[Fic: Hockey RPS] Take a Piece of my Soul; Richards/Lundqvist; PG-13
Okay, you can yell at me for this part. Or ... *offers box of tissues* What, did you all really think it was going to go smoothly?
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended. Title from the Garou song of the same name. Summary from a song by We are Scientists.
Warnings: One line of Google translated Swedish.
Notes: Takes place between games six and seven of the first round of the Playoff series versus the Ottawa Senators (April 23-26th).
Seventeenth in the Hide the Night-verse
Take a Piece of my Soul
Brad Richards/Henrik Lundqvist; PG-13
If you just play along I promise we'll be fine ...
Take a Piece of my Soul
Brad finds it surprising how easy it all is, how utterly … domesticated he feels. How easy it is to kind of fall in to a pattern with Hank. He thought the easy routine of just being with Hank was due to playoffs. Everything changes in Playoffs. Everyone runs on adrenaline, pushing their bodies to the limit, and then pushing beyond that. Brad should know the Playoff landscape by now, seeing as how he's lived through the ordeal.
The travel alone can kill a person. The late nights. The stumbling into a never-ending network of flights, places, hotels, and apartment buildings. Brad's immaculate apartment in New York, Hank's equally immaculate apartment in Midtown.
Almost immediately following game one against the Senators, they settle into a sort of routine. Brad can't remember a time since being with Vinny where he's felt this free. This calm.
Following their crucial win in game six against the Senators, he sits next to Hank on their chartered flight back to New York, willing sleep to take him. Even if it is only for an hour or so. He does not want to think about where he has to go in a few short hours after their flight touches down in New York.
Hank stirs next to him; Brad knows Hank can sleep like the dead when he is in a bed, but he sleeps like shit on plane rides.
"You sleep like shit on flights," Brad points out.
"I know," Hank replies, his voice raspy.
Brad glances at him, unblinking, amber eyes tired looking, hair still damp from the showers. Hank watches him silently, bright blue eyes unblinking.
"Something on your mind?" Hank finally says.
Here's the part where he should tell Hank everything, Brad thinks. Where he is going to be going almost as soon as they arrive back in New York. What he should have said as soon as he got off the phone with his realtor back before the series started with Ottawa. What he kept meaning to tell Hank, but could never seem to. It wasn't because he didn't want to, it was just that it never seemed to be like the right time.
Instead, Brad meets Hank's stare, and offers him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "Just thinking about game seven."
Hank nods, gives Brad a look like he understands, before he tries to doze off.
When the deal was finalized he would tell him. Brad eventually dozes off, and doesn't wake until their plane touches down in New York.
Somehow they manage to stumble their way into Hank's apartment. Brad collapses almost immediately onto one side of the bed, leaving space for Hank on the opposite side.
When Hank wakes the next morning it is to the sight of Brad's suitcase sprawled on the bedroom floor. He swallows, throat dry, and listens as he hears the faucet running.
He stumbles off to the kitchen, where he sees Brad setting the coffee pot back into its holder. Brad is dressed simply in a pair of jeans, and a cotton button down shirt. He has his lucky baseball cap on.
"Hey," he says, "there's some coffee left."
Hank's eyes locked on Brad's as he ventured into the kitchen. "You going back to your place?"
Brad is still, unmoving, as he sips his coffee in silence. Watches as Hank takes a step forward, doesn't stop taking steps until he has backed Brad up against the counter, curves his hand over the stubble on Brad's cheek.
"I have somewhere to be," Brad says. "Should be back for Wednesday's practice."
"That's it? That's all I get?"
Brad ducks his head slightly, and moves away from the countertop. Hank watches him silently as he makes his way out of the kitchen.
Hank stands in the doorway to his bedroom as Brad zips up his suitcase. "Hank, there's something I should have mentioned a while back, but the timing never seemed to be right."
"And that would be?"
Brad finally turned, suitcase gripped tightly in his hand. "I have to go to Tampa."
Everything went silent.
Hank blinked, eyes locked on Brad, who was currently biting on his bottom lip. "Do I dare ask why."
