9: One-Hit Wonder

ROCKET

They're playing me this game, probably because it's the Wild and everyone seems comfortable with our ability to beat them.

I'm nervous. I doubt I'm going to play the same way that I did the last time I was in, and while I doubt it would be that bad in the eyes of the rest of the team, I'm absolutely terrified of Yeti's reaction if I don't play at that level again. It's not like I need to please him, I don't think, I just, I don't want to make him mad, or make him regret the whole MVP thing or anything like that. He's just scary.

"Feeling alright?" Steph shrugs his jersey on. Sagamore fits nicely across the back. Stojanovič does... barely. You know what fits on the back of a jersey? Rex. Just three letters. Just Rex.

"Yeah, fine," I pull the Velcro around my shoulders and chest and pull my jersey on in the same manner he did. I'm clipped in all the way down to my skates. It's time to boogie. "Just a little worried."

"Ah, you'll be fine, I know there's a ton of pressure on you but you'll be alright." Thanks, Steph, that's super reassuring.

Yeti catches me by the arm on the way out of the locker room, Steph already jogging out to join the lineup, "hey, you alright? You seem rattled."

I clear my throat, not making eye contact with him through his cage, "yeah, worried, just a little, I just-"

"About last game?"

I force my shoulders to soften underneath my gear, he's fine, he's not going to do anything, he's fine, "yeah."

"Listen," he shakes my shoulder and I catch it as a queue to look up at him, his hard gaze landing on me, the inches he has on me made more apparent due to how close we are. "I know you set up a crazy precedent last game you played."

I swallow.

"Nobody is going to be mad if you let one or two in this game, we'll seal it up with offense, it's going to be fine."

I can't talk, I don't know what to say and what to do around him.

"Eyes up," his deep voice stops my heart in my chest and I refocus up. I fucking hate eye contact and his is the worst, searing into me, making me shiver under my skin, squirming in his gaze. "I have your back on this one, I was not very nice with you before this but I've got you on this one."

Huh. "Thanks, I guess?"

"Good," he shakes his shoulders like he's trying to get out a weird feeling. "Tear shit up." With that, he shoves me out the door in front of him and the hall cheers a little bit, shoving me all the way up to the front, searing red in my cheeks. Yeti drops back to share a word or two with his other captains, Fen and Greenie nodding along before dropping off into their positions for the lineup.

Then, it's go time.

And it's really, truly, not that bad. Okay, it's not great, I get rattled within the first few minutes, a hard slapshot ringing off the top of my head, another one stinging the base of my hand in my glove, enough weird plays that I got dizzy just watching them, but it really could be worse.

Nico doesn't seem to like the rest of the ice, though.

"If you guys don't score before the end of the period, I'll make you do suicides until you vomit, hear me?" She's got us in the locker room, standing up on the folding table in the center, clipboard in one hand, curly brown hair tied back tight into a tiny little ponytail, almost matching Jorgen's hair.

We all nod. She continues. "There's no reason that they should be holding us off. You're stronger skaters, you're better stick-handlers. You're bigger, you're faster. You're tougher." She points at Yeti and Fen. "You two need to break away. I don't care quite how, but you're both terrifying to see coming down the ice. Freak out Thatcher and keep him freaked out. The faster you rattle a goalie the faster you win."

I chew the inside of my lip, not really liking the sound of that.

She takes another ten seconds to pick apart the rest of it, then shoos us all back out onto the ice. My feet are sliding back toward the net in the roaring stadium before I really register all that happened in the locker room.

Yeti, swoops back, skates moving fluidly across the ice, his eyes up on the set up of the drop, but coming back to me as I maneuver into a better ready position.

"Rocks!" He shouts over the noise. "Watch Harper on the way in, he's getting handsy with me and has something up his sleeve."

"Um, yeah, got it," I poke my stick at the back of his skate and when his eyes drop down to me, not expecting for half his balance to be moved like that, I smile up at him.

"You're- I don't know," he manages, then skates up one stride as the puck falls toward the ice.

Fen scores on a breakaway, just like Nico wanted him to, and we get through all of the second period before things start to get scrappy because we're winning three to nothing.

