaks, and climbing in the rankings, making up for their terrible eight game losing streak at the start of the season. The team hung out on off days and Markus was getting a chance to just get to know his new teammate. At least that’s what he told himself it was. He was just getting to know him in a completely platonic sense because it was doing wonders for the team’s chemistry. 

It also was definitely only platonic because Connor had said that’s all it was ever going to be. He wasn’t ready for anything more serious and he was probably right in that it could fuck up the team dynamic. So, Markus would steel his heart and continue on as he had for the past month for the foreseeable future. It's been working well so far.

“See when you get lost in your daydreams it's kind of hard to miss, kid.”

Markus shakes his head, clearing his mind and looks down to see Carl grinning up at him. The older man clearly knows that his son has fallen off the deep end, despite Markus’s denial. 

“I’m just saying that if he makes you happy Markus, there’s nothing wrong with that. He seems like a good fit for the team, I don’t see him going anywhere anytime soon.”

“See but that’s the thing Dad,” Markus says, all pretense of denying his feelings for Connor forgotten. “I did tell him he made me happy. I let him know where I stand and he’s the one who said he didn’t want to mess with the team dynamic. Because he’s right. If we got together and things went terribly, who knows what it’d do to the team. And as much as I might like him, hockey is pretty important to both of us and I can’t be the one that ruins that for him.”

Carl gives Markus a soft smile, understanding the tough position Markus has found himself in. 

“Well I’m glad you’re at least being responsible about it all and not just pining away in silence. I had to deal with you doing that already. I don’t need a repeat. But who knows Markus, maybe there will be a holiday miracle.”

“Sure, you keep thinking that old man,” Markus says with a good-natured chuckle. “I’ve gotta get prepped for the game tonight, you’ll be okay here for a while?”

“Of course, of course. I’ll see you on the big screen later tonight.” Unable to resist a little dig at his son too, Carl adds, “How can I miss you when you’re hogging up all the attention at center ice?”

Rolling his eyes and grabbing his gear bag Markus throws back a “ha ha Dad” before leaving the house, getting into his car, and heading towards the arena.

______________________________________________________________________

Connor felt unusually uneasy before the game. He didn’t know why. There wasn’t a milestone moment in his career that he was hitting tonight, it wasn’t some traumatic event he remembered from childhood. Things just felt off. 

It was probably the fact that they were playing the Islanders today. The first time the two teams had squared off since Connor had changed teams was sure to be a nerve wracking experience. 

So the fact that he felt off had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he consistently caught Markus throwing him longing stares. And absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Markus usually caught him staring too. And absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Connor has started thinking over the past month that he might just want more, team dynamics be damned. 

No sir, obviously not.

“Ready to see your old friends Connor?” Simon asks.

“Friend,” Connor corrects. Connor has since learned that his time on the Islanders was never fun or enjoyable, he’d really just looked at it as work. Therefore he didn’t classify any of his former teammates as friends. With one exception of course. “Just Tina Chen. She was my linemate for most of the games I played.”

“I swear the more I learn about your life back in New York the more I’m glad you’re here,” Simon says, his open expression showing a genuine care for Connor. “I’m glad we found you and I hope you’re happy you found us too.”

“I really am grateful for my time here. I’m glad hockey makes me happy again. I’m glad to have more than one friend now, too.”

“Good. Then let’s go kick your singular friend’s butt.”

Connor files out of the locker room tunnel behind Simon and Josh. North and Markus skate out behind him, and the rest of the team follows suit. The lights of the stadium flash white and red and the goal horn blaring in the background drowns out the noise of the cheering crowd. 

The Islanders skate out of the visitor’s tunnel to a much less enthusiastic crowd. Both teams take a few practice shots on their goalies, letting them get warmed up for the game. Players on both sides skate around their zones, some are stretching by the blue lines, others talk with their teammates in small groups. 

Connor quickly spots Tina on the opposite end of the ice, taking a shot at the net. Connor waits by the centerline, careful not to cross it, and waits until Tina finishes warming up. 

“Long time no see, super star,” Tina says as she skates over, showering him in ice when she stops next to him. 

“Oh come on, I’m not a star yet.”

“Bigger than you ever were back in New York. Half this stadium is wearing your jersey.”

“Ah, yeah I guess there’s that.”

“You look good though Con, fame does wonders for you.” Tina looks towards the Red Wings bench to find Markus looking at them. “How’re things going with Loverboy?”

Connor blushes after following Tina’s gaze over to Markus. The man on the bench beams at the pair across the ice and gives them a little wave. Connor can’t exactly make up an excuse to Tina, so instead he uses the opportunity to spill his feelings. 

“I don’t know what to do Tina. He’s so damn nice and he’s literally always looking at me like that. And he asked me out once and I--”

“He asked you out and you never told me?!?!? When the fuck did that happen?”

“I, this happened at the beginning of the month. I’d been here for like a month and I was starting to enjoy hockey again and he came over and asked me if I wanted to get dinner after we beat Tampa. And I said no because--”

“What do you mean you said no?!?!? You had that man corner you in a locker room, invite you to dinner, and you just said no? Why?”

“Because, what if we don’t work. I love it here. I’m having the time of my life. I have more than one friend and I just feel good, but I know that if something happened between us it’d fuck with the whole team. I can’t do that to him, this is his team. I’m not going to come here and be a homewrecker.”

“Please, if I had that man,” Tina gestures very obviously in Markus’s direction and Connor has to resist the urge to knock her hand down, “staring at me like he is at you I’d be all over that. I mean, you guys are friends right? So what’s the big deal if you try things out and they don’t go well? You were friends before you can still be friends after.”

“No self respecting person is still friends with their exes. Breakups should be clean, and any breakup with a teammate is guaranteed to be messy.”

“Okay, so while you keep denying how in love with Loverboy you are, maybe I’ll try skating circles around him today and see if I can grab his attention. If you don’t want him that means I can have him right?”

“Tina,” Connor sighs. “I just don’t need this to be a big deal. And anything with Markus would inevitably be a huge deal and I can’t even think about it.”

“Connor I promise you it’s not that deep. You need to loosen up, this isn’t New York. Go have fun with your captain, I really think you both need it.”

Connor looks back at Markus, still all rainbows and sunshine on the bench. Maybe Tina was right, and there wouldn’t be that much harm in trying. They can keep it quiet for a little while and if it doesn’t go well Connor has a feeling Markus would be a gentleman about it, much like he was a gentleman when Connor rejected him earlier in the month. Connor’s eyes slide back to Tina, and the wistful look on his face has Tina nearly squealing. 

“I’m not promising anything. I still think this has way too much potential to go wrong. It’s hard not to indulge him sometimes though, and my rejection doesn’t really seem to have put him off that much anyways.”

“I literally cannot believe this is going to happen. I want every update, you hear me Connor? No more, oh he asked me out and I didn’t tell you okay? I. Need. Details.”

“Alright, alright I get it. I’ll let you know what happens after the game. You could come out for drinks with the crew?”

Tina’s response of “Sounds perfect” is drowned out by the goal horn signaling the start of the game. Players return to their benches, and the starting lines position themselves around center ice. Connor taps Tina’s shoulder in a playful goodbye before joining his teammates on the bench.

Markus quickly scoots closer to him until the two are squished together, and leans even more into Connor’s space.

“That’s Chen right? You two talking about me?” Markus asks, batting his eyes at Connor, completely ignoring the start of the game occurring right in front of them.

Blush quickly colors Connor’s face, but he decides to play into Markus’s game rather than fight it for once. Maybe Tina had made some good points earlier or whatever.

“Yeah, talking about how you were absolutely mooning over me and how I definitely remember rejecting you a few weeks ago.”

“I was not mooning!” The blush on Connor’s face is quickly eclipsed by the redness traveling down Markus’s neck. 

Connor leans into Markus and reaches around him, tapping his stick on North’s shins.

“Doesn’t he moon over me?” Connor asks, hooking his thumb at the embarrassed captain sitting between them. 

North’s face lights up, obviously surprised to hear the two of them speaking so openly about their painfully obvious pining over one another. “Oh abso-fuckin-lutely,” she says, slapping her hand over Markus’s shoulder. 

“Told ya,” Connor says, turning back to Markus. 

“Fine, it’s not like I moon any more than you do so you can’t really talk.”

“I didn’t say you did.” Connor punctuates his statement with a wink, mirroring the move that Markus usually pulls on him. 

______________________________________________________________________

Markus is so shell-shocked by Connor’s blatant flirting, on the bench during a game no less, that he almost botches the line change a moment later. Narrowly avoiding a too many men call, Markus shakes his head before chasing down the puck, determined to keep his mind on hockey for the time being. 

The Islanders are playing dirty tonight. They’re precise and hard to read, making it a challenge to get much time in the offensive zone. Connor at least seems to be able to read their plays and stops a lot of zone entries, giving the Red Wings a little bit of time to regroup. 

Markus finds himself taking a faceoff in the defensive zone against Fowler. The man still doesn’t have any creative insults about Markus’s eyes, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to get under his skin. 

“You’re meager crew over here seems to be getting the job done recently, how long before you all go on another eight game losing streak?”

“Not sure, but I’ll take what they’ve been giving me lately,” Markus says, letting Fowler’s attempts to rile him roll right off his shoulders. 

Markus loses the faceoff, Fowler angling the puck back to the Islander at the blue line. Markus sees the shot coming and slides onto one knee in front of the Isles, attempting to block the path towards the net. The Islander lets the shot fly, puck sliding neatly under Markus’s outstretched leg and under Luther’s glove, hitting the back of the net. 

The goal horn doesn’t sound because the Islanders are the away team, but the five players on the ice celebrate by the blue line, slapping helmets and giving hugs. Markus hangs his head and skates back towards his bench, passing the celebrating Islanders on his way.

Fowler leaves the group of celebrating players under the pretense of going back to his bench to bump hands with the rest of his teammates, but knocks shoulders with Markus before he gets there.

“Out of the way Mismatch. Maybe your eyes are fucked up. You’d think the son of a defenseman would at least know how to block a shot.”

Markus calls out a quick, “Hey, fuck you Fowler” with many more insults on their way before he’s being dragged away by a pair of strong arms and is led back to his bench. 

Markus shrugs off the hands, grumbling about Fowler being a piece of work, and sits on the bench, angrily kicking his skate into the board in front of him.

“Cap, calm down. He’s just trying to be an asshole. He does this to everyone. He’s just trying to start shit, he does it in literally every game.”

Markus looks up from where he was trying to break his skate to find Connor doing his best to calm him down, hand outstretched, offering him a Gatorade bottle. 

“Fucker doesn’t need to be talking about my dad like that, he taught me just fine,” Markus says, accepting the bottle and refusing to elaborate further. 

“I know. You’re an amazing player Markus, you don’t need to stoop to Fowler’s level and get involved. Just let it roll off your back alright? I’ll even buy all your drinks tonight and make up for my former teammates being shitty people.”

Markus knows Connor is being rational and sincere and just trying to take care of him, but it feels stifling. He doesn’t need to be coddled, he just needs to show Fowler that Carl had taught him how to block shots and skate well and shoot and be a decent human being, which was obviously something Fowler had never learned. Markus takes a few pulls of Gatorade before shoving the bottle back in Connor’s direction and hopping back out onto the ice for his next shift.

Markus and Fowler hit the ice at the same time, each skating towards the puck that’s been dumped deep into the Islander’s zone. Fowler easily gets to the puck first by virtue of his bench being closer and goes to start skating behind the net, looking for a teammate to pass to. Markus, however, does not let up on his speed as he approaches the Islanders captain. Markus tries to check Fowler into the boards, but the man quickly passes the puck and sidesteps Markus, sending him crashing loudly into the boards.

