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He watches them.
He watches them all the time. What they do, how they move, who they talk to, their faces, their postures, their body language. It began a long time ago, and now it's a habit, something he does without thinking about. It's his job and he thinks he does it well.
He doesn't just watch them, obviously, he watches the puck as well. But in watching the players, he knows where the puck is going, what it's going to be doing. So by watching the players, he stays a step ahead of the puck – mostly. He knows he's not omniscient, he tells himself he's only human, that no goalie can be perfect all the time, but it still hurts when he can't always stay ahead of the puck, that pit of the stomach feeling when he's looking behind because he's lost the puck to see if it is in the net. Or when he knows by the celebrations that it’s gone in, that it's gone past him, he's been beaten. It hurts that he’s let his team down, that he’s failed.
So now, he can't not watch. If he doesn't watch, he might miss something important. What the forwards are doing, how the D are playing, who is fast tonight, who is slow, who is injured and playing through it. Where the strengths and the weaknesses are in his team and in the opposition, all to help him do his job better.
It didn't start with Sid, but Sid is at the heart of it all. He's played with Sid the longest; can remember him starting as a rookie, painfully shy and awkward off the ice, but on the ice... Flower loves to watch Sid on the ice. It’s his natural environment. He remembers as a child being taken to an aquarium and seeing a sea lion, so ungainly on land, so natural and at ease in the water. Sid is like that, twisting and turning and speeding and slowing, impossible, ridiculous, breathtaking moves on the ice that no-one who isn’t Sidney Crosby could pull off.
Away from the ice, it has taken longer to understand Sid. He's so closed. Somewhere along the way, Sid shut himself off to protect himself, and like Flower's constant observation, that's become a habit too. He has friends, and many of those friends would be even closer if Sid were willing to allow it – Flower counts himself in that category – but it's Sid that sets the terms, and reluctantly, his friends accept. Mostly.
There is one exception to Sid’s control over his relationships. Sid loves Geno, desperately, quietly and completely. Flower watched him falling headlong in love with Geno, a slow, gradual process, with Sid seemingly so unaware of what was happening. Sid became more and more comfortable around Geno, finding ways to spend increasing amounts of time with him, but blithely unaware as to why he felt he had to. But then there was the hit. It was nothing special, or out of the ordinary - well, for them as hockey players anyway. But it was a bad hit on Geno which was followed by an over the top retaliation from Sid. Flower could see Sid worrying at why he had done such a thing, the anger reaching out and grabbing him before he knew what was going on. Sid had tried to dismiss it as defending a team-mate, a friend, but Flower had known it was more than that - and so had Sid, but unlike Flower, he didn’t know why. Then soon after, at practice, when watching Geno, Sid knew. Flower had watched his eyes change, the understanding and recognition of everything that Geno meant to him crossing his face. And following hard on that, the pain of realising he wanted what he didn't think he could have.
If only Sid knew. Geno loves Sid desperately and completely - but not quietly. Quiet and Geno are not really words which go together. So Geno hides his love and his longing in plain sight, by demonstrating them a million times every day, through his acts, his touches, his glances and his words, until Sid accepts them all as routine, an expression of friendship, and not as the expression of love they really are. Geno doesn’t hope, he takes Sid’s friendship as the limit of what will happen, what he can expect. In some ways, that’s more painful to watch.
Flower sighs, discontentedly, as he packs his kit away after yet another practice watching them brushing around each other, both trying to pretend nothing is going on, they’re just friends. It’s all so frustrating - although Flower has to admit, Sid and Geno are definitely more frustrated. He's watched this go on for what seems like forever, and it seems no closer to resolution. You wouldn't think two grown men could be so, well, teenager-y. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad. He does care for these two guys so laughing at them is just too unkind. He wants them to be happy; they deserve to be happy. He wants them to have what he has with Vero and he can't imagine what it would feel like to be in love with Vero, but feel forever cut off from her. Nevertheless he does despair that they'll ever manage to achieve that happiness by themselves. Something needs to happen so they recognise what the other feels for them, but Flower’s not sure what that something is.
Then, after the practice, he's going through his mail and a flyer for the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra catches his eye. An evening of Russian romantic music.... He has the first glimmer of an idea. That is the most emotional music in the world... surely not even Sid and Geno could resist it?
------
“Please Sid. Vero so wants to go, but really... an evening of classical music? I'd rather be traded to the Flyers,” Flower wonders if he's laying it on a little thick – Sid is looking at him a little bemused. Maybe saying the Flyers was a bit over the top – maybe he should have said Sabres. “It'll be more enjoyable if there are others there.”
“I don't know Flower – it sounds as if I'd be intruding. I don't want to be third wheel on your date night,” Internally, Flower smiles. Trust Sid to be a Polite Canadian and Polite Canadians are manipulatable. Particularly ones who aren't so great at people.
“No, don't worry about that – I'll ask Geno as well, we'll get a box. Vero has already suggested I bring someone else along – it stops me bothering her so much, so she can concentrate on the music.”
Sids eyes brighten at the mention of Geno. Inside, Flower sighs. Do they realise how completely transparent they are?
“Ummm... I'm not sure classical music is really G's thing,” Sid says, a bit hesitantly.
“It is Russian classical music. He can’t possibly turn down the opportunity when presented to him like that” Flower is quietly confident now. Russian classical music and Sid; it’s a done deal for Geno.
