Keep Me Close- Chapter X
Team: San Jose Sharks
Pairing: Joe Thornton/Evgeni Nabokov
Rating: PG… The only bad thing is Joe’s one slip of the tongue I think, and it’s not that bad.
Note: Well that was a bitch to update, I hope people still remember this story!
Summary: Not all in San Jose is sunny as the path to the Stanley Cup proves to be as difficult as ever, falling in love might be the simplest task on this year’s agenda.
Editor: Sherlockelly (the reason why this is here right now)
Chapter I Chapter VI
Chapter II Chapter VII
Chapter III Chapter VIII
Chapter IV Chapter IX
Chapter V
Thanks to brylinmoygyeroy, sherlockelly, b_mofan07, that_flies, first time reviewer phantom_19, first time reviewer abw92, anneoftherocks, a_symphony_in_c, gothickaoru and tinydancermags for all of their lovely reviews!
And another big thanks to fairygirl03, sherlockelly and a_symphony_in_c who all wrote wonderful Joe/Evgeni pieces of their own while I failed to post this chapter. If that’s what happens if I don’t update I might not write so often ;)
Chapter X
Joe swung an arm towards Patrick, who tugged meekly on the hem of man’s jersey for him to sit down and shut up. “He’s our captain and he’s taught me a hell of a lot more than you have! We get him! He makes sense! He’s always there for us!” His eyes darted to Evgeni as he said this. “And he doesn’t belittle this team! That’s why he’s captain!”
Joe stuck a thumb in his chest after he hissed in a breath. “I know I can have a decent pass, and I know Jonathon can find the back of the net if you stop breathing down his neck!”
He balled his hands near his sides and jerked his head to Evgeni. “And dammit Evgeni isn’t whatever the hell you’re saying he is! He’s my friend, and he’s one hell of a goaltender who’s the best in this freaking league, and he deserves to be known as such!”
McLellan made a noise in the back of his throat, neither displaying agreement or disagreement, which scared Joe even more. He unclasped his hands from behind his back, and crossed them over his chest.
“Then prove it to me tonight. Show me that Marleau is the captain, and show me that Cheechoo can make a goal. I want to see you be the best passer in the league and I want to see world class goaltending from Nabokov! I want to know that this club isn’t made up of a couple superstars. I want to see a team play, and I want to see them play up to the caliber that they’ve been telling me they can.”
McLellan scanned over the team sitting in front of him and then faced Joe who remained standing. His eyebrows quirked up as a smirk tugged at his thin lips. “Time to shine, boys.”
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Life was good for Joe Thornton. It was only four games into his 2008-2009 season and his team was playing tremendously. The scare tactics of McLellan had been frightening, as was the man in general, but it seemed to be working.
Opening the season with a 4-1 win against Anaheim, followed by a 3-1 win against Los Angeles and this night’s victory over Columbus made their home record perfect. A shutout over the Kings at the Staples Center was their last triumph away from home; the win was impressive, it being the first of many games to be booed at.
Groggy players dragged their feet down the aisle of the plane, hefting equipment bags on sagging shoulders. Flights were never easy, but the first few treks were always the hardest. Joe stretched his mouth wide with a yawn, unable to cover it because his limbs were too weighed down with exhaustion to do anything.
After the 5-2 sweep over the Blue Jackets, it was off to Anaheim that night to spend a free day in Southern California.
He reached a seat with an open window and his legs weakened, imagining that they were already done for the day. He muttered a ‘sorry’ to Marc-Edouard when he hit the young man in the back of the head with his bag, attempting to swing it into the compartment box and failing. The quiet defenseman smiled back, shrugging it off and slipping into his alcove with a content sigh.
Airplane seats had never been looked forward to in the eyes of Joe; hard cushions with lumps that pushed against his body in awkward places. At the moment though, it looked like heaven. Relaxing into the minimum-wage-made seat was simple; his eyelids were already closed by the time Evgeni fell into the seat next to him.
He knew it was Evgeni because of the lack of heavy footsteps before the person sat down. Evgeni did not do loud walking.
