Fic: The Lonely End of the Rink, Part 7.2
Part 7.1
Before Marcus knew it, it was October. The NHL season began as it always did, with Marcus watching the season’s first Hockey Night in Canada avidly, although for the first time, he was watching from his townhouse, with Esca beside him. He would hit the ice two nights later for his first regular season NHL game, and he was nervous and excited. It wasn’t going to be an easy road by any means, but he was eager and as ready as he could be.
Most of the team had accepted him, although he didn’t feel much in the way of camaraderie just yet, but he knew that took time with any new team, and it would only come after they played together, in a real game. Marcus was looking forward to it. For now he was enjoying watching the Leafs/Canadien game with a whole new outlook.
And then, after the first period, he got the biggest surprise of his life, and one of the biggest thrills.
**
“Welcome to Coach’s Corner with myself, Ron MacLean and of course, Don Cherry. So Don, what is it you want to talk about tonight?”
“Marcus Aquila.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I do, you know, because a lot of people are coming down on Vancouver for taking him in the draft, and I know a lot of them are thinking that I’ll back them up but let me tell you, I don’t care who he’s in bed with behind closed doors, and I don’t care about the people who think it matters.”
“You don’t?”
“No, and I’ll tell you why. If the boy can play, he should play, and this kid is one of the best.”
“He comes from a hockey family.”
“Yeah, yeah, Vinnie Aquila, great guy, and one of the best goalies-”
“He had the best save percentage in the league for a few years running.”
“I remember, yeah, and it’s still one of the best. But no one seems to remember that, they only talk about the one goal.”
“The goal that lost the cup for Vancouver in ‘94.”
“That’s the one, but listen. Vinnie Aquila was an exceptional player, and his son was born to play the game, comes by it naturally.”
“He led the WHL in points this past year.”
“He did, despite the team not even making the finals, and there are a few reasons for that, Jim, will you roll the tape, there it is. So here’s Marcus Aquila playing for the Chilliwack Bruins, and this is how he plays, watch this here. So, he fights through the neutral zone and he sees this defenseman coming at him with that gleam in his eye, you know the one, and instead of trying to fancy pants his way around to score the goal, he drops the puck back and takes the hit.”
“Quite a hit, too, he rattled that guy’s teeth.”
“Yeah, he’s a big guy. So he takes down the defenseman, and his winger there, he takes the puck in and he shoots and by the time the rebound pops up, there’s Aquila ready to grab it, and he scores. He should get an assist and a goal for that one, there.”
“Here’s another one, up along the boards.”
“We know that’s where the game is won or lost, on the boards, and he doesn’t seem to give up the puck once here’s there, always manages to get the puck out, to the guy on the line or the one in the slot. He’s a fighter, and he’s not afraid to take the big hits or the assist.”
“A team player.”
“He’s a team player all around. Look, here’s a little altercation, one of the other team is taunting another Bruin, that little guy there, and in comes Aquila, pulling the attention to himself, you see that, he’s watching out for his team mates, and he’s no pansy, watch. See, there go the gloves and boom, he knocks that guy hard enough to pop his teeth out, then he takes one in the jaw himself, but he doesn’t even flinch, he just goes right back and he takes this guy to the ice.”
“Not afraid to get gritty in there.”
“No, definitely not.”
“So there are some who are saying that he should be banned from the league altogether, before he even gets to play for Vancouver.”
“Yeah.”
“They’re claiming it’s a man’s sport and he doesn’t belong in it, or that he should have just kept quiet about his inclinations.”
“Well that’s the thing there, you can be sure there are other guys in the NHL who are gay, if you go by the stats there’s bound to be more than a handful, but they keep quiet about it because of that very thing.”
“They don’t want to be penalised for that.”
“No, and you can’t blame them given the response to this but I have to admire this kid, I tell you.”
“Some would call it foolish, being out before he’s even been drafted.”
“Some would, but you notice he still got drafted. And he went first over-all.”
“That’s got to tell you something.”
“It does, and Vancouver did themselves a big favour by taking him, despite the controversy. This kid is gonna be a big player in the league, mark my words.”
“So you like him, them?”
“I do, he’s a great Canadian player, he works hard, he’s aggressive, he keeps his head down and his stick on the ice and he fights for it, fights for every goal and every play.”
“Here’s another clip, thanks Jim.”
“Right and here, you see, he’s aggressive, fighting that puck from behind his own net and passing it out, and here, he dashes up to join his winger, these two work really well together.”
“That’s uh, Torus, Luke Torus.”
“Yeah right, Torus, he’s a good little player too, he went what, third round?”
“68th overall.”
“Not too bad, right there, and look, watch as they push up the ice, passing back and forth as if neither of them wants the puck, but that’s how you move it up the ice. This isn't a European rink where you’ve got miles of room to skate, this is Canadian hockey at its best and here they go, getting in onside and passing it around and here, there it is. You see that?”
“He dropped the puck back and distracted the defenseman.”
“Excellent stick work there, he didn’t even let on that he didn’t have the puck anymore, and there, the other winger took it and scored, earning both the boys an assist for that one and they deserve it.”
“He’s a smart player.”
“Intuitive, he’s intuitive. He knows where his teammates are and he knows where the other team is, he’s always watching.”
“Very observant.”
“But he doesn't over think it, you know, he doesn’t hang onto the puck, waiting for the shot, he just takes it and makes his own shots. And it works because he’s intuitive, he knows what the other team is thinking, he can get into their heads and exploit those weaknesses.”
“He’s certainly in the goalie’s heads, he’s got an infamous wrist shot from what I hear.”
“Accurate and intuitive, and aggressive to boot. They can say what they want about him not being manly enough for the sport, but I tell you, if they ever saw him play they’d shut up real fast, and you have to wonder if they’re just afraid to see him on the ice for Vancouver.”
“It takes a lot of courage to stand up for yourself and not hide who you are, especially when you’re gay in this kind of game.”
“It does, and he deserves the respect for that, and for the way he plays.”
“Running out of time here, but I guess you’ve already answered my next question.”
“Oh?”
“Do you think he should be allowed to play?”
“I think they’ll do a disservice to the game if they don’t let him play. He’s gonna be a star, I’ll tell you now, he’s a great little player and he’ll make a great captain too, you just wait.”
“Not so little, actually, he’s about the size of two of you.”
“Ha!”
“Right well, that’s all the time we have for today, we’ll be back after these messages with your second period in this season opener between the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Montreal Canadien.”
**
February 2010
The Pacific Coliseum was packed full that night, making Marcus very grateful that he was privileged to have such a great seat, in the section of the stands set aside for other Olympians. Marcus hadn’t anticipated being counted among them, but it seemed that fortune was on his side. Being selected for the Canadian Olympic team was an honour he hadn’t imagined, but it was thrilling nonetheless.
It also meant he had a prime seat from which to see what would eventually be Esca’s victory. Marcus was certain he would bring home the gold, his confidence in Esca’s abilities was absolute.
The wait, however, was even more interminable than it had been when Marcus watched the competition on TV. At least there were more distractions, spectators from all over the world, complete with all the idiosyncrasies of their nationality. It was highly entertaining, at times.
Finally Esca was on the ice for the warm up and, just like when he’d watched the televised events, he couldn’t take his eyes off Esca. But this time, he didn’t have to rely on the cameras to take the pictures for him.
Esca looked amazing. This wasn’t unusual, at least as Marcus was concerned, but it was true nonetheless. He was wearing a pair of black dress slacks and a tight white t-shirt and bow tie, along with thin black suspenders that, while not doing anything to actually hold his pants up, accented his wiry musculature quite well.
What had really grabbed Marcus’ attention was the make up. Esca’s face was pale, not completely white, but much paler than it was normally, his eyes outlined in the same fashion he had worn to prom, only darker, thicker, much more dramatic. The effect was striking, Esca had a flair for costumes and choreography that bordered on genius. With Andrew’s guidance and expertise, he never failed to amaze the spectators, as well as the judges. Marcus was certain this night would not be an exception.
He didn’t have long to wait, fortunately. Esca was third to skate in the final group of ten, and after the second skater had finished, Marcus was on the edge of his seat, watching as Esca skated around the ice, warming up and waiting for his cue.