------
After the practice (it's fine, nothing bad, nothing good. Duper seems to be favouring a leg slightly, but not enough to be concerned about), Flower approaches Geno.
“Hey G, I have to take Vero to a concert by Tchaikovsky next week,” Flower shrugs, disdainfully. “I’d rather spend my evening listening to cats singing but Vero has insisted we go.”
As expected, Geno fires up immediately in defence of anything Russian. “He Russian – great composer!”
“So you'll come with me and Vero then....” Flower hesitates before casting the final bait upon the water.. “and Sid? We're getting a box so it would be good to have four.”
Geno's eyes change from not interested to interested like a light switching on. “Sure, it good to share some Russian culture with you Canadian barbarians.”
Russian pride is a wonderful thing to work with. Flower grins internally. “Vero is not a barbarian!”
“No, she wants to go, not whining. She a sensible, cultured Canadian.”
Flower supposed he deserved that and leaves it be. Besides, she is. She agreed to marry him despite it.
They make the arrangements – Geno will bring Sid and meet them there. “Don't let Sid wear a polo shirt,” says Flower, sternly.
Geno looks at him. “I meant to dress him up?”
“It's an occasion, he can't look like a hockey bum and we know he'll try to unless you intervene.”
Geno glowers more but doesn't argue, only shakes his head.
------
They meet up the following week, as arranged, at Heinz Hall. Geno is charming Vero as always; Sid is looking around the atrium like he's never seen anything like it before. Flower takes the opportunity to give them the once over. There was not a chance that Geno wouldn’t take the opportunity to dress up, but it does look like even Sid has made an effort. No sports clothing or even a Penguin logo in sight and a smart shirt too. Flower gives a mental hat tip to Geno for effort; he wasn't sure Geno would be able to pull it off.
As they walk to the box, Flower falls in alongside Geno, who is struggling to keep his eyes off Sid's ass in dress pants.
“Thanks for coming tonight,” he says.
“No problem,” says Geno. “Culture is good. Although is better with vodka?” he finishes hopefully.
“I've ordered champagne for the box,” Flower replies. If he's going all out for romance, then he's really going all out for romance. “It seemed appropriate.” Flowers, he'd decided, were sadly too much however.
“Is Russian music, vodka better,” replies Geno – but he's grinning as he says it.
They reach the box and settle in. It's off to the right hand side of the hall. Flower manoeuvres people carefully; Sid and Geno are sat next to each other, with himself between them and Vero, who is closest to the stage – afterall, she's the one who loves classical music. He's starting to feel less hopeful; why would he think this would work, when nothing else has? It feels so inadequate – what can one piece of music, no matter how sublime, how emotional and yearning, do against their complete inability to recognise how the other feels. But they are here now; there isn't a lot more he can do but keep everything crossed and hope somehow it breaks through their unwillingness to recognise that they do actually share feelings.
The first piece passes quickly. Flower is happy to hear the Pittsburgh Symphony are playing well tonight, handling the crashing, howling arpeggios of Prokofiev smoothly, combining them with the driving, growling bass, driving the drama of the music. He feels the hair on the back of his neck rise; actually they are playing better than well tonight, they've hit the kind of place where in hockey terms, the Pens would expect to be 4-0 up against the Hawks and keeping them contained in their own end.
Throughout the piece, he watches Geno and Sid become engrossed. The excitement of the music, the way it reaches into your soul – listening to this piece live – no, experiencing this music live is like the shock of having freezing cold water poured over you, it's like flying, it's all power and excitement and adrenalin. Even the tender moments only heighten the return of the main theme, building the tension.
“That was incredible,” says Sid excitedly, after the applause has ended. Geno nods proudly.
“Russian culture best!”
“Ah, it needs a Pittsburgh orchestra to bring out the best,” says Flower – he can't let G get quite that smug. Not yet anyway.
They top up glasses and settle down for the next music; this is the one Flower has been waiting for. The suite from Swan Lake. The most romantic music in the world, bar none. And that one particular movement...
As it starts, Flower leans back slightly, listening to the music while watching his friends without seeming to watch them. He feels like his whole focus is on them as the cello and violin start their solo song of longing, of needing, of wanting. The music which tells of love unspoken swells out across the hall, gathering the audience into the emotion. It catches in the throat, it pulls at the heart, the strings almost sobbing in their desire and their need and their want for each other. With everything in his being, Flower is willing Sid and Geno to feel it and to see it in each other.
They do.
Sid can't help but look at Geno as the emotions from the music curl around him, and he catches Geno's eyes as Geno looks at Sid and in those expressive eyes are a reflection of his feelings, brought out by the music; his love and desire, his need and want but also his sadness and hopelessness. Sid looks and he finally sees and recognises his own feelings mirrored in the face in front of him. Flower can sense Sid’s view of the world changing, as a whole raft of other possibilities that he couldn't even bear to consider open up. Sid’s eyes widen and they brighten until they are almost glowing. He smiles at Geno and for Geno only – softly and gently but with so much love that Flower feels a lump come to his throat. Sid, who struggles to admit he has feelings for anything beyond hockey is letting his eyes and his face tell of them instead, still accompanied by the most heart-rending music in the world. In his face is his love of Geno, his need for Geno, his trust in Geno.