Brad looked at Hank. "It's just -"
Hank had to look away then. "I'll call you a cab."
"Hank it's not -"
Hank stopped mid-turn when he felt Brad's fingers graze his arm. All was silent for a moment.
"I … I just … trust me, please," Brad whispered. His voice was meek, his tone sounding almost broken.
Hank looked at Brad briefly, before he stepped away from Brad's outstretched hand. He ignored the shiver Brad's fingertips sent through his system as he slipped from his bedroom.
"I'll call you a cab."
-x-
Brad doesn't ask Hank if he wants to go with him to the airport, so he says his goodbye to him by the door.
"I'll see you soon," Brad says. He wants to delay this moment with Hank forever. Wants nothing more than to break down and tell him everything. But, as he looks at Hank, sees the look Hank is giving him, it cuts Brad to the core.
It is the same look Hank had in his eyes that night before he told him 'You know where to find me'.
Unspoken: Come find me when you figure out what it is you want. I don't want anything less than that.
Brad bites his bottom lip. "This is something I have to -"
Hank presses his index finger to Brad's lips. "You don't have to explain anything."
Brad takes Hank's hand in his, shakes his head. "I just," he starts, blinking back tears. "I have to do this," he finishes meekly, his voice shaking.
Hank pulls Brad into his arms, presses a kiss to his head, Brad's chin resting on his shoulder. "Despite everything, Jag älskar dig …"
Hank's confession causes tears to well up in Brad's eyes. He bites his bottom lip, forces himself to step out of Hank's embrace.
"This'll make more sense when I come back," Brad promises.
Hank opens the door to his apartment. "You know where to find me," he whispers.
Brad knows it is goodbye.
-x-
Hank gets a call from Brad a few hours later.
"I just landed."
Hank ignores the tugging sensation in his chest Brad's voice causes. "Okay."
There is something in Hank's tone that pinches the edges of his heart. It's something Brad can't quite figure out. He blames it on being overtired.
"I'm sorry," Brad says.
"So am I."
The line goes dead then.
-x-
→ Jag älskar dig - I love you.
Disclaimer: None of this is true. Any resemblance to existing places, and or names is entirely coincidental. No harm or offense intended. Title from the Garou song of the same name. Summary from a song by We are Scientists.
Warnings: One line of Google translated Swedish.
Notes: Takes place between games six and seven of the first round of the Playoff series versus the Ottawa Senators (April 23-26th).
Seventeenth in the Hide the Night-verse
Take a Piece of my Soul
Brad Richards/Henrik Lundqvist; PG-13
If you just play along I promise we'll be fine ...
Take a Piece of my Soul
Brad finds it surprising how easy it all is, how utterly … domesticated he feels. How easy it is to kind of fall in to a pattern with Hank. He thought the easy routine of just being with Hank was due to playoffs. Everything changes in Playoffs. Everyone runs on adrenaline, pushing their bodies to the limit, and then pushing beyond that. Brad should know the Playoff landscape by now, seeing as how he's lived through the ordeal.
The travel alone can kill a person. The late nights. The stumbling into a never-ending network of flights, places, hotels, and apartment buildings. Brad's immaculate apartment in New York, Hank's equally immaculate apartment in Midtown.
Almost immediately following game one against the Senators, they settle into a sort of routine. Brad can't remember a time since being with Vinny where he's felt this free. This calm.
Following their crucial win in game six against the Senators, he sits next to Hank on their chartered flight back to New York, willing sleep to take him. Even if it is only for an hour or so. He does not want to think about where he has to go in a few short hours after their flight touches down in New York.
Hank stirs next to him; Brad knows Hank can sleep like the dead when he is in a bed, but he sleeps like shit on plane rides.
"You sleep like shit on flights," Brad points out.
"I know," Hank replies, his voice raspy.
Brad glances at him, unblinking, amber eyes tired looking, hair still damp from the showers. Hank watches him silently, bright blue eyes unblinking.
"Something on your mind?" Hank finally says.