All eyes were trained on Esca’s starting pose, hands on hips, head quirked, one foot propped up on the heel of his blade, as if he had been frozen in place, suddenly. The music began, a tinkling piano at first, and Esca began to move, jerky, forceful movements giving way to smooth strides as he began the program. Marcus chuckled when he realized that the costume matched the dance, that Esca was performing a mime on ice, jumps and spins punctuating stretches of footwork and gestures that flowed seemingly effortlessly, one into the next.
The program was much too brief, in Marcus’ opinion, over in a few short minutes, the wait for Esca’s score seeming almost as long. Marcus watched, feeling helpless, until the scores came up and the nervousness dissipated.
From across the arena, Marcus could see Esca embracing Andrew, their faces highlighted on the big screen, the evidence of their pleasure. Esca was solidly in first place, his score quite a bit higher than any of the others had managed. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief, although the tension did not leave him completely. Seven more skaters to go, each one potentially with a higher score. Only time would tell.
**
Marcus was impatient. He had been well aware of how long it would take Esca to get showered and changed and then get free of the various demands on his time, media, officials, even Andrew, but, despite knowing this, Marcus was beginning to get restless.
To make matters worse, a woman across the room had been eyeing him for a while, whispering to the man by her side, the man who was holding a camera, albeit a much smaller one than the average reporter carried. A surreptitious glance at their clothing revealed media passes clipped to their shirts, but Marcus was still wary. Talking to reporters non stop was exhausting, even more now that Marcus was in the NHL and playing for the Olympic team.
The room was filled with family and friends of the skaters in Esca’s group. They had been the last to skate and were the last to leave, particularly because they were considerably more in demand. The media in the room was yet another indication of that. Very few reporters were actually allowed behind the scenes at the events, and were forced to wait for their chance at an interview.
He was distracted from his observation by a door opening at the other end of the room, at last, and several skaters and coaches emerging, mingling with the press and their family members. Marcus stood up on his toes, hoping to see over the crowd so that he could spot Esca but, just when he was beginning to wonder if Esca was coming at all, he spotted Andrew. He was taller than Esca and therefore easier to spot, but a sighting of Andrew meant that Esca was not far behind.
Marcus waited less patiently than ever as they navigated their way through the crowd, watching Esca hungrily as Andrew clapped him on the shoulder and gave Marcus a nod and a smile before slipping off through a side door.
Esca approached Marcus with a wide grin, which Marcus returned, clasping Esca around the waist and pulling him into an enthusiastic hug, Esca’s arms around his neck. They rocked a bit on the spot, laughing with each other at the joy of Esca’s accomplishment.
“You were amazing,” Marcus said when they pulled back, his hands rubbing up and down Esca’s back. “That costume, and the make-up, I-” he didn’t know what to say, not there in front of so many people where they could not take the conversation to its logical conclusion, so he leaned in to kiss Esca instead, letting his lips and tongue do the talking for him.
“I thought you’d like that,” Esca replied, smiling up at him, making Marcus’ chest fill with happiness. Being with Esca had not become any less amazing in the year they’d been together, Marcus was certain it never would.
“I liked it too much,” Marcus said. “It’s been hell waiting-” he was interrupted by a throat clearing beside them. He turned his head to see the woman who he had been watching earlier, her camera man behind her and a disarming smile on her face.
“Gentlemen,” she said. “I’m Alana Rowe, from Xtra, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions?”
Marcus recognized the name of a popular gay news site, understanding why they had not been permitted into the backstage area, but had waited around for the skaters to emerge. It was very likely she had been waiting for Esca, finding Marcus must have been quite a boon for her. He shared a look with Esca, who nodded, turning to give Alana his best ‘interview smile’, as Marcus called it.
“Sure,” he replied, lacing his fingers with Esca’s and imitating his smile. "Fire away."
“Thank you,” she said, nodding at the camera man, and moving to stand beside Esca, taking a breath and then beginning.
“This is Alana Rowe with Xtra’s special Olympic report in Vancouver, British Columbia. I’m here to bring you an interview with figure skating sensation, Esca MacCunoval, one of the few openly gay athletes at this Olympics, one of only two out Canadian Olympians. We also have the good fortune of having the other here as well, Marcus Aquila, from the Canadian Men’s Hockey team. Gentlemen, thank you both for agreeing to speak with us.”
“You’re welcome,” Esca said, squeezing Marcus’ hand.
“First of all, Esca, your performance tonight was nothing short of incredible. Just how much training do you need to learn all those moves, especially the jumps?”
Esca chuckled a bit, setting Alana at ease, as well as Marcus. “Well, it’s both easier and harder than it looks. It takes a lot of practice and a lot of falling to get them right, although different coaches will use various methods to help teach their kids how to jump. Once you have the basics down, it’s just a matter of practice and then strength to add more rotations and then learning how to do the combos. The spins are almost as difficult to learn, you have to keep your body utterly still as any unwanted movements can jar you out of the spin or move you across the ice, which the judges dock points for if it’s pronounced.”
Marcus listened as Esca spoke, his passion and enthusiasm really coming across in his words and gestures.
“Fascinating,” Alana said. “And not for the faint of heart, I assume.”
“No, it’s not. It takes a certain kind of courage, or insanity, as my father used to say, to throw yourself across the ice and into the air, only to land on the edge of a blade.”
“Very wise of him,” Alana replied with a wide smile. “As for this event, how do you feel about your chances of winning the gold? I hope I’m not jinxing anything by saying you certainly seem assured of a medal, at least.”
Esca laughed again, making Marcus smile as well. “Oh, I think my chances are pretty good, of at least ending up in the top three. I have some pretty talented competition though, so I don’t want to count on anything. Besides, you never know if you’re going to be the unlucky person to hit a chunk of ice wrong and miss a step or fall out of a jump, anything can happen.”
“Well, I wish you the best of luck on Thursday, I’m sure that all of Canada will be watching and cheering for you.”
Esca nodded his thanks and Alana turned her attention to Marcus. “Marcus Aquila, we’re so fortunate to have found you here as well. How are you settling into the team? Is there any friction between you and the other players on account of your being gay?”
“Well, to be honest, there’s always a bit of friction. Most of the players on the team have never met me before, perhaps only playing one or two games against the Canucks this season, and a lot of them don’t quite know what to make of me. I hope that they are coming to respect my play, and to forget, at least a little, all the controversy that had been tossed around, so we can just focus on winning a medal.”
“The Canadian Men’s team has a very good shot at the gold medal again this year, in all likelihood, both of you may be leaving the games with a gold medal around your necks. We at Xtra are very excited about the prospect, there are so few gay athletes of your caliber, and to have two competing for Canada, and both in the running for the medals, well, it’s thrilling.”
“I think you’ll be seeing more gay and lesbian athletes speaking out about their sexuality,” Marcus replied. “It’s only a matter of time and I can speak from experience to say that it’s worth it. Not having to lie or pretend makes every accomplishment much more fulfilling.”
“I hope your success will inspire many younger gay athletes across Canada, and the world,” Alana agreed, nodding. “I just have a few more questions, which I’m sure our members in particular will be interested in. I couldn’t help but notice the two of you are very close, are you dating?”
“I was wondering when you’d be getting to that,” Esca said with a laugh, giving Marcus a wink. “Yes, we are dating, very happily, I might add.”
“Congratulations,” Alana said beaming. “Did you meet here at the Olympics, or did you know each other previously through Team Canada?”
It was Marcus’ turn to laugh, at Alana’s assumption. “No, as a matter of fact, we met about a year and a half ago,” he replied, smiling at Esca and squeezing his hand. “We were training in the same arena in Chilliwack and we both attended the same high school for grade twelve. We’ve been dating for a year now.”
“Exactly a year,” Esca agreed. “Last February you finally gave in and stopped trying to resist me,” he added with a laugh, bumping his shoulder into Marcus’ arm.
“I don’t know why I even tried,” Marcus said, letting go of Esca’s hand and wrapping his arm around Esca’s shoulders, bringing him in closer. “At any rate, we’ve been dating for a year and we’ve been living together here in Vancouver since July.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m sure many a young boy will be heartbroken to hear that you are both taken, however,” Alana said.
“We hope that they’ll find each other, instead,” Esca said, grinning, settling his head against Marcus’ shoulder. “And that they’ll stand up for themselves, and be honest with those around them. Remember kids, it does get better.”
“I’d like to thank you both on behalf of our staff and readers, and wish you both the best of luck in your events,” Alana concluded, turning to face the camera with a smile. “For Xtra special reports, I’m Alana Rowe, from the Vancouver Olympic Games.”