Geno is looking at Sid - how can he not, with that music singing of his love of Sid to the world - and sees that expression, that smile on Sid’s face and Flower watches the realisation wash over him as he understands that smile is for him and what it means to him. Geno starts to blush, a look of hope and growing wonder, a smile, sweet and happy spreading and making him look oh so boyish, lines of strain, that not even Flower had realised were there, vanishing. His eyes, always so expressive anyway, are filled with love for Sid, brimful and overflowing. This time though, the sadness is gone, swept away by hope, wonder and awe.
Flower almost can't look at them, it's like they’re glowing at each other, they're so luminous and bright, but he can't not watch either. Sid reaches over and takes Geno's hand in his, caressing his thumb along the outside edge of Geno's thumb. Geno's breath catches. He lifts Sid's hand quickly to his lips, placing a kiss carefully and tenderly onto the back of it, like it's a precious thing. To Geno, it is of course. Geno's kiss is a promise....
The music switches, the rhythm of the Czardas changing the mood. Sid and Geno both start as though they are remembering where they are. Flower relaxes somewhat. He didn't want to have to intervene to remind them they were still in public. But that hockey player's awareness of their surroundings works just as well here as on the ice. Their focus remains with each other, but they look as if they are listening to the music now. It's just that Sid is leaning into Geno, their hands intertwined between them, gently touching like they can't bear not to now. Every so often, one glances at the other, and their glances always meet, to share excited, shy, happy smiles with each other.
The final movement comes to a close, ending the tale of love and loss and redemption, telling of a bright new future. Flower reflects that really, the music couldn't be more apt. He's not sure how much Sid and Geno have really heard since that fourth movement; they almost miss starting to applaud along with everyone else, and it with reluctance that they reclaim their own hands so they can clap. There's a certain, perverse, part of Flower that is also looking forward to seeing how quickly and how awkwardly they can excuse themselves from Flower and Vero and leave to be together.
He catches Vero's eye.
“Oh that was so good,” she exclaims to them all. “Did you enjoy it?”
Sid looks a bit dazed. It is just a little cruel to expect him to make conversation right now with anyone who isn't Geno. But years of Canadian politeness training comes to his rescue. “Yes, thank you very much for inviting us. We've had a good time.”
Vero seems to have been infected by his mischievousness. She isn't usually like this. Or maybe she noticed the instinctive use of “we” in Sid's response. “Which piece did you enjoy the most?”
He sees the confusion followed by panic cross Sid's face; he's not actually sure Sid will remember any of the music they heard tonight.
“The first one,” says Geno. Sid glances up at him, gratitude writ large on his face. “But all good... Russian!”
They turn to leave the box together. Whilst really there is no need to move quickly, Geno is moving them through the departing crowd efficiently, singlemindedly. He's not quite bodychecking the route clear but he's finding a path into which he inserts them, using his size and his muscle, while never losing contact with his Sid; a hand on his elbow, in the small of his back, on his shoulder... all guiding him along, all a caress, a reassurance.
They clear the hallways and are out into the atrium. Flower turns to them. “Do you want to come back to ours for a nightcap?” Vero frowns at him. Ok, he is pushing it.
Geno looks at his watch... Sid stares at the ceiling. “We have practice...” “I’ve got an early gym session planned…” They speak simultaneously. At this point in time, they would probably be willing to agree that the Flyers are an excellent hockey team who deserve to win the Stanley Cup if it would get them alone together more quickly. They really just want to be alone together. Immediately. Now. While the temptation is there to prolong it further, he’s also slightly giddy himself that it has actually worked, that finally, something has happened.
Flower grins at them. “No problem, I'll let you go off and be good hockey players! But it's ok, there is no practice tomorrow.”Geno blushes slightly. Of course Sid remembered their schedule, even now.
“No seriously guys, thanks for tonight, it's been fun,” Sid's eyes can't help sliding towards Geno as he speaks, polite Canadian or not. “We should do it again.”
“I'm sure you will,” Flower mutters under his breath, in French. Vero is glaring at him. Sid looks at him, confused.
“Thank you for saving me from just the music and Vero,” Flower smiles. Vero mock hits him. As a group, they head towards the exit.
“You just do not understand culture Marc-Andre,” she says to him in a despairing tone. “Even Geno gets it more than you do!”
“Of course he does,” Flower gets in quickly before Geno can. “He's Russian, and Russia's best!”
Geno, scowls at Flower – but can't help but laugh.
------
Vero turns to Flower once they’re alone in their car. “That went very well,” she says with a tone of satisfaction. “But next time, please, can't you just admit that it's you who actually likes the classical music?”
Flower smiles at her, buoyed up by a mission successfully completed and knowing how lucky he is to have her. But there’s no way on earth he’s admitting he likes classical music to the team.
As they drive out the car park, Flower spots Sid and Geno in the shadows by Geno’s car, together, enfolded in each other. Flower beams. His work here really is done, he hopes they can take it from here - even those pair. Now, the team’s reaction to the news….
------
Two days later, Flower's phone rings. He doesn't recognise the number, so doesn't answer. Nor the second time, five minutes later. But on the third time, another five minutes later, he decides it really isn't going to give up until he answers it. “Can I help you?” he mutters in French, off-puttingly. That usually deals with phone spam, Americans freak out when the phone isn't answered in English.
“You did it! I thought I might have to get involved, but you actually did it!”
It takes a few seconds for Flower to process what’s being said... and who might be saying it.