“Your old man try and teach you that too? He can probably still check better than you and he can’t even walk anymore!” Fowler yells as he skates after the puck, leaving a fuming Markus down in the Islanders zone. 

Markus can’t think straight as he barrels back up the ice after Fowler. People can make fun of him all he wants, but as soon as they start attacking his father for things entirely out of his control, he’s done. Fowler doesn’t get to talk shit without consequences, and unfortunately the only one able to bring the reckoning right now is Markus. He’s the one Fowler wants to talk about so he’s the one Fowler’s going to get. 

Markus catches back up to Fowler as he crosses the blue line into the Red Wings’ zone. Just as Fowler receives the puck Markus reaches around and smacks Fowler’s stick with his own. He does it so hard that both of their sticks snap in half, and Fowler immediately throws his hands up and looks towards the referee down the ice.

The ref’s hand shoots up, and as North comes to collect the puck the whistle sounds. Markus can’t even be bothered to wait for the referee to begin the penalty call before he tries to get into Fowler’s face as retribution for his earlier words. Connor and North immediately jump into the fray, trying to separate the two men and the other Islanders who came to help their captain. The referees eventually separate everyone, and because no gloves were dropped Markus is the only one to walk away with a penalty. 

“Detroit number nine, two minutes for slashing,” the ref calls to the fans from center ice. 

Markus takes a seat in the penalty box, smacking his new and intact stick against the glass much harder than necessary. There’s three minutes left in the first period, so he’ll at least manage another minute of game time before the break. 

He sits there, helpless, in the box as the Islanders control the game. With five players on the ice to the Red Wings’ four they spend most of their time taking shots on goal. Luther, for his part, saves the team from disaster time and time again as the Wings on the ice scramble to gain control of the puck and clear it down the ice. But, players get tired and even the best of them get sloppy after more than a minute on the ice. 

Markus is watching the clock tick down, seconds left until he’ll be allowed back on the ice. Connor and Simon are fighting two Islanders against the boards when the puck is shoved loose. The puck slides slowly away from the boards and is swept up by an Islander rounding the back of the net. A quick pass to a wide open Islander in the crease allows them to score on Luther again, redirecting the puck under his legs as he moves from one post to the other in an attempt to block the shot.

The door to the penalty box opens as the Islanders celebrate their 2-0 lead and Markus skates slowly back to his bench, shaking his head the whole way.

______________________________________________________________________

As the team walks down the tunnel back to the locker room Connor tries to follow Markus back to his locker. He did his best to try and calm Markus down in the moment and obviously failed miserably if Markus’s penalty was anything to go by. If he used his fifteen minute break wisely maybe he can figure out a better way to get Markus’s head back on the game for the next two periods. 

Connor drops his gear, not bothering to waste time taking off his pads before he starts walking towards Markus’s locker. He feels a tug on his jersey before he gets more than two steps away from his own locker.

“He’s going to call Carl, let them work it out. I know you want to help but when things get personal the only thing that’s going to help him is talking to Carl,” Simon says with a solemn look on his face. Clearly he’s seen Markus go through this before and knows just how hard it can be for him to deal with without hearing Carl’s voice.

“I just feel like I fucked up when I tried to help him on the bench. And I knew Fowler could be an asshole but I never would’ve thought…” Connor trails off and he looks across the room, watching Markus leave with his phone pressed to his ear. 

“We’ve all tried over the years. He went through a lot when Carl got hurt and he wasn’t always around to help while he was recovering. Hockey means so much to the both of them and it’s been kind of stolen from Carl, and Markus still feels guilty about that, so when people attack Carl, Markus takes it rather hard.”

“What does Markus have to feel guilty about? Carl got hit by a drunk driver, it was just pure dumb luck wasn’t it?”

“Carl was out late watching Markus get the first hat trick of his career. Markus thinks if he hadn’t scored, Carl would’ve been home earlier and therefore wouldn’t have gotten hit.”

“Shit I had no idea.”

“Most people don’t. Just, let him take his time. Keep him talking once we get back out on the bench, don’t let him get back in his own head once Carl gets him out of his funk.”

Connor nods, and turns back to his locker to finish undressing for the rest of the break. He shoots one more wistful look towards the door that Markus exited earlier, hoping the man would come back with a smile, or at least less of a scowl, on his face.

Chapter Text

“Been a while since you called me during a game. What’d he say to you,” Carl’s voice drifts through the phone in Markus’s hand, an immediate balm on his conscience.

Markus sighs, gathering his thoughts so his father doesn’t think he’s lost his mind over some inconsequential comments. “He started with the usual, eye comments and everything I’ve heard since I was playing as a kid. Then I missed blocking the shot and he bumped me after saying you must have been a sucky teacher if I can’t even block shots, so I took a few swings at him. Connor tried calming me down on the bench but I was just so angry--”

“What did Connor say?”

“What?”

“Connor, what did he say on the bench?”

“I don’t know,” Markus tries to think through the angry thoughts that were occupying his mind to recall what Connor had said to him. “He… he said I was a good player who didn’t need to stoop to Fowler’s level. And he said he’d buy my drinks tonight to make up for his former teammates being assholes.”

Carl laughs and Markus moves the phone away from his ear to make sure it’s really Carl that he managed to call. He’d expect Carl to be trying to talk him through this, reassuring him even, not laughing in his face.

“That boy has got it so bad for you. Doesn’t know quite how to fix you when you get in one of your moods but appealing to your talent and offering to buy you drinks? Kid couldn’t be less subtle.”

“Dad that’s not what this is about,” Markus tries to argue.

“Maybe not, but it’s the only part I’m interested in. People are always going to talk, Markus. I had a great career that’s over, and you have a great career now. You’re fine, I’m fine. You’ve got to let it roll off your back or get better at fighting, and kid, you’re a centerman which means you have to be the pretty boy. No way you can get in fights and preserve that face your defenseman seems to love so much.”

“He doesn’t like my face! End of story Dad!”

“Ahh, see there it is. Now you’re yelling at me, which means you can’t actually be feeling all that guilty. Hang up the phone and go get those goals back, son.”

“Yeah,” Markus chuckles. “Sure thing. Thanks Dad, I love you.”

“Love you too, kid.”

Markus strides back into the locker room with two minutes left in the break. He never got undressed so there’s little to do for him to prep for the next period. He spots Connor across the room, studiously relacing his skates, and feels compelled to go apologize to him.

“Hey,” Markus calls softly as he bumps his skate with Connor’s.

“Hi,” Connor says, not looking up from his remaining skate. 

“I, uh, wanted to apologize for earlier. I wasn’t exactly the nicest to you on the bench.”

“Please, don’t. Fowler is an ass and he always will be. That doesn’t give him the right to throw shit about Carl back in your face. I’d probably be up to my eyeballs in rage too,” Connor finishes, a withdrawn smile on his face.

“Okay then,” Markus nods, “I’ll try to keep myself in check for the next two. But uh--” Connor gives him a confused look. Markus hadn’t exactly planned on flirting after apologizing but seems unable to help himself around Connor. 

“What?”

“I was just going to say I wouldn’t turn down your offer of drinks, if that still stands.”

Connor beams at him, seemingly happy to have the awkwardness of the first period behind them. “Of course, though I did say I was dragging Tina out tonight too. So whoever wants to come out tonight is more than welcome, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

North comes and pushes between the two men, wiping the dopey smiles off both of their faces. “Alright, glad you two made up but we have some goals to get back.”

Markus rolls his eyes at her, “Aye aye, captain.”

“Hey look,” she shoots back, “if you’re not going to do your job I am more than capable of doing it for you.”

“Fair enough,” Markus says, sweeping his hand out in front of him and allowing both North and Connor to walk out onto the ice in front of him.

______________________________________________________________________

The Islanders have not let up the pressure or pace they set in the first period. The Red Wings are still often battling for control of the puck and have a meager ten shots on goal so far. Fowler hasn’t stopped chirping Markus every time they’re on the ice, but Carl’s words during the break seem to be working. Fowler, however, seems to be getting increasingly annoyed that Markus is no longer taking his bait. 

Connor manages to strip the puck off an Islander stick and skates it to center ice before shooting it around the boards so the puck ends up behind the Islander’s net. Markus, reading Connor’s play, quickly skates after it. His impressive speed through center ice and avoidance of the Islander’s defenseman means that Markus catches the puck as it begins to creep back out from behind the net. Markus is facing the boards, back to everyone on the ice, protecting the puck. He doesn’t even have a moment to look up and try to find a linemate to pass to before Fowler is on him, checking him into the boards. 

The back of Markus’s helmet smacks against the glass, and the rest of his body folds in a very unnatural position. He lands in a heap on the ice, hands grabbing at the back of his neck as Fowler skates away with the puck.

The hit was, by all accounts, an illegal one. You can’t hit a man when his back is turned to you and he has no chance of bracing for the hit. Plus the NHL has been cracking down on their concussion protocols, and the potential for concussions goes up infinitely when players get checked into the boards head first.

Had North been on the ice, rather than just reaching the bench for a line change, she’d have gone after Fowler in a heartbeat as payback for the cheap hit. As it was, Connor happened to be the one closest to the action, and Fowler was skating towards him anyways. Amazingly, the referees had yet to blow the whistle despite the fact that Markus was clearly going to need some assistance getting off the ice. 

Regardless, Connor locked onto Fowler, dropping his gloves and stick as he approached his former captain. Fowler took the bait easily, dropping his own gloves and abandoning the puck in favor of taking on Connor. 

At the dropping of gloves the referees finally blow the whistle, allowing the trainers to come running onto the ice to check on Markus. Connor can’t focus on any of that though, not when he’s staring down a man who’s got at least 50 pounds on him and has a few fights to his name. Connor has never fought anyone before. But in defense of his captain and friend, he felt ready to take on the world. 

The two men circle each other before Fowler lunges and grabs Connor’s jersey. Two quick hits knock Connor’s helmet off, his visor catching him just below his eye. Connor is momentarily stunned and definitely out of his element. His movements are clumsy and he has no idea where to put his hands or how to move his feet to get better leverage on the bigger man. 

He vaguely recalls Cole telling North about her fighting statistics. How she needed to get in closer when she was fighting bigger people, get in their face and don’t let them have room to maneuver their fists to get clean hits in. Connor’s not really sure how to accomplish that but he manages to get a decent grip on Fowler’s chest pads and lets his left fist fly. He misses his mark, scraping his knuckles against Fowler’s plastic visor before his fist meets flesh. 

Connor drags his hand down the man’s front looking for something to grab. He finds a handful of jersey just as Fowler gets another clean shot to Connor’s cheek. Pain flares all over, Connor’s injuries seemingly catching up to him the longer the fight goes. Feeling himself falling slightly off balance, Connor lets his right hand go wild. Two shots meet Fowler’s helmet and pop it off. The next two find his face. The last one his lower jaw.

Fowler’s fist comes up around the hand that Connor was using to grab, knocking his grip loose. It finds home when it connects with Connor’s jaw, throwing him in the direction he was already falling. Fowler seizes the opening and lunges at Connor again, taking him down and crushing him into the ice. The referees are on them after that, pulling them apart as they continue to grab at each other.

The left side of Connor’s face is throbbing. His knuckles on both hands are bloody from hitting too much plastic and not enough skin. One referee leads him to the penalty box, where the trainer hands him a towel to clean his wounds with. His cheek is definitely split and spilling blood from where his own visor caught him earlier too. As Connor gets cleaned up he realizes he never saw Markus get taken off the ice. 