**
Of course, once the media had gotten hold of Marcus and Esca’s interview with Alana, the requests for more interviews of the two of them together had increased. Apparently it was interesting that they were both gay, but the fact that they were dating and living together was exponentially more fascinating.
Some of Marcus’ team mates had given him slaps on the back, in encouragement or relief that he wasn’t single and looking at them, Marcus didn’t know. But he’d take it. The team was engaged in a playoff game that afternoon, but what was foremost on Marcus’ mind was Esca’s long program that evening. If he was lucky, the game wouldn’t go into overtime and he would be able to get across town to watch Esca’s skate. If he was lucky.
When the game was over, Marcus got changed and showered in record time, spent another hour doing interviews and other game related things, and then dashed outside to hail a cab, as soon as he could manage it. It was a fifteen minute drive to the Pacific Coliseum on a normal day, he’d be lucky if he got there in half an hour, that night.
He used his pass to gain entry and ran up to the section for athletes, hearing only the music on the loudspeakers, which he was sure wasn’t Esca’s. A quick glance at the ice told him that it wasn’t Esca, which meant he’d made it. Only just, as the skater on the ice finished with a flourish and Marcus realized that he was the third place skater.
He relaxed back in his seat, finally sparing a glance at the others in the section, smiling and waving at a few before trying to calm his racing heart as the second place skater glided onto the ice and began his program.
He was good. Really good. And Marcus had, over the last eighteen months, become very adept at spotting what the judges were looking for, as well as what pleased the crowd. The performance made Marcus a little bit uneasy, but he knew that Esca had beat the guy before, he could certainly do could do it again.
Esca stepped onto the ice to cheers and whistles from most of the assembled crowd, even those who were not Canadians were eager to see him skate, as word of his unique, entertaining performance had spread. It seemed that tonight would be no different.
Esca was in blues and browns that night, his costume almost mossy in appearance. Marcus was certain that, on anyone else, it would be rather dull, but Esca’s sharp, wiry frame made it look dramatic, the smudges on his face giving him an eerie air. He arranged himself in a ball on the ice, waiting for the music to start, looking like a mossy rock, his face hidden and his hair mixing in, adding to the effect.
The music began and he began to stretch, reaching out with one limb and then another, lifting himself up suddenly and arching, spinning from one foot to the next, his strides stretching, gaining speed as he went. Then he shifted again stopping on a toe pick and pushing off in the opposite direction, his movements gaining more speed and fluidity until he spread out and leapt into the air, landing a triple axel perfectly, before spinning again, stopping on his toe pick and moving in the opposite direction, performing the mirror image with a triple lutz at the other end of the ice.
The program continued in that fashion, back and forth, moving in one direction and then the next, spinning this way and that, as if Esca was in competition with himself. And Marcus had to admit that he probably was. Every shift drew the crowd in more, every movement, every element repeated as if in a mirror, and each one performed with precise perfection and incredible elegance.
If Marcus hadn’t already been madly in love with Esca already, he would have fallen again, watching him like this.
At last the program ended, the music fading as Esca crumpled in on himself again, pulling each limb in, ending in the same position he’d started in. The arena was silent for a long moment, until Esca stood up, graceful and grinning, his chest heaving as he gulped in lungfuls of air, his cheeks red with exertion under the make-up.
The crowd shot to its feet, cheering and clapping and throwing bouquets onto the ice, but Marcus was still in his seat, breathless. He felt a surge of gratitude, unable to believe in his luck that he is the one who holds that man in his arms every night. That he is the one who is allowed to touch Esca, to kiss him, to wake up with him every morning.
Finally he stood and clapped, noticing when Esca turned to the part of the arena where Marcus was sitting, staring right at him with a huge grin, before turning and stepping off the ice to await his score.
And it was a good one. Fabulous even. Esca not only won the long program, but his lead, already wide, was widened by the result winning him the gold medal by a large margin. Marcus cheered, screaming and jumping and hugging the girls next to him who were as much in awe as he was, wishing desperately that he could be down there with Esca, wanting more than anything to kiss the breath out of him and drag him off to a quiet place.
‘Later,’ he assured himself. Once the medals were awarded and the media had finished with him, once everyone had gone home, then Marcus could drag Esca to bed and do filthy, wonderful things with him.
Esca stepped onto the ice again, waving a good sized Canadian flag as he skated the victory lap, waving and cheering, his smile infectious. When he passed Marcus, he turned and slid backwards, blowing Marcus a kiss with his free hand, spinning forward again as the girls around Marcus swooned.
“Do you know him?” one of them asked Marcus, hey eyes wide.
“I do,” Marcus said with a huge smile. “He’s my boyfriend.”
**
June 2010
It was a lovely spring day in Vancouver, and Marcus was enjoying it to the fullest. Life had been a little crazy since Esca had won gold in the Olympics, sure Marcus had won a gold medal as well, but it had been a team effort, while Esca’s medal had been won on pure talent and athleticism, not to mention a healthy dose of innovation.
Things had finally settled down, and with the Canucks out of the playoffs that year, both of them were free to enjoy the late spring sunshine. They had decided to head downtown and wander around a bit, do some shopping, see a movie, have dinner, typical date type things that they didn’t get to do often.
They had just emerged from the movie theater, laughing at the explosive end of Iron Man 2 when they, literally, ran into someone Marcus had hoped never to see again.
“Excuse me, oh,” Galen Placyd said, his lip twisted in derision. “It’s you.”
“Unfortunately,” Marcus said with a sneer, noting Esca’s restraining squeeze.
“Well, look at you two, aren’t you precious,” Placyd said, eyeing their clasped hands. “What’s the matter Aquila, are the Canucks not paying you enough to upgrade your boy-toy?”
“Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more of an asshole, here you are, a homophobic asshole,” Marcus said.
“I’m not homophobic,” Playcd said. “I just don’t like you.”
“You’d better be careful, Placyd,” Esca said, his voice taking on the steel tone that Marcus appreciated when it was not directed at him. “Or this conversation will end the same way the last one did.”
“What, with your brute of a boyfriend resorting to violence to mask his lack of conversational skills?” Placyd sneered, and Marcus had to close his eyes to keep from decking the guy again. Not only was he older and supposed to have more restraint, he could get in big trouble with the league and the media for decking a guy off the ice. Even if it was a puffed up prick like Placyd.
“That wasn’t a conversation, Placyd,” Marcus shot back. “That was you being an asshole and insulting me out of some misplaced sense of superiority. Much like this ‘conversation’,” Marcus said, with air quotes at the appropriate time.
“My superiority is not misplaced,” Placyd said, puffing out what Marcus supposed was his chest, although it looked more like that of a prepubescent boy than of a man Placyd’s age.
“Really?” Marcus asked. “How many gold medals do you have?”
“Pfft,” Placyd scoffed and the urge to punch him again rose up inside Marcus, kept in check only by Esca’s hand on his arm. “So you rode on the coat tails of the team, big deal.”
“Sure, sure, if you want to think that, fine,” Marcus said. “But Esca, on the other hand, didn’t have any team mates at all.” He smiled at Esca proudly, and Esca smiled back. “Last I hear, singles meant only one, isn’t that right?”
Esca nodded, smirking at the ground, but Marcus continued. “I’m not the only one looking down at you Placyd. But Esca is a better man even than me. He won his gold medal with his own strength, on his own merit, and that is something an ass like you will never be able to match, much less understand.”
Marcus tugged at Esca’s hand, and walked past a silent Placyd, not missing the smug look Esca gave him as they passed. Some people were best left forgotten, and Marcus hoped he could slot Placyd firmly into that category.
**
October 2010
The first year had been more than a bit bumpy, but it had settled down well by the end. It had only taken about half the season for the other players to realize that Marcus didn’t care the slightest bit about their naked asses, and to relax around him. The fact that his face lit up like a Christmas tree when speaking about Esca hadn’t hurt either, he was sure.
It had taken the rest of the league more time to come to terms with him, but Marcus had found that standing his ground and not letting anyone push him around was the best defense. He had clocked far too many minutes in the penalty box the first half of the season, a result of standing up for himself with fists and hard hits on the boards.
Everything cooled off once the rest of the team began standing up for him, suddenly the opposing players who had taunted him found themselves up against an entire line of irate Canucks, instead of just the one, standing alone. The gloves dropped quickly for a stretch of several weeks, and retaliation was swift upon anyone who taunted Marcus about his life off the ice, or anyone who had laid a dirty hit on him, until the word had spread that Vancouver would not tolerate any more shit spewed in Marcus’ direction.