There's four quick passes between the Minnesota players coming toward me, and I see Harper wind up for a slap shot. He gets about halfway through the downswing before Steph knocks him clean to the ground. Yeti get's the loose puck and throws it off to Fen before they change shifts. Steph tips his helmet at me.

Funny how I feel fifteen times as vulnerable without them in front of me.

So I wait out the full minute it is before they get thirty seconds again. Except this time, he gets to complete the slap shot.

Before I really know what's going on, the base of my hand stings and I slap my glove to the ice like a giant cat putting its paw on something.

Yeti checks in on me after that one, except the only part of him I can see are his shin guards.

Shift change and there's another minute of fear.

Then my boys are back. And the Wild seem to not give a single fuck about my personal safety, because before I know it, one of them checks me from behind so his buddy can get a shot.

Steph sees the whole thing and manages to get the side of his chest in front of it, which is a big thank-God on my part.

The guy who cross-checked me is now mostly on top of me. I'm like one big flat goalie pancake under him. I hear quite a lot of cussing from above me, and then a tug.

Then I'm helmetless on the ice, a rush of cold air hitting my sweaty hair. Honest to God, being helmetless mid-game is one of my biggest fears. I see the play mostly stop, at least Greenie seems to be holding the puck still, playing keep away with three guys on him.

I hear a low voice right over my head, and then a skate in front of me. Weird. I keep tabs on my helmet, which skittered most of the way to the blue line, a stick stuck in between the slapper and the helmet.

Then I finally get around to looking up, which, I probably should've done sooner.

Yeti cross-checks the guy who's stick is in my helmet. He's pissed off. The guy drops his gloves but Yeti stands his ground, kind of like he's willing the guy to make the first move. Colin Harper. That's his name. I knew I knew it in the back of my head. Colin Harper. (technically I should know everyone but that's a lot of homework)

He's standing there, hands out and fisted, helmet mostly unbuckled. Ready to fight. Yeti's hands are at the end and the base of his stick, standing still.

Harper takes a couple of steps toward Yeti and I see his eyebrows go up. Everyone's watching rather silently. The refs are circling like sharks, ready to break it up the second they need to.

I lay as still as I possibly can. Maybe, if I don't move, they won't be able to see me. Steph kneels next to me and bends over, one hand out, making sure the player he's marking knows he's still being watched, just in case this goes from a fight to a brawl. The rest of the team is paired off, sort of hugging their marked guy, making sure the other doesn't get involved. The fight hugs are my favorite part of this sport.

"He's got guts." Steph mumbles.

"Who?"

"Harper."

I nod, "guts is one way to put it."

He spins, watching Harper circle him, Yeti's gloves are off now, his helmet unbuckled as well. Harper is getting closer. Yeti glances at me laying on the ice. I shake my head to tell him it's not worth it. He seems to understand what I meant.

But it's too late. There's one swift harsh punch to the side of Yeti's loose helmet, knocking it to the ice. Harper's grip fastens tight on the front of Yeti's jersey and he winds up and goes through, hitting Yeti square in the jaw.

I have the heart to look away, not wanting to see him fight, but I can't. It's like a horror movie, I can't turn it off.

HÃ¥kon responds quickly, rotating, one hand on Harper's jersey, mirroring him. His shoulders square off and one of his skates steps forward.

I watch the motions as he goes through them in a split second, the rotation of his knees, rolling up to his hips, rippling through his core. His arm is locked and loaded and I watch the release, the controlled but swift tensile snap of his body.

I watch his fist land firm on Harper's jaw, not meant to mess with his teeth or his face, meant to daze him and get him down.

It works like a well-oiled machine. The pull of his hand on Harper's jersey, the push of his punch, the step forward. Harper loses his footing like I lose change in my couches.

All it takes is one pull and shove with Yeti's hand on his jersey, dropping him to the ice like a sandbag.

The refs take their chance and the two linesmen grab Yeti by the shoulders, the two refs take Harper. Harper gets a double minor, goalie interference and regular old interference. Yeti is just in for interference. He'll be out sooner or later.