He had been so worried about getting at Fowler for the cheap hit that he didn’t get a chance to check on his own friend. But that’s what teammates do. They defend your honor against assholes who think illegal hits are okay and they come to your defense quickly, regardless of never having fought before, much less ever having won a fight. 

Connor chances a glance over to his bench, ignoring the calls coming through the glass from Fowler, who is also sitting in his penalty box. Hank and Kara are engaging in a hushed conversation, undoubtedly about what to do with the lines now that Markus has been led off the ice to get checked for a concussion. Simon, Josh, and North don’t look super concerned however and are giggling amongst themselves as they watch Connor’s atrocious attempt at fighting play on the jumbotron above them. 

He takes this as a good sign. If his teammates were actually concerned as to Markus’s wellbeing they would be looking significantly more serious than they do now. So, Connor thinks everything will probably be fine. Markus probably wasn’t seriously injured, he had his first NHL fight and even landed a few okay punches on Fowler. So what if he lost the fight, Fowler deserved everything he got and Connor would gladly do it all over again to defend Markus. 

The referees finish picking up all of Connor and Fowler’s dropped gear, returning it to them in their boxes. The head ref skates out to center ice, preparing to call the penalties. 

“New York, number 93, and Detroit, number 24, five minutes for fighting.”

______________________________________________________________________

Markus wasn’t allowed to return to play, and the Red Wings had a hard time filling his void. They managed to score once in the third, but weren’t able to make up the two goal deficit to get them a win. 

Connor’s hands were killing him. His face hurt, and probably looked a lot worse than just the simple cut he thought he had. And every time he flexed his hands they ached. Every knuckle was split and he had a deep purple bruise that was spreading on the back of both hands. He was immensely grateful for the fact that the holiday break meant he’d get a chance to rest. Not having to pick up a hockey stick for five days was sounding very appealing at the moment.

With Markus leaving in the second period, Connor figured he’d be walking home tonight. He’d already called Tina and let her know that he’d be holing up on his couch with a bottle of aspirin and would have to take a rain check on those drinks he had promised earlier. 

He’s the last to leave the locker room, taking extra time to be careful with his hands while he was taking all his gear off. He gingerly readjusts his bag on his shoulder after closing the door. Connor meanders down the empty hallways, taking his time to think about the events of the game. And definitely not think about everything that happened tonight involving Markus.

But, of course, he doesn’t get very far before he’s interrupted by the man himself. Markus is waiting by the exit of the arena, a calm smile on his face.

“What are you still doing here? I would’ve thought you went home after you got cleared.”

“And miss out on driving you home? Nah. Besides I had to say thank you for jumping Fowler for me. I saw the replays, you definitely need to get some pointers from North and Gavin.”

“Yeah yeah, literally everyone’s been ragging on me for not knowing how to fight. I wasn’t looking to win or anything I just needed to show him that we’d stand up for you.”

“I know,” Markus says. He has a wistful smile on his face and his eyes are gleaming with words left unsaid. “That’s why I needed to stick around and say thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Connor says, a smile threatening his lips before he winces. “Smiling hurts my cheek apparently,” he says, motioning towards his split cheek. His gesturing requires him to move some of his fingers, which only makes him wince harder. 

“Jeez, I saw your face earlier and thought that was it,” Markus says, gently grasping Connor’s hand to inspect the damage to his knuckles. “This looks painful.”

Connor pauses a moment, watching Markus’s fingers ghost over his own hand. 

“Hurts a ton. You’d think I would at least know not to punch the hard plastic helmet, but here we are.”

“We’ve all been there,” Markus chuckles. “They’re going to get worse before they feel better. I wouldn’t be surprised if you can’t move your fingers tomorrow. What are your holiday plans, do you have someone who can help you take care of all this?”

The hopeful look on Markus’s face makes him look young and innocent, like a child asking his parents if he can have a sleepover. Connor shakes his head, and Markus’s smile morphs into a concerned look.

“Were you going home for the holidays or…” Markus trails off. 

“No one to go home to. Amanda and I don’t get along and I don’t exactly have any other family. I’ll promise to take it easy though. I’ll make some food or something tonight so I won’t have to do anything other than heat some stuff up tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening. Holiday break is a short period of time we get during the season to spend with family and friends, so that’s what you’ll be doing. Get in the car Stern, we’ve got places to go.”

Connor’s not exactly sure what Markus has up his sleeve. But the man seems to be in good spirits, and Connor is loath to break his happiness. When they arrive at Connor’s apartment complex Markus parks the car rather than just idling by the curb. 

Markus gets out of the car and grabs Connor’s gear bag from the trunk, carrying it up two flights of stairs to Connor’s door. Connor lets the two of them in, letting Markus drop his bag in the front hall.

“You have anything you desperately need to take with you for a five day getaway?” Markus asks, the first words he’s said since leaving the arena. 

“Uhh, I guess. There’s another bag in my closet.” Markus studiously follows Connor through the apartment to his bedroom, letting Connor rummage around for the bag but shooing him away after it is plopped on the bed. 

“Any clothes in the closet you want?”

“My two flannels and my Harvard sweatshirt?”

“Okay, shirts?” Markus says after putting the proper clothes in the bag and opening the top drawer of Connor’s dresser.

“Whatever, I’m not picky.”

Connor watches as Markus sifts through some of the folded shirts. He picks out one Red Wings shirt and studiously avoids any Islanders gear Connor still has. Two more graphic t-shirts are packed into the bag. Markus then finds some of Connor’s long sleeves and packs two of those. 

“Any urge for fancy slacks over the break?”

“Absolutely not. Considering my hands will be a mess I think I’ll just be lazing around anyways.”

Markus grabs a few pairs of jeans and some sweatpants for Connor. He also throws in a pair of basketball shorts in case Connor wants something cooler to sleep in. He pulls on the last drawer, revealing Connor’s socks and underwear. Markus’s eyes go a little wide, something he tries to cover up very quickly.

“I’ll uh, let you grab whatever else you might need. What do you need from the bathroom?”

“Just my toothbrush, deodorant, hair gel and face wash I think. You going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope,” Markus calls out as he enters the bathroom. Finding all of Connor’s necessities on the counter, he gathers them and returns to the bedroom.

“Seriously?”

“Yep. You should take some painkillers before we leave, we’ve got about a forty minute drive.”

Connor goes out to the kitchen, rummaging around in his medicine cabinet for the proper pills. He turns around to find Markus standing by the fridge, holding his bag and looking like he wants to help.

“The cups are right there next to the fridge, if you want to grab me one.”

Markus nods, reaching up to open the cabinet. His sweatshirt rides up his stomach, revealing a toned set of abs that Connor has to wrench his eyes away from. Markus fills the cup for him, seemingly unperturbed at Connor’s staring, if he even noticed. Connor downs the medication and places the cup in his dishwasher. He looks at Markus for a beat, each just watching the other before Markus breaks the spell.

“You ready to go?”

Connor pats all his pockets, checking for his phone, keys, and wallet.

“I’ve got a phone charger in my gear bag, but otherwise I should be set, yeah.”

Markus walks back to the front hallway, crouching down to find Connor’s charger in the side pocket and transfers it to the new bag. He walks to the door and holds it open for Connor, holding his hand out as Connor passes. 

Connor, somehow knowing exactly what Markus was asking for, reaches into his pocket to produce his keys. Markus studiously locks the door before putting the keys in the bag next to the charger. Markus’s beaming smile meets Connor’s staring eyes.

“After you, Stern.”

Connor’s not sure exactly what’s happening anymore. The help with packing was nice, but he’s not sure exactly what he’s packing for. He appreciates the help, especially as his hands seem to be getting more painful as the night drags on. That being said, things between him and Markus seem a little… off balance. As if neither really knows what the other is comfortable with. They don’t talk as Markus loads Connor’s bag in the car and pulls back out onto the Detroit streets. Things are awkward, though Connor can’t pinpoint why. He’s injured, Markus is helping him. Just two friends leaning on each other, right?

Markus turns on some music, allowing the noise to float through the car and fill the space neither man seems to want to fill with conversation. Connor finds himself resting his head against the window, watching the Detroit lights pass him by as Markus drives them away from the city.

Chapter Text

Markus pulls into his driveway just as the clock reaches midnight. Carl will hopefully already be asleep, so smuggling Connor into the house should be a breeze. Not that Carl would mind Markus bringing home a guest, Markus just isn’t sure he has the mental capacity to deal with his father’s jokes right now. 

He parks the car and realizes that Connor has fallen asleep against the door. Markus reaches across the console, gently shaking Connor’s shoulder. Connor mumbles something, but doesn’t wake. 

“Connor,” Markus tries, shaking a little more. 

His eyes flutter open, blinking away sleep. Connor’s head spins around, scanning Markus, the car, and the large house in front of them. 

“Where are we?” Connor asks, voice quiet and lower than usual.

“My house. Figured you could come stay with me and Carl for the break. The Anderson’s are supposed to be coming over at some point too.”

Connor’s eyes go wide at the mention of Carl Manfred. 

“Shit, you brought me home to meet your dad? After I made a fool of myself during that fight?” Connor slumps back down in his seat, hitting his head against the headrest in defeat. “He’s like my biggest inspiration. God, why didn’t I get this information sooner?”

“Calm down,” Markus says, squeezing the shoulder he never let go of. “He’s probably already asleep and I promise he’s just a person. But he’ll let you pick his defensive brain I’m sure. Besides he’ll be happy to have more company, the fact that it’s you just means I’ll be made fun of in the morning.”

“Why’s that?” Connor asks, mind still reeling from the fact that he’s going to get to meet Carl Manfred. He completely misses the hint that the reason Markus is going to be made fun of is because it's Connor that he brought home. 

“Just because it’s you. And I told Carl what happened earlier this month when I asked you out. And because I told him what you said when you were trying to calm me down on the bench. And basically because he thinks we’re both in love with each other.”

Markus’s honesty surprises himself. All he can do for a moment is let his statement hang between them. His mouth eventually catches up to his mind in an attempt to fix everything he just spilled.

“Sorry, I uh. Just know that I’ll take the brunt of it, I promise to tell him off if you don’t want to talk about it. He’s family so he’s going to pick on me but I can tell him to knock it off if it makes you uncomfortable. Shit, I should’ve thought this through more.”

“It’s okay. I appreciate it. You were just trying to make sure I had help with my fucked up hands, and if it means I’ll also get to pick a legendary defenseman’s brain at the expense of a little teasing I think I can handle that.”

Both men share a shy smile. Neither has explicitly said anything romantic towards the other since Markus asked Connor out, but the fact that neither is refusing to endure some teasing about their feelings towards each other speaks volumes.

“You okay to go in then?”

“Sure, you gonna grab my bag?”

“Of course, Stern.”

______________________________________________________________________

Connor lays in a giant bed by himself. Markus put him up in the guest room next to his own. The clock reads 2:37 am. He’s been trying to fall asleep, he really has.

It’s just that the fact that he’s at the Manfred Mansion is kind of intimidating. The Carl Manfred is somewhere in the house, Markus is sleeping in the room next to him, and all he can think about is how terribly things are bound to go tomorrow. 

He and Markus had skirted around each other all night. Connor had tried to help Markus on the bench, he’d gone and fucked up his hands for Markus, Markus had waited for him, had come daringly close to doting on him while they were at Connor’s apartment. Markus had taken him home, promised to introduce him to Carl, and had offered to make sure he wouldn’t be teased once Carl met him.