Of course the fact that he continued to score, assist and work his ass off helped a lot, his points kept mounting and the fans became more enthusiastic as well, cheering raucously when his name was announced, or when he made a play, and booing loudly and incessantly anyone who dared to take a cheap shot.
And then, right before the end of the season, on the verge of the playoffs, several other players stood up in support of Marcus, following that by coming out as well. Marcus, along with the rest of the NHL, was shocked. One guy came out, but the other two went further than that, admitting that they were a couple and had been living together for several years. Their cohabitation had been common knowledge though their relationship had not. One was a young player, only a few years older than Marcus was, but the other was a veteran player, one who had been a star player for years, having been among the league’s top scorers, having also brought several Stanley Cups to his team over his lengthy career.
Despite the uproar these announcements had caused, things had settled down fairly quickly, and Marcus found it was much easier after that. Ignorant, hateful people abounded, but the numbers of those who were supportive far outweighed them, thankfully. His second year in the league would no doubt go smoother, certainly helped along by his being a top scorer and winning the Calder Memorial Trophy as rookie of the year.
Now, at the start of his second season, Marcus had a feeling that everything was going to be fine. More than fine.
Little did he know how much that would prove to be true.
**
June 2011
The Stanley Cup Final. Marcus was still having trouble believing that he was actually there, and Game Seven was about to begin. It had been a rough series, the Canucks had been unable to win except on home ice, and almost unable to score on Thomas, who seemed to be on fire.
But they had the home ice advantage that night, and Marcus was suddenly starkly aware of the stakes. Not only the Cup, the one that could be the first ever for Vancouver, but for his father. The last time Vancouver was in that position, his father had sat here, in the dressing room with his team mates, preparing for the game of his life, and yet, unable to bring forth the motivation needed to secure it.
Marcus didn’t need any extra motivation. The fans, the management, his team mates, all of these created a vast amount. His father’s memory brought even more. Knowing that Esca was in the arena watching, along with his uncle, was just the icing on the cake. Luke and Cottia were there as well, Marcus knew, no doubt as sickeningly sweet as ever, as they’d been since their prom. Marcus liked to mock Cottia about her cooing over him and Esca and then turning around and being the worst offender. She took it well, and answered in a mature, grown up fashion by sticking her tongue out at him. Marcus knew that, in another life, he could have loved her.
And then the team was called out, it was time.
The first period swept by in a flurry of missed chances, hard hits and frantic face offs. The referees had let them play, not calling anything except the most blatant of penalties. It was the kind of game that Marcus loved, and he didn’t want to stop for the intermission.
He thought it was odd that the 20 uninterrupted minutes between periods seemed to stretch out longer than the periods themselves. But, finally, it was time for the second.
It passed as quickly as the first, and with as many goals, That is to say, none. Both goaltenders were unbeatable, and tempers began to run hot as the minutes ticked down. One hard hit led into another and that’s when the taunting started.
It wasn’t a surprise, really, despite how much better the last year had been, there were still players who despised Marcus on principle, and his success and acceptance only fueled their rage. There was some tussling, but before things could get out of hand, the period was over.
This time the intermission went quickly, Marcus’ head was spinning, knowing that time was running out. Twenty minutes left in the game, and Marcus knew that one goal would win it. If he could just get past the defence, past the wall of Thomas’ pads, he knew they could win it all.
When they were called out for the third period, Marcus was ready. He was driven by the memory of his father, the energy of the crowd, the desire to hoist that Cup over his head the way he’d seen it done every year as far back as he could remember.
Of course, the taunting and the increasingly dirty hits continued, as the Bruins, and wasn’t that ironic, that the last team Marcus had played for should be named after the very team that he was pitted against, tended to play rough when the stakes were high.
Halfway through, ten minutes in, ten minutes left, and one of the Bruins hit Marcus right outside the blue line, hard enough to jar him, hard enough to vibrate his bones, and that sparked it. One push led to the next, and then Marcus was in the middle of it, turning circles around the other player, the one who was just itching for a fight. Marcus wanted to hit him, the sewage pouring out of his mouth deserved nothing less, but he didn’t. He held on, held on to his stick, on to his gloves, on to his will, determined not to let go.
He knew what would happen if he did. He’d deck the guy, and then he’d be thrown out of the game, and that would be the end of it. No more Stanley Cup, even if the team won it would be tainted by his ejection and that was something he could not allow. So he hung on.
And then, the taunt came that changed his momentum, that made Marcus laugh with the absurdity of it all. Suddenly he thought of Charlie and the school yard taunts, and he thought of Esca, the way he’d faced it all, cool in the midst of chaos, just letting it all lash against him until he was the only one standing.
“What’s the matter, Aquila? Are you a pussy?” the other player sneered, trying to get a fist in Marcus’ face, but Marcus’ just held on. “Are you afraid to fight me you little fag?”
And Marcus laughed harder, not a good idea really, as it only incensed the guy further, but he couldn’t help it.
“Are you kidding me?” Marcus called back, still chuckling with amusement. “My boyfriend is tougher than you!”
And that ended it. The guy threw a punch that did land on Marcus’ jaw, snapping his head back, but he didn’t even feel the pain. The next moment the refs were pulling them apart and escorting Marcus back to his bench, where he watched the player who hit him get escorted right off the ice. He smiled, unable to stop himself, feeling a certain sense of satisfaction knowing that such a childish prick would not see the end of the game.
The attempt to get him booted, whether purposeful or incidental, backfired in the end. Once the penalties were sorted out, Marcus felt his determination renewed, his blood on fire with the need to score the goal that won it all. He didn’t get the chance before the period was over, but he knew, in sudden death overtime, that he would.
He spent the abbreviated ten minute intermission turned inside himself, shutting off the nervous chatter of his team mates and focusing only on what needed to be done. Because this really was it. Seventeen years ago, his father had sat in a locker room much like this one, awaiting the start of overtime, the last period he would play, not knowing how it would turn out, only certain that the one he loved would not be there with him when it was all over.
Marcus was more fortunate than his father. He knew where his love would be, waiting for him outside the arena, with that stunning smile and that gleam in his eyes, just for Marcus.
It was time to end this game.
Marcus hit the ice his first shift hard and fast, the world zoning out to just him and the puck, the other players always a presence in his peripheral vision, but the puck was his focus. And then, it happened, a skirmish along the boards sent the puck out fast, just as he was skating from behind the net, it hit his stick as if it was magnetized and he was off, slipping between the Boston defencemen and across the neutral zone.
As he crossed the blue line, he spotted his chance, in the dropping of the goalie’s glove arm. Marcus knew he would bring it up fast to catch the puck, but he knew he could be faster and so, just when he made to push the puck forward, he slipped off a quick wrist shot instead, his har fought accuracy winning out as the puck zipped by on the left side.
It was in! Lights flashing, crowd roaring, Marcus buried on the bottom of a dog pile made up of ecstatic Canucks, each one wanting to get a hand on him in excited congratulations. Marcus was stunned. Elated, relieved and thankful and a dozen different emotions, all pulling at him like elastic bands, just waiting to snap him back into harsh reality.
But they never did, somehow they were cut off and Marcus was left in a state of euphoria, as his team mates clambered off him and stumbled to the blue line to await the presentation of Lord Stanley’s Cup, the first time in their history that it had been won by the Canucks.
And when it was passed into his hands, cold and slick and impossibly heavy, Marcus felt the circle of his life complete, closing around him. He felt the burden of his father’s legacy on him, but for once it was light. The weight dissipated, leaving only pride and accomplishment and memory. He felt his father then, in a place where somehow, in some way, he was watching. Marcus could see them both, his mother and his father, could feel their pride and love for him as if they were present.
When he passed the Cup on to the next player, whispering ‘for my father,’ and kissing it swiftly as he let it go, it didn’t leave him bereft, but rather fulfilled. Whole and finally at complete peace with himself and his place in the world. The smell of the ice and the roar of the crowd were a backdrop to the rest of his life, where Esca was waiting and he was home.
fin
Well, that’s all she wrote. I hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. Much thanks to my betas for putting up with me, and for all the encouragement on the kink meme. Also, gratitude to the OP for putting this prompt in my head. When I said overly long and involved, I wasn’t kidding. ;) I hope you comment and tell me what you liked about it, I would appreciate hearing it.
♥ Aquila ♥
And now, with a shiny new timestamp. , set 5-6 years in the future.
