DIG
Title: Dig
Authors: geekintehpink
Fandom: NHL > Boston Bruins
Characters: Glen Murray/Marc Savard
Word Count: 2,357
Rating: PG
We all have a weakness
But some of ours are easier to identify.
Look me in the eye
And ask for forgiveness;
We'll make a pact to never speak that word again
Yes you are my friend.
We all have something that digs at us,
At least we dig each other
So when weakness turns my ego up
I know you'll count on the me from yesterday
I love just watching you. I love watching your chest rise and fall, and watching as your eyes turn into one of those classic Glen Murray happy eyed faces that just makes my insides implode with happy...
I stopped in the middle of the sentence, tearing the page from the notebook as I sat at the desk in the hotel in New York. That was far too creepy. It made me seem like I was one of those 'parental lovers' who was always in the 'I'm always watching you' type of mindsets. Well, I was, but I didn't want him to think that I didn't think he was capable of living his own life, so I let it be and looked at the now blank page before me. I grabbed the note he'd written, glancing it over and admiring how he had this way of seamlessly communicating his thoughts onto the page, without the use of complicating middle terms. He had this slight simplicity about how he did it, and I wished that I could do that. The fact that I had a supposed 'gift' when it came to writing was something that not a lot of people knew about me. Mostly because I didn't think that I did. I always thought my writing was too complicated. That the words and descript scenarios that I put forth were too...I wasn't even sure. I put the pen to the paper again and tried to just let it flow.
You know those moments when you look over things that you've done in the past and just laugh; because the simplicity of it all was like a secret to you until that one moment that things just seem to be clear? I had one of those a year and three months ago.
I stopped again, tearing the page from the hotel notebook and throwing it toward the circular file, watching as it missed and bounced out onto the floor. God, that was obnoxious. I sounded so mushy, and I didn't want that, either. I didn't want it to seem like I was trying to over think it either. Though, I kind of was. I sighed. I'd vowed to myself that I would respond in kind when I read Glen's note that he'd written. Mostly because of the conversation that it had lead to afterward. I paused. Bringing the pen to my mouth, I took a slight chew on the plastic. I could save us a lot of time by just...a smirk crossed my face and I lowered the pen back to the paper, starting in with my genius plan.
There are a lot of things that no one knows about me. Believe me. If anyone knew them, it would be you. I keep things close to the vest a lot of the time, because I'm worried that people will think I'm lying, or think I have some kind of 'weirdness' disease. Mostly because that's how it's gone in the past. But, you've shared your story with me. I think it's my turn now. It occurred to me as I paused to bite on my pen (a habit that comes when I'm nervous...which should tell you how I feel about revealing all my secrets) that you don't even know anything, really, aside from that I was born in Ottawa.
So, you don't know that I was born without a father. Well, not really without-I had a father, he was just always so preoccupied with work that things, even such as seeing the birth of your firstborn son, didn't seem important enough to leave. He was a Constable in the Elgin Street Mounties, and it seemed that his job was more of his family than we were. So, he had nothing to do with us-mostly me-until I was about five, when my little brother Ryan was born. Figures he could take time away when Ryan was born, but not me, huh? I bet you're wondering why you haven't heard about Ryan until now, huh? There's reason for that, I promise. I'm not hiding anything from you that I wouldn't hide from anyone else. I'll get to that when it comes, though.
School wasn't a much better environment for me. I was small as a kid, too (still am really, though I think, I forget it sometimes). Smaller than anyone else in my grade. At eight years old, when most of my classmates were pushing the three foot tall mark, I was still a rousing two feet tall. And obviously, that made me the target of bullying. So, I understand that, too. There was this one kid, though. Popular boy. Tallest in the class-almost three and a half feet at age seven-his name was Kyle. I was essentially his mini punching bag. He'd corner me after school, it was one of those stereotypical school bullies with the shoving into closets (lockers as we grew older), pretty standard, it seemed. I once had to do extra chores at home and work the lunch line at school, for the last three years of high school because he'd pushed my schoolbooks into a mud puddle and no one-not teachers or my parents-believed me enough about it to give me the benefit of a doubt.