“What the fuck... Ovechkin?!”
“Hello Flower! It's not an approach I would have thought of, but I have to give it to you, it did work. And it sounded, well, so very Russian – are you sure you have no Russian blood in you? The romance of it all... ”
“I suppose it is no use to ask how you got this number? And what the fuck you are talking about?”
“Absolutely no use! I think the best thing is they are so unaware of what you did for them. Sid and Geno I mean. But I simply had to phone you to congratulate you. We were starting to despair for them.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. Please do not contact me again.” And with that, Flower hangs up. He's not going to get drawn into talking about his team mates with outsiders, particularly not with mad Russian outsiders. But he can't help grinning anyway – it's always nice to have your work recognised. He counts it as independent verification that it is all working so far; if anyone would know who wasn't a French Canadian goalie, it would be the Russians.
------
He heads into the Consol for a late afternoon practice, deliberately getting there early so he can see Sid and Geno arrive. Usually Sid is one of the first, and Geno one of the last. He's not wrong in his guess; Sid is not so early as usual and Geno not so late. They do arrive together. And just watching, it's obvious (to him anyway, but he doesn't think that the team will be slow to recognise) that they are together. Sid is being the captain as usual. Checking in with everyone, making sure they're all okay. Geno is getting his stuff together, going through stretches. They've always been close in the locker room, but now they seem to be telepathic. Sid doesn't need to check where Geno is, he just knows. Geno is anticipating what Sid wants and when. And the seemingly casual touches. Geno gently directing Sid out the locker room with a hand on the small of his back; Sid flicking hair out of Geno's eyes as he goes to put his helmet on. So casual; so personal; so intimate. Flower feels immensely satisfied watching them.
“Flower, are you going to be ready anytime today?!” Shit. Too caught up in the moment.
He grins at Beau brazenly “I was giving you a chance to score – I know you need all the advantage you can get.” In the outraged squawk which follows, he pulls his mind to the practice.
------
Not surprisingly, Duper and Tanger get it first. They corner Flower after morning practice the next day, while Sid and Geno are making each other laugh at the edge of the rink, giggling joyously. They sometimes do that, but not for so long, nor so intensely with each other.
“Are they...?” says Duper, glancing over at Sid and Geno. Flower looks over at them. Really, they have to ask?!
“Yes,” he replies.
Tanger's eyes light up. “Oh fantastic – finally. But when?”
“Oh it's new, this week. Can't you tell? Honeymoon period,” Flower makes ridiculous lovesick eyes.
Duper laughs at him and then smiles fondly. “They look happy.”
The three of them exchange smiles, the smiles you share when you are happy and proud for your friends, when people who you love get something they deserve. “They do,”agrees Flower. “But there is a problem. ”
Duper and Tanger are suddenly focussed on him.
“If we thought Geno was protective of Sid before...”
Duper groans. “Oh God.”
“Yes.”
“He's never going to be out the penalty box,”
“We need to protect Sid, make sure Geno doesn't feel like he has to.”
“I'll tell the D what we’re doing,” says Tanger “They don't need to know why at this time, they'll trust me and it's Sid. Duper can you tell Kuni?” Duper nods.
“It won't work if they take the penalties instead,” says Flower. He really hates killing penalties – it feels like he’s under siege the entire time. Having to stay super-alert and focussed, watching for the smallest breach, for the opposition’s move and fakes and plays.
Duper grins at him. “Yeah, we know you hate it. They're not exactly our favourite thing either,”
“I really don't want to spend all my ice time on the kill,” says Tanger. It hits him hard too, he gets a lot of ice time when they are killing. “If we can prevent even some, then we will.”
------
On the plane, that evening, Flower waits to see if Sid changes seats... he's always sat next to Sid, but things are different now. He sees Sid hesitate and look towards Geno, but Geno pushes him towards his usual seat “Why you so slow Sid? You hold up entire plane!”
“He's just looking for excuses for you to touch him Geno!” chirps Beau.
Oh, out of the mouths of babes.... Sid goes scarlet.
Geno grins “But of course! Why wouldn't he? But he shouldn't hold up entire plane!” Sid settles down with Geno sitting opposite him, next to Duper. It's not a long flight to Boston. Thankfully, Sid and Geno don't hold hands across the aisle. Flower is sure they think about it though.
------
During team dinner, Flower observes a few more of the team realise what has happened. Kuni; well no surprise there, not after Duper's talk, warning him of something. And Kuni knows Sid well. Flower watches the consideration as Geno feeds something to Sid from his plate (really?! They're meant to be being discrete!). He sees the the penny drop in Kuni’s eyes, and then the shit-eating grin emerge.
Flower leans across to Kuni “They will do well together won't they?” he murmurs.
Kuni grins at him “Yes, they will. And if we can stop Geno getting those ‘I must defend Sid's honour at all costs’ penalties, then so much the better.” Flower nods at him. “Exactly.”
Rather more surprisingly, it is the babe who gets it next. Geno is saying something into Sid's ear and Sid is laughing. He turns to look at Geno, and suddenly Beau is standing staring at them open mouthed. Flower sees it happening; sees the look in Beau's eyes, and is suddenly moving quickly across the room, putting a hand on Beau's arm just as Beau is opening his mouth to say something. Flower has no idea what, but he is 100% sure he really doesn't want to hear it and nor does he wanted it shouted across the room for everyone to hear. The hand on his arm distracts Beau, it's a poke check on his train of thought, stops him as Flower leans into Beau.