Before Marcus knew it, it was October. The NHL season began as it always did, with Marcus watching the season’s first Hockey Night in Canada avidly, although for the first time, he was watching from his townhouse, with Esca beside him. He would hit the ice two nights later for his first regular season NHL game, and he was nervous and excited. It wasn’t going to be an easy road by any means, but he was eager and as ready as he could be.
Most of the team had accepted him, although he didn’t feel much in the way of camaraderie just yet, but he knew that took time with any new team, and it would only come after they played together, in a real game. Marcus was looking forward to it. For now he was enjoying watching the Leafs/Canadien game with a whole new outlook.
And then, after the first period, he got the biggest surprise of his life, and one of the biggest thrills.
**
“Welcome to Coach’s Corner with myself, Ron MacLean and of course, Don Cherry. So Don, what is it you want to talk about tonight?”
“Marcus Aquila.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I do, you know, because a lot of people are coming down on Vancouver for taking him in the draft, and I know a lot of them are thinking that I’ll back them up but let me tell you, I don’t care who he’s in bed with behind closed doors, and I don’t care about the people who think it matters.”
“You don’t?”
“No, and I’ll tell you why. If the boy can play, he should play, and this kid is one of the best.”
“He comes from a hockey family.”
“Yeah, yeah, Vinnie Aquila, great guy, and one of the best goalies-”
“He had the best save percentage in the league for a few years running.”
“I remember, yeah, and it’s still one of the best. But no one seems to remember that, they only talk about the one goal.”
“The goal that lost the cup for Vancouver in ‘94.”
“That’s the one, but listen. Vinnie Aquila was an exceptional player, and his son was born to play the game, comes by it naturally.”
“He led the WHL in points this past year.”
“He did, despite the team not even making the finals, and there are a few reasons for that, Jim, will you roll the tape, there it is. So here’s Marcus Aquila playing for the Chilliwack Bruins, and this is how he plays, watch this here. So, he fights through the neutral zone and he sees this defenseman coming at him with that gleam in his eye, you know the one, and instead of trying to fancy pants his way around to score the goal, he drops the puck back and takes the hit.”
“Quite a hit, too, he rattled that guy’s teeth.”
“Yeah, he’s a big guy. So he takes down the defenseman, and his winger there, he takes the puck in and he shoots and by the time the rebound pops up, there’s Aquila ready to grab it, and he scores. He should get an assist and a goal for that one, there.”
“Here’s another one, up along the boards.”
“We know that’s where the game is won or lost, on the boards, and he doesn’t seem to give up the puck once here’s there, always manages to get the puck out, to the guy on the line or the one in the slot. He’s a fighter, and he’s not afraid to take the big hits or the assist.”
“A team player.”
“He’s a team player all around. Look, here’s a little altercation, one of the other team is taunting another Bruin, that little guy there, and in comes Aquila, pulling the attention to himself, you see that, he’s watching out for his team mates, and he’s no pansy, watch. See, there go the gloves and boom, he knocks that guy hard enough to pop his teeth out, then he takes one in the jaw himself, but he doesn’t even flinch, he just goes right back and he takes this guy to the ice.”
“Not afraid to get gritty in there.”
“No, definitely not.”
“So there are some who are saying that he should be banned from the league altogether, before he even gets to play for Vancouver.”
“Yeah.”
“They’re claiming it’s a man’s sport and he doesn’t belong in it, or that he should have just kept quiet about his inclinations.”
“Well that’s the thing there, you can be sure there are other guys in the NHL who are gay, if you go by the stats there’s bound to be more than a handful, but they keep quiet about it because of that very thing.”
“They don’t want to be penalised for that.”
“No, and you can’t blame them given the response to this but I have to admire this kid, I tell you.”
“Some would call it foolish, being out before he’s even been drafted.”
“Some would, but you notice he still got drafted. And he went first over-all.”
“That’s got to tell you something.”
“It does, and Vancouver did themselves a big favour by taking him, despite the controversy. This kid is gonna be a big player in the league, mark my words.”
“So you like him, them?”
“I do, he’s a great Canadian player, he works hard, he’s aggressive, he keeps his head down and his stick on the ice and he fights for it, fights for every goal and every play.”
“Here’s another clip, thanks Jim.”
“Right and here, you see, he’s aggressive, fighting that puck from behind his own net and passing it out, and here, he dashes up to join his winger, these two work really well together.”
“That’s uh, Torus, Luke Torus.”
“Yeah right, Torus, he’s a good little player too, he went what, third round?”
“68th overall.”
“Not too bad, right there, and look, watch as they push up the ice, passing back and forth as if neither of them wants the puck, but that’s how you move it up the ice. This isn't a European rink where you’ve got miles of room to skate, this is Canadian hockey at its best and here they go, getting in onside and passing it around and here, there it is. You see that?”
“He dropped the puck back and distracted the defenseman.”
“Excellent stick work there, he didn’t even let on that he didn’t have the puck anymore, and there, the other winger took it and scored, earning both the boys an assist for that one and they deserve it.”
“He’s a smart player.”
“Intuitive, he’s intuitive. He knows where his teammates are and he knows where the other team is, he’s always watching.”
“Very observant.”
“But he doesn't over think it, you know, he doesn’t hang onto the puck, waiting for the shot, he just takes it and makes his own shots. And it works because he’s intuitive, he knows what the other team is thinking, he can get into their heads and exploit those weaknesses.”
“He’s certainly in the goalie’s heads, he’s got an infamous wrist shot from what I hear.”
“Accurate and intuitive, and aggressive to boot. They can say what they want about him not being manly enough for the sport, but I tell you, if they ever saw him play they’d shut up real fast, and you have to wonder if they’re just afraid to see him on the ice for Vancouver.”
“It takes a lot of courage to stand up for yourself and not hide who you are, especially when you’re gay in this kind of game.”
“It does, and he deserves the respect for that, and for the way he plays.”
“Running out of time here, but I guess you’ve already answered my next question.”
“Oh?”
“Do you think he should be allowed to play?”
“I think they’ll do a disservice to the game if they don’t let him play. He’s gonna be a star, I’ll tell you now, he’s a great little player and he’ll make a great captain too, you just wait.”
“Not so little, actually, he’s about the size of two of you.”
“Ha!”
“Right well, that’s all the time we have for today, we’ll be back after these messages with your second period in this season opener between the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Montreal Canadien.”
**
February 2010
The Pacific Coliseum was packed full that night, making Marcus very grateful that he was privileged to have such a great seat, in the section of the stands set aside for other Olympians. Marcus hadn’t anticipated being counted among them, but it seemed that fortune was on his side. Being selected for the Canadian Olympic team was an honour he hadn’t imagined, but it was thrilling nonetheless.
It also meant he had a prime seat from which to see what would eventually be Esca’s victory. Marcus was certain he would bring home the gold, his confidence in Esca’s abilities was absolute.
The wait, however, was even more interminable than it had been when Marcus watched the competition on TV. At least there were more distractions, spectators from all over the world, complete with all the idiosyncrasies of their nationality. It was highly entertaining, at times.
Finally Esca was on the ice for the warm up and, just like when he’d watched the televised events, he couldn’t take his eyes off Esca. But this time, he didn’t have to rely on the cameras to take the pictures for him.
Esca looked amazing. This wasn’t unusual, at least as Marcus was concerned, but it was true nonetheless. He was wearing a pair of black dress slacks and a tight white t-shirt and bow tie, along with thin black suspenders that, while not doing anything to actually hold his pants up, accented his wiry musculature quite well.
What had really grabbed Marcus’ attention was the make up. Esca’s face was pale, not completely white, but much paler than it was normally, his eyes outlined in the same fashion he had worn to prom, only darker, thicker, much more dramatic. The effect was striking, Esca had a flair for costumes and choreography that bordered on genius. With Andrew’s guidance and expertise, he never failed to amaze the spectators, as well as the judges. Marcus was certain this night would not be an exception.
He didn’t have long to wait, fortunately. Esca was third to skate in the final group of ten, and after the second skater had finished, Marcus was on the edge of his seat, watching as Esca skated around the ice, warming up and waiting for his cue.
All eyes were trained on Esca’s starting pose, hands on hips, head quirked, one foot propped up on the heel of his blade, as if he had been frozen in place, suddenly. The music began, a tinkling piano at first, and Esca began to move, jerky, forceful movements giving way to smooth strides as he began the program. Marcus chuckled when he realized that the costume matched the dance, that Esca was performing a mime on ice, jumps and spins punctuating stretches of footwork and gestures that flowed seemingly effortlessly, one into the next.