I don't know if I told you this, but the reason my foot was broken the season before I came to Boston was because the bones were already sensitive to begin with. Not a lot of people know this, but that happened in high school. And yeah, that had to do with Kyle, too. I had to tell my parents that I'd dropped something on my foot, but in reality, it had been Kyle that had dropped something. And it had been his own foot, in a steel-toed boot. He stomped on my foot and ground it into the gym floor, and no one aside from myself and Kyle has ever known the truth. Until now. Until you. That foot has never been the same; as you know. My right foot has never felt proper since high school, and it probably never will.
I know, every kid has a rough time in high school, and I know that it's old hat. But, I think, what really made my heart harden and turned me into the hard shelled person that I am today, happened when I was sixteen. My little brother was eleven, and he was going through a lot of the same things I did when I was a kid. But when I was sixteen and he was eleven, he was at a hockey game at school, and the middle school gym's roof collapsed. Twenty kids didn't make it. My brother was one of them. My parents were broken (my mother mostly, since my father hardly knew him), but I think I took it the hardest. Secretly, because I didn't want my mother to think that she wasn't doing a good job. My brother was the best kid I had ever seen. Smarter than an eleven year old should have been, and a much better hockey player than me. I really...don't think I have been the same since that day.
I stopped again, not realizing that I had started crying. This was the only thing I hated about drudging up all these old feelings. I didn't do it most of the time, because I hated the crying that came along with it. But I reminded myself that I wanted to be with Glen. And Glen had poured his heart out to me. Told me how it was for him growing up. I reminded myself that he'd told me that he wanted to know me, then took a glance back at Glen, still sleeping, blissfully oblivious to the fact that I was revealing my deepest, best kept secrets to him in a letter. I had initially wanted to stop right then, but I realized that Glen needed to know a few more things.
Basically, when I was a kid, the only time I was even remotely happy was after school when I played hockey. And I wasn't even happy then. Mostly because the coach? Was Kyle's father and benched me for almost the entire season. I only got playing time my senior year, when Kyle's family moved and the new coach was my English teacher, who was basically my favorite person. The closest to a father that I ever had. You may notice that I write a lot better than most people would expect that I would. That's mostly because my mentor was my English teacher, and he put me in so many writing contests...I won a bunch of them. Whenever you come to Ottawa with me, I'll show you my awards.
Up until I left high school and started in juniors, life had been hell. But when I came into juniors, I realized something. Though I'd spent all of high school chasing Samantha Stetson, my eyes just...didn't seem to fall on girls anymore. One of my teammates-Jared-and I had one of those doomed affairs, a lot like what people think ours is, Glen. But, no, it was nothing like this. Jared had the heart to play, like you. He did. But there was one thing that you have that he didn't. I'm not going to lie. You have the talent that he didn't. No goals or helpers in twenty-three games, and a minus eighteen rating. And I stuck with him. Brought him home with me for one Christmas. And my dad...caught on. And tried to disown me. It's a hard feeling, knowing that you're the reason why your parents divorced. I haven't seen my dad since that day.
So, obviously, when Samantha took interest, I told myself that I had to throw everything that I had with Jared out the window. We were in love, but it couldn't happen, because I thought that if I was normal; if I was what my father so desperately wanted me to be, maybe he would come home. So, it was a quick relationship, a quick engagement and a far-too-long marriage. I was married at eighteen and we just got divorced last year. And I was never happy. Except for when my children were born. I was always there, too. Until now. Now...I can't be. I'm afraid that my children are going to feel the way I feel about my dad, about me...and I don't think I can live with that. I love all of them. But, that's not the point I was trying to get to, here.
Once again, I'd found myself miles away from the topic that I was trying to bring myself to. It seemed, though, that once I started, I couldn't stop. There was so much that I hadn't said...hadn't talked about for my entire life, with anyone. I just...hadn't realized how deeply I'd bottled it in. I ran a hand through my hair and glanced back at him again. He'd shifted a bit in bed and was now laying on his other side; so I could see his face now. His chest rising and falling, sleeping the sleep of a man who had done his job and well. Because he had. I smiled a little and wiped my eyes, stretching a little and deciding to finally get to the point that I'd started the letter for.