Joe cracked open an eye a fraction of an inch, observing the man beside him. Evgeni unfurled the blanket that was folded neatly on his seat and wrapped it around his thin shoulders like a shield before he sat down. A detached grin formed on his face as he glanced to Joe, unaware that he was being watched. The feigned emotion in the conflicted eyes did not reflect the upward twitch of muscles in a small smile.
The lips pursed together and the man turned away from Joe as the plane began to taxi down the runway. The overhead lights flickered once, then dimmed, somewhat giving the illusion of a peaceful night in bed, only with an engine and wings.
From somewhere in the back of the plane, Brad cleared his throat.
“Goodni~ght my Sharks who I love dearly and with all my heart!” he sang clearly, his voice carrying through the air with ease. Dan’s bark of a laugh erupted from the back of the plane, probably from the seat next to his long-time teammate, and a chorus of groaned ‘shut up’s or ‘night’s rose from the rest of the team.
Rustling of fabric alerted Joe of Evgeni’s insomnia after a moment of stuffy silence. Joe saw that Evgeni did not partake in answering Brad, but they both watched their team through hooded eyes until the moans of complaint died down. The engine was the only noise that settled in the air, and lolled the men to sleep with its seductive purr.
Under the blanket, Evgeni rubbed his forearms to warm them; then he poked his right hand out from the warm barrier and groped around for the conjoined armrest. His thumb brushed over the reclining button as Joe reached over and tapped the searching arm closest to him. Evgeni jerked his hand back in surprise; his wide eyes darting around wildly until they met with Joe’s. The man relaxed and a tired grin tugged at his lips, masking whatever emotion he was feeling before.
“You scahred me there,” he chuckled, slipping his hand back under the folds of his blanket.
“That was my plan,” Joe poked fun back, glad to see the slight, though genuine, smile cross the other’s face.
He rolled his head back and pushed it into the cushion, effectively arching his back up. Pivoting to his left, his head acted as a spindle and he turned to the side in the most indirect way possible. His shoulder dug into the seat, and crushed painfully into his body. His neck was forced to curve to the right, the headrest proving to be even more uncomfortable than Joe thought possible.
Despite his bones screaming at him to move, Joe smiled through the pain; now he could look at Evgeni face-to-face while they talked. “You played good tonight, Yevi,” he murmured quietly, mindful of his slumbering teammates.
Evgeni offered an unconvinced ‘hmm’ and shrugged the blanket off his shoulders, letting it pool into his lap. “…Sure.”
His gaze flickered to the small, round window just over Joe’s shoulder. “It’s a nhice night,” he whispered, changing the subject quickly. Leaning closer, Evgeni propped his elbow on the armrest, placing his cheek in his pale palm.
Raising a brow, Joe craned his neck around to see what had caught his friend’s attention. What he saw through the window were wavering blips of light scattered on the vast expanse of inky black. An artist’s masterfully placed dabs of paint from the end of his paintbrush, bringing the dead of night alive. The specks of white, yellow and gold from houses reflected the stars twinkling light years above them. From their view from the clouds, it was hard to visualize where the land dropped off and where the sky began. The fine line between the two blurred, making one question if the earth was ever there to begin with.
Indeed, it was a nice night, in the simplest of terms.
Joe nodded absent-mindedly with his mouth slightly open, trying to figure out when they ever took off to begin with. His neck burned with the strain of looking over his shoulder, so he turned back to Evgeni.
The stars of the night shined brightly in his glassy orbs. A storm of emotions swirled just below the surface, causing the mirrored lights to ripple into liquid gold. The whole universe shown in those conflicted eyes, enchanting Joe more than the actual picture behind him.
He stared at Evgeni, who lost himself out the window and into the endless void beyond the thin Plexiglas window. A cough from the front of the plane diverted Evgeni’s attention briefly, and when he looked back, his eyes were dull.
The man tilted back his head and fell to sleep within minutes, muttering a ‘goodnight’ sometime before he drifted off completely. Feeling strangely alone, Joe spent the next thirty minutes gazing out his glowing window. When his eyes finally slid shut, glimmering, golden light swam behind his closed lids.