“Really, don't.”
“But they're…”
“We know. Really, don't. Give them the space to be them just now.”
“But it's amazing.. it's such good news!”
“And they'll tell us when they are ready to. Now, we need to give them that space and protect them.”
Beau looks at Flower. “Who else knows?”
“Obviously me, Duper, Tanger and Kuni,” Flower sees the realisation on Beau's face that he's part of a very select group.
“Exactly. And we need your help. Geno... Geno is going to be over-protective.” Beau’s nodding.
“We need to protect Sid so that Geno doesn't spend time in the box. And when we can't, you're going to have to distract Geno as much as you can; keep him focussed on the game and not on retribution. ” Beau is nodding even harder. “I hear you man, I'll do everything I can.”
“The D know – but not why,” He can see the responsibility settling on Beau. Flower grins at him. “Well done Sunshine!” he says, and gets a shy, proud grin back from him.
------
For a moment, the next day, Flower curses his timing. Couldn't he somehow have worked it when they were next to play the Leafs? Or really any other team but the Bruins or Flyers, both of whom will spend any game trying to hit Sid hard? But in his heart, he knows the answer is no. The concert was just too good an opportunity to pass up on. And, remembering THAT phone call, rather music than whatever idea Ovechkin would have come up with – probably a plan with no subtlety involving something ridiculous like locking them in a closet together. He feels a bit bad that he couldn't involve the coach in “Operation Protect Sid” – but it shouldn't affect the plays. They're just doing what they do normally, but being a bit more vigilant. Nevertheless, it is with some trepidation that Flower takes to the ice and tries to clear his mind of externalities, to concentrate entirely on the game. He too has a job to do, and that's stopping pucks. Everything else is up to everyone else.
By the end of the first period, it's going well. A lot of it is down to Sid himself – he's alight and he's dancing through the Bruins like a thistledown, avoiding them, weaving amongst them. Today is one of those magic days where there is nothing he can't do with the puck. The Bruins are getting increasingly frustrated and working harder and harder to hit him; but he dances out their way, or there’s a Penguin D or a line-mate accidentally in their way, buffering Sid and keeping a perimeter around him. The Bruins aren't touching him. The Pens are ahead, and the traffic on Flower's goal has been relatively light and what’s come his way, he’s stopped.
In the second period, the Bruin's frustration causes them to give up a penalty. It was a close run thing; Flower knew that it could have easily been Kuni in the box for interference but the studied casualness of Kuni's movement, and the Bruin's over the top reaction made it look like the Bruin was the transgressor. Flower owes Kuni several drinks for that one. Sid and Geno take to the ice together for the power play, and Flower realises that now, at least in this game, they are so completely synced into each other's play that a goal is inevitable. They’ve gone beyond their ‘two-headed monster’ nickname and today they’re a force of nature. Sid goes hard to the net with the puck, faking out the goalie, forcing him to commit – then hits Geno's tape on the far post perfectly as though there was never any doubt at all that's where Geno would be waiting and Geno taps it in. Flower watches as they hug hard and he grins and laughs.
Into the third. Pens are still ahead, the team following Sid’s lead, Flower is keeping the Bruins shut out, and Sid is still lighting up the ice. Marc-Andre is hoping their luck holds out, but he knows the team is getting tired; the extra vigilance when Sid is on the ice is wearing them down and they've all hit hard and been hit hard trying to protect him. But Flower has to admit it has worked so far; they've only taken one penalty all game, and that was nothing to do with 'Operation Protect Sid', just a stupid, careless slash. And they killed it.
And then he sees McQuaid going after Sid again as he breaks out down the left hand boards. There's no-one around who can intervene, they're too far, Sid’s move caught most people by surprise. Sid is boarded, hard, and knocked to the ground – but it's the carefully shielded slash while he's on the ground which has Geno on his feet, rage on his face. The entire team is on their feet but Sid jumps up, as though nothing happened, and skates on, trying to win the puck back. Duper and Kuni move in quickly to assist, and they're clearing the puck to their D and then going for a fast line change.
Geno is skating hard off the bench arrowing straight in on McQuaid, showing no interest in the puck whatsoever. Flower can feel the intensity of his stare, the anger and knows he's going for revenge, not hockey. He sees Beau shouting towards Geno, only to be ignored. Beau is skating towards Geno when suddenly his stick slips from one hand, tangling in Geno's feet, tripping him, sending him staggering across the ice, only Geno's strength and skill keeping him upright. If it had happened to an opponent, it would have been hooking... but no-one would ever hook someone on their own team. Jeers and cheers ring out around the stadium over the ineptness and stupidity of the move – the Bruins crowd are loving seeing the Pens fuck up all by themselves.
Play almost stops, their D guarding the puck in their end whilst they watch the tableau of Geno getting back in control and a stricken looking Beau skating around him to apologise, head down, embarrassed. Geno skates past his protestations, but it's clear that the rage is snapped, that Geno has his hockey head on again, the driving need for revenge gone. If Flower hadn't seen a look of resolve on Beau's face just before his stick 'slipped', he would have thought it an unfortunate but timely accident, something to chirp Beau about so long as they win; now he looks at Beau with a lot more consideration.
They win. And in the on-ice celebrations which follow, Marc-Andre takes the time to nod at Beau. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Great shut out!”