Fuck. That meant that Markus talked about him to Carl. Carl already knew who he was, presumably because his son has a crush on him. God, what had his life come to. 

It was probably a sign that he was so worked up about all this right? The fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about what Markus had said in the driveway. That Carl thinks they’re both in love with each other. North probably thinks the same thing too if her reaction to Markus and Connor flirting on the bench was anything to go by.

Maybe he is halfway to falling in love with Markus. All he wanted to do today was help the man when he was hurting. Hell, he fought someone twice his size just to defend Markus. And then Markus turns around to be all sweet and caring, making sure he took pain meds and giving him gauze for his hands before he said goodnight. The way he said goodnight too.

Connor will forever be playing it in his head. The husky “Goodnight Connor'' where Markus’s eyes seemed reluctant to peel away from his own. Maybe he’s finally ready to admit to himself that he was sad to see them go. 

He can pretend for a weekend right? He can have Markus dote on him with his messed up hands as an excuse to be pampered and he can talk hockey with Carl and pretend like this is the perfect little life he can live forever. Once the break is over, the two of them can go back to being teammates. They can go back to the longing stares and the not so subtle flirting. And Connor will always have this weekend in the back of his mind. 

It’s the best of both worlds really. He gets a trial run of life with Markus in it, and he can easily return to normal once the break is over. Because that’s what he’ll want to do. Because that’s what he has to do. Because dating teammates is just messy. Right?

______________________________________________________________________

Markus wakes up to his alarm at eight the next morning. The sun is just starting to peak over the horizon, so he doesn’t have to squint against the morning light filling his room just yet. He groans as he rolls over to turn off the alarm. Eight is much too early to be up, especially on a holiday, but he told himself he had to be up to intercept his dad before Connor woke up. 

Carl might give him some flak for bringing home Connor unannounced but there would be no hearing the end of it if Carl managed to meet Connor without warning.

He gets dressed in some flannel pajama pants and a dark grey t-shirt before making his way downstairs. He starts with coffee. He’s going to need a lot of coffee if he's going to make it through today. 

Fifteen minutes later he’s halfway through his first cup and is feeling awake enough to start thinking about food. He picks through the contents of the refrigerator. Not finding the ingredients to make omelets, he moves onto the pantry. There he does find all he needs to make pancakes, they’ve even got chocolate chips and blueberries to give Connor some options. Markus makes quick work of setting up the batter, but holds off on actually making the pancakes until he gets Carl up. 

Climbing the stairs again he doesn’t hear any noise from Connor’s room, and he makes a mental note to go searching for some more pain killers for when he wakes up. Moving down the hall, he opens the door to Carl’s room. He’s still sleeping, as Markus predicted, but it’s almost nine now, which is an acceptable time to wake him. Markus pulls the curtains back, exposing the room to some desperately needed sunshine. 

“Good morning, Dad.”

“Ugh,” Carl mutters, shielding his eyes from the ray of sunshine that has landed on the bed. 

Markus makes his way to his father’s bedside table to administer his morning medications. “It’s almost 9:00am. It’s Christmas Eve, and the weather is a slightly cloudy 30 degrees with a chance of snow later this evening.”

“Why so early?” Carl grumbles.

“Because,” Markus says, as if that’s an acceptable answer. 

“You’re no fun, you should be resting after that hit yesterday.”

“I assure you I am absolutely fine. I have a slight bruise on my upper back, but otherwise I’m no worse for wear. Besides, I’ve already got breakfast ready to go.”

“Trying to impress me, are we?”

Markus sees this as as good a time as any to spill his secret. “Not you I’m trying to impress.” He finishes administering Carl’s medicine and looks at his father with a bashful gaze. 

Carl’s momentary look of confusion slowly morphs into a grin. “Bring somebody home last night, did we? I figured your days of sneaking love interests into the house without my knowledge was over.”

“Hey look, I apologized for that. I was young and stupid.”

“Please, at least tell me it’s Connor? If I have to deal with you sleeping your way through Detroit because you can’t get a date with one guy I might throw you out of the house for Christmas.”

Markus is unable to hide his smile. Not that it would have mattered, his blush was extremely telling too. 

“Look, he beat up Fowler last night and cut his hands to shreds. There’s no way he’s going to be able to move them today. And he said he didn’t have any family to go home to so I figured we’d keep him company and I’d get to at least make sure his hands get taken care of properly.”

“You’re babbling again,” Carl says, poking his son in the chest. “You’re totally whipped.”

Markus sighs. “Okay fine, maybe. Just a little. Just, please be nice to him. I know he was ridiculously excited to meet you last night.”

“Oh I’ll play nice, just don’t expect me to not give him the father talk.”

“Yeah I figured that was coming. I warned him last night,” Markus says, rubbing his eyes in exasperation.

“Alright, well get me out of bed boy, I have a suitor to go meet. And food to eat too, but suitor comes first.”

“ Please , don’t call him that.”

“Nope, you don’t get a say in this. I am your father, it is my job to embarrass you and Connor, so I’m going to do just that.”

______________________________________________________________________

Connor wakes to the morning sun streaming across the room. He can hear voices downstairs and everything from the previous night comes flooding back to him.

He pulls on some sweatpants and one of his flannels, hoping that it’s formal enough to meet Carl in without looking like he was trying to make their meeting into a big ordeal. 

The first roadblock Connor runs into is pulling his flannel on. The sleeves grating against his hands borders on too much to bear. So, Connor decides to skip the flannel in favor of his Harvard sweatshirt that’s a size too big for him. The sleeves are much softer, plus they’re big and slip over his bruised hands more easily. 

Connor makes a pitstop in the bathroom before heading downstairs, checking on how his cut cheek is doing. The cut itself has stopped bleeding, but it still looks angry and red. Connor thinks he might ask if Markus has any of those fancy band aids that pull two sides of a cut together. The bruising from the cut has also migrated to the bottom of Connor’s left eye, giving him the slightest tinge of a black eye.

He runs his hands under some warm water, hoping to clean some of the dried blood off. He gets interrupted by a knock at the door a moment later.

“How’s everything looking today?” Connor hears Markus call from the hallway. 

Rather than calling back, Connor moves to open the door. It takes him a second to get his hand wrapped around it and to squeeze tight enough to actually get it to turn without hurting too badly. 

“Not so great I guess,” Connor says after taking a look at Markus’s reaction to his face. “The face isn’t even the worst of it,” he says as he holds up his hands. 

“Try not to punch anymore plastic anytime soon. There’s some bandages and ointment in the closet. Do you want help?”

Connor can’t refuse when Markus is looking at him so earnestly. The two sit down on the edge of the bathtub while Markus gently dabs away the remaining blood on Connor’s hands. 

The ointment itself doesn’t burn, but getting it to stay on his hands requires some pressure, which is extremely uncomfortable. 

“Sorry, sorry. I promise I’m trying to be gentle.”

“I know, not like I could do any better with my busted hands anyway.”

Markus delicately wraps Connor’s knuckles before moving on to prodding at Connor’s face. His calloused fingers ghost over Connor’s cheek and Connor has to suppress a shudder. Markus’s eyes intently study the cut. Connor knows because he was intently studying Markus’s eyes. 

“This looks inflamed,” Markus says as he gets up to rummage through the bathroom closet again. “We’ve got a few of those fancy little band aids that pull your skin together, if you want to try those.”

“I was going to ask if you had any,” Connor replies, a soft smile gracing his lips.

“Do you, uh, want me to do it?” Markus asks, suddenly shy.

“Please,” Connor whispers, reflecting Markus’s shift in mood.

Markus turns Connor on the tub’s edge before kneeling in front of him, wedging himself between Connor’s legs so he can get close to his face. Markus moves to put some cream on the cut before bandaging it, causing Connor to wince once again.

Connor knows that Markus’s eyes flutter to his lips when his face twitches. He watches as his set of blue and green eyes move from his cut to his lips for a moment. He watches them move up his face to lock with Connor’s big brown pair before they quickly snap back to Connor’s split cheek. 

Connor can feel his heart thudding away in his chest. As Markus continues to move his hands over Connor’s cheek, Connor takes the opportunity to study the man more. He’s certainly never been this close to Markus’s face. It allows him to truly take in the freckles peppering the man’s nose. It allows him to see the small scar on Markus’s hairline. It allows him to see Markus’s eyes squinting in concentration, revealing a small set of wrinkles at the corners of his mismatched eyes. 

The only word that Connor’s mind can conjure up is beautiful.

All too soon Markus is standing up and patting Connor on the legs, urging him to stand as well. Markus quietly puts away all the supplies he used before offering Connor some more aspirin. Connor gladly accepts, swallowing them and following Markus to the top of the stairs. 

“Breakfast is all ready,” Markus offers, trying to ease the tension that had built while tending to Connor’s wounds.

“He’s downstairs already isn’t he?”

“Yeah. He’s going to like you, don’t worry.”

“How are you so sure?”

Markus shrugs. “I like you. Hard to think why he wouldn’t.”

______________________________________________________________________

Breakfast is a boisterous affair. Connor and Carl get along seamlessly. To the point where Markus determines he needs to go food shopping for dinner tonight and neither man really feels like moving to accompany him. They’re lost in their own conversation, talking so rapid fire about defensive hockey plays that even Markus struggles to keep up. 

By the time Markus has returned from the store, the Anderson’s car is already parked out front. Cole comes bounding from the front door, looking to help Markus bring the groceries inside. 

“You didn’t tell me Connor was here. Why is Connor here?”

Markus sighs, not surprised in the slightest that those were the first words out of Cole’s mouth. “Hi Markus. How are you Markus? Can I help with the bags Markus?” He teases, trying to avoid answering the kid’s question for as long as possible. If he never voices his feelings that totally means that they’re not actually real and he can keep living in his little fantasy bubble.

Cole rolls his eyes, picking up two bags from the trunk before muttering a “Hello Markus.”

“When did you guys get here?

“About a half hour ago. Dad needed to excuse himself to laugh when we walked in to see Connor and Carl bickering over stats in the living room.”

“God, I’m literally not going to escape this break with any dignity am I?”

“You’re the one who brought Connor home. And don’t think I didn’t immediately blab all this to North, who was very disappointed she didn’t hear it from you, by the way.”

“Oh great, why not just tell the whole world while you’re at it.”

Cole grins, “Oh I’m sure North has by now.”

Markus ruffles Cole’s hair before shaking his head and grabbing the last of the bags. The two join the rest of the party back inside. Finding Carl talking about some highlight of his, Cole quickly drops the bags in the kitchen and joins Connor on the couch, listening to Carl with rapt attention. Hank takes a moment to find Markus’s gaze and nods at him, tipping his beer in Connor’s direction. Not for the first time today, Markus finds himself battling a blush and rolling his eyes to avoid any deep conversation about just why Connor has been included in the holiday festivities. 

First on the list of preparing dinner tonight is the vegetables. Peeling the carrots and throwing some of the frozen veggies into the microwave is a simple enough task for Markus, allowing him to also listen in on the conversation flowing from the next room. 

“So there I was, staring down Wayne Gretzky…” he hears Carl start. He’s heard this one since he was a kid. While Gretzky is generally hailed as the best hockey player of all time, Carl Manfred had been the one defenseman in the league who could ever put a stop to the man’s scoring abilities. Drafted in the same year, the two had quickly become rivals of sorts, but both were good natured about it after their respective retirements. 

“But he’s the top goal scorer of all time, how did you even think you could stop him?” Cole pipes up, making Markus smile to himself.

