Tumbling Down: Angst, NC-17, Part 15
Part Fifteen
“So how did you not notice you had an ulcer in your stomach?”
I winced, turning the steering wheel forty-five degrees to make a left turn onto Nationwide Blvd. Nikolai was watching me expectantly from the passenger’s seat, however, and I wrinkled my nose.
With the promised continuation of our discussion from last night, I’d taken Nikky to a quiet, intimate little restaurant by the apartment for breakfast. We’d settled in and taken our time, eating and talking; talking about everything and anything that came to mind. From what had happened since the crash, what I’d done since the crash, to how Nik was feeling and why Rick liked strawberries but hated cherries, we had just spent a leisurely morning together, speaking honestly and openly. I did have something planned for the day that had certain time constraints, however, and we’d had to continue the conversation in the car in order to make it.
“I thought it was because of you,” I muttered; distractedly, as I changed lanes. Nikolai’s eyebrows shot up.
I cringed.
“Not like that!” I added hastily as he opened his mouth with a snarky comment on his lips. “I thought it was because I was worrying about you so much. I was having nightmares, and waking up with my stomach hurting, throwing up-I didn’t look too much into it.”
“Do you still have nightmares?” he asked softly, concern erasing the irony in his expression. I watched the road intently, not looking over.
“Sometimes. Yes. Still.”
“Oh, Sergei…”
Nik rested his hand on my thigh comfortingly, and I reached down with a smile, clasping his hand and raising it to my lips; kissing the back. As I pulled into the parking lot I squeezed his hand reassuringly.
“It’s okay, Nikky. You’re here now.”
He shook his head doubtfully, letting go of my hand as we got out of the car; slinging a pair of skates over his shoulder. We were the only ones around in the vast lot, a few hours remaining before Nationwide Arena was open to public skating.
“I certainly remember this place…” Nikolai murmured as I took his hand, pulling him toward the building as my own skates bounced against my side. Rick had turned on the posterboy charm and gotten one of the managers to loan him a set of keys, though it didn’t take much more than “It’s for Nikky,” for them to cave. They wanted to see my Ukrainian lover back and well as much as anyone else.
The arena was dim, the bright overhead spotlights turned off and only the regular lights on. It was somehow mellower, though, without them on; more intimate and less glaring. I could have turned the spotlights on if I wanted, but I didn’t want to waste time, locking the front doors behind us and tugging Nik down to ice level. He was craning his head, looking around, trying to take everything in at once as I opened the large entryway at the end of the rink. I sat down in one of the stadium seats, placing my skates on the ground in front of me and grinning up at him.
“Well, come on. Lace up.”
Nikolai shook his head dubiously, bemusedly, but complied. I’d filched a pair of his extra skates from the storage room, so as to get to closest to what he’d last played in-he’d had his regular pair of skates with him in Russia, and they’d been lost in the crash. I tied mine on and watched discreetly as he fumbled a bit with his laces, going slowly and carefully, fingers gradually remembering the once-reflex quick movements to get your skates on and ready to go.
When he was done, we both stood up, and I clasped his hand again, a little nervousness roiling in my gut. He wobbled a little, laughing breathlessly at the balancing act of two-hundred pounds on less than a quarter-inch of steel, but we made it the couple yards to the ice surface without incident.
I went first, stepping backwards onto the frozen surface. Nik was hesitant, his eyes darting across the rink and then back to me. He licked his lips, staying firm on the ground just outside of the ice, and I smiled encouragingly.
“Come on, Nikky. It’ll be alright.”
He shook his head, rueful. But he moved. He took a few tentative steps on the ice, clutching my hand tightly. His brow was furrowed in concentration and I was barely breathing, all my attention fixed on his expression.
Do you remember, Nik? Do you remember?
This is what you are.
Slowly, I eased backward; and he slid with me, making a few awkward movements with his knees; biting his lip in anxiety. He barely made any move, just letting my momentum pull him forward. But when I was sure he was balanced, I let go of his hand, skating a few yards back.