And that's all that needs to be said. They are team and will protect one another.
---
They go out to celebrate. Flower and Tanger let most of the group go on ahead, knowing that Sid and Geno might need a bit of persuasion… well Geno, maybe less so. Sid? Definitely. And persuasion? That’s a gentle word for it. But goalies can fight dirty when they have to.
“Of course you have to come - captain’s duty,” Flower says to Sid. “The team expect it. We’re here to make sure it happens.”
Sid is looking at them both, warily. “I’m tired guys, could really do with an early night,” he says, looking towards Geno for support. Flower has to work very hard to keep a knowing smirk from his face. Tanger gets in before Geno however.
“Sure, we can tell the team that their captain was too tired to come out and celebrate after such a match. They’ll try to understand. But the rookies want to celebrate with you. Do you really want to disappoint them?” says Tanger sadly. Ooof! No-one ever said D-men gently patted you on the shoulder and skated on with a kind word after stripping you of the puck. Sid is visibly wavering now, close to accepting the inevitable.
“I know what you doing,” says Geno suddenly. “You’re trying….”
Flower cuts in smoothly, “We’re trying to get you out so Beau won’t feel so bad for what happened tonight. He’ll take it to heart if you don’t come out, think you are angry with him.”
Geno sniffs, “He should be more careful then!”
But Sid’s eyes are softening. “Come on G, we don’t have to stay late, but it would be bad if we didn’t go,” he says. Geno shakes his head, but follows along behind Sid as they leave.
------
The bar is busy but not crowded and the team are camped out in the corner, relaxing and basking in the glow of a job well done when they arrive.
“Hey Beau, your round!” shouts Geno across the room as he walks in. “Best vodka for us!” Beau looks a bit startled at the demand, but before he can say anything, Flower has moved over to him.
“I’ll come help,” Flower says. “You’re meant to be apologising, remember?” They bring back a round of shots from the bar, Flower having picked up the tab, but Geno doesn’t need to know that.
“Ah Sunshine, maybe you not so careless afterall. Did you carry them back by yourself without dropping any?” chirps Geno. “If only you could do that with a stick”
“Fuck you Geno” Beau’s face is red now. But like that, they’ve moved on. Well apart from the next round of chirps, but that’s normal.
The team is not in massive party mode, just content to enjoy the aftermath of a good win. Flower is aware of a few glowers at them from around the bar but it is understandable - it’s hard to watch the team that just hammered yours enjoying themselves in your city, but it doesn’t feel like a hockey bar so they are left pretty much to themselves.
Some/several/many rounds later (Flower has kind of lost track of which), there’s a move to leave, mindful of the relatively early start the next day. Flower’s in front, talking with Tanger, with Sid and Geno behind and some more behind them… he wasn’t paying that much attention and there was the usual ‘will I stay/will I go?’ debate from some. As he walks towards the exit he trips over someone.
“Oh sorry man,” he apologises. He’s not usually that careless or inattentive, even after some/several /many.
“Cocksucker” is the unexpected response. Flower blinks. Hey, it was an accident… he looks at the person he tripped over. Oh, maybe not. It’s one of the guys who has been glowering at them during the evening. He goes to move on - no point getting involved, it never ends well.
“Go on, take your faggot asses home” He’s aware of sudden silence behind him. Flower is abruptly cold. Chillingly cold. Furiously cold. Not here, not now, not in front of Sid and Geno, not at this moment, not on this night. Any other night, he’d probably have walked on. But not here, not now, not like this. A line has to be drawn.
“I’m sorry I don’t think I heard you properly”, he says quietly, intensely. Tanger is looking at him, starting to move back from where he’d kept walking, aware something is happening, is wrong. Flower can’t bring himself to look at Sid or Geno, all his focus is on the guy in front of him.
“Look at you Penguin gayboys - going home to fuck each other now?”
“I thought you said something like that”. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. With that, Flower is moving - just because goalies don’t often fight, doesn’t mean they can’t. He puts all his anger into that punch - and either it’s exactly right, or the guy wasn’t expecting such a response, because in one punch, he’s floored. Flower has a moment of satisfaction, blinking at the guy on the ground, before he’s enfolded in a tight hug from behind and is being pulled back, bodily. Who.. oh Geno… He relaxes, doesn’t fight, lets Geno pull him away.
Tanger is between Flower and the guy getting up from the floor, hands held up disarmingly, looking like he’s going to help him up. “Leave him be,” says Flower urgently, dropping into French. “He’s a fucking homophobic bigot.”
There’s a moment of silence around him, during which Flower becomes all too aware of the shouting going on outside their group.
“Get him out of here before this gets any worse,” Sid orders Geno, and Flower finds himself being hustled through the bar and outside onto the street. Once there, Geno lets him go, but keeps watching him, just in case.
“Why, Flower?” Geno says.
“What he said - he can’t say that!”
“We hear that crap all the time. You can’t go round hitting everyone saying it.”
“I can try,” it slips out before Flower can stop himself. Where did that come from?
Geno shakes his head at Flower. “Flower, you can’t be our goalie from jail.”
They’re joined by Sid and Duper, Tanger and Kuni. None of them look happy. Flower braces himself, but all Sid says is “Let’s get back to the hotel - this isn’t the time or place.” He’s pissed. Geno looks at Sid.
