Chapter Text
“Earth to Scotty.”
Scott roused himself from his reverie to find Vaughn giving him an expectant look.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
Vaughn shook his head. “You okay, man? You’re so out of it lately.”
“Yeah.” Scott gave a humourless laugh. “Probably just the Olympic stress. I’ll snap out of it now.”
“Uh huh,” Vaughn said skeptically.
There was an excited buzz amongst Team USA in the airport around them, especially among the few young guys they had pulled up from college and minor league teams to fill out the Olympic team. Most guys were proudly wearing their silver medals over their clothes. There was laughing, chirping, even some rough-housing as everyone still rode the high of their success.
“What I said was, are you ready to get back home?”
Scott gave a non-commital chuckle. “Honestly, not really. It’s been fun, and,” Scott tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows, “…different, you know? A change.”
Vaughn laughed at him. “You’re an enigma, you know that?”
“Okay, word of the day.”
Vaughn turned back to his phone, and Scott tried to stop himself from drifting back into his thoughts, tried to focus on the celebrations around him. Maybe feel some of the mirth for himself.
His own phone dinged, and he looked at it just for something to do. He saw the notification was from Kip and froze. He stared at it. He almost dropped his phone in his haste to open the message.
Kip: So…I think the rules say that if your ex wins an Olympic medal for his country, then you’re allowed to text him.
Scott was so happy to see Kip’s message, he didn’t even feel the stab that was the word ‘ex’. He had stared so long at Kip’s last message in their chat (If anything changes, you know where to find me), that it was burned into his brain.
He started typing with such vigour that Vaughn looked back over at him. Scott leaned just slightly away, tilting his screen as subtly as he could. He was certain Vaughn noticed him being secretive, but he said nothing and went back to his own phone.
Scott: I think so, I think it’s in the official dating rule book.
Before Scott could decide if that was a funny or stupid thing to say, Kip responded.
Kip: Congratulations! I can’t believe you’re an Olympic Silver Medalist!
Scott: Thanks! It still feels surreal.
Scott: I mean, it’s no gold.
Kip: Very on brand thing for you to say
Kip: I have 0 olympic medals, so I’m still very impressed.
Kip was impressed with him. Kip was still thinking about him. Even though it had been weeks, and Kip could have his pick of anyone he wanted.
Scott: Did you watch the game?
Kip: Duh, it’s the Olympics! My dad and I watched them all. You played really well.
Kip: I mean, according to him. I’m still not sure I understand hockey. I saw you score goals, which I hear is a good thing.
Scott thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest as he read Kip’s text, and the laughing emoji he sent through with it. The giddiness he felt had him throwing caution to the wind.
Scott: Well, I think you get some credit. I was wearing my lucky socks.
Kip’s typing bubble disappeared immediately. Scott panicked. Too intense. Not light and breezy. Talk about Olympics, stay away from relationship.
But then the bubble was back.
Kip: The smoothie ones I got you?
Scott: Yeah. Is it okay to still wear them?
Kip. Of course, they were a gift.
Kip: So you’re saying, I helped win Olympic Silver?
Scott: Scientifically speaking, I think you did.
Kip: I should have personally delivered you a real smoothie to Russia. Then maybe we’d have gold right now.
Scott: I think that’s what lost us the game.
Kip’s bubble appeared and reappeared some more. This sounded like a natural lull in the conversation. Scott fished around desperately for something neutral and safe to say, anything to keep the conversation going. Everything he had wanted to say to Kip and ask Kip, and tell Kip about, for the past several weeks, and the past little while at the freaking Olympics, suddenly flew from his head. He was about to resort to asking what the weather was like in New York, when the thing he was most desperate to know finally popped back into his mind.
Scott: hey, I never got the chance to ask you: did you hear back about your grad school applications?
Scott knew he could be poking at a sore spot, but he was certain he wasn’t. He was certain Kip would get into any program he applied to. To Scott, with the way he talked about Art, it made him seem like a genius. He knew nothing about Art Criticism or History; he had nothing to base his opinion on, Kip could really be mediocre, but Scott knew he wasn’t.
Kip: Ohmygoodness, yes I did!
Kip: I’ve heard from a bunch of places by now actually, but the first I heard back from was NYU! And I got a full ride too.
Scott: Congratulations! That is such a huge accomplishment.