-----
Clattering of plants filled the restaurant before the aroma of garlic and tomatoes attacked one’s nose. The group of twenty-four people sat at one long table. The majority of men laughed merrily, their voices raised far above that of the rest of the patrons.
The Olive Garden employees bustled around, stacking empty plates and cups in their full arms. They waited on the San Jose Sharks, professional athletes in the National Hockey League. The coach of the NHL team sat near the head of the table, his three assistants circled around him. The captain, Patrick Marleau, sat closest to the coach, and they swapped ideas in hushed voices.
To the left of Patrick sat his 6’4” alternate, Joe Thornton. One more seat over to the left and the starting goaltender sat quietly, choosing to listen to the conversations buzzing around him rather than joining one.
The meal was winding down, the few desserts were being ordered, and the men who had their fill splayed their bodies languidly over their pushed out chairs… all except for Devin that is.
Joe laughed at the young man who was, for lack of a better term, flailing drunkenly across from him. He spoke out of the corner of his mouth to Evgeni, “He kinda reminds me of you.”
The other man rolled his eyes with mock exasperation. “Iya am mhore of a wine person, actually,” he sniffed, his nose pointed superiorly in the air. “And I did not mhake an idiot out of myself, thank you.”
Across the table, the sophomore threw back his head to drain the last of his sixth Heineken, and sighed loudly when he slammed the glass back down on the table. Devin’s flushed face swiveled in Evgeni’s direction as he began to form his lips around watery words. “Y-y-ya know N-Nabby? I-it’s now that… that I-I reaaally wished I-I was Russian like you… s-so I could drink vodka like y-you guys.”
When he snorted into his balled fist, Joe earned a confused glance from Douglas Murray on Devin’s right. Removing his hand from his mouth, Joe shook his head with a laugh. “Heh, a-actually- OW!”
He swiftly removed his throbbing left foot from the left side of his chair.
Evgeni gazed nonchalantly back at Devin, as though he had not just dig his heel into Joe’s toes with the force of a jackhammer. The Russian looked to his fellow countryman on the team, Alexei Semenov, and looked back with a shrug. “We can’t all bhe lucky.”
Alexei chuckled heartily from deep in his chest and Devin smothered his mouth with his hands to muffle his laugh. It did not work, by the way. “HA! T-true that, m-my man.”
The twenty-two year olds loud outbursts were sent vicious glares from other occupants in the restaurant, as if the group was not receiving enough glares for being recognized already. To Joe’s right, Patrick clicked his tongue patronizingly after taking in the hostility around them. A disappointed Marleau was scary, but it was Todd’s uncharacteristic silence that formed a lump in Joe’s throat.
Leaning across the table, the captain tapped the wood in front of Douglas to catch his attention. The grizzly man’s head snapped around with alertness. His unsaid curiosity he held was always there, even if the men in different jerseys whom he bowled over failed to appreciate it.
Patrick frowned, looking at Devin who began making whistling noises by blowing across the top of his many beer bottles. He turned back to Douglas with a strained smile. “Heeey, do ya think you could bring Seto here back to the hotel?” he asked slowly, the underlying threat of ‘before I snap his neck’ heard by everyone.
Douglas’s face fell, and his eyes flickered to the waiter nearing him who was taking orders for dessert. “U-um-”
“I’ll take him, Patty,” Joe offered, already pushing his seat back jerkily, the legs of the chair sinking into the deep carpet and catching on the fibers.
Douglas’s eyes flashed with gratitude, before he shifted around and pointed to something on the menu to show the waiter. Everyone knew he ordered something chocolate; it was his never changing routine, and if he changed it, something bad would happen.
Which of course, was the case with Patrick and his reasoning for getting vanilla ice cream via room service at every away game, or so he told everyone.
Glancing downwards to push in his chair correctly, Joe saw Evgeni heave with a weary sigh.
Joe slipped on his well-worn jacket and clapped a hand on the tense shoulder of his friend reassuringly. “See you guys later, and don’t have too much fun without me, eh?”
Evgeni’s eyes skirted over the hand, following it up until he stopped at Joe’s face, and bowed his head with a small nod of acceptance.