“Now you’re thinking too hard. He’s just a man, and no one is perfect. Sometimes you need to take the time to study your opponent. Know that when they lift their head to look past you at the goal is the second they’re not paying attention to the puck on their stick.”

Markus enters the living room carrying some light finger foods and some more drinks for everyone, playing the role of host perfectly. “And from there all it takes is a simple poke check to stop the greatest in their tracks,” Markus finishes his father’s story, earning him a smile from Carl in the process.

“You’ve heard this story before?” Connor asks.

“That story is why I wanted to become a centerman. I had these grandiose ideas that I could do what the great Gretzky couldn’t and skate right past my dad’s defenses. Didn’t exactly work out that way but…” he trails off, not meaning to have brought down the atmosphere with a mention of Carl’s inability to play hockey.

“Ah but see,” Carl starts, “you had one advantage Gretzky didn’t. You followed my advice. You studied me from the minute you started skating, so I’d say you had a little bit of an advantage against me in the end.”

“Bah, don’t listen to him,” Hank interjects. “He’ll give you all these ideas that you’re so great, and then next thing I know my captain is slacking off during practices.”

Connor, feeling brave and more at ease as the day had progressed, says, “Markus wouldn’t do that. He knows North is gunning for his job and he’d never hear the end of it if he lost the captaincy to her.”

Many things happen at once. Cole laughs, and begins rattling off stats at Markus, pointedly telling him that her stats could grant her a valid shot at displacing him, should the team ever choose to oust him. Hank starts grumbling about how the team would become an even bigger pain in his ass if North became their fearless leader. No doubt he’d have to corral them even more to get them to pay attention and not talk back to him. Carl begins to pick on Markus, saying none of this would be a problem if he’d just stuck with being a defenseman, as they don’t need to rely on the attention of the fans to be good captains. He says this with good authority, as he’s speaking from experience so obviously that rule would hold true for Markus too. 

All Markus can do is raise his hands in defense as everyone starts yelling over each other. He’s smiling though, so at least he’s having a good time amidst all the chaos. 

That’s what all this is. Connor leans back on the couch, taking a moment to savor just how crazy the house had become from his one nonchalant comment. He’s never experienced anything quite like it. Having people be loud and boisterous without being angry is a new concept for him. But the longer the argument over Markus’s performance as captain goes on, the more Connor thinks that he could get used to this. 

He’s found himself smiling more than ever lately. The move from New York to Detroit has made him into an entirely new person. Sure, he’s still got hockey. But he’s quickly realizing that he may have stumbled into a family too. And he couldn’t be more grateful for where he’s found himself. 

Amidst all the conversation Connor’s eyes find Markus’s. Despite the fact that he’s being attacked for some hypothetical situation he can’t control, a smile graces his face. He’s laughing, like this happens every day. Connor watches as Markus’s smile grows that much brighter, making his eyes crinkle at the corners and somehow making him so much more attractive.

Connor didn’t think it was possible to find happiness this close to hockey. But he too feels his smile widen as he looks at this man. This beautiful man who has taken him home for the holidays. Who introduced him to Detroit. Who has shown him the meaning of being a functional team. Who retaught him how to enjoy playing hockey. Who, however unintentionally, has shown him just how nice having people in your corner is. 

He thinks back to the previous night. The conversation in the car. Carl’s belief that the two were already halfway in love. He has to break eye contact with Markus, afraid that the man might see right through him and the blush coloring his face a rosy pink.

Nonetheless, he smiles into his lap. Maybe Carl was onto something.

Chapter Text

Markus wakes to his phone buzzing from a string of texts.

Connor:

| Thank you for this weekend.

| I went home so you don’t need to worry.

| We can just pretend break didn’t happen right?

| I mean it’s not that I didn’t enjoy it, I did.

| I just figured it’s probably for the best.

He groans, rolling out of bed and walking down the hall. In the guest room that Connor had taken residency in for the past four days, Markus finds all traces of him gone. 

Markus sighs, rubbing his eyes. He figured this would happen. He knew he shouldn’t have done anything, knew he should’ve just kept respecting Connor’s wishes to not pursue any relationship with a teammate. 

He’d been pining over Connor ever since October. It’d only gotten worse once he actually got to know the man. Maybe he hadn’t been taking Connor’s rejection as well as he thought. But he’d also thought that Connor might’ve been having second thoughts since then. 

God, he’s an idiot. He should’ve just asked. If he’d talked to him, explicitly, about how he felt rather than just hinting at it over the break maybe he wouldn’t have gone and fucked it all up. 

He’s an idiot and Connor was right. 

“I thought I heard you brooding out here,” Carl says, wheeling himself towards Markus.

“How can you hear me brooding, that doesn’t even make sense.”

“Markus.”

“He left this morning I guess.”

“I know, he came to thank me for letting him stay.”

“He did?” Markus asks, looking for any information he can get on Connor now that he seems to have gone and messed whatever thing they had up. 

“I would’ve figured he’d told you too, but I suppose that explains your brooding.”

“I just.” He shakes his head, not really knowing where to start. “I just thought that --”

“Well there you go. Mistake number one, assuming you knew what was going through his head.”

“Yeah, I guess. It makes so much sense in my head, I didn’t think that he was feeling any differently.”

“So then talk me through it.”

______________________________________________________________________

Connor makes his way into his apartment after catching a taxi back into the city. Throwing down the bag that Markus had packed for him he goes to the kitchen, turning on the sink to splash some water on his face.

He shouldn’t have left. That made it worse right? Running? Connor doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything when it comes to relationships.

God, was it even a relationship? There had been flirting sure, but certainly nothing that you could really qualify as a date or anything that securely puts them into the “dating” category. Then why was he so worked up about this?

The break was nice. It was so nice. He got to enjoy his time off, rather than worry about what it would be like once he got back on the ice. He got to enjoy his time with Markus too, which just made for an extremely pleasurable bonus. 

Markus was just being nice. Courteous even. He’d just invited Connor over so that he’d be able to take care of his injuries properly. That’s all. 

So of course Connor had to go and look too far into it and fuck it all up. He should’ve just accepted Markus’s help and not pushed. Markus had made it clear he was giving Connor his space anyway. Connor said he didn’t want to start anything with a teammate, and Markus was being so good about respecting that. 

Only Connor didn’t want him to respect that anymore. Connor wanted, and spending four blissfully normal days with Markus by his side just made him want the beautiful man more. 

After the first night and a slightly silly Christmas, the Anderson’s returned home. Carl, claiming to be tired out from two days of entertaining guests, mostly left Connor and Markus alone for the remainder of the break. 

Markus kept up a strict routine of replacing the bandages on Connor’s face and hands, each time getting slightly more bold with the glances cast towards Connor’s face. And no, not the cut on his face, just his face in general. Connor would watch on as Markus worked on him. Would watch his face contort in concentration. Would watch Markus’s eyes leave his work to study Connor in return. 

It was invigorating and frustrating all in one. 

Neither one was bold enough to make that first move, and Connor was convinced it was because he’d rejected Markus and Markus was just being a gentleman. So, obviously that meant it was up to him to cross that line and let Markus know that he wanted him. Right?

And it wasn’t just the looking. Without Carl to use as a barrier, the two had to make their own conversation. At first, they had returned to a state that looked much like the visit to Connor’s apartment. Neither one really wanting to speak more than necessary in fear of saying something wrong. In fear of breaking the spell that seemed to be pulling both of them together. 

But eventually, the silence gets broken. They stop dancing around each other so much. They start with hockey, a safe topic for the both of them. Hockey turns into winter activities, which turns into hobbies, which turns into discussions about which movies actually did the books justice, and eventually the two are lazing the day away in front of the television, sharing their favorite movies with the other. 

Today, Connor woke up in the early hours of the morning sprawled on the couch and entirely too warm for a December night. It took him no more than two seconds to register that he was lying on top of Markus, the two having fallen asleep watching whatever movie they’d decided on. 

He looked peaceful. Connor wished more than anything that he could just curl into him again and pretend that he was still sleeping. Let Markus wake up first and decide what to do from there. 

Connor was still taking in the freckles peppering Markus’s nose and cheeks when his pair of blue and green eyes fluttered open, finding Connor’s easily.

Neither said anything. Connor had obviously been caught staring, and the two were still literally entwined together on the couch. Connor’s heart had been racing and he needed Markus to say something, anything. 

Markus remained resolutely silent, eyes flicking between Connor’s, searching for some kind of answer.

So, words having failed Connor too, he leaned forward, angling his face towards Markus’s.

“Connor.” 

His name escapes Markus’s lips just as their noses brush together, halting Connor in his tracks. This time it’s Markus who watches as a pair of deep brown eyes flutter open at him.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve woken you up last night when you fell asleep.” 

Connor shakes his head, slowly peeling his face back from Markus’s. He can’t quite pull himself to completely get up yet though, still savoring the warmth of Markus’s body underneath him. 

“No it’s --” Connor tries.

“It’s not fine. You set an expectation at the beginning of your time here. I said I wasn’t going to push, but I think I may have overstepped a little during this break. And I know I told you to tell me if any of it ever bothered you, but I realize that’s probably a big and awkward ask. So I’m going to apologize if any part of this made you uncomfortable. And I’ll understand if you need some space at the arena after this.”

Markus’s face is drawn tight, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as if what he’s saying is the hardest thing he’s ever had to say. Connor wants to say that it’s fine. That this long weekend has been the most fun he’s had in a long time. That he really does want to give this a try because his heart, his whole being, just wants.

Before he can even form a coherent thought to assure Markus that he wants to try, consequences for their potential breakup be damned, Markus is shifting under him, moving to get up from the couch.

Connor backs off. He lets Markus stand. He gathers the blanket he found wrapped around them tighter against his shoulders. 

“I um,” Markus rubs his neck and shifts his weight from one leg to another. “I really didn’t mean for this to happen. I thought I could control myself around you, but I, uh. I’m obviously not taking your rejection as well as I thought I would.”

“Markus.” He has no idea what he was going to say. He just needed to say something, anything that would get him to stay. Anything that would stop him from beating himself up over something that Connor wishes he would embrace. But nothing comes to mind. It’s too early and Connor is too strung out from coming so close to kissing Markus to hearing his rejection speech. 

“Please don’t, Connor. It’s my fault. Have a good night.”

Connor watched as he silently disappeared into the dark house. He listened to the stairs creak a moment later. He heard Markus’s bedroom door close. And then Connor let himself cry. 

______________________________________________________________________

“So he fell asleep on me and I couldn’t bring myself to wake him up, Dad. So I pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and got comfortable. And he just curled up into me. The next thing I knew he was staring me down in the middle of the night and I wanted so bad. It was so easy to believe that if I kissed him it would all be okay, that the world would tilt on its axis and just settle in the perfect spot. And then he was leaning in and all I could think about was what he said when I asked him out. That he was worried about what could happen if it didn’t work out between us. And so I just. I just stopped him and apologized for overstepping and not respecting his wishes about boundaries and went to bed.”

Carl sits across the table, shaking his head at his son. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re hopeless sometimes.”

“Dad.”

“You bring a boy home and show him the best weekend he’s had in a while and then you go and stop him from kissing you?”

Markus faces Carl’s pointed glare with an exasperated sigh. 

“It’s what he wanted!”

“Back in November, when he was still adjusting.”

“I’m not following.”

“You’re dense when you’re in love, you know that? People change their minds, Markus. But you’d only know this if you have a conversation about it. Stop assuming you know what he’s thinking, because I bet you it’s not what he was thinking back in November. But, I would ask him to make sure I was correct first.”