I spent almost twelve years absolutely miserable. Actually, the better part of my life. But then I saw you. I swear it just went away. Glen, you have this way to just-God, the first time you looked at me it was like a clean slate. Like I couldn't deny who I was anymore. I'd tried. Even through my affair with Ilya, I had told myself it was a case of availability. But with you, there was no point in denying it. Because with you, it wasn't selfishness or a case of you 'just being there.' It was love. I fucking love you, Glen Murray. You make my life before you not matter. You make me okay. You make me feel human. You're the only person I have ever told any of this to. You make it okay to feel vulnerable. I have no idea where I would be without you, Glen; and am fortunate to have you in my life.
Closing my eyes and nodding my head a bit, reminding myself that yes, if I wanted to be with Glen for the rest of our lives, which I did, I needed to tell him all about it. I put the pen down on the desk and glanced at what I'd written, nodding a bit as I folded it up and stuck it on top of his clothing on the floor, so he could read it in the morning. Taking a glance at the bed, I wiped my eyes and changed into my pajamas quickly, crawling into bed behind Glen and nuzzling close to his back, trying as hard as I possibly could not to wake him up.
Glen opened his eyes slowly took a glance at the clock. “Marc? It's...four a.m.,” he whispered, rolling over and looking into my eyes. “Are you just coming to bed?”
I shrugged and nodded my head. “I couldn't sleep...” I whispered, brushing a hand across his cheek. “I think I'll be okay now, though...” I said, realizing in that instant how true that statement actually was. As long as I had Glen, I would be okay.
He shrugged and touched his lips to mine innocently, not realizing that in the morning, he would face the only test that no one else in my life had ever faced. “I love you, Marc...” he told me, closing his eyes and getting ready to go back to sleep.
“I love you, too, Glen...” I told him, half-smiling. But as soon as his eyes closed, it faded clear to nothing. I only hope you still feel that way in the morning...I added inwardly.
We all have a sickness
That cleverly attaches and multiplies
No matter how hard we try.
We all have someone that digs at us,
At least we dig each other
So when sickness turns my ego up
I know you'll act as a clever medicine.
If I turn into another
Dig me up from under what is covering the better part of me.
Sing this song; remind me that we'll always have each other
When everything else is gone.
lyrics by Incubus
Authors: geekintehpink
Fandom: NHL > Boston Bruins
Characters: Glen Murray/Marc Savard
Word Count: 2,357
Rating: PG
We all have a weakness
But some of ours are easier to identify.
Look me in the eye
And ask for forgiveness;
We'll make a pact to never speak that word again
Yes you are my friend.
We all have something that digs at us,
At least we dig each other
So when weakness turns my ego up
I know you'll count on the me from yesterday
I love just watching you. I love watching your chest rise and fall, and watching as your eyes turn into one of those classic Glen Murray happy eyed faces that just makes my insides implode with happy...
I stopped in the middle of the sentence, tearing the page from the notebook as I sat at the desk in the hotel in New York. That was far too creepy. It made me seem like I was one of those 'parental lovers' who was always in the 'I'm always watching you' type of mindsets. Well, I was, but I didn't want him to think that I didn't think he was capable of living his own life, so I let it be and looked at the now blank page before me. I grabbed the note he'd written, glancing it over and admiring how he had this way of seamlessly communicating his thoughts onto the page, without the use of complicating middle terms. He had this slight simplicity about how he did it, and I wished that I could do that. The fact that I had a supposed 'gift' when it came to writing was something that not a lot of people knew about me. Mostly because I didn't think that I did. I always thought my writing was too complicated. That the words and descript scenarios that I put forth were too...I wasn't even sure. I put the pen to the paper again and tried to just let it flow.
You know those moments when you look over things that you've done in the past and just laugh; because the simplicity of it all was like a secret to you until that one moment that things just seem to be clear? I had one of those a year and three months ago.
I stopped again, tearing the page from the hotel notebook and throwing it toward the circular file, watching as it missed and bounced out onto the floor. God, that was obnoxious. I sounded so mushy, and I didn't want that, either. I didn't want it to seem like I was trying to over think it either. Though, I kind of was. I sighed. I'd vowed to myself that I would respond in kind when I read Glen's note that he'd written. Mostly because of the conversation that it had lead to afterward. I paused. Bringing the pen to my mouth, I took a slight chew on the plastic. I could save us a lot of time by just...a smirk crossed my face and I lowered the pen back to the paper, starting in with my genius plan.