Scott didn’t know if he was allowed to put into words everything he was feeling, reading that. He wanted Kip to know just how amazing that really was. He took a shot.
Scott: I’m really proud of you
He knew he no longer had any right to be proud of Kip, it wasn’t his place. But he was.
Kip: Thank you.
Scott had to keep the conversation going.
Scott: So how long is the program? When do you start?
Kip: It’s 3 years. Well, it’s actually 10 semesters, it’s supposed to be kinda flexible because it’s grad school so mostly mature students. I’m starting with the summer semester, so right at the beginning of May.
Kip: At the moment I’m just picking up as many shifts as I can, so hopefully I don’t have to work too much during the program.
Scott scrolled up to reply to Kip’s earlier text.
Scott: Wait, you said it was a full ride?
Kip sent a laughing emoji.
Kip: I mean, a full ride doesn’t pay rent to my Dad. Or, you know, buy food to live.
Damnit Scott. Now he’d embarrassed himself.
Kip: and it doesn’t pay my subway fare. Or pay for beers at the Kingfisher.
Scott: Okay, okay, I get it Grady
Kip: or clothing.
Kip: or Coffee
Kip: or Netflix
Kip: geez, Hunter, you’re so out of touch.
Scott: Ha. Ha. Ha.
Kip sent through a winking emoji.
Kip: you just stick to what you’re good at. Winning Silver medals.
Scott: Hey, it’s an improvement from Vancouver 2010! We got bronze, now we have silver. I guess this means we’ll get gold in 2018
Kip’s typing bubble appeared for a long, long time, but no text. Was he writing a really long message? Or just writing and rewriting something short. Or had he put his phone down open, and wasn’t thinking that hard about it at all. Scott started to get nervous.
The coach (he was usually the Raiders coach, and Scott did not like him as much as the coach the Admirals had had for the past several years. This man was rougher, and his style was much harder on them than Scott thought was necessary – it was no wonder Rozanov was such an ass) called to them, “Alright boys, let’s move.” Around him, everyone started shuffling for their bags and heading to the tunnel to their plane.
Scott reluctantly typed: Okay, we’re about to board. Heading home finally!
At that very moment, Kip finally sent a text through.
Kip: Lol, will you still be playing in 2018?
Scott stared at the text. 2018 seemed like a long, long way away. According to his current contract, yes, he would still be playing hockey then, and if he was playing hockey, he intended to be good enough to make the Olympic team again. But 4 years was still within the realm of “a few years”.
Not that Scott was under any pressure to retire in “a few more years” anymore.
Before Scott could formulate an answer that was casual and reassuring, but affirmative, but also, perhaps, maybe just a tiny bit ambiguous, Kip sent another text.
Kip: Ah, Have a safe flight!
Kip: It was so nice to chat! Congratulations again!
It was a conversation ending text. He had barreled right past his previous text. The only thing Scott felt he could say back was:
Scott: Thanks! And yes, it was lovely to catch up.
Kip had read the text immediately, Scott saw, but he didn’t respond again. He had probably left the chat.
Scott grabbed his bags and strode to catch up with the other guys. Vaughn was dawdling to let him catch up, and eyed him suspiciously, but didn’t say anything.
Despite Kip’s cryptic text about 2018, Scott found himself feeling lighter. Hopeful. He had spent the time since their…well, it was a break up, there was no way around it…thinking that they were going to have a clean break. The conversation they had had, which started as texts, turned into a tearful call, and ended with Kip’s final text (if anything changes, you know where to find me) the Sunday night that Scott did not go to the Kingfisher, was the last one they would get to have, Scott had thought. He thought it was the last time he would ever hear from Kip.
Scott had heard what Kip said. And he would give Kip what he needed; he could do that at the very least. If he couldn’t give Kip a proper life, he could at least give him peace. And Scott had sworn to himself, Kip would not hear from him unless things had changed. But he knew in his heart that that was never going to happen until he retired.
But now Kip had opened the door. They were allowed to text. At least, when one of them won an Olympic medal. Kip had wanted to talk to him. He had said it was nice to chat.
So, as Scott settled into his seat beside Vaughn, he actually found himself smiling.
“Okay, I admit it,” he said, and Vaughn turned to him expectantly. “It’s kinda nice to be going home.”