The program was much too brief, in Marcus’ opinion, over in a few short minutes, the wait for Esca’s score seeming almost as long. Marcus watched, feeling helpless, until the scores came up and the nervousness dissipated.
From across the arena, Marcus could see Esca embracing Andrew, their faces highlighted on the big screen, the evidence of their pleasure. Esca was solidly in first place, his score quite a bit higher than any of the others had managed. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief, although the tension did not leave him completely. Seven more skaters to go, each one potentially with a higher score. Only time would tell.
**
Marcus was impatient. He had been well aware of how long it would take Esca to get showered and changed and then get free of the various demands on his time, media, officials, even Andrew, but, despite knowing this, Marcus was beginning to get restless.
To make matters worse, a woman across the room had been eyeing him for a while, whispering to the man by her side, the man who was holding a camera, albeit a much smaller one than the average reporter carried. A surreptitious glance at their clothing revealed media passes clipped to their shirts, but Marcus was still wary. Talking to reporters non stop was exhausting, even more now that Marcus was in the NHL and playing for the Olympic team.
The room was filled with family and friends of the skaters in Esca’s group. They had been the last to skate and were the last to leave, particularly because they were considerably more in demand. The media in the room was yet another indication of that. Very few reporters were actually allowed behind the scenes at the events, and were forced to wait for their chance at an interview.
He was distracted from his observation by a door opening at the other end of the room, at last, and several skaters and coaches emerging, mingling with the press and their family members. Marcus stood up on his toes, hoping to see over the crowd so that he could spot Esca but, just when he was beginning to wonder if Esca was coming at all, he spotted Andrew. He was taller than Esca and therefore easier to spot, but a sighting of Andrew meant that Esca was not far behind.
Marcus waited less patiently than ever as they navigated their way through the crowd, watching Esca hungrily as Andrew clapped him on the shoulder and gave Marcus a nod and a smile before slipping off through a side door.
Esca approached Marcus with a wide grin, which Marcus returned, clasping Esca around the waist and pulling him into an enthusiastic hug, Esca’s arms around his neck. They rocked a bit on the spot, laughing with each other at the joy of Esca’s accomplishment.
“You were amazing,” Marcus said when they pulled back, his hands rubbing up and down Esca’s back. “That costume, and the make-up, I-” he didn’t know what to say, not there in front of so many people where they could not take the conversation to its logical conclusion, so he leaned in to kiss Esca instead, letting his lips and tongue do the talking for him.
“I thought you’d like that,” Esca replied, smiling up at him, making Marcus’ chest fill with happiness. Being with Esca had not become any less amazing in the year they’d been together, Marcus was certain it never would.
“I liked it too much,” Marcus said. “It’s been hell waiting-” he was interrupted by a throat clearing beside them. He turned his head to see the woman who he had been watching earlier, her camera man behind her and a disarming smile on her face.
“Gentlemen,” she said. “I’m Alana Rowe, from Xtra, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions?”
Marcus recognized the name of a popular gay news site, understanding why they had not been permitted into the backstage area, but had waited around for the skaters to emerge. It was very likely she had been waiting for Esca, finding Marcus must have been quite a boon for her. He shared a look with Esca, who nodded, turning to give Alana his best ‘interview smile’, as Marcus called it.
“Sure,” he replied, lacing his fingers with Esca’s and imitating his smile. "Fire away."
“Thank you,” she said, nodding at the camera man, and moving to stand beside Esca, taking a breath and then beginning.
“This is Alana Rowe with Xtra’s special Olympic report in Vancouver, British Columbia. I’m here to bring you an interview with figure skating sensation, Esca MacCunoval, one of the few openly gay athletes at this Olympics, one of only two out Canadian Olympians. We also have the good fortune of having the other here as well, Marcus Aquila, from the Canadian Men’s Hockey team. Gentlemen, thank you both for agreeing to speak with us.”
“You’re welcome,” Esca said, squeezing Marcus’ hand.
“First of all, Esca, your performance tonight was nothing short of incredible. Just how much training do you need to learn all those moves, especially the jumps?”
Esca chuckled a bit, setting Alana at ease, as well as Marcus. “Well, it’s both easier and harder than it looks. It takes a lot of practice and a lot of falling to get them right, although different coaches will use various methods to help teach their kids how to jump. Once you have the basics down, it’s just a matter of practice and then strength to add more rotations and then learning how to do the combos. The spins are almost as difficult to learn, you have to keep your body utterly still as any unwanted movements can jar you out of the spin or move you across the ice, which the judges dock points for if it’s pronounced.”
Marcus listened as Esca spoke, his passion and enthusiasm really coming across in his words and gestures.
“Fascinating,” Alana said. “And not for the faint of heart, I assume.”
“No, it’s not. It takes a certain kind of courage, or insanity, as my father used to say, to throw yourself across the ice and into the air, only to land on the edge of a blade.”
“Very wise of him,” Alana replied with a wide smile. “As for this event, how do you feel about your chances of winning the gold? I hope I’m not jinxing anything by saying you certainly seem assured of a medal, at least.”
Esca laughed again, making Marcus smile as well. “Oh, I think my chances are pretty good, of at least ending up in the top three. I have some pretty talented competition though, so I don’t want to count on anything. Besides, you never know if you’re going to be the unlucky person to hit a chunk of ice wrong and miss a step or fall out of a jump, anything can happen.”
“Well, I wish you the best of luck on Thursday, I’m sure that all of Canada will be watching and cheering for you.”
Esca nodded his thanks and Alana turned her attention to Marcus. “Marcus Aquila, we’re so fortunate to have found you here as well. How are you settling into the team? Is there any friction between you and the other players on account of your being gay?”
“Well, to be honest, there’s always a bit of friction. Most of the players on the team have never met me before, perhaps only playing one or two games against the Canucks this season, and a lot of them don’t quite know what to make of me. I hope that they are coming to respect my play, and to forget, at least a little, all the controversy that had been tossed around, so we can just focus on winning a medal.”
“The Canadian Men’s team has a very good shot at the gold medal again this year, in all likelihood, both of you may be leaving the games with a gold medal around your necks. We at Xtra are very excited about the prospect, there are so few gay athletes of your caliber, and to have two competing for Canada, and both in the running for the medals, well, it’s thrilling.”
“I think you’ll be seeing more gay and lesbian athletes speaking out about their sexuality,” Marcus replied. “It’s only a matter of time and I can speak from experience to say that it’s worth it. Not having to lie or pretend makes every accomplishment much more fulfilling.”
“I hope your success will inspire many younger gay athletes across Canada, and the world,” Alana agreed, nodding. “I just have a few more questions, which I’m sure our members in particular will be interested in. I couldn’t help but notice the two of you are very close, are you dating?”
“I was wondering when you’d be getting to that,” Esca said with a laugh, giving Marcus a wink. “Yes, we are dating, very happily, I might add.”
“Congratulations,” Alana said beaming. “Did you meet here at the Olympics, or did you know each other previously through Team Canada?”
It was Marcus’ turn to laugh, at Alana’s assumption. “No, as a matter of fact, we met about a year and a half ago,” he replied, smiling at Esca and squeezing his hand. “We were training in the same arena in Chilliwack and we both attended the same high school for grade twelve. We’ve been dating for a year now.”
“Exactly a year,” Esca agreed. “Last February you finally gave in and stopped trying to resist me,” he added with a laugh, bumping his shoulder into Marcus’ arm.
“I don’t know why I even tried,” Marcus said, letting go of Esca’s hand and wrapping his arm around Esca’s shoulders, bringing him in closer. “At any rate, we’ve been dating for a year and we’ve been living together here in Vancouver since July.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m sure many a young boy will be heartbroken to hear that you are both taken, however,” Alana said.
“We hope that they’ll find each other, instead,” Esca said, grinning, settling his head against Marcus’ shoulder. “And that they’ll stand up for themselves, and be honest with those around them. Remember kids, it does get better.”
“I’d like to thank you both on behalf of our staff and readers, and wish you both the best of luck in your events,” Alana concluded, turning to face the camera with a smile. “For Xtra special reports, I’m Alana Rowe, from the Vancouver Olympic Games.”
