Common Interest
Title Common Interest
Pairing: Daniel Paille, Clarke MacArthur
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not real.
A/N: These two just flew into my head, and there isn't much of a plot here, or beta'd either. How's that for random?
Putting Daniel Paille and Clarke Macarthur next to each other, you might think they have nothing in common, save for the nearly identical team sweaters.
One of them a good ol' Ontario boy, looking like a typical one too. The kind you'd invest skates and sticks in. One of those Ontario boys. Of course, that raises the question about his last name. Clearly French. Clarke remembers overhearing him correcting one of the reporters.
"Pie-ey," His voice was polite, and he offered nothing else except another sign of courtesy - a sincere thanks - before returning to the locker room. Clarke isn't even sure why he remembers the scene, or why it bothered him so much that a kid like Dan, whom he thought was from Quebec for the longest time, could speak both English and French with a mere flick of the tongue, and yet, Clarke himself could barely speak English properly sometimes. English, his native language.
And what about Clarke, a bit of a country boy, if you were to go with the theme of geographic pinpoints. Lloydminster. Lloydminster, Alberta? Or Lloydminster, Saskatchewan?
"It's one of those cities... it... what's the word, straddles - doesn't that sound just plain wrong - it straddles the border." Clarke had taken a few seconds of silence after saying that, like he was repeating the words in his head. "Yeah, kind of. It's just smack in the middle."
Of course, they knew each other even before being teammates in Buffalo.
It was 2004, and in the mix of bilingualism and cities straddling borders, there was the Memorial Cup tournament.
Dan had taken one look at Clarke, one of the top scorers in the race, and felt his stomach twist into a funny knot. To this day, he can remember the exact feeling. He can remember wondering if this is what the first few years in Buffalo will be like, if the guy standing in front of him was to be there, too. Dan could picture it, in all his paranoia: the headlines, maybe? "Rookie MacArthur extends point streak, other rookie Paille extends time in press box."
Clarke remembers it differently. He had been talkative, it was exciting for him to meet a potential future teammate. With a mere year in between them, they could easily become good pals and enjoy a rookie year, together, right? Even bigger than that though, Clarke knew Daniel as the captain of Canada's World Juniors team. Just months ago, he had seen the same person accept a silver medal after losing out to the Americans in a heartbreaking, disastrous gold medal game.
"Hey, I'm Clarke."
"I know."
"It'll be pretty neat to see you in a few years... in Buf... or you know, Rochester, I think? I think that's it. Good thing we--"
"I may be heading there next year."
"Really? Dude, that's..."
"Meaning this will be my last chance at the Memorial Cup."
Clarke shut up, and tilted his head to the side a bit, looking at Paille, whose eyes were lowered to the ground. He will never forget that moment. Even when he talks to Dan these days, he thinks of that sometimes, wondering what that meant. This will be my last chance at the Memorial Cup, so you are my enemy? This will be my last chance at the Memorial Cup, I am feeling upset and disappointed? Clarke never asked.
He didn’t know it at the time, but Dan was going to be the one to bring up the incident.
There was no room in his mind for positive thoughts to be swarming around, such is the case when you get a stint with the big club, no matter how short of a stay, it stings like salt to a fresh wound. Clarke knew the length of time mattered. And it did this time, because he had stayed with the Sabres for a few weeks before this morning, when he had been told gently to pack his belongings.
“Macs?”
Clarke looked up to see Dan standing in front of him, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking slightly uncomfortable. Giving what he hoped appeared to be a careless shrug, Clarke turned back to his bag, stuffing his material in.
“You remember that time… in Kelowna? At the Mem-“
“Yeah, what about it?”
“I…”
Clarke looked up again. He swears he can almost hear the Quebecois accent in Dan when he stutters. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
“I just wanted you to know… that it’s not your last chance here. You’ll be…you’ll be back. I know it.”
While Dan stood, fumbling with his fingers and denim, waiting for a response from his teammate, he failed to catch the small smile spreading across Clarke’s lips.