Here's the part where he should tell Hank everything, Brad thinks. Where he is going to be going almost as soon as they arrive back in New York. What he should have said as soon as he got off the phone with his realtor back before the series started with Ottawa. What he kept meaning to tell Hank, but could never seem to. It wasn't because he didn't want to, it was just that it never seemed to be like the right time.
Instead, Brad meets Hank's stare, and offers him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "Just thinking about game seven."
Hank nods, gives Brad a look like he understands, before he tries to doze off.
When the deal was finalized he would tell him. Brad eventually dozes off, and doesn't wake until their plane touches down in New York.
Somehow they manage to stumble their way into Hank's apartment. Brad collapses almost immediately onto one side of the bed, leaving space for Hank on the opposite side.
When Hank wakes the next morning it is to the sight of Brad's suitcase sprawled on the bedroom floor. He swallows, throat dry, and listens as he hears the faucet running.
He stumbles off to the kitchen, where he sees Brad setting the coffee pot back into its holder. Brad is dressed simply in a pair of jeans, and a cotton button down shirt. He has his lucky baseball cap on.
"Hey," he says, "there's some coffee left."
Hank's eyes locked on Brad's as he ventured into the kitchen. "You going back to your place?"
Brad is still, unmoving, as he sips his coffee in silence. Watches as Hank takes a step forward, doesn't stop taking steps until he has backed Brad up against the counter, curves his hand over the stubble on Brad's cheek.
"I have somewhere to be," Brad says. "Should be back for Wednesday's practice."
"That's it? That's all I get?"
Brad ducks his head slightly, and moves away from the countertop. Hank watches him silently as he makes his way out of the kitchen.
Hank stands in the doorway to his bedroom as Brad zips up his suitcase. "Hank, there's something I should have mentioned a while back, but the timing never seemed to be right."
"And that would be?"
Brad finally turned, suitcase gripped tightly in his hand. "I have to go to Tampa."
Everything went silent.
Hank blinked, eyes locked on Brad, who was currently biting on his bottom lip. "Do I dare ask why."
Brad looked at Hank. "It's just -"
Hank had to look away then. "I'll call you a cab."
"Hank it's not -"
Hank stopped mid-turn when he felt Brad's fingers graze his arm. All was silent for a moment.
"I … I just … trust me, please," Brad whispered. His voice was meek, his tone sounding almost broken.
Hank looked at Brad briefly, before he stepped away from Brad's outstretched hand. He ignored the shiver Brad's fingertips sent through his system as he slipped from his bedroom.
"I'll call you a cab."
-x-
Brad doesn't ask Hank if he wants to go with him to the airport, so he says his goodbye to him by the door.
"I'll see you soon," Brad says. He wants to delay this moment with Hank forever. Wants nothing more than to break down and tell him everything. But, as he looks at Hank, sees the look Hank is giving him, it cuts Brad to the core.
It is the same look Hank had in his eyes that night before he told him 'You know where to find me'.
Unspoken: Come find me when you figure out what it is you want. I don't want anything less than that.
Brad bites his bottom lip. "This is something I have to -"
Hank presses his index finger to Brad's lips. "You don't have to explain anything."
Brad takes Hank's hand in his, shakes his head. "I just," he starts, blinking back tears. "I have to do this," he finishes meekly, his voice shaking.
Hank pulls Brad into his arms, presses a kiss to his head, Brad's chin resting on his shoulder. "Despite everything, Jag älskar dig …"
Hank's confession causes tears to well up in Brad's eyes. He bites his bottom lip, forces himself to step out of Hank's embrace.
"This'll make more sense when I come back," Brad promises.
Hank opens the door to his apartment. "You know where to find me," he whispers.
Brad knows it is goodbye.
-x-
Hank gets a call from Brad a few hours later.
"I just landed."
Hank ignores the tugging sensation in his chest Brad's voice causes. "Okay."
There is something in Hank's tone that pinches the edges of his heart. It's something Brad can't quite figure out. He blames it on being overtired.
"I'm sorry," Brad says.
"So am I."
The line goes dead then.
-x-
→ Jag älskar dig - I love you.