“Sorted?” he says.
“I hope so,” Sid replies. “We’ll see by the morning if the media have it.”
They pile into cabs, but there’s no chatter, no chirping. It’s all uncomfortable and strained and they’re watching him, like they don’t know what he’ll do next. Flower sits there, trying to rub his hand without it being noticed. Fuck, it hurts. He’s relieved to get out of the cab, and back into the hotel and into his room, Tanger comes in a couple of minutes later, holding an ice pack.
“Put some ice on your hand.” And that’s it. All that’s said.
----
His return to consciousness the next morning is not pleasant.
Fuck. He’s hungover.
Fuck. His hand hurts… and then he remembers why.
FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.
Fuck.
He can so completely see the logic of what he did. He’s not sure anyone else will be able to though and in the cold, clear, hungover light of day, he’s also not sure it was worth it. He groans into his pillow, to be rewarded with something heavy hitting him in the back. He reaches around - Tanger has thrown a bottle of water at him.
“That might help,” Tanger says.
“Thanks,” Flower mutters.
“You do remember it was Geno we were trying to stop being overprotective? I don’t remember anywhere discussing you taking over from him.” Tanger is shaking his head at him, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement hidden deep there. It gives Flower a little hope.
“Anything got out about it?”
“Nothing yet. Interwebs are silent.”
“I didn’t mean it to happen like that,” he says miserably.
“Yeah, I know. Glad I’m not you today though. The flight back is going to be interesting…”Flower winces - sitting next to Sid for an entire flight. “Still excellent right hook man,” and Tanger is grinning at him now.
“Fuck off.” He drinks the water.
----
It’s getting close to the time when he has to head downstairs for the bus to the airport when his phone rings. He doesn’t recognise the number so ignores it. Five minutes later it rings again - same number, he ignores it. It could be press. It could be anyone. But then it rings again, five minutes later… and he stares at the phone with a creeping feeling of dread. No. Surely not. Not today. How to make a really bad day even worse.
“Hello?”
“Are you completely sure you aren’t part Russian? That was a very Russian response Flower! Who knew you had such a sweet punch also? I wish I had seen it for myself - you’re such a dark horse!”
Fuck. It is.
“What do you want Ovechkin? To congratulate me on last night’s win?”
“To speak to my second favourite goaltender of course! And to congratulate him on last night’s decisive action. Although some might think that was a bit reckless, punching out a rival’s fan in a bar, I am appreciative of the principled stand you took against homophobia.” He says it carefully, like he’s rehearsed it.
Flower wants to scream down the phone. But there is no way in hell he is giving Ovechkin that satisfaction. He finds himself gripping one hand into a tight fist. How does he know? He tries to reach for calm. “Thank you. But I did say….”
“Never to contact you again - I know. But this is such a special occasion because really, how often do goalies fight? And I really do think you are holding out on us about being part Russian!” He drops his voice, says a little more confidentially, more seriously, “Besides, I did owe you one for getting our little lovebirds together. Fortunately for everyone, Khokhlachev was in your bar last night, and saw the whole thing. Such a sweet boy.”
“What are you talking about?” Flower hopes the edge to his voice is not too apparent, tries not to show reaction, but suspects Ovechkin doesn’t miss it. Khokhalchev - what? Who?
Ovechkin sighs. “I’m trying to tell you if you would stop interrupting. Imagine my surprise when Khokhlachev called me to say that Geno had had to break up a fight last night between you and a fan!”
“It wasn’t a fight! And.. why would a random Russian call you?”
“Well no, it wasn’t, but only because you have such a good right hook. Who knew?! Anyway. Of course Sasha called me - who else would he call? He’s a good Russian hockey player who knows his duty.”
Flower looks down at his hand, where his nails have bitten deep into the palm of his hand. He finds himself uncomfortably aware that he is looking for surfaces around him to beat his head against, sure it would be less painful than having this conversation.
“So I told Sasha to sweet talk the fan. You’re lucky the fan is such a committed Bruins fan - he was delighted to spend the rest of the evening being commiserated by a sometimes Bruins player about how awful the Pens are. But in the process, Sasha was able to convince him that making it public would not only hurt you - something he’d have done in a heartbeat, but also make a mess for the fan. Sasha is such a good boy. Real promise - and a good player too!” Ovechkin laughs.
Flower knows he has lost control of this conversation beyond any ability to regain it. But there is also relief there that last night has been hushed up - and he hates he feels gratitude towards Ovechkin. But he does. He knows Ovechkin has dug him out of an embarrassing hole. The words are stiff in his mouth. “Thank you for doing that Ovechkin”. Somehow, he gets it out - quietly, it’s choking him, but he’s said it.
“Awwww, the polite Canadian! No need to thank me Flower - what are friends for!” Flower hates that Ovechkin almost seems to know what he is thinking. “But we may not be around to help you out next time, so perhaps - and I, as a Russian, really understand the difficulty of controlling your passion - be a bit more careful in the future?”
Oh god, he’s getting advice from Ovechkin. And it’s good advice. The taste in Flower’s mouth couldn’t get any more bitter. “There won’t be a next time!” he snaps.
“Excellent news - so the next time I’ll speak with you is when you’re picking my puck out of your net! I look forward to it so much!” And on that chirp, Ovie laughs again but finally and thankfully hangs up.