**
Of course, once the media had gotten hold of Marcus and Esca’s interview with Alana, the requests for more interviews of the two of them together had increased. Apparently it was interesting that they were both gay, but the fact that they were dating and living together was exponentially more fascinating.
Some of Marcus’ team mates had given him slaps on the back, in encouragement or relief that he wasn’t single and looking at them, Marcus didn’t know. But he’d take it. The team was engaged in a playoff game that afternoon, but what was foremost on Marcus’ mind was Esca’s long program that evening. If he was lucky, the game wouldn’t go into overtime and he would be able to get across town to watch Esca’s skate. If he was lucky.
When the game was over, Marcus got changed and showered in record time, spent another hour doing interviews and other game related things, and then dashed outside to hail a cab, as soon as he could manage it. It was a fifteen minute drive to the Pacific Coliseum on a normal day, he’d be lucky if he got there in half an hour, that night.
He used his pass to gain entry and ran up to the section for athletes, hearing only the music on the loudspeakers, which he was sure wasn’t Esca’s. A quick glance at the ice told him that it wasn’t Esca, which meant he’d made it. Only just, as the skater on the ice finished with a flourish and Marcus realized that he was the third place skater.
He relaxed back in his seat, finally sparing a glance at the others in the section, smiling and waving at a few before trying to calm his racing heart as the second place skater glided onto the ice and began his program.
He was good. Really good. And Marcus had, over the last eighteen months, become very adept at spotting what the judges were looking for, as well as what pleased the crowd. The performance made Marcus a little bit uneasy, but he knew that Esca had beat the guy before, he could certainly do could do it again.
Esca stepped onto the ice to cheers and whistles from most of the assembled crowd, even those who were not Canadians were eager to see him skate, as word of his unique, entertaining performance had spread. It seemed that tonight would be no different.
Esca was in blues and browns that night, his costume almost mossy in appearance. Marcus was certain that, on anyone else, it would be rather dull, but Esca’s sharp, wiry frame made it look dramatic, the smudges on his face giving him an eerie air. He arranged himself in a ball on the ice, waiting for the music to start, looking like a mossy rock, his face hidden and his hair mixing in, adding to the effect.
The music began and he began to stretch, reaching out with one limb and then another, lifting himself up suddenly and arching, spinning from one foot to the next, his strides stretching, gaining speed as he went. Then he shifted again stopping on a toe pick and pushing off in the opposite direction, his movements gaining more speed and fluidity until he spread out and leapt into the air, landing a triple axel perfectly, before spinning again, stopping on his toe pick and moving in the opposite direction, performing the mirror image with a triple lutz at the other end of the ice.
The program continued in that fashion, back and forth, moving in one direction and then the next, spinning this way and that, as if Esca was in competition with himself. And Marcus had to admit that he probably was. Every shift drew the crowd in more, every movement, every element repeated as if in a mirror, and each one performed with precise perfection and incredible elegance.
If Marcus hadn’t already been madly in love with Esca already, he would have fallen again, watching him like this.
At last the program ended, the music fading as Esca crumpled in on himself again, pulling each limb in, ending in the same position he’d started in. The arena was silent for a long moment, until Esca stood up, graceful and grinning, his chest heaving as he gulped in lungfuls of air, his cheeks red with exertion under the make-up.
The crowd shot to its feet, cheering and clapping and throwing bouquets onto the ice, but Marcus was still in his seat, breathless. He felt a surge of gratitude, unable to believe in his luck that he is the one who holds that man in his arms every night. That he is the one who is allowed to touch Esca, to kiss him, to wake up with him every morning.
Finally he stood and clapped, noticing when Esca turned to the part of the arena where Marcus was sitting, staring right at him with a huge grin, before turning and stepping off the ice to await his score.
And it was a good one. Fabulous even. Esca not only won the long program, but his lead, already wide, was widened by the result winning him the gold medal by a large margin. Marcus cheered, screaming and jumping and hugging the girls next to him who were as much in awe as he was, wishing desperately that he could be down there with Esca, wanting more than anything to kiss the breath out of him and drag him off to a quiet place.
‘Later,’ he assured himself. Once the medals were awarded and the media had finished with him, once everyone had gone home, then Marcus could drag Esca to bed and do filthy, wonderful things with him.
Esca stepped onto the ice again, waving a good sized Canadian flag as he skated the victory lap, waving and cheering, his smile infectious. When he passed Marcus, he turned and slid backwards, blowing Marcus a kiss with his free hand, spinning forward again as the girls around Marcus swooned.
“Do you know him?” one of them asked Marcus, hey eyes wide.
“I do,” Marcus said with a huge smile. “He’s my boyfriend.”
**
June 2010
It was a lovely spring day in Vancouver, and Marcus was enjoying it to the fullest. Life had been a little crazy since Esca had won gold in the Olympics, sure Marcus had won a gold medal as well, but it had been a team effort, while Esca’s medal had been won on pure talent and athleticism, not to mention a healthy dose of innovation.
Things had finally settled down, and with the Canucks out of the playoffs that year, both of them were free to enjoy the late spring sunshine. They had decided to head downtown and wander around a bit, do some shopping, see a movie, have dinner, typical date type things that they didn’t get to do often.
They had just emerged from the movie theater, laughing at the explosive end of Iron Man 2 when they, literally, ran into someone Marcus had hoped never to see again.
“Excuse me, oh,” Galen Placyd said, his lip twisted in derision. “It’s you.”
“Unfortunately,” Marcus said with a sneer, noting Esca’s restraining squeeze.
“Well, look at you two, aren’t you precious,” Placyd said, eyeing their clasped hands. “What’s the matter Aquila, are the Canucks not paying you enough to upgrade your boy-toy?”
“Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more of an asshole, here you are, a homophobic asshole,” Marcus said.
“I’m not homophobic,” Playcd said. “I just don’t like you.”
“You’d better be careful, Placyd,” Esca said, his voice taking on the steel tone that Marcus appreciated when it was not directed at him. “Or this conversation will end the same way the last one did.”
“What, with your brute of a boyfriend resorting to violence to mask his lack of conversational skills?” Placyd sneered, and Marcus had to close his eyes to keep from decking the guy again. Not only was he older and supposed to have more restraint, he could get in big trouble with the league and the media for decking a guy off the ice. Even if it was a puffed up prick like Placyd.
“That wasn’t a conversation, Placyd,” Marcus shot back. “That was you being an asshole and insulting me out of some misplaced sense of superiority. Much like this ‘conversation’,” Marcus said, with air quotes at the appropriate time.
“My superiority is not misplaced,” Placyd said, puffing out what Marcus supposed was his chest, although it looked more like that of a prepubescent boy than of a man Placyd’s age.
“Really?” Marcus asked. “How many gold medals do you have?”
“Pfft,” Placyd scoffed and the urge to punch him again rose up inside Marcus, kept in check only by Esca’s hand on his arm. “So you rode on the coat tails of the team, big deal.”
“Sure, sure, if you want to think that, fine,” Marcus said. “But Esca, on the other hand, didn’t have any team mates at all.” He smiled at Esca proudly, and Esca smiled back. “Last I hear, singles meant only one, isn’t that right?”
Esca nodded, smirking at the ground, but Marcus continued. “I’m not the only one looking down at you Placyd. But Esca is a better man even than me. He won his gold medal with his own strength, on his own merit, and that is something an ass like you will never be able to match, much less understand.”
Marcus tugged at Esca’s hand, and walked past a silent Placyd, not missing the smug look Esca gave him as they passed. Some people were best left forgotten, and Marcus hoped he could slot Placyd firmly into that category.
**
October 2010
The first year had been more than a bit bumpy, but it had settled down well by the end. It had only taken about half the season for the other players to realize that Marcus didn’t care the slightest bit about their naked asses, and to relax around him. The fact that his face lit up like a Christmas tree when speaking about Esca hadn’t hurt either, he was sure.
It had taken the rest of the league more time to come to terms with him, but Marcus had found that standing his ground and not letting anyone push him around was the best defense. He had clocked far too many minutes in the penalty box the first half of the season, a result of standing up for himself with fists and hard hits on the boards.
Everything cooled off once the rest of the team began standing up for him, suddenly the opposing players who had taunted him found themselves up against an entire line of irate Canucks, instead of just the one, standing alone. The gloves dropped quickly for a stretch of several weeks, and retaliation was swift upon anyone who taunted Marcus about his life off the ice, or anyone who had laid a dirty hit on him, until the word had spread that Vancouver would not tolerate any more shit spewed in Marcus’ direction.