I watch the linesmen guide him across the ice to the penalty box, two hands on him at all times to make sure he doesn't race back over there and finish Harper off. He won't, I know he won't.

HÃ¥kon steps rather gracefully into the box, letting Greenie hand him his helmet, gloves and discarded stick. They share a tense fist-bump, both of their eyes on Harper as he glares the two of them down rather unsuccessfully on his way to his own box. (or, sin bin, like Nico says)

Then I watch HÃ¥kon bring his hand up to his jaw, putting his fingers gently over the newly forming bruise, checking the space for anything abnormal.

"Didn't take much, huh," Fen says from above me. I snap out of my trance, shaking my head to get myself back into the game.

He takes the stick out of my helmet and I slip it back onto my head. Unfortunately, the sweat on the inside no longer matches my body temperature. It is... cold. And very gross.

Fen takes the stick over to the penalty box and throws it to Harper, who's looking pretty embarrassed right now.

"Alright, let's finish this shit," Steph sighs. I poke his back with my stick. He rolls his eyes at me, laughing.

YETI

"Only one, huh?" Fen ruffles my hair with his glove, laughing. "You barely even took off your gloves. It took a hell of a lot more than that to get Stringer to cooperate."

"Mhmm." I mumble, it hurts to open my mouth up too much more than that.

Everyone in the locker room is kinda starting at me.

I pull the straps of my helmet off right as Nico bursts in the door. "How's that for big dick energy, huh Yeti?" She laughs.

Jorgen is behind her, standing at the back of the room, then making eye contact with me. It was the end of the third, I didn't have time between periods to get my hand or jaw fixed up, so I played it out. Yeah, there's a little blood on the inside of my left glove, but I've ripped big enough holes in the palms over the last 2 weeks to be needing a new pair soon.

I nod at him, telling him I do need some medical attention.

So, while Nico gives her post-win hype speech and rundown of practice in the next couple days, I hold my hand in the air to let Jorgen clean it out and wrap gauze between my fingers to cover my knuckles up.

I keep my eyes on the floor, fixed steadily on my scuffed up skate because I know that the second I look up, I'll look at Rocket, just to see how he's reacting to all of this, to see how he's feeling after that game.

"Do you need ice for that?" Jorgen picks my helmet up off my head and sets it on the shelf above me, gloved hand grasping my chin and picking my head up to look at the side of my jaw. He presses his fingers into the new bruise, making me to wince. "You'd know if it was broken, so you're clear on that, but do you want ice?"

I nod, but unfortunately he picked up my chin which means I'm now staring at Rocket, who's staring right back.

His eyes drop immediately, I don't know why, but I do at least know he was watching me get checked out.

Jorgen leans back over and hands me a bag of ice, letting me control how and where I put it. So I lean my jaw on the icepack and use my bloody and bandaged knuckles to hold it there. It's a practiced routine for me, using my messy hand to hold up the ice.

Honest to god, I didn't want to fight him, not after Rocket shook his head at me. He tossed that cross-check right at Rocket's neck. I saw the way his head snapped back. Things got tricky and his helmet was all the way across the ice. Next thing I knew I'd shoved him off Rocket, angry enough to pick myself a fight.

Then he shook his head at me. I don't know why. But he shook his head and suddenly I was all the way chilled out again, perfectly fine with letting Harper get away with it.

I'm not sure why I did it anyway. Why I went harder than I would've normally after Harper hit me the first time.

I think I just took a protective high ground.

He looked terrified laying there, too. He was trying to be as still as possible, I saw that. Then that little look he gave me. That half-scared half-worried look. Like all he wanted was to avoid seeing me bloody.

I'd have gotten as bloody as I wanted for him at that moment. He's my jurisdiction on this team now. I fucked it up at first and now I have a stupid urge to take the heat for him.

***

comatose, under pressure

leave us alone, get the picture

we don't care what you think

don't care - Adam Jensen

***

So yeah, this is like 2 hours late, shush, I couldn't find a song and then I redid the fight.

anyway I need to shower

happy 300 reads

-rabid