toews/kane, "operation: morons"
Title: Operation: Morons
Fandom: Hawks RPS
Pairing: Toews/Kane
Rating: PG
Words: ~1200
Summary: Carcillo plays matchmaker. Don’t ask. Oh god oh god I wrote Carcillo. This started as chatfic and.... spiralled. IDEK.
chica_charlie: I don't know who I'd write him with, and it would probably be gen the first time, like him leaning over and asking seriously, how the fuck are Toews and that short kid not fucking. Honestly.
vancouverr: lool i loved that
chica_charlie: He would. He so would. And Sharpie would just roll his eyes longsufferingly and be all, "We've been wondering that for years."
vancouverr: Are kaner and jonny not actually doing it? :|
chica_charlie: If they are, they're not telling the rest of the team. But no.
vancouverr: they'll just do it in my head
chica_charlie: Well. I mean, EVENTUALLY they will. Because you know. Carbomb.
vancouverr: lool
he puts the idea in their heads?
chica_charlie: He watches them first.
For a month or two. Observing their dynamics on and off the ice, and other stuff.
vancouverr: what does he notice?
chica_charlie: The first thing he notices is how they fight. They're best friends, it's obvious to anyone.
But the interesting thing is, even when they fight, they're never neutral about it, they're still hands on.
They're not above physically pushing and shoving and it escalating to them roughing it out on the locker room floor.
And nobody stops it. Apparently, that's how they are. They're incapable of ignoring each other or giving the silent treatment.
vancouverr: MARRIED COUPLE
chica_charlie: Even when they can't stand each other, it's still like there's an invisible cord, no longer than three feet, anchoring them together.
When they're not fighting, they're still never far apart. They're like magnets. The cord extends to ten, fifteen feet, but not much more. They're not constantly side by side, but never stray far from each other.
It amuses him to no end, really.
For all their communication, the chirping and pestering, backhanded compliments and not so backhanded ones, the insults designed to get rises out of each other that get smiles more often than not, they can also have entire conversations consisting of expressions, hand gestures, and even less than ten words.
Toews and Kane are, literally, two halves of a whole.
Jesus, now he's thinking like a girl. It's disgusting. Time for Operation: Morons.
Actually the title's a bit misleading. Operation sounds like something from the Mission: Impossible movies. Carcillo doesn't have time for that shit.
His plan mostly consists of walking up to Kane, because no offense to the Captain, but Kane seems like he'd be more receptive to the idea of talking to him. Carcillo's not entirely sure what he was expecting in response. Granted, "So, you and Toews. The fuck's up with that?" probably wasn't the best way to go about it, but hey, Carcillo never claimed to be subtle.
Kane barks out a laugh. "The fuck's up with what?" But his eyes flit away for a fraction of a second, and it's all the confirmation Carcillo needs.
Carcillo gives him a look. Because really. He's not actually an idiot. "Your thing. The thing you two have going on. With the," he waves his hand, because now that he thinks about it he's not exactly sure how to describe them. Fucking oblivious morons. “Looking and the not talking and shit. Pining.”
Kane stares at him disbelievingly, color high in his cheeks. “I am not pining.”
“You’re both pining,” Carcillo tells him. “It’s like a soap opera and a train wreck all wrapped into one package.”
“What have you been smoking?”
“I’ll give you some when you do something about all these feelings.”
“Yeah, no.” And then Kane walks away, completely ignoring him.
Well. That didn’t go exactly as planned. Time for plan B.
-
The first word Sharpie says is “Yes,” followed by “whatever it takes,” and then, “You couldn’t think of anything else?”
Carcillo dares him to come up with a better idea, which he can’t. Operation: Morons in the closet is a a go.
-
“Check it out,” Sharpie says, sidling up to him after practice on a Thursday afternoon and flashing the two Blackberries he has in his palm.
Carcillo has to grin. “Nicely done,” he concedes. He doesn’t have a clue how Sharpie pulled that off; Toews seems like he’s glued to his, 24/7.
“I’m the Master,” Sharp intones. “They won’t be getting out unless we let them out.”
-
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” mutters Toews.
“I’m going to kill you, Carcillo!” yells Kane.
“Sex is a good way to let go of negative emotions!” Carcillo yells back. He makes sure the door is locked, and as he and Sharp walk back down the hall, Sharp is grinning.
“Nicely done.”
“Thank you.”
They fistbump.
-
“The janitor let us out,” Toews says.
Carcillo blinks.
Sharp says, “Oops.”
“You didn’t take my suggestion,” Carcillo guesses.
“Phones,” Toews demands, and Sharp seems to realize that it’s probably a good idea to give them back.
Kane is strangely quiet, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes fixed at a spot to the side.
Toews opens his mouth to say something when Sharpie gets back, but seems to think better of it, turns around and leaves without another word, Kane at his heels.
Oops, indeed.
-
“So, I’m thinking letters,” Carcillo says thoughtfully, because he is a fucking genius.
Sharp’s eyes brighten. “I’ll help.”
-
Saturday at practice, Carcillo finds a very familiar letter in his locker. With red pen scribbled randomly over it, and a note at the bottom.