Of course the fact that he continued to score, assist and work his ass off helped a lot, his points kept mounting and the fans became more enthusiastic as well, cheering raucously when his name was announced, or when he made a play, and booing loudly and incessantly anyone who dared to take a cheap shot.
And then, right before the end of the season, on the verge of the playoffs, several other players stood up in support of Marcus, following that by coming out as well. Marcus, along with the rest of the NHL, was shocked. One guy came out, but the other two went further than that, admitting that they were a couple and had been living together for several years. Their cohabitation had been common knowledge though their relationship had not. One was a young player, only a few years older than Marcus was, but the other was a veteran player, one who had been a star player for years, having been among the league’s top scorers, having also brought several Stanley Cups to his team over his lengthy career.
Despite the uproar these announcements had caused, things had settled down fairly quickly, and Marcus found it was much easier after that. Ignorant, hateful people abounded, but the numbers of those who were supportive far outweighed them, thankfully. His second year in the league would no doubt go smoother, certainly helped along by his being a top scorer and winning the Calder Memorial Trophy as rookie of the year.
Now, at the start of his second season, Marcus had a feeling that everything was going to be fine. More than fine.
Little did he know how much that would prove to be true.
**
June 2011
The Stanley Cup Final. Marcus was still having trouble believing that he was actually there, and Game Seven was about to begin. It had been a rough series, the Canucks had been unable to win except on home ice, and almost unable to score on Thomas, who seemed to be on fire.
But they had the home ice advantage that night, and Marcus was suddenly starkly aware of the stakes. Not only the Cup, the one that could be the first ever for Vancouver, but for his father. The last time Vancouver was in that position, his father had sat here, in the dressing room with his team mates, preparing for the game of his life, and yet, unable to bring forth the motivation needed to secure it.
Marcus didn’t need any extra motivation. The fans, the management, his team mates, all of these created a vast amount. His father’s memory brought even more. Knowing that Esca was in the arena watching, along with his uncle, was just the icing on the cake. Luke and Cottia were there as well, Marcus knew, no doubt as sickeningly sweet as ever, as they’d been since their prom. Marcus liked to mock Cottia about her cooing over him and Esca and then turning around and being the worst offender. She took it well, and answered in a mature, grown up fashion by sticking her tongue out at him. Marcus knew that, in another life, he could have loved her.
And then the team was called out, it was time.
The first period swept by in a flurry of missed chances, hard hits and frantic face offs. The referees had let them play, not calling anything except the most blatant of penalties. It was the kind of game that Marcus loved, and he didn’t want to stop for the intermission.
He thought it was odd that the 20 uninterrupted minutes between periods seemed to stretch out longer than the periods themselves. But, finally, it was time for the second.
It passed as quickly as the first, and with as many goals, That is to say, none. Both goaltenders were unbeatable, and tempers began to run hot as the minutes ticked down. One hard hit led into another and that’s when the taunting started.
It wasn’t a surprise, really, despite how much better the last year had been, there were still players who despised Marcus on principle, and his success and acceptance only fueled their rage. There was some tussling, but before things could get out of hand, the period was over.
This time the intermission went quickly, Marcus’ head was spinning, knowing that time was running out. Twenty minutes left in the game, and Marcus knew that one goal would win it. If he could just get past the defence, past the wall of Thomas’ pads, he knew they could win it all.
When they were called out for the third period, Marcus was ready. He was driven by the memory of his father, the energy of the crowd, the desire to hoist that Cup over his head the way he’d seen it done every year as far back as he could remember.
Of course, the taunting and the increasingly dirty hits continued, as the Bruins, and wasn’t that ironic, that the last team Marcus had played for should be named after the very team that he was pitted against, tended to play rough when the stakes were high.
Halfway through, ten minutes in, ten minutes left, and one of the Bruins hit Marcus right outside the blue line, hard enough to jar him, hard enough to vibrate his bones, and that sparked it. One push led to the next, and then Marcus was in the middle of it, turning circles around the other player, the one who was just itching for a fight. Marcus wanted to hit him, the sewage pouring out of his mouth deserved nothing less, but he didn’t. He held on, held on to his stick, on to his gloves, on to his will, determined not to let go.
He knew what would happen if he did. He’d deck the guy, and then he’d be thrown out of the game, and that would be the end of it. No more Stanley Cup, even if the team won it would be tainted by his ejection and that was something he could not allow. So he hung on.
And then, the taunt came that changed his momentum, that made Marcus laugh with the absurdity of it all. Suddenly he thought of Charlie and the school yard taunts, and he thought of Esca, the way he’d faced it all, cool in the midst of chaos, just letting it all lash against him until he was the only one standing.
“What’s the matter, Aquila? Are you a pussy?” the other player sneered, trying to get a fist in Marcus’ face, but Marcus’ just held on. “Are you afraid to fight me you little fag?”
And Marcus laughed harder, not a good idea really, as it only incensed the guy further, but he couldn’t help it.
“Are you kidding me?” Marcus called back, still chuckling with amusement. “My boyfriend is tougher than you!”
And that ended it. The guy threw a punch that did land on Marcus’ jaw, snapping his head back, but he didn’t even feel the pain. The next moment the refs were pulling them apart and escorting Marcus back to his bench, where he watched the player who hit him get escorted right off the ice. He smiled, unable to stop himself, feeling a certain sense of satisfaction knowing that such a childish prick would not see the end of the game.
The attempt to get him booted, whether purposeful or incidental, backfired in the end. Once the penalties were sorted out, Marcus felt his determination renewed, his blood on fire with the need to score the goal that won it all. He didn’t get the chance before the period was over, but he knew, in sudden death overtime, that he would.
He spent the abbreviated ten minute intermission turned inside himself, shutting off the nervous chatter of his team mates and focusing only on what needed to be done. Because this really was it. Seventeen years ago, his father had sat in a locker room much like this one, awaiting the start of overtime, the last period he would play, not knowing how it would turn out, only certain that the one he loved would not be there with him when it was all over.
Marcus was more fortunate than his father. He knew where his love would be, waiting for him outside the arena, with that stunning smile and that gleam in his eyes, just for Marcus.
It was time to end this game.
Marcus hit the ice his first shift hard and fast, the world zoning out to just him and the puck, the other players always a presence in his peripheral vision, but the puck was his focus. And then, it happened, a skirmish along the boards sent the puck out fast, just as he was skating from behind the net, it hit his stick as if it was magnetized and he was off, slipping between the Boston defencemen and across the neutral zone.
As he crossed the blue line, he spotted his chance, in the dropping of the goalie’s glove arm. Marcus knew he would bring it up fast to catch the puck, but he knew he could be faster and so, just when he made to push the puck forward, he slipped off a quick wrist shot instead, his har fought accuracy winning out as the puck zipped by on the left side.
It was in! Lights flashing, crowd roaring, Marcus buried on the bottom of a dog pile made up of ecstatic Canucks, each one wanting to get a hand on him in excited congratulations. Marcus was stunned. Elated, relieved and thankful and a dozen different emotions, all pulling at him like elastic bands, just waiting to snap him back into harsh reality.
But they never did, somehow they were cut off and Marcus was left in a state of euphoria, as his team mates clambered off him and stumbled to the blue line to await the presentation of Lord Stanley’s Cup, the first time in their history that it had been won by the Canucks.
And when it was passed into his hands, cold and slick and impossibly heavy, Marcus felt the circle of his life complete, closing around him. He felt the burden of his father’s legacy on him, but for once it was light. The weight dissipated, leaving only pride and accomplishment and memory. He felt his father then, in a place where somehow, in some way, he was watching. Marcus could see them both, his mother and his father, could feel their pride and love for him as if they were present.
When he passed the Cup on to the next player, whispering ‘for my father,’ and kissing it swiftly as he let it go, it didn’t leave him bereft, but rather fulfilled. Whole and finally at complete peace with himself and his place in the world. The smell of the ice and the roar of the crowd were a backdrop to the rest of his life, where Esca was waiting and he was home.
fin
Well, that’s all she wrote. I hope everyone enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. Much thanks to my betas for putting up with me, and for all the encouragement on the kink meme. Also, gratitude to the OP for putting this prompt in my head. When I said overly long and involved, I wasn’t kidding. ;) I hope you comment and tell me what you liked about it, I would appreciate hearing it.
♥ Aquila ♥
And now, with a shiny new timestamp. , set 5-6 years in the future.