Joe circled the end of the table, standing a little straighter when he was in Todd’s all-seeing field of vision. “Let’s go, champ,” Joe muttered when he reached Devin, gently removing yet another beer from his possession. ‘When the hell did he even get more?’
The intoxicated man craned his neck back, smiling widely and upside down when he found Joe’s stern face. “Sure t-thing Jumbo!”
-----
“Hey man… w-we h-haven’t talked in a wile… h-how are you?”
“I think I’d be better if ya weren’t drooling on me, but other than that, I can’t complain.”
“Hey! I a-am drooling! G-good call there, J-Jumbo.”
Joe and Devin sat in the back seat of a taxi they managed to hail after fifteen minutes of waving frantically on the sidewalk. ‘Reason five why Devin should have been born a girl, we could get taxis faster.’
At the moment though, Devin’s Y chromosome was still intact, and he shifted just enough to wipe the saliva caked lips on Joe’s shirt. ‘His manners might have been better, too.’
He then looked out the window, or tried to anyway, instead, he rammed his forehead into the glass. A muted thud like that of a gong vibrated through the small cab when the two hard objects connected. A lengthy, high-pitched whine emitted from the back of Devin’s throat and he lifted his hand from his lap to rub at the red mark on his brow.
“Owwww…” he sniffed, placing his hand back on his thigh before turning back to Joe. “B-but seriously… w-what’s up with you?”
Joe opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off abruptly.
“WAIT, NO! I-I wanted to ask... gimme a s-second.” A dazed look spread over his face and he drummed his fingers on Joe’s arm, trying to place his thoughts and to figure out what he was planning to say.
The plastic seats clung to Joe’s back like Velcro and it squeaked with unearthly sounds every time he shifted. He turned to look out the window, partially aware that Devin was still tapping on him. Neon lights flashed across his vision, and he was reminded of the time the flashy lights colored Evgeni’s face when Joe drove him home because he was in a similar situa-
“-vgeni doin’-”
“What?” Joe interrupted, suddenly conscious to the fact that the prodding on his arm had stopped and that Devin was in the middle of a drunken monologue.
The sophomore rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Listen to me w-when I’m talking to y-you… I-I said, you ’n Evgeni seem, like-” he held up a shaky hand and crossed his middle and pointer finger, “this, y-ya know?”
He scoffed, dropping his hand once again. “So r-rude sometimes,” he supposedly tried to whisper to himself. In his drunken state his hearing must have been a little off, because everything uttered from his mouth came out in a yell.
Joe sighed and gazed out the window again, leaning his head against the glass and felt the penetrating stare prickle at the side of his scalp. Still facing away from the imploring man, he formed his words slowly.
“Well… yeah, I guess so… I mean, what’s not to like, eh?” He turned around in his seat, an eyebrow raised quizzically. “We’ve been on the same team for a while now and we’ve finally gotten to know each other… I feel bad for the four years that we weren’t ‘like this’,” he crossed his fingers just as Devin showed him a minute before.
The man’s flushed face turned an even more vibrant shade of pink as he fought the urge to laugh (and failed miserably). “W-whaaat? But n-now he’s, like, angsty. Like h-he’s super a-angsty.”
“Uh-”
“A-and emo! D-don’t forget that, he’s that… too.”
Joe grew frustrated listening to Devin’s flippant words. “Maybe he has a reason to be.”
“W-what is it? I-is it a secret?”
“It might be because people are trying to get into his business when they shouldn’t be,” he snapped curtly back.
There was a squeak from the seat and soon a body was pressed up against his. Hot breath tickled over Joe’s neck like a teasing touch and he shivered, uncomfortable with the closeness of another.
“That’s t-the only way we can figure out w-what’s up with ’im.”
The larger man planted his open hand on Devin’s shoulder and pushed him off of his body, taking to glowering out the window.
“Heeey Joey, d-don’t get like that… I-I’m just sayin’ that N-Nabs isn’t t-the same this y-year. I-I haven’t even seen him smile in… f-forever!”