His eyes snapped to my face, consternation in those gray depths.
“Sergei, I…”
“It’s okay,” I soothed; despite the pounding of my own heart in my throat. It was a gamble, but…
I held out my arms. “Come to me. You can do it.”
Nikolai opened his mouth to protest, chagrined. But after a second he closed it, staring at the smooth ice beneath us; a funny look crossing his face. He lifted up his foot a little and dug into the ice with his toe, using the one leg to support him and the other to slide the skate of his blade across the frozen surface. Intent.
And then he took a little breath, squaring his shoulders, and lunged forward.
The first couple strides were wobbly. He teetered dangerously, just on the edge of the blades, and I held my breath for fear that he would fall. But as he straightened, regaining his center-the biggest grin broke out across his face. His movement evened out and his strides grew stronger, and I heard and felt his exultant laugh as he skated right past me, surging up toward center ice; I was grinning so hard my teeth hurt as his laughter echoed through the empty arena.
I skated after him, watching him; unconsciously assessing him. The pure power of his skating wasn’t there, and his agility was dampened, months of forget and lack of training eating away at his abilities. But-it was him. It was him, with those tight turns and deft footwork, long legs carrying him smooth and fast around the rink. It was him, with that wide grin and the light in his eyes from the wonder of it all; from the wonder of skating and gliding and of ice, the air cooled around us yet warm all the same to our hockey-bound souls.
He skated by me and I grabbed him around the waist, snagging him in mid-skate and pulling him close as he laughed delightedly. We spun around a few times before coming to a halt, face-to-face; and I loved the joy that I saw in his eyes. His cheeks were flushed with exertion and excitement; tinged pale pink against tan skin. I rested my forehead against his, smiling, breathing in his little pants for air and barely-suppressed snickers.
“Does it feel familiar?” I asked softly.
Nik’s only reply was to grin and press his lips to mine, hard. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me, again and again, laughing as he did so. Yet as his breathing moderated, adrenalin waning, the kisses slowed; deepened. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, curling my fingers into the thick material of his pullover; letting him explore my mouth with his tongue at his leisure; marveling once more at how soft his lips were. He tasted like the green tea he had drunk at the restaurant, and I inhaled the bitter taste of fresh leaf just barely sweetened.
I wasn’t even aware of the fact we were still moving until my back hit the boards. Nikolai’s fingers tangled in my hair as he pressed me against the glass, mouth hungry but gentle; firm yet fleeting. I all but melted into putty in his grasp, clinging onto his shoulders as his tongue coaxed the strength from my body.
When we broke apart, seconds or minutes or hours later, Nikolai leaned back to look into my eyes; his own a gray so dark I imagined they were black. We were both panting a little, and he pressed another kiss, this one chaste and sweet, to my lips.
“Very familiar,” he breathed. He nuzzled my cheek, breath hot against my skin. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I whispered back. Nikolai clasped my hands in each of his, holding them out to the sides and out of commission as he kissed me yet again, soft and gentle. I think he must have laced his tea with something because I felt like I was drunk, lightheaded and unresisting as he skated backwards: tugging me along; our fingers still entwined. We sat down on the bench where we had spent so many tense games crowded together, pressed against each other and our teammates with excitement in the air until it was our turn to hop over the boards and onto the ice. The serene stillness of the arena was striking, poignant, and we sat close together, not saying a word as we unlaced our skates and slipped back into our shoes. Nik leaned his head against my shoulder and I slid my arm around him, both of us taking in the quiet, dimly-lit rink. We let the cool air wash over us, breathing the ice in the air; letting it engulf our senses.
There’s nothing quite like the feel of an arena just waiting for the taste of skates and sticks back on its surface.
This year would be different, though. This year the two of us wouldn’t be on that frozen surface, playing the sport we loved. It hadn’t even been an arguable point for me, after the crash. I’d let everything go, then; let my body deteriorate, let my relationships deteriorate, let everything fall to the wayside as my mind shut down in denial of the fact that the man I loved was gone forever. I had stopped caring.