Markus’s hands come up to rub his eyes. “I really hope I didn’t fuck this all up.”

“You need to go tell him you didn’t stop him because you didn’t want to kiss him but because you were still thinking about what he said earlier this season. Talk to him before you start all this self-deprecating shit okay. I don’t want you moping about the house for the foreseeable future.”

“I’ll talk to him during practice tonight. Thanks Dad.”

“Anytime kid.”

______________________________________________________________________

Markus knows that Connor is always early for practice, an old holdover from trying to always make an impression while he was on the Islanders. So, that’s why he arrives at the arena a full hour before practice is even scheduled to begin. He might have fucked up a little bit this morning, but he still knows Connor. He knows his habits, and he gets him.

The door clicks open. Markus looks up to find Connor staring at him. He looks very much like a deer trapped in some headlights.

“Look, can we talk?” Markus asks, jumping up before approaching Connor slowly, somehow afraid he’ll spook him. 

“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize again. You said your piece this morning, and now I want to say mine.” Markus yields to Connor, waving his hands to allow him to continue. “I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you. You were right, I uh. I shouldn’t have done that after saying I didn’t want a relationship with a teammate. This weekend was, it was better than anything I could have imagined even with my busted hands. And I’m sorry if I took advantage of your hospitality by thinking it was something more. It’s not fair to you that I say one thing and act so differently, so I’m sorry.”

Connor glances at Markus and immediately regrets it. The sorrow on his face is plain to see. He doesn’t know how to fix it. He wants to fix it. Despite everything he’s just said he still wants to fix it. 

“I don’t want anything to change between us.”

He’s lying to Markus and he’s lying to himself and they both know it.

Markus is about to say that he hadn’t taken advantage of anything. He wants to say that he was happy that Connor had wanted to kiss him. He wants to say something to make this all better, to convince Connor to stop fighting this, because he wants to stop fighting it too. He wants, no needs , this to be a conversation, not just a talking to.

He doesn’t get the chance.

Before Markus can make his voice work the door to the locker room clicks open again, allowing Hank into the room. The coach is completely oblivious to the tense conversation his two players were just having. 

“I was expecting Connor to be here already, but I guess it’s good that you’re here too,” he says to Markus. “Tampa is pulling one of their players for the All-Star Game. Something about wanting to give all their players a break while they’re preparing for another cup run. Either way, it opens a defensive spot in the lineup. Connor, you were runner up in the fan picks to send, so unless you have any pressing reason not to go…” 

In any other situation Connor would be ecstatic. Getting selected to go play in the All-Star Game is something he’s been dreaming of since getting drafted. And really, there’s no reason for him to not be happy about going. He should go. It’s the next logical step for his career, and it’ll get him some good exposure.

He looks to Markus. There’s a sad smile on his face. He’s probably laughing on the inside about what a cruel twist of fate this is.

Still, Connor said he wasn’t going to let his relationship, or lack thereof, with Markus get in the way of his hockey career. “Then I guess I’ll be joining you at the All-Star Game, Cap.”

Markus takes a second to gather himself. Connor can see right through the professional mask he puts on. “I’m looking forward to it.”

The locker room eventually fills up with teammates and chatter about what everyone did over the break. Both Markus and Connor are letting those around them speak, rather than taking part in the conversation.

Connor watches as North and Markus talk in hushed tones across the room. He wishes they wouldn’t. He doesn’t want to be the topic of conversation. He knows he’s disturbed the team dynamic by trying to kiss his captain. And, obviously, Markus is the smart one who managed to put a stop to it before it could do too much damage. At least one of them was able to see the big picture here.

______________________________________________________________________

They play like shit for a week. North goes ballistic on them. As she should have. They’re avoiding each other as much as possible, and it’s bleeding through to the games they’re playing. They don’t talk in the locker room. They barely call plays on the ice. 

It’s everything that Connor was afraid of. And nothing had even really happened between them. The one thing he’s thankful for is that it happened now, before anything had a chance to really get going, and either had a chance to get attached. 

It sucks. There’s no other way of putting it. 

Connor still watches Markus skate circles around everyone during practice.

Markus still watches Connor stop shot after shot during games.

But there’s no joy to their playing anymore. They don’t go out for drinks after wins. They don’t lean in to talk to each other on the bench. Markus doesn’t drive Connor home anymore.

The world has shifted on its axis, but nothing has settled into place.

Chapter Text

Markus wouldn’t say that things went back to normal. They definitely improved after North yelled at the two of them. But it still hurt.

It hurt to watch Connor pull away from him. It hurt to see how his friends looked at the two of them. It hurt knowing he couldn’t go out and enjoy a night with the team without wishing Connor had shown up or looking at him from across the bar. 

It hurt knowing the thing he wanted was right in front of him and he couldn’t have it.

The run up to the All-Star Game break was definitely a stark contrast to the Red Wing’s performance through the beginning of the season. They’d never quite hit their eight game losing streak again, but they certainly weren’t winning games like they were before. The fact that Markus knows it’s because things between him and Connor are so rocky right now does nothing to help break them out of the slump.

But here they are. Just the two of them next to each other for the first time in a while. On a plane to Sunrise, Florida. For the All-Star Game. Where they’ll be expected to pretend like nothing’s wrong. Because they’re the two stars of the team. And obviously that means that they have to be the closest of friends.

Markus doesn’t know how he let things get this bad between them, but such is life. Connor’s a good travel mate at the very least. He’s relentlessly on time for everything, ensuring they were at their boarding gate an hour and a half ahead of time. He was quiet on the plane, reading whatever novel he’s currently wrapped up. He also seems to know the layout of the Sunrise airport like the back of his hand, easily guiding them to the baggage claim and to the car taking them to the hotel. 

Their flight was early, allowing them to get to the hotel around noon. The check-in process is seamless, the desk attendant handing them their room cards with a smile. Connor and Markus carry their bags up to the fourth floor before realizing they’ve been booked into the same room. 

“If this is going to be a problem, I can go see about getting another room.”

“Markus, it’s a room. And I don’t actively hate you even if my avoiding you most of the time makes it seem like I do. I’m pretty sure they booked all the teammates together anyway, so it’d be weird if we got separated.”

“After you then, Stern,” Markus says, waving Connor into the room.

The two unpack some of their suits for the press conferences, but only being here for two days means they don’t really have that much to do to settle in. 

“How do you think you’ll do with accuracy shooting?” Markus asks, trying to break the silence that’s fallen between them. Connor was right, they don’t actively hate each other and while the past month has definitely been awkward for them, it’s settled into more of a bittersweet tension.

“I have no idea. I’m not really known for being a great shooter at the blue line. Why the fans decided to send me I’m really not sure. How about you for fastest skater?”

“Oh I’m gunning for McDavid this year. He’s not getting the title for the fourth year in a row, just you wait.”

Connor lets out a light chuckle, happy that despite everything he can still have a semi-normal conversation with Markus. “I’m sure you’ll kick his ass this year. You were close last year.”

“I was half a second off his time last year, he smoked everyone.”

Both men are grinning, settling into something that feels reminiscent of how things were before the holiday break. Their eyes meet from across the room and the smiles fade.

“I’m, uh, gonna take a shower before we head to the rink?” Markus supplies tentatively, needing to escape from Connor for a moment. Needing to escape from something that feels so off from how it should be.

“Yeah sure, I’ll meet you in the lobby? I was gonna wander the halls and see who else is here.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stern.”

______________________________________________________________________

Connor can’t help himself from sneaking out of the press conference early to find the spectator’s box he’d been assigned to. The fastest skater competition was scheduled to start fifteen minutes before his conference slot was over, but he figured no one would miss him that much with other great defensemen like Zdeno Chara and Ryan Suter on his panel.

There’s about ten guys suited up and on the ice. Some cones are marking the corners that everyone has to skate around. No one has their helmets on, so spotting Markus from this vantage point is an easy task. Not that Connor thinks he’d normally have trouble finding Markus anyway. Like it or not, he’s still ridiculously aware of Markus at all times. 

The fastest skater event starts on time, and players are eventually whittled down to the top three. Markus is among them. As is Connor McDavid, the three time reigning champion of this category. McDavid puts up a time of 13.215 seconds around the rink. The third competitor, a rookie from the Canucks that Connor doesn’t recognize is going so fast that he loses an edge around the last corner and wipes out. Which leaves it up to Markus to dethrone McDavid and take the title. Connor has faith that he can do it.

Markus is a red streak against the white ice, turning the corners with a grace that Connor can only admire. He makes it look easy, barreling down the ice with his jersey billowing behind him. As he turns the last corner, Connor manages to catch the look of determination on Markus’s face and knows that he’s beaten McDavid’s time without even having to look at the jumbotron. 

Sure enough, Markus’s time of 13.175 seconds pops up on the big screen at center ice. He’s immediately swarmed by those on the ice with him, McDavid even giving him a crushing hug. He looks happy. And Connor wishes things were better between them so he could openly congratulate Markus too. He takes one last look at his captain on the ice before retreating back into the halls of the arena, making his way towards the locker room to prepare for his accuracy shooting competition.

______________________________________________________________________

Markus hadn’t even had time to look up before he was being swarmed on the ice by his fellow players. Rounds of congratulations filled his ears, and he felt many claps to his back. McDavid even made his way through the throng to give him a hug and a hearty “take care of my throne.” He was happy. 

He was happy but something still felt off. Seeing the competitors from other teams happy for him was nice, but Markus knew there was only one face he really wanted to see smile and wishing him congratulations after his win. 

Amid the celebrations he chanced a glance up to the player’s box. High above the ice it was hard to make out just who was standing there at the railing. But as the shadow moved away and disappeared into the hall, Markus had known it was Connor. 

Just knowing Connor had been there was enough. 

______________________________________________________________________

Markus’s win garnered him some extra time at his press panel. It was a minor oversight to his scheduling plans, but he supposes that if this is the price to pay for winning his section of the skill competition he’d take it. 

The clock on the far wall keeps ticking closer to 8:15 pm. The accuracy shooting portion of the competition was about to begin and he was hoping that Connor would be one of the last to go. Connor had been there to watch him, so it was the least he could do to go watch Connor too. 

The panel finally dies down five minutes later and Markus rushes through the halls to the player box. The rink crew is busy replacing the targets at the goal line, and a handful of players are still present at center ice. He spots Connor among the crowd, talking to someone on the Florida Panthers. 

The announcer on the loudspeaker prompts Connor to leave his conversation and set up at the shooting marker, a pile of pucks lined up for him. When the buzzer sounds, Connor immediately starts shooting at the six targets lined up in front of him. He only misses once, having to take seven shots to complete his turn, but still Markus is impressed at his time of 13.7 seconds. For now, that lands Connor in second place.

______________________________________________________________________

Connor’s eyes can’t help but drift upwards towards the box he’d occupied an hour before. So what if he’s a little hopeful when he finds Markus at the railing, clapping for his performance? He’d done the same for Markus and now he was just returning the favor. 

Still, it felt good. He’d put up a respectable time for someone who wasn’t known for shooting and Markus had been there to cheer him on. 

Maybe this weekend was what they needed to reset their relationship. Maybe by forcing them together they’d finally manage to stop the nonsensical avoidance and be able to support each other again. And if it meant that he’d finally be able to hold a conversation with Markus again, he’d take whatever this weekend gave him. 

______________________________________________________________________

“You did a really good job out there today, Con,” Markus says, struggling to get his keycard to work as they returned from celebrating their successes at the skills competition. 