There are a lot of things that no one knows about me. Believe me. If anyone knew them, it would be you. I keep things close to the vest a lot of the time, because I'm worried that people will think I'm lying, or think I have some kind of 'weirdness' disease. Mostly because that's how it's gone in the past. But, you've shared your story with me. I think it's my turn now. It occurred to me as I paused to bite on my pen (a habit that comes when I'm nervous...which should tell you how I feel about revealing all my secrets) that you don't even know anything, really, aside from that I was born in Ottawa.
So, you don't know that I was born without a father. Well, not really without-I had a father, he was just always so preoccupied with work that things, even such as seeing the birth of your firstborn son, didn't seem important enough to leave. He was a Constable in the Elgin Street Mounties, and it seemed that his job was more of his family than we were. So, he had nothing to do with us-mostly me-until I was about five, when my little brother Ryan was born. Figures he could take time away when Ryan was born, but not me, huh? I bet you're wondering why you haven't heard about Ryan until now, huh? There's reason for that, I promise. I'm not hiding anything from you that I wouldn't hide from anyone else. I'll get to that when it comes, though.
School wasn't a much better environment for me. I was small as a kid, too (still am really, though I think, I forget it sometimes). Smaller than anyone else in my grade. At eight years old, when most of my classmates were pushing the three foot tall mark, I was still a rousing two feet tall. And obviously, that made me the target of bullying. So, I understand that, too. There was this one kid, though. Popular boy. Tallest in the class-almost three and a half feet at age seven-his name was Kyle. I was essentially his mini punching bag. He'd corner me after school, it was one of those stereotypical school bullies with the shoving into closets (lockers as we grew older), pretty standard, it seemed. I once had to do extra chores at home and work the lunch line at school, for the last three years of high school because he'd pushed my schoolbooks into a mud puddle and no one-not teachers or my parents-believed me enough about it to give me the benefit of a doubt.
I don't know if I told you this, but the reason my foot was broken the season before I came to Boston was because the bones were already sensitive to begin with. Not a lot of people know this, but that happened in high school. And yeah, that had to do with Kyle, too. I had to tell my parents that I'd dropped something on my foot, but in reality, it had been Kyle that had dropped something. And it had been his own foot, in a steel-toed boot. He stomped on my foot and ground it into the gym floor, and no one aside from myself and Kyle has ever known the truth. Until now. Until you. That foot has never been the same; as you know. My right foot has never felt proper since high school, and it probably never will.
I know, every kid has a rough time in high school, and I know that it's old hat. But, I think, what really made my heart harden and turned me into the hard shelled person that I am today, happened when I was sixteen. My little brother was eleven, and he was going through a lot of the same things I did when I was a kid. But when I was sixteen and he was eleven, he was at a hockey game at school, and the middle school gym's roof collapsed. Twenty kids didn't make it. My brother was one of them. My parents were broken (my mother mostly, since my father hardly knew him), but I think I took it the hardest. Secretly, because I didn't want my mother to think that she wasn't doing a good job. My brother was the best kid I had ever seen. Smarter than an eleven year old should have been, and a much better hockey player than me. I really...don't think I have been the same since that day.
I stopped again, not realizing that I had started crying. This was the only thing I hated about drudging up all these old feelings. I didn't do it most of the time, because I hated the crying that came along with it. But I reminded myself that I wanted to be with Glen. And Glen had poured his heart out to me. Told me how it was for him growing up. I reminded myself that he'd told me that he wanted to know me, then took a glance back at Glen, still sleeping, blissfully oblivious to the fact that I was revealing my deepest, best kept secrets to him in a letter. I had initially wanted to stop right then, but I realized that Glen needed to know a few more things.
Basically, when I was a kid, the only time I was even remotely happy was after school when I played hockey. And I wasn't even happy then. Mostly because the coach? Was Kyle's father and benched me for almost the entire season. I only got playing time my senior year, when Kyle's family moved and the new coach was my English teacher, who was basically my favorite person. The closest to a father that I ever had. You may notice that I write a lot better than most people would expect that I would. That's mostly because my mentor was my English teacher, and he put me in so many writing contests...I won a bunch of them. Whenever you come to Ottawa with me, I'll show you my awards.