Some things are more important than hockey: and to me, Nikolai Zherdev is one of those things.
They say that what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger, but I don’t know if that’s what happened in my case. I just got back what I lost. Impossibly, miraculously, I got him back. Losing him almost killed me-and maybe it would have killed me, eventually. Yet I did feel stronger, now. Mentally and emotionally, I felt sounder. But in my dedication to keeping him safe, keeping myself safe, I had been treating Nikky like a child instead of my lover and an equal. I hadn’t trusted him to take care of himself; hadn’t trusted myself to be okay without having him at my side at all times, despite evidence to the contrary of both doubts. I had been holding on too tight, and it had just hurt both of us in the end.
He wasn’t glass, and it wasn’t fair for me to treat him like it.
I stood up, pulling Nikolai to his feet with me and swinging my skates over one shoulder. He did the same and I kept my arm wrapped around him, curling a finger in one of the belt loops in his jeans and using my grasp to guide him away from the rink. We walked down the hallway to the team dressing room, and immediately upon entering Nik sucked in a little gasp of air, stopping in his tracks.
The room was bare, lockers empty and equipment all stored safely away. The big blazon of the Jackets crest on the floor was a warm sight to my eyes, familiar and inviting. The room was dim but that crest stood out in all its glory, bright in the dark like a beacon; welcoming us back into its embrace like lost sons returning home. I felt the absurd desire to touch that familiarity and I did, letting go of Nikolai and crouching down; running my hand across the colored rug and the sharp lines that made up the star. As I did so Nik wandered away from me-he walked around the crest instead of across it; he knows, somehow he remembers-and toward the wall of lockers. Inexorably, impeccably, despite the fact the nametags had been removed for the long summer, he walked right up to his; and, turning around, sat down in it gingerly. He let out a slow breath, slowly relaxing; gray eyes distant and seeing something else entirely than what I was.
“You,” he murmured, patting the wall of the locker to his right.
I nodded.
“Manny,” he went on, and tapped the one to his left. He pointed around the room, to different lockers in turn. “Rick. Rusty. Gilbert. Adam. David.”
“Yes,” I said softly. “Yes; all of them.”
Nikolai met my gaze finally, and I was startled to see bone-deep anguish in those beautiful gray eyes. I got to my feet and went to kneel in front of him, searching his face, concerned.
“I want to remember, Sergei,” he whispered. His voice was shaky and torn, and it cut through me like a knife. “I want to-I want to remember.”
“Oh, Nikky…” I took his hands in my own. “Nikky, you will. You will. It’s just going to take some time, that’s all. You just have to be patient.”
Nik’s expression broke. He leaned forward, and I found my arms suddenly full of Ukrainian as he buried his face in the crook of my shoulder and neck.
“Something’s missing,” he choked out; his tone tinged in desperation. “Sergei, something’s missing. I don’t know what it is, I can’t place it, can’t remember it-but it just feels like a great big piece of me is gone, is empty, and it hurts so much; it just hurts so much…”
I closed my eyes, hugging him tight. I wanted to say something to make him feel better, but there was nothing I could say. There was nothing I could do.
I wish I could tell you that everything was going to be alright, Nik. I wish I could hold you and kiss away your tears and your fears and your worries; make you whole again with just a touch, but I can’t. I’m sorry that I can’t. What you’re missing is deep down inside of you where I, or Rick and Rusty, or the doctors-where no one can touch. It’s there, waiting to be recalled; you just have to wait for it.
All we can do is to be there for you, and I hope to god that’s enough.
“Be strong, Nikky,” I said softly, rocking him in my arms. “You’re so strong. I know it hurts, love, and I’m so sorry. It’s going to be hard, and it might take a while, but you’ll get it back eventually. You have to.”
“But what if I don’t?” Nikolai’s voice was raspy and he drew away from me, searching my gaze, his eyes puffy and red but dry. “What if I don’t? What if I never remember?”
Don’t say that.
I pulled him back into my arms and pressed a kiss to his temple, his skin soft beneath my lips.