“Oh please, I came in third for a skill I don’t even have and you’re out here dethroning a three time champion. I’m not the one who did a good job today.” 

“You absolutely do have skill, you proved it today and you’ve proved it all season.”

“We haven’t been doing great lately.”

“Just because we’re in a slump doesn’t mean you don’t have talent.”

“Do you think they’re still doing room service right now?”

Markus looks to the clock on the bedside table. “Considering it’s almost 2am I’m gonna go with no.”

“Fuck, I really want a burger.”

“I think you’re changing the subject because you can’t deal with hearing praise about your hockey abilities.”

“No I just really want a fucking cheeseburger. I always get hungry after we go out drinking.”

“Oh my god, that’s why you always dragged us to Jim’s? Because they have those endless wings that you love?”

“Ffffuck yes, those sound so good right now.”

“Who knew you had such a mouth on you, Con? We need to get you out drinking more often.”

“No, I think you’re the one who needs to get drunk more often. Where’d “Con” come from?”

“Bah, I don’t know. Stern always sounds so mean. And you’re not mean so,” Markus shrugs, letting his sentence drift off.

“I like it,” Connor says, flopping onto his bed.

“Are you not even going to get undressed? You’re going to ruin that suit if you sleep in it.”

“Please, you just want to see me in my boxers. Not that I can blame you because I’m hot.” Connor punctuates his statement with a yawn. 

Markus is floundering, not really realizing the turn this conversation took until it smacked him in the face. Connor is already halfway asleep and actively flirting with him again. But they’re both drunk and he thinks that anything Connor’s saying right now probably shouldn’t be taken too seriously.

Connor opens his eyes to find Markus staring at him. He’d been silent too long and he wanted to make sure Markus hadn’t instantaneously combusted or something. 

“You’re staring.”

“Sorry.”

“No no, please. Take your fill,” Connor says, eyes slipping closed again as sleep draws him in. “I know you haven’t gotten enough of me this past month.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Markus whispers into the dark room.

“Haven’t gotten ‘nuff you either,” Connor mumbles before his breathing evens out. 

Markus stays stock still for a moment. He’s trying to parse through the conversation they just had, make sure he actually heard Connor correctly, and commit this entire night to memory all at once. He’s not sure about the first two, but Markus is pretty sure that the image of Connor, curled up in bed on top of all the blankets with his suit on will forever haunt his dreams. 

Knowing he won’t be able to sleep for another solid hour after the night he’d just had, Markus changes into some sweatpants and a Red Wings hoodie before grabbing his phone and walking down to the lobby.

North picks up on the fourth ring.

“This better be some kind of goddamn revelation for calling me at nearly 2:30 in the morning while I’m on a break.”

“I don’t even know what the hell just happened.”

“Are you okay? Do you need me to call the police? Where’s Connor?”

“No no, we’re both fine. Connor’s still up in the room passed out with his suit on. I just couldn’t sleep after tonight so…”

“So you figured you’d call me, I get it. I would’ve thought you’d be able to sleep like a baby after your win today though.”

“Yeah until Connor goes on about not getting undressed because I just want to see him naked.”

“Wait he actually said that, and then passed out on you?”

“We were out drinking with some of the other All-Star players and when we got back he crawled into bed and I told him he shouldn’t wear his suit to bed and he said I was just saying that to get him naked and then I didn’t know what to do so I just sat there looking at him like a complete idiot. And then he caught me staring at him and got all cocky that I was staring at him.”

“And what did you say?”

“You’re not allowed to make fun of me.”

“Markus, I’m already never going to let you live down the fact that you called me at 2:30am to talk about a boy you may as well just throw it out there.”

“I just told him that he was right. That I was staring at him because I hadn’t been able to get enough of him the past month. Ever since things went to shit over winter break.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he hadn’t been getting enough of me either and then he passed out.”

“Alright, game plan. You go back up to that room and go get in bed with him. It’ll be like a do-over of winter break when you were on your couch.”

“Absolutely not, you know how that ended.”

“Okay fine, option two you go up there and wake him up, tell him he’s gotta take his suit off, and then you two fuck. Boom, happy ending.”

“You’re absolutely no help at all, you know that?”

“I am wildly helpful Markus Manfred, don't you even start.”

“Fine, fine. Today just felt like a step in the right direction. We had a nice conversation after we got here and then he ditched part of his press panel to come watch me skate. And I figured I’d watch him shoot and I had to practically run from the conference room to the ice to see him in time. And then we went out and had a genuinely fun time with everyone. Things just felt good again. It didn’t feel awkward or like we’ve been ignoring each other for the past month. Fuck, I don’t know North. It just felt like the Earth righted itself for an evening and then this happened.”

“I’d offer you advice but I know you’re just ranting right now.”

“And I don’t even know if he’s going to remember any of this in the morning. I didn’t think he was that drunk but if I have to live with this knowledge that he’s been missing me too and he doesn’t remember and goes back to ignoring me tomorrow I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“Oh, he’ll remember it in the morning.”

“I don’t like that tone.”

“Don’t worry about my tone, you’ve got a gay crisis on your hands. Deal with that first.”

“There’s no sense in worrying over this until I know how much he remembers tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah that sounds logical.”

“Guess I just won’t sleep tonight then.”

“Markus, you’ve got a game to play tomorrow. With Connor. If you’re sleep deprived you won’t actually have the energy to talk this out with Connor tomorrow and play like things between you are fine. You need to sleep.”

“Smart as ever aren’t you, North?”

“Indubitably.”

“God, you’re a nerd. Goodnight, and thank you, even if you did give me some shit ideas.”

“Don’t call me in the middle of the night if you don’t want my shit ideas then. Goodnight dumbass.”

Markus takes the long way back to his room. He walks the halls, trying to calm himself a little more so he has a chance of sleeping tonight.

His meandering through the halls means he isn’t in the room to watch Connor’s phone, laying on the bedside table, light up with a string of texts from North.

Chapter Text

Connor cracks one eye. Slowly followed by the other.

Markus’s bed is rumpled, but he isn’t in it. Connor can hear the running water in the bathroom, though. Logically, Markus must be in the shower.

Connor’s not going to think too hard about that. Nope, that’s a dangerous path to go down. 

Connor sits up, banishing thoughts of Markus in the shower from his mind. There’s a light throb behind his eyes. That’s what I get for partying too much last night.

Last night.

Shit, he really made a fool of himself didn’t he. The memories flood back with surprising clarity. He’s really a love-struck idiot when he’s drunk, huh? At least Markus was a gentleman about it.

But he said it back. He said he’d missed Connor too.

God, why can’t they just have a normal conversation about this. That’s what responsible adults would do right?

Connor’s phone buzzes lightly on the bedside table, lighting up the string of unanswered texts from last night. He thumbs open the phone, navigating to the texts he’s gotten over the past few hours.

He has no less than seven messages from Cole. Two wishing him luck before his All-Star event, and five congratulating him on his third place finish. Connor sends back a thank you message. That kid deserves a best cheerleader trophy or something. Connor will look into it.

Clicking on the next string Connor finds one message from Hank. It’s a video with no explanation, but after watching it Connor realizes it doesn’t need one. The video is taken from across the room, camera pointed at Cole who is avidly yelling at Connor on the TV screen. Yeah, Cole definitely deserves some kind of present for constantly having faith in him.

The last unread messages come from North. There’s really too many to count. And they’re all in caps.

| URGENT

| LOVERBOY CALLED ME IN A FULL BLOWN GAY PANIC JUST NOW

| YOU NEED TO PUT HIM OUT OF HIS MISERY

| FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STERN YOU BETTER BE PASSED TF OUT AND NOT IGNORING ME

Connor checks the time that these were sent. Just before three. What time did he and Markus get back to the hotel? God, this was worse than he thought. Had he really gotten drunk with Markus, spilled his feelings, had them reciprocated, and then just passed out on the guy? Shit.

He has to go take a walk or something. He needs to calm down. He just… needs a minute. To gather his thoughts. And then he’ll come back and he and Markus can talk. Because they need to talk and that's what responsible adults do.

______________________________________________________________________

Connor’s gone when he steps out of the bathroom. He probably should have seen that coming in all honesty.

Still, Markus can hope. 

Though, if he left because he was in a rush to get away from Markus that probably meant that he remembered what he said last night didn’t he? 

There you go assuming you know what’s going on in his head again.  

That little voice sounds an awful lot like Carl. It’s probably right.

He’ll just stick around for a little while. He’s still got a solid half hour before he really needs to make his way towards the arena for the day. There’s plenty of time for Connor to show back up and for them to talk about last night before they need to turn their attention back to hockey.

Sure enough, ten minutes later Connor keys back into the room. He’s still wearing his suit from last night. It’s hideously wrinkled just like Markus said it would be. Somehow, the sight is the most endearing thing Markus has seen in a long time. He can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips.

“I remember.”

And with those two words, Markus knows the floodgates are opened. There will definitely be a conversation about last night. About “I know you haven’t gotten enough of me.” Markus is waiting for the but that he knows is about to fall from Connor’s mouth.

“But,” Connor says, and Markus can’t help but let his smile grow that much wider. It prompts Connor to blush a little, which is a nice look on him. “I recognize that we still have hockey to play today and that we only have about twenty minutes to get to the arena and that I am still in my suit from yesterday.”

“It’s wrinkled.”

“Yeah, you said it would be.”

“Maybe you should listen to me next time,” Markus adds a wink at the end of his statement. It’s been too long since the last time he felt allowed to do that.

Connor’s face gets redder. Just like the picture of Connor curled in bed in his suit, Markus tries to engrain this one into his memory too.

The conversation Markus wants is coming. He’s been patient thus far. He can handle a few more hours. Connor’s not running this time. He won’t be either. 

Markus feels lighter than he has in a long time. Like dawn is breaking on the horizon with the promise of good things to come.

Connor is still frozen by the door, immobilized by Markus’s action. So, Markus makes his way over to the closet and grabs the other suit Connor brought. He holds it out to Connor, stepping one step closer than really necessary.

“Get dressed. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

Connor accepts the clothes and rubs at his neck as Markus disappears behind the closing hotel room door.

______________________________________________________________________

Connor likes the jerseys they get for the All-Star Game. They’re cohesive, but each player still has their respective team’s emblem on it. It’s a nice touch, and Connor is proud to be wearing the Red Wing’s emblem on his chest.

Markus has been quiet since they left. But it feels like a content silence. Not the tension filled silences that have been prevalent for the last month.

He’s still got a few minutes to kill before they get sent out onto the ice, so Connor picks his phone back up. He was planning on scrolling back through the ones that North had sent him last night, but there’s more messages now. North had apparently given up trying to get a hold of him last night, but she’d tried again while Connor had been gearing up. 

| Connor seriously

| He’s been playing like shit lately and you know it

| It’s bc wants to talk to you but is worried about using you

| You just need to fuck him

Connor nearly chokes. He probably forgets how to breathe too.

| Okay maybe don’t do that

| But please kiss him at least

| Talk to him

| Something

“What’s got you so interested on your phone, Con?”

There’s that nickname again. Connor likes the way it rolls off of Markus’s tongue.

“N-nothing.” He scrambles to put his phone back in his locker. He nearly drops it once and it clatters against the metal, making a much louder noise than Connor was hoping. 

Smooth, Connor.

“What, someone send you a dick pic for good luck?”

For the second time that day, Connor’s face flushes bright red. His answering “No” sounds a lot more incriminating than he would like it to. Connor supposes there really wasn’t an answer he could have given to make it sound like that wasn’t what he was hiding.