Flower throws his phone across the room, sighs, retrieves it and heads downstairs to find he is the last person to board the bus. A torrent of noise explodes when he gets on, cheers, chirps and ironic applause, and he is thankful to sink down in an empty seat next to Tanger and try to ignore it, plugging in his earphones, turning up the volume as much as he can bear and closing his eyes. He is not acknowledging the world right now so it can fuck off and leave him alone.
---
On the plane, Sid is already seated and Flower moves past him to take the window seat. Sid looks at him as he sits down.
“What happened last night Flower?” He has his captain’s voice on. It’s going to be one of those talks and although Flower is more immune than most to Sid being captainly, he still is Flower’s captain and friend.
“Sorry Sid, I just got pissed with what he was saying and lost my cool. It shouldn’t have happened and it won’t happen again.” Flower hopes that will put it to rest. Sid frowns at him, confused.
“But I don’t understand - we hear stuff like that a lot. Why react last night? We’d had a great game.” Damn, Sid really isn’t going to let it go.
“He was a real dick,” Flower tries to evade. Sid just looks at him, waiting, determined, refusing to give up. Flower bites his lip and settles into his seat. No getting out of this when Sid looks like that and Flower won’t lie to him over this. “I didn’t want what he said to hurt you or Geno”. There’s a sharp, intense silence.
“It wasn’t going to hurt Geno or me… why would it…” Sid is talking quickly, slightly higher pitched than normal, cheeks flushing, losing his captain’s tone in his fluster.
“Sid, I know you and Geno are together now.” There is a longer silence, the sound of thoughts whirling and ricocheting. Sid looks away, towards Geno before he realises what he’s just done and looks back at Flower. Flower tries to smile at him - Sid looks a bit freaked. Bless - Sid really had thought they’d been discrete. “You were both so happy - I couldn’t stand that a bigot could ruin that for you. So I acted.” Sid is almost goggling at him now, tense and tight. Flower guesses that Sid didn’t think this would be the reason and is struggling to know what to say next.
“You’re ok with us being together? How did you know?” Sid is a bit breathless. Flower shakes his head, smiling fully now. Sometimes Sidney just doesn’t get the people around him, and you have to be so direct.
“I’m more than ok about you together. I am happy for you. I am happy you’re together. You deserve each other, you deserve to be happy. And I know because you’ve been glowingly happy for the last week. You can’t hide that from people who know you well,” As Flower speaks, Sid relaxes, tension shedding off him. “What, did you think, that I’d freak if I knew?”
Sid hesitates…”I just... wasn’t sure of how anyone would react. You know… we’re a team… I.. we.. didn’t want to affect that.”
“The team will be happy for you,” Flower predicts confidently. Of course they will, they’re good people and Flower will do everything he can to make sure they will. “And if we’re ok, who cares about anyone else?”
Sid grins, colour still a little heightened but growing in confidence. And then he stops and takes on his captain’s look again. “It’s a shame you didn’t think of that last night,” he says, trying to look stern. But also kind of failing. He’s back to glowing again and it’s hard to look stern and happy at the same time. Flower rolls his eyes at him.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. As I said, it won’t happen again.” But Flower is grinning back at him. He leans into Sid. “There is just one more thing…”
“What?” asks Sid.
“Please just don’t do anything gross like making out in the locker room…think of the children!” To Flower’s surprise, Sid starts to blush furiously.
“Oh my god…you haven’t…. I really didn’t want to know that!” And Flower is laughing and laughing and laughing at the look on Sid’s face.
----
The next day, before practice, he spots Sid and Geno standing talking quietly together. Sid is tense and wired, and Geno is talking soothingly to him, but Flower can detect some strain within Geno as well. Flower studies them surreptitiously . There is something wrong, but he’s not sure what. He doesn’t think they have argued… but there is something. Then Sid moves more out into the middle of the room, Geno following behind. Ohhhhhh. Flower’s eyes open wide. He hadn’t considered that could be an outcome of his talk with Sid yesterday….
“Can I have your attention please…. “ Sid speaks to the room, waiting for a hush to fall. It falls quickly, the players turning to look at their captain. “We’ve got some news that we don’t want to keep from our team… so I just wanted you to know…” words seem to fail him, and he reaches for Geno’s hand… before continuing “we’re together.” He’s bright red, and his final words come out a bit squeaky. Geno wraps an arm around his waist, ducking down to kiss him softly on the lips. The room is silent for a heartbeat taking this in.
Flower is on his feet, moving forward towards them. “Congratulations - but I said NO making out in the locker room!” he calls. “Olli, close your eyes at once!” He reaches them and hits them gently across their heads, in a mocking counterpoint to his words, before enfolding them both in a hug, murmuring his happiness for them both. He is quickly joined by Tanger, Duper, Kuni and Beau who have the advantage of being not quite so surprised, and then quickly by the rest of the team, hugging, back slapping, exclaiming their excitement at the news.
It’s a few minutes before the scrum splits up, Sid and Geno emerging red-faced and dishevelled from the attention. But they are grinning from ear to ear.
“Right,” says Sid. “We have a practice to get to!”
“And if you think I go easy on you because of news,” Geno says, “You are wrong!” There is a chorus of chirps, groans and comments at that, but they finish getting ready for the practice.
Flower grins to himself. It really does feel like his work here is done. Although it does leave him wondering… does he really need to tell Sid or Geno how much Ovechkin knows about all of this?