“Then we’ll just continue living like we are now. Together.”
-
“So how did you not notice you had an ulcer in your stomach?”
I winced, turning the steering wheel forty-five degrees to make a left turn onto Nationwide Blvd. Nikolai was watching me expectantly from the passenger’s seat, however, and I wrinkled my nose.
With the promised continuation of our discussion from last night, I’d taken Nikky to a quiet, intimate little restaurant by the apartment for breakfast. We’d settled in and taken our time, eating and talking; talking about everything and anything that came to mind. From what had happened since the crash, what I’d done since the crash, to how Nik was feeling and why Rick liked strawberries but hated cherries, we had just spent a leisurely morning together, speaking honestly and openly. I did have something planned for the day that had certain time constraints, however, and we’d had to continue the conversation in the car in order to make it.
“I thought it was because of you,” I muttered; distractedly, as I changed lanes. Nikolai’s eyebrows shot up.
I cringed.
“Not like that!” I added hastily as he opened his mouth with a snarky comment on his lips. “I thought it was because I was worrying about you so much. I was having nightmares, and waking up with my stomach hurting, throwing up-I didn’t look too much into it.”
“Do you still have nightmares?” he asked softly, concern erasing the irony in his expression. I watched the road intently, not looking over.
“Sometimes. Yes. Still.”
“Oh, Sergei…”
Nik rested his hand on my thigh comfortingly, and I reached down with a smile, clasping his hand and raising it to my lips; kissing the back. As I pulled into the parking lot I squeezed his hand reassuringly.
“It’s okay, Nikky. You’re here now.”
He shook his head doubtfully, letting go of my hand as we got out of the car; slinging a pair of skates over his shoulder. We were the only ones around in the vast lot, a few hours remaining before Nationwide Arena was open to public skating.
“I certainly remember this place…” Nikolai murmured as I took his hand, pulling him toward the building as my own skates bounced against my side. Rick had turned on the posterboy charm and gotten one of the managers to loan him a set of keys, though it didn’t take much more than “It’s for Nikky,” for them to cave. They wanted to see my Ukrainian lover back and well as much as anyone else.
The arena was dim, the bright overhead spotlights turned off and only the regular lights on. It was somehow mellower, though, without them on; more intimate and less glaring. I could have turned the spotlights on if I wanted, but I didn’t want to waste time, locking the front doors behind us and tugging Nik down to ice level. He was craning his head, looking around, trying to take everything in at once as I opened the large entryway at the end of the rink. I sat down in one of the stadium seats, placing my skates on the ground in front of me and grinning up at him.
“Well, come on. Lace up.”
Nikolai shook his head dubiously, bemusedly, but complied. I’d filched a pair of his extra skates from the storage room, so as to get to closest to what he’d last played in-he’d had his regular pair of skates with him in Russia, and they’d been lost in the crash. I tied mine on and watched discreetly as he fumbled a bit with his laces, going slowly and carefully, fingers gradually remembering the once-reflex quick movements to get your skates on and ready to go.
When he was done, we both stood up, and I clasped his hand again, a little nervousness roiling in my gut. He wobbled a little, laughing breathlessly at the balancing act of two-hundred pounds on less than a quarter-inch of steel, but we made it the couple yards to the ice surface without incident.
I went first, stepping backwards onto the frozen surface. Nik was hesitant, his eyes darting across the rink and then back to me. He licked his lips, staying firm on the ground just outside of the ice, and I smiled encouragingly.
“Come on, Nikky. It’ll be alright.”
He shook his head, rueful. But he moved. He took a few tentative steps on the ice, clutching my hand tightly. His brow was furrowed in concentration and I was barely breathing, all my attention fixed on his expression.
Do you remember, Nik? Do you remember?
This is what you are.
Slowly, I eased backward; and he slid with me, making a few awkward movements with his knees; biting his lip in anxiety. He barely made any move, just letting my momentum pull him forward. But when I was sure he was balanced, I let go of his hand, skating a few yards back.
His eyes snapped to my face, consternation in those gray depths.
