Chapter Text
Darkness pressed upon him like water, like a great sea bearing him down, down into the depths, and no matter how hard his leaden limbs struggled toward the light, it never got any closer. Then, somewhere in the dark, he heard a voice:
"Here lies Scott Hunter."
And he knew that voice. The accent. Felt an instinctual kick of irritation at the mere sound of it.
"He was a very good hockey player for, like, maybe five, six years. Then he played for another ten even though he was not so good anymore."
The surge of outrage that washed through him finally dragged Scott up to the surface. Not enough to open his eyes but enough to slur out the words, "I'm going to kill you."
"Sometimes," Rozy said, "I feel I can still hear his voice. Calling to me from..." A few words of muttered Russian.
A woman's voice said, "Purgatory, blondinchik."
"Yes," he said. "From Purgatory, probably. He was not interesting enough for Hell."
"As soon as I figure out how to move," Scott sighed, "I'm gonna kick your fucking ass."
A laugh from nearby — no, from several directions at once, disorienting.
Another familiar voice called, "Kip, he's waking up!" Vaughan. That was Vaughan.
The woman — Svetlana — said something else in Russian that started, "Ilyusha," and then in English added, "Stop picking on him."
Scott finally managed to blink open his eyes, cautious, waiting for a painful onslaught of light but finding the room pleasantly dim. Not home. The living room of Rozy and Shane's new place in Connecticut. The shades were drawn, only cracked at the top, and a muted TV played on the other end of the long room. Kip's face came into view above him.
"How's the pain?" he asked.
"Pain?" Scott echoed, confused.
"The nerve block hasn't worn off yet," said Shane, the voice he used when he'd done too much research on something. "He might have another six hours or so."
"How many fucking people are here?" he whined.
Elena leaned over the back of the couch to peer down at him, too. "Just everyone you literally invited over for New Hip Day."
Scott groaned. New fucking Hip Day. His attempt to make himself feel less anxious about the surgery. It was so easy, so routine, such a minor procedure that they could have a party about it. What a stupid fucking idea.
"He has to get up soon," Rozy said, sounding pleased. "I want video of him using the walker."
"Vaughan," Scott said, "I need you to kill him for me."
From across the room, Svetlana called, "Don't worry, Scott! I took his phone an hour ago."
Which was how Scott ended up puttering about with a walker, like he was exactly as old as Rozy joked he was, while Rozy orbited his trajectory through the house like the world's most annoying moon. "You know, we can style this up for the wedding," he remarked, gesturing at the walker. "Paint it black. Maybe add something cool like skulls or flames."
"Are you twelve years old?" Scott griped, focusing on his steps and the strange feeling of returning sensation. "And I'm only gonna need this for a couple days."
"But it suits you!"
"I'll be fully recovered by next summer, unlike you if you keep running your mouth."
"You would not let your best man look beat up!"
Vaughan, from the couch, yelled, "You're not the fucking best man, Rozanov!"
"There is no best man