Up until I left high school and started in juniors, life had been hell. But when I came into juniors, I realized something. Though I'd spent all of high school chasing Samantha Stetson, my eyes just...didn't seem to fall on girls anymore. One of my teammates-Jared-and I had one of those doomed affairs, a lot like what people think ours is, Glen. But, no, it was nothing like this. Jared had the heart to play, like you. He did. But there was one thing that you have that he didn't. I'm not going to lie. You have the talent that he didn't. No goals or helpers in twenty-three games, and a minus eighteen rating. And I stuck with him. Brought him home with me for one Christmas. And my dad...caught on. And tried to disown me. It's a hard feeling, knowing that you're the reason why your parents divorced. I haven't seen my dad since that day.
So, obviously, when Samantha took interest, I told myself that I had to throw everything that I had with Jared out the window. We were in love, but it couldn't happen, because I thought that if I was normal; if I was what my father so desperately wanted me to be, maybe he would come home. So, it was a quick relationship, a quick engagement and a far-too-long marriage. I was married at eighteen and we just got divorced last year. And I was never happy. Except for when my children were born. I was always there, too. Until now. Now...I can't be. I'm afraid that my children are going to feel the way I feel about my dad, about me...and I don't think I can live with that. I love all of them. But, that's not the point I was trying to get to, here.
Once again, I'd found myself miles away from the topic that I was trying to bring myself to. It seemed, though, that once I started, I couldn't stop. There was so much that I hadn't said...hadn't talked about for my entire life, with anyone. I just...hadn't realized how deeply I'd bottled it in. I ran a hand through my hair and glanced back at him again. He'd shifted a bit in bed and was now laying on his other side; so I could see his face now. His chest rising and falling, sleeping the sleep of a man who had done his job and well. Because he had. I smiled a little and wiped my eyes, stretching a little and deciding to finally get to the point that I'd started the letter for.
I spent almost twelve years absolutely miserable. Actually, the better part of my life. But then I saw you. I swear it just went away. Glen, you have this way to just-God, the first time you looked at me it was like a clean slate. Like I couldn't deny who I was anymore. I'd tried. Even through my affair with Ilya, I had told myself it was a case of availability. But with you, there was no point in denying it. Because with you, it wasn't selfishness or a case of you 'just being there.' It was love. I fucking love you, Glen Murray. You make my life before you not matter. You make me okay. You make me feel human. You're the only person I have ever told any of this to. You make it okay to feel vulnerable. I have no idea where I would be without you, Glen; and am fortunate to have you in my life.
Closing my eyes and nodding my head a bit, reminding myself that yes, if I wanted to be with Glen for the rest of our lives, which I did, I needed to tell him all about it. I put the pen down on the desk and glanced at what I'd written, nodding a bit as I folded it up and stuck it on top of his clothing on the floor, so he could read it in the morning. Taking a glance at the bed, I wiped my eyes and changed into my pajamas quickly, crawling into bed behind Glen and nuzzling close to his back, trying as hard as I possibly could not to wake him up.
Glen opened his eyes slowly took a glance at the clock. “Marc? It's...four a.m.,” he whispered, rolling over and looking into my eyes. “Are you just coming to bed?”
I shrugged and nodded my head. “I couldn't sleep...” I whispered, brushing a hand across his cheek. “I think I'll be okay now, though...” I said, realizing in that instant how true that statement actually was. As long as I had Glen, I would be okay.
He shrugged and touched his lips to mine innocently, not realizing that in the morning, he would face the only test that no one else in my life had ever faced. “I love you, Marc...” he told me, closing his eyes and getting ready to go back to sleep.
“I love you, too, Glen...” I told him, half-smiling. But as soon as his eyes closed, it faded clear to nothing. I only hope you still feel that way in the morning...I added inwardly.
We all have a sickness
That cleverly attaches and multiplies
No matter how hard we try.
We all have someone that digs at us,
At least we dig each other
So when sickness turns my ego up
I know you'll act as a clever medicine.
If I turn into another
Dig me up from under what is covering the better part of me.
Sing this song; remind me that we'll always have each other
When everything else is gone.
lyrics by Incubus