“Sergei, I…”
“It’s okay,” I soothed; despite the pounding of my own heart in my throat. It was a gamble, but…
I held out my arms. “Come to me. You can do it.”
Nikolai opened his mouth to protest, chagrined. But after a second he closed it, staring at the smooth ice beneath us; a funny look crossing his face. He lifted up his foot a little and dug into the ice with his toe, using the one leg to support him and the other to slide the skate of his blade across the frozen surface. Intent.
And then he took a little breath, squaring his shoulders, and lunged forward.
The first couple strides were wobbly. He teetered dangerously, just on the edge of the blades, and I held my breath for fear that he would fall. But as he straightened, regaining his center-the biggest grin broke out across his face. His movement evened out and his strides grew stronger, and I heard and felt his exultant laugh as he skated right past me, surging up toward center ice; I was grinning so hard my teeth hurt as his laughter echoed through the empty arena.
I skated after him, watching him; unconsciously assessing him. The pure power of his skating wasn’t there, and his agility was dampened, months of forget and lack of training eating away at his abilities. But-it was him. It was him, with those tight turns and deft footwork, long legs carrying him smooth and fast around the rink. It was him, with that wide grin and the light in his eyes from the wonder of it all; from the wonder of skating and gliding and of ice, the air cooled around us yet warm all the same to our hockey-bound souls.
He skated by me and I grabbed him around the waist, snagging him in mid-skate and pulling him close as he laughed delightedly. We spun around a few times before coming to a halt, face-to-face; and I loved the joy that I saw in his eyes. His cheeks were flushed with exertion and excitement; tinged pale pink against tan skin. I rested my forehead against his, smiling, breathing in his little pants for air and barely-suppressed snickers.
“Does it feel familiar?” I asked softly.
Nik’s only reply was to grin and press his lips to mine, hard. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me, again and again, laughing as he did so. Yet as his breathing moderated, adrenalin waning, the kisses slowed; deepened. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, curling my fingers into the thick material of his pullover; letting him explore my mouth with his tongue at his leisure; marveling once more at how soft his lips were. He tasted like the green tea he had drunk at the restaurant, and I inhaled the bitter taste of fresh leaf just barely sweetened.
I wasn’t even aware of the fact we were still moving until my back hit the boards. Nikolai’s fingers tangled in my hair as he pressed me against the glass, mouth hungry but gentle; firm yet fleeting. I all but melted into putty in his grasp, clinging onto his shoulders as his tongue coaxed the strength from my body.
When we broke apart, seconds or minutes or hours later, Nikolai leaned back to look into my eyes; his own a gray so dark I imagined they were black. We were both panting a little, and he pressed another kiss, this one chaste and sweet, to my lips.
“Very familiar,” he breathed. He nuzzled my cheek, breath hot against my skin. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I whispered back. Nikolai clasped my hands in each of his, holding them out to the sides and out of commission as he kissed me yet again, soft and gentle. I think he must have laced his tea with something because I felt like I was drunk, lightheaded and unresisting as he skated backwards: tugging me along; our fingers still entwined. We sat down on the bench where we had spent so many tense games crowded together, pressed against each other and our teammates with excitement in the air until it was our turn to hop over the boards and onto the ice. The serene stillness of the arena was striking, poignant, and we sat close together, not saying a word as we unlaced our skates and slipped back into our shoes. Nik leaned his head against my shoulder and I slid my arm around him, both of us taking in the quiet, dimly-lit rink. We let the cool air wash over us, breathing the ice in the air; letting it engulf our senses.
There’s nothing quite like the feel of an arena just waiting for the taste of skates and sticks back on its surface.
This year would be different, though. This year the two of us wouldn’t be on that frozen surface, playing the sport we loved. It hadn’t even been an arguable point for me, after the crash. I’d let everything go, then; let my body deteriorate, let my relationships deteriorate, let everything fall to the wayside as my mind shut down in denial of the fact that the man I loved was gone forever. I had stopped caring.
Some things are more important than hockey: and to me, Nikolai Zherdev is one of those things.