It was subtle, but it was there.
Pairing: Daniel Paille, Clarke MacArthur
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not real.
A/N: These two just flew into my head, and there isn't much of a plot here, or beta'd either. How's that for random?
Putting Daniel Paille and Clarke Macarthur next to each other, you might think they have nothing in common, save for the nearly identical team sweaters.
One of them a good ol' Ontario boy, looking like a typical one too. The kind you'd invest skates and sticks in. One of those Ontario boys. Of course, that raises the question about his last name. Clearly French. Clarke remembers overhearing him correcting one of the reporters.
"Pie-ey," His voice was polite, and he offered nothing else except another sign of courtesy - a sincere thanks - before returning to the locker room. Clarke isn't even sure why he remembers the scene, or why it bothered him so much that a kid like Dan, whom he thought was from Quebec for the longest time, could speak both English and French with a mere flick of the tongue, and yet, Clarke himself could barely speak English properly sometimes. English, his native language.
And what about Clarke, a bit of a country boy, if you were to go with the theme of geographic pinpoints. Lloydminster. Lloydminster, Alberta? Or Lloydminster, Saskatchewan?
"It's one of those cities... it... what's the word, straddles - doesn't that sound just plain wrong - it straddles the border." Clarke had taken a few seconds of silence after saying that, like he was repeating the words in his head. "Yeah, kind of. It's just smack in the middle."
Of course, they knew each other even before being teammates in Buffalo.
It was 2004, and in the mix of bilingualism and cities straddling borders, there was the Memorial Cup tournament.
Dan had taken one look at Clarke, one of the top scorers in the race, and felt his stomach twist into a funny knot. To this day, he can remember the exact feeling. He can remember wondering if this is what the first few years in Buffalo will be like, if the guy standing in front of him was to be there, too. Dan could picture it, in all his paranoia: the headlines, maybe? "Rookie MacArthur extends point streak, other rookie Paille extends time in press box."
Clarke remembers it differently. He had been talkative, it was exciting for him to meet a potential future teammate. With a mere year in between them, they could easily become good pals and enjoy a rookie year, together, right? Even bigger than that though, Clarke knew Daniel as the captain of Canada's World Juniors team. Just months ago, he had seen the same person accept a silver medal after losing out to the Americans in a heartbreaking, disastrous gold medal game.
"Hey, I'm Clarke."
"I know."
"It'll be pretty neat to see you in a few years... in Buf... or you know, Rochester, I think? I think that's it. Good thing we--"
"I may be heading there next year."
"Really? Dude, that's..."
"Meaning this will be my last chance at the Memorial Cup."
Clarke shut up, and tilted his head to the side a bit, looking at Paille, whose eyes were lowered to the ground. He will never forget that moment. Even when he talks to Dan these days, he thinks of that sometimes, wondering what that meant. This will be my last chance at the Memorial Cup, so you are my enemy? This will be my last chance at the Memorial Cup, I am feeling upset and disappointed? Clarke never asked.
He didn’t know it at the time, but Dan was going to be the one to bring up the incident.
There was no room in his mind for positive thoughts to be swarming around, such is the case when you get a stint with the big club, no matter how short of a stay, it stings like salt to a fresh wound. Clarke knew the length of time mattered. And it did this time, because he had stayed with the Sabres for a few weeks before this morning, when he had been told gently to pack his belongings.
“Macs?”
Clarke looked up to see Dan standing in front of him, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking slightly uncomfortable. Giving what he hoped appeared to be a careless shrug, Clarke turned back to his bag, stuffing his material in.
“You remember that time… in Kelowna? At the Mem-“
“Yeah, what about it?”
“I…”
Clarke looked up again. He swears he can almost hear the Quebecois accent in Dan when he stutters. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
“I just wanted you to know… that it’s not your last chance here. You’ll be…you’ll be back. I know it.”
While Dan stood, fumbling with his fingers and denim, waiting for a response from his teammate, he failed to catch the small smile spreading across Clarke’s lips.
It was subtle, but it was there.