Markus laughs. At least he seems like he’s having fun with all of this. When it’s clear that Connor is embarrassed to the point of being stuck in place, Markus hands him his helmet and walks around him.

Connor literally needs to be pushed onto the ice.

______________________________________________________________________

They lose in spectacular fashion.

Not that it really matters. This whole All-Star weekend is about bragging rights anyway.

Connor had fun. The game felt reminiscent of his first practice in Detroit. The one after they’d lost, where it was just him and his line playing late into the night just for the fun of it. Nothing to lose, nothing to win, just playing because they all had a passion for the sport.

The fact that he and Markus are walking away without that win under their belts seems inconsequential next to the fact that they are walking away together.

They both have smiles on their faces, grinning madly at each other as they walk out of the arena and into the Florida sun. There’s a warm breeze that ruffles Connor’s hair, and Markus can’t help but stare.

Markus thinks there’s something right about the whole situation. Something poetic about how they seem to finally be on the cusp of something new and happy and how that’s reflected in the warm sunshine of the day.

Maybe Carl’s creative side is rubbing off on him.

Connor moves to brush some hair from his face and Markus can’t help but catch his hand as it moves away from his face. Connor’s face goes a perfect shade of pink. One that others might write off as being flushed from the sun. But Markus knows better. He knows now just how much of an effect he has on Connor. And sue him if he maybe wants to have a little fun with it. 

Markus keeps walking, carefully dragging Connor behind him. 

“Markus,” Connor tries to say. It comes out more like a whine.

But, Markus has been trying to take some of Carl’s words to heart. Trying to be responsible and not just assume things anymore. So, here goes nothing.

“Does this make you uncomfortable?” He brings their hands up, making it clear just what he’s referring to.

Connor shakes his head, a blank look staring back at Markus. No, not blank. More like the passing moment right before you actually comprehend the situation you’re in. That initial moment of shock when you can’t quite believe that what’s happening is indeed happening. It’s quickly replaced by a smile. A soft and quiet one, masked even further by Connor turning his face to keep Markus from watching the blush travel down his neck.

Markus takes one last look at Connor. Squeezing his hand once he takes off down the sidewalk in the direction of their hotel.

______________________________________________________________________

Markus is dragging this out and it’s killing Connor. 

He just wants to be able to sit and talk about this whole… thing. Like they said they were going to. Markus feels the need to make a scene though, taking his hand as they stepped out into the light of the sun and not letting go all the way to the hotel.

They’d dropped their bags and Markus immediately dragged Connor back into the hubbub of the city. Markus seemed to have some grand gesture planned, though what it was, Connor had no idea. He’d have been content to just spend the day talking back in the hotel room. But Markus seems happy. And Connor likes the feeling of their hands intertwined.

Markus halts once they reach a park. It’s a quiet little area, contrasted by the noise of the city. There aren’t too many people out today, but some meander around to show that the park is well utilized. 

Connor’s hand grows cold as Markus’s slips out of it. He’s turning around, walking backwards into the park while still keeping Connor in sight. The whole thing is pretty endearing if Connor has anything to say about it. Markus with a backdrop of trees, the sunlight lazily filtering through the leaves above. For the first time in what feels like forever, Connor is struck by the beauty of the man before him.

His skin glows a wonderful sun kissed color. The way the sun shines through the trees casts a shadow on Markus’s face, but Connor has the urge to see the sun illuminate the unique colors of Markus’s eyes. So, logically, Connor picks up his pace until he passes Markus, forcing the man to turn around to follow him.

Yeah, the shining emerald and baby blue were definitely a must see in this lighting.

Markus chuckles at him, as if he’s caught on to Connor’s grand scheme.

It’s lighthearted, and neither man really wants it to end. But this would be an endless dance without someone starting the conversation first. And as sweet as the dance is, what comes after is a whole lot better.

The pair find a tree with long billowing branches that sway easily in the breeze. The trunk is split at the base, creating a wide enough space for both men to sit next to each other while still having a decent view of the others face.

“You held my hand,” Connor starts dumbly.

“I did. I wanted to. It was nice.” The smile on Markus’s face is infectious, and the fact that he seems as inarticulate as Connor is endearing. Markus clears his throat before continuing, “I’ve wanted to for a while. I just haven’t been very good at explicitly expressing that. And I’m probably going to kick myself about that one for a long time.”

“Well then I should be explicit in telling you that I enjoyed you holding my hand. And I meant what I said last night. I have missed you this past month.”

Markus’s responding smile is probably Connor’s favorite one he’s ever had the privilege of seeing. There’s a lull in the conversation as both men mull over the implications of the other’s confession. Still, through the quiet that has settled over them, Connor reaches out and clasps Markus’s hand in his own.

“North texted me this morning. Or last night I guess.” Markus’s eyes go wide at that, and Connor feels the need to clarify. “It wasn’t bad. I just. She could have been more… tactful?”

“She told you about my rant huh?”

Connor answers with a timid nod.

“Probably for the best. We needed a push, and if anyone was going to get through to us it was going to be her. Besides, if it led us here I can’t really complain.” Markus punctuates his statement by tangling their fingers together. “I was going to tell you eventually anyway. Or ask you, I guess. But that was before I went and fucked it all up over break.” 

“Ask me?”

“Well…” Markus trails off. The hand not in Connor’s comes up to scratch at the scar on his hairline. Connor gets him back on track with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “I was going to tell you that I liked you. That I wasn’t really taking your rejection well and then I was going to ask you if you were feeling any different than you had at the beginning of the season. But then I got it all twisted around in my head, and you know how that ended.”

“For the record I am feeling different than I did earlier this season.”

“Yeah, I think we’ve established that Con,” Markus says, bringing their joined hands to his lips and placing a sweet kiss on the back of Connor’s hand.

Connor’s breath hitches, but he manages to push forward. “There’s something else you should’ve asked though.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” The sentence escapes Markus on a chuckle.

“You should’ve asked if you could kiss me.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment where Connor thinks he’s not going to ask at all. That the downturn in Markus’s voice is shame rather than embarrassment at being flirted back at. 

But then Markus’s eyes meet Connor’s. And Connor is transported back to the parking lot outside the arena in Detroit. Where he’s seeing Markus smile at him with a joy that can only be described as boyish. It’s the same look on his face now. And Connor wonders how he’s missed it all this time.

Well, maybe he hadn’t missed it. But he’s finally ready to accept it.

Markus’s eyes flick between Connor’s, cataloguing the shapes illuminated within them by the shining sun. 

“Connor, can I--”

There was no chance in hell that Connor was going to let him finish his question. 

The world rights itself as their lips meet. The sun shines down on the pair of them and Connor will forever describe the experience of kissing Markus for the first time as coming home. It’s comforting. And long overdue. 

Markus can feel Connor smiling into the kiss, and he’s unable to contain a light chuckle from escaping.

“I can’t possibly be that bad a kisser Manfred,” Connor says, pulling back from Markus only enough to let the words flow from his mouth. He stays firmly in Markus’s space and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to bring himself to leave.

“No, no.” Markus chuckles again. His smile grows impossibly bigger and his nose nuzzles against Connor’s. “You’re perfect Stern, that’s all.”

Markus’s hand comes up to caress Connor’s jaw, pulling him in for another kiss. His hand is warm, matching the heat of the blush present on Connor’s face.

Where the first kiss was a homecoming, this one feels like a promise of everything to come.

Chapter Text

“When did you know?”

Both Connor and Markus are lazing about in Markus’s living room. They’re half watching the Carolina Hurricanes and Boston Bruins. The Red Wings had made a good push through the end of the regular season, making it to the first round of playoffs. 

They’d gotten swept but the Hurricanes, but everyone was happy they’d even made it to the playoffs at all. And hey, if they root for the Canes to win the Stanley Cup they can at least say that they only got beaten by the new champions.

“Know what?” Connor asks, snuggling closer into Markus’s body.

“That you were in love with me?”

Connor lifts his head, straining his neck at an awkward angle to meet Markus’s gaze. The grin on Markus’s face tells Connor that he’s half joking. But that also means he’s half expecting a real response.

Connor blushes, and can’t think past the urge to hide his face. So he does just that, shoving his reddening face into Markus’s neck.

It still amazes him that that’s something he’s allowed to do now. He doesn’t think it will ever grow old.

“C’mon no answer babe?”

Connor shakes his head, nose rubbing against Markus’s tanned skin. He smells like home.

Markus goes back to watching the game, apparently letting the subject drop for a moment. Connor doesn’t get a reprieve for long, though. The period ends only four minutes later, meaning Markus doesn’t have anything to avoid talking over anymore.

“I knew that night that you fought Fowler.” 

“You could not have loved me that early.”

“No no, you misunderstand. That was the night I knew you were in love with me ,” Markus says, poking Connor in the chest.

“How?” Connor exclaims, knocking Markus’s hand away.

“Babe, you fucking fought your ex captain for me. And believe me, you’re not a fighter. Plus you haven’t been in a fight since then.”

Connor takes a second to contemplate this. Sure maybe he’d been a little eager to defend Markus that night, considering he wasn’t the enforcer of the team. But that didn’t mean he was in love with the guy. He’d just been doing what any teammate would have done.

“See you’re thinking about this too much. Just know what that was definitely when you fell in love with me.”

Slowly, Connor’s brain starts to catch up. 

“Okay okay, first off I definitely did not fall in love with you on arena ice. Secondly, impressing you on the ice was maybe how I got your attention when I ran circles around you, but I’m not that shallow, I need substance not just an attention seeking centerman.”

Connor absolutely uses Carl’s usual taunts against Markus whenever possible. Teasing your significant other endlessly about the same thing can be a love language, right?

Markus’s face turns sour, but there’s a small grin of amusement underneath it all. He starts to make a counter argument, but Connor interrupts him.

“No, I definitely fell in love with you sometime over that holiday break. Something about a hot guy doting over me while being injured just really stuck with me.”

“Then why did it take so long for us to get here?”

Markus’s question is soft. Longing for that missing month where apparently both men had indeed been halfway in love with each other, but were so out of touch with their own feelings that they’d screwed it all up anyways.

Connor’s response is a noncommittal shrug. “I think I was just scared. Not really sure what I wanted from my team or from you. Or from myself either. And you scared me with how comfortable it all felt.”

“I’m glad you figured it out, Con.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Their kiss is soft. It’s sweet too. It’s wonderful. 

Connor moves to deepen it, running his hand from Markus’s jawline down his neck and rests it on his chest.

The sound of the goalhorn filters through the speakers of the TV.

And just like that Markus’s attention is wrenched away, refocusing on the game. Connor slaps his chest lightly, rolling his eyes at the fact that his boyfriend chooses to watch a game that he plays for a living rather than make out with him. 

Markus’s whispered “sorry babe” and a quick peck on Connor’s cheek almost makes it okay.

It isn’t until much later, Connor nodding off on Markus’s shoulder, that Markus brings the conversation back up.

His voice is quiet, like he isn't quite sure if Connor is still awake and doesn’t want to wake him if he was sleeping. But still, he speaks the words into existence regardless of if Connor is hearing them or not.

“I did fall in love with you that night on the ice. Hearing that ref call ‘Detroit, number 24, five minutes for fighting’ will forever to be music to my ears.”

Connor lets out a content sigh, and Markus knows that he heard his confession. Another kiss gets pressed to Connor’s hair and Markus wraps his arms around him, inviting him to fall asleep in a position reminiscent of those nights over the holiday break. 

Connor falls asleep knowing that when he wakes up Markus will be there ready to dote on him again. No more running, no more miscommunication. 

Just love, pure and simple.