They say that what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger, but I don’t know if that’s what happened in my case. I just got back what I lost. Impossibly, miraculously, I got him back. Losing him almost killed me-and maybe it would have killed me, eventually. Yet I did feel stronger, now. Mentally and emotionally, I felt sounder. But in my dedication to keeping him safe, keeping myself safe, I had been treating Nikky like a child instead of my lover and an equal. I hadn’t trusted him to take care of himself; hadn’t trusted myself to be okay without having him at my side at all times, despite evidence to the contrary of both doubts. I had been holding on too tight, and it had just hurt both of us in the end.
He wasn’t glass, and it wasn’t fair for me to treat him like it.
I stood up, pulling Nikolai to his feet with me and swinging my skates over one shoulder. He did the same and I kept my arm wrapped around him, curling a finger in one of the belt loops in his jeans and using my grasp to guide him away from the rink. We walked down the hallway to the team dressing room, and immediately upon entering Nik sucked in a little gasp of air, stopping in his tracks.
The room was bare, lockers empty and equipment all stored safely away. The big blazon of the Jackets crest on the floor was a warm sight to my eyes, familiar and inviting. The room was dim but that crest stood out in all its glory, bright in the dark like a beacon; welcoming us back into its embrace like lost sons returning home. I felt the absurd desire to touch that familiarity and I did, letting go of Nikolai and crouching down; running my hand across the colored rug and the sharp lines that made up the star. As I did so Nik wandered away from me-he walked around the crest instead of across it; he knows, somehow he remembers-and toward the wall of lockers. Inexorably, impeccably, despite the fact the nametags had been removed for the long summer, he walked right up to his; and, turning around, sat down in it gingerly. He let out a slow breath, slowly relaxing; gray eyes distant and seeing something else entirely than what I was.
“You,” he murmured, patting the wall of the locker to his right.
I nodded.
“Manny,” he went on, and tapped the one to his left. He pointed around the room, to different lockers in turn. “Rick. Rusty. Gilbert. Adam. David.”
“Yes,” I said softly. “Yes; all of them.”
Nikolai met my gaze finally, and I was startled to see bone-deep anguish in those beautiful gray eyes. I got to my feet and went to kneel in front of him, searching his face, concerned.
“I want to remember, Sergei,” he whispered. His voice was shaky and torn, and it cut through me like a knife. “I want to-I want to remember.”
“Oh, Nikky…” I took his hands in my own. “Nikky, you will. You will. It’s just going to take some time, that’s all. You just have to be patient.”
Nik’s expression broke. He leaned forward, and I found my arms suddenly full of Ukrainian as he buried his face in the crook of my shoulder and neck.
“Something’s missing,” he choked out; his tone tinged in desperation. “Sergei, something’s missing. I don’t know what it is, I can’t place it, can’t remember it-but it just feels like a great big piece of me is gone, is empty, and it hurts so much; it just hurts so much…”
I closed my eyes, hugging him tight. I wanted to say something to make him feel better, but there was nothing I could say. There was nothing I could do.
I wish I could tell you that everything was going to be alright, Nik. I wish I could hold you and kiss away your tears and your fears and your worries; make you whole again with just a touch, but I can’t. I’m sorry that I can’t. What you’re missing is deep down inside of you where I, or Rick and Rusty, or the doctors-where no one can touch. It’s there, waiting to be recalled; you just have to wait for it.
All we can do is to be there for you, and I hope to god that’s enough.
“Be strong, Nikky,” I said softly, rocking him in my arms. “You’re so strong. I know it hurts, love, and I’m so sorry. It’s going to be hard, and it might take a while, but you’ll get it back eventually. You have to.”
“But what if I don’t?” Nikolai’s voice was raspy and he drew away from me, searching my gaze, his eyes puffy and red but dry. “What if I don’t? What if I never remember?”
Don’t say that.
I pulled him back into my arms and pressed a kiss to his temple, his skin soft beneath my lips.
“Then we’ll just continue living like we are now. Together.”
-