Joe’s frown deepened, “That’s not true-”
Another scoff cut into what Joe was going to say. “Oh, yeah, b-but t-that’s when he’s with you.” Devin inched closer and Joe shrank into his corner, soon stuck between the young man and the hard door of the cab. “S-something’s wrong-”
“Stop it! You’re drunk, you don’t know what yer talking about,” Joe huffed, crossing his arms tightly around his chest.
“E-everyone sees it… w-why won’t you?”
Upper lip curling to bite back, Joe snapped his head around, but stopped short when the taxi driver coughed loudly. “We’re here,” he ground out, glaring at the sober man through the rear-view mirror.
Joe’s mouth formed an ‘o’ of surprise before shaking himself from his stupor and taking out his wallet. “Uh… How much?” he asked quietly while flipping through the green bills.
The hostile man shoved his ‘middle?’ finger to the blaring green numbers that read 14.27. Joe nodded slowly and pulled out a twenty, handing it to the man saying that he could keep the change. He popped open his door to step out, pausing for a moment’s thought and grabbing Devin by the arm to drag him out as well.
“I hope you die,” the man snarled from his seat in the front, never moving.
“Thank you, have a pleasant night yourself, sir!” Joe smiled a sugar-coated smile. The rudeness was to be expected though, so Joe paid the man no mind, he did see the Ducks sweatshirt the man was wearing anyway. “Drive safely!”
The man’s pudgy face crumpled in a glare and his beady eyes became almost invisible beneath folds of excess skin. He sped off down the street the second Joe shut the door behind Devin. The radiating hate was so intense Joe was actually surprised he did not floor it when the unconscious man was still inside. Joe was glad he handed the Anaheim man a gracious tip.
The hushed ‘asshole’ comment from the man was a little unnecessary though.
-----
Devin’s words stayed vibrant in Joe’s mind.
After morning practice the next day, Joe pulled a confused Evgeni aside, his own persistent curiosity pushing him to ask what had been bothering all night. Their encounter was brief, but each word stood out in Joe’s mind, and he was regretful for each one.
-----
“Um, h-hey Yevi…”
“Joe! Something is whrong?”
“Naw, just wanted to… you know… chat.”
“…Yes?”
“Yeah.”
“…And?”
“AND… and I have something to ask you.”
“Then something is whrong.”
“W-what? No, nothing’s wrong, it’s just…”
“Joe, I need to change, so if that can whait-”
“NO! Um, i-it can’t, actually. Ugh… Yev-Evgeni?… Something is wrong… with you.”
“Uh…”
“Ya haven’t been the same since last year-”
“What?”
“Well, it’s just me and some of the guys-”
“What?”
“Well, the team said-”
“You told evheryone?”
“N-no I didn’t! Some of the guys just thought-”
“Which is mhore than you did, I’m sure.”
“Hey, that’s not true and you know it.”
“I don’t?… Huh, what are you plhaying at?”
“What? I-I’m not playing at anything! I don’t know what yer talking about!”
“You know, for a while I ahctually thought you were my friend, but Iya am glad to know that I am jhust your new pet project.”
“Evgeni, we are… you’re my best friend! But dammit I’m trying to help too!”
“Heh, obviously.”
“I mean it.”
“Thanks Joe, bhut jhust… jhust leave me ahlone right now.”
“But-!”
“Not now, Joe… m-maybe lhater we can talk… but not now, please.”
And he left, turning around without another word, his strides quick and sure. Joe stood staring hopelessly after him, frozen in his spot for however long it took for Devin to come by and slap him on the cheek with an oblivious grin.
-----
The Sharks were shutout by the Ducks later that night, 0-4. A complete shellacking if you will.
The loss was bad of course, and McLellan did not make the team feel any better. The coach was listing everything that they did wrong that night and each word forced every man’s head lower in shame.
But the most devastating hit to Joe had nothing to do with the loss or McLellan’s tirade afterward.
Joe peered through his lashes, when everyone was supposedly staring at the ground, towards Evgeni, hope for redemption swelling in his chest. Only to have it be squashed down when he saw the empty grey eyes stare back at him.
An image of a starry night shrouded by ominous clouds entered Joe’s mind, and he could not understand it. Nor why the thought made him so undeniably sad.
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