Your spelling sucks, “Patrick”.
“I told you to let me proofread it,” Sharpie sighs.
Carcillo doesn’t have a Plan C.
-
Kane texts him the next day. Leave it the fuck alone, Dan.
Carcillo chews on a pen cap. The pining is mutual. Honest. Because he likes playing with this team, he’s playing better and not fighting as much. He feels useful as a player instead of just an enforcer, and no, he doesn’t want everyone to hate him.
And Kane’s being all sensitive or whatever, so maybe he should work with that.
Kane never responds.
-
Carcillo’s kind of surprised Toews doesn’t shut the door in his face when he shows up, just silently steps aside and lets him in with a wary expression.
“Look, whatever the hell you two are trying to pull, it’s not funny anymo-”
“For a Captain, you’re a total dumbass,” Carcillo tells him, shaking his head. These two are worse than Claude and Danny, for christ’s sake. “That kid has like, a thing for you three miles wide.”
Toews looks away. “You need to go,” he says after a minute, uncomfortable. “It doesn’t matter, it-”
Then the door opens, and Kane stops short. “The hell are you doing here?”
Carcillo’s not sure how it’s possible, but Toews turns an even deeper shade of red. “Conversing. What are you doing here?”
Kane’s face turns very carefully blank. “Video games.”
Carcillo gets an instant headache. “Christ, you two are worse than thirteen year old girls. Listen up, because I am only going to say this once. He,” he points at Kane, who freezes, “Is absolutely stupid for you,” and he swings his arm around to Toews.
Toews’ eyes widen fractionally. “And you,” Carcillo continues, very slowly, so they both understand, “Are equally and if not more so stupid for him. Capische?”
Kane stares at Toews. Toews stares back.
“Christ,” Carcillo sighs again. “I’m leaving now. Work your shit out, for the love of god.”
He texts Sharpie on his way to the car. Morons.
Sharpie texts back, well yeah.
-
It’s almost hidden, but not quite enough.
“Nice hickey,” Carcillo says conversationally after practice on Tuesday, making sure he isn’t overheard.
Toews turns an alarming shade of red, and Kane dissolves into a coughing fit.
-
Sharp sizes him up as they meet up at the door half an hour later. “Nice working with you.”
Carcillo nods absently and almost walks into a wall, head turned back towards the locker room. Seabrook is laughing, head tilted back as Keith elbows him, hiding smile. “Is everyone on this team gay for each other? The hell’s with your defencemen?”
“Don’t get me started,” Sharp mutters.
-
THE END
Fandom: Hawks RPS
Pairing: Toews/Kane
Rating: PG
Words: ~1200
Summary: Carcillo plays matchmaker. Don’t ask. Oh god oh god I wrote Carcillo. This started as chatfic and.... spiralled. IDEK.
chica_charlie: I don't know who I'd write him with, and it would probably be gen the first time, like him leaning over and asking seriously, how the fuck are Toews and that short kid not fucking. Honestly.
vancouverr: lool i loved that
chica_charlie: He would. He so would. And Sharpie would just roll his eyes longsufferingly and be all, "We've been wondering that for years."
vancouverr: Are kaner and jonny not actually doing it? :|
chica_charlie: If they are, they're not telling the rest of the team. But no.
vancouverr: they'll just do it in my head
chica_charlie: Well. I mean, EVENTUALLY they will. Because you know. Carbomb.
vancouverr: lool
he puts the idea in their heads?
chica_charlie: He watches them first.
For a month or two. Observing their dynamics on and off the ice, and other stuff.
vancouverr: what does he notice?
chica_charlie: The first thing he notices is how they fight. They're best friends, it's obvious to anyone.
But the interesting thing is, even when they fight, they're never neutral about it, they're still hands on.
They're not above physically pushing and shoving and it escalating to them roughing it out on the locker room floor.
And nobody stops it. Apparently, that's how they are. They're incapable of ignoring each other or giving the silent treatment.
vancouverr: MARRIED COUPLE
chica_charlie: Even when they can't stand each other, it's still like there's an invisible cord, no longer than three feet, anchoring them together.
When they're not fighting, they're still never far apart. They're like magnets. The cord extends to ten, fifteen feet, but not much more. They're not constantly side by side, but never stray far from each other.
It amuses him to no end, really.
For all their communication, the chirping and pestering, backhanded compliments and not so backhanded ones, the insults designed to get rises out of each other that get smiles more often than not, they can also have entire conversations consisting of expressions, hand gestures, and even less than ten words.
Toews and Kane are, literally, two halves of a whole.
Jesus, now he's thinking like a girl. It's disgusting. Time for Operation: Morons.
Actually the title's a bit misleading. Operation sounds like something from the Mission: Impossible movies. Carcillo doesn't have time for that shit.
His plan mostly consists of walking up to Kane, because no offense to the Captain, but Kane seems like he'd be more receptive to the idea of talking to him. Carcillo's not entirely sure what he was expecting in response. Granted, "So, you and Toews. The fuck's up with that?" probably wasn't the best way to go about it, but hey, Carcillo never claimed to be subtle.
Kane barks out a laugh. "The fuck's up with what?" But his eyes flit away for a fraction of a second, and it's all the confirmation Carcillo needs.
Carcillo gives him a look. Because really. He's not actually an idiot. "Your thing. The thing you two have going on. With the," he waves his hand, because now that he thinks about it he's not exactly sure how to describe them. Fucking oblivious morons. “Looking and the not talking and shit. Pining.”
Kane stares at him disbelievingly, color high in his cheeks. “I am not pining.”
“You’re both pining,” Carcillo tells him. “It’s like a soap opera and a train wreck all wrapped into one package.”
“What have you been smoking?”
“I’ll give you some when you do something about all these feelings.”
“Yeah, no.” And then Kane walks away, completely ignoring him.
Well. That didn’t go exactly as planned. Time for plan B.
-
The first word Sharpie says is “Yes,” followed by “whatever it takes,” and then, “You couldn’t think of anything else?”
Carcillo dares him to come up with a better idea, which he can’t. Operation: Morons in the closet is a a go.
-
“Check it out,” Sharpie says, sidling up to him after practice on a Thursday afternoon and flashing the two Blackberries he has in his palm.
Carcillo has to grin. “Nicely done,” he concedes. He doesn’t have a clue how Sharpie pulled that off; Toews seems like he’s glued to his, 24/7.
“I’m the Master,” Sharp intones. “They won’t be getting out unless we let them out.”
-
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” mutters Toews.
“I’m going to kill you, Carcillo!” yells Kane.
“Sex is a good way to let go of negative emotions!” Carcillo yells back. He makes sure the door is locked, and as he and Sharp walk back down the hall, Sharp is grinning.
“Nicely done.”
“Thank you.”
They fistbump.
-
“The janitor let us out,” Toews says.
Carcillo blinks.
Sharp says, “Oops.”
“You didn’t take my suggestion,” Carcillo guesses.
“Phones,” Toews demands, and Sharp seems to realize that it’s probably a good idea to give them back.
Kane is strangely quiet, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes fixed at a spot to the side.
Toews opens his mouth to say something when Sharpie gets back, but seems to think better of it, turns around and leaves without another word, Kane at his heels.
Oops, indeed.
-
“So, I’m thinking letters,” Carcillo says thoughtfully, because he is a fucking genius.
Sharp’s eyes brighten. “I’ll help.”
-
Saturday at practice, Carcillo finds a very familiar letter in his locker. With red pen scribbled randomly over it, and a note at the bottom.
Your spelling sucks, “Patrick”.
“I told you to let me proofread it,” Sharpie sighs.
Carcillo doesn’t have a Plan C.
-
Kane texts him the next day. Leave it the fuck alone, Dan.
Carcillo chews on a pen cap. The pining is mutual. Honest. Because he likes playing with this team, he’s playing better and not fighting as much. He feels useful as a player instead of just an enforcer, and no, he doesn’t want everyone to hate him.
And Kane’s being all sensitive or whatever, so maybe he should work with that.
Kane never responds.
-
Carcillo’s kind of surprised Toews doesn’t shut the door in his face when he shows up, just silently steps aside and lets him in with a wary expression.
“Look, whatever the hell you two are trying to pull, it’s not funny anymo-”
“For a Captain, you’re a total dumbass,” Carcillo tells him, shaking his head. These two are worse than Claude and Danny, for christ’s sake. “That kid has like, a thing for you three miles wide.”
Toews looks away. “You need to go,” he says after a minute, uncomfortable. “It doesn’t matter, it-”
Then the door opens, and Kane stops short. “The hell are you doing here?”
Carcillo’s not sure how it’s possible, but Toews turns an even deeper shade of red. “Conversing. What are you doing here?”
Kane’s face turns very carefully blank. “Video games.”
Carcillo gets an instant headache. “Christ, you two are worse than thirteen year old girls. Listen up, because I am only going to say this once. He,” he points at Kane, who freezes, “Is absolutely stupid for you,” and he swings his arm around to Toews.
Toews’ eyes widen fractionally. “And you,” Carcillo continues, very slowly, so they both understand, “Are equally and if not more so stupid for him. Capische?”
Kane stares at Toews. Toews stares back.
“Christ,” Carcillo sighs again. “I’m leaving now. Work your shit out, for the love of god.”
He texts Sharpie on his way to the car. Morons.
Sharpie texts back, well yeah.
-
It’s almost hidden, but not quite enough.
“Nice hickey,” Carcillo says conversationally after practice on Tuesday, making sure he isn’t overheard.
Toews turns an alarming shade of red, and Kane dissolves into a coughing fit.
-
Sharp sizes him up as they meet up at the door half an hour later. “Nice working with you.”
Carcillo nods absently and almost walks into a wall, head turned back towards the locker room. Seabrook is laughing, head tilted back as Keith elbows him, hiding smile. “Is everyone on this team gay for each other? The hell’s with your defencemen?”
“Don’t get me started,” Sharp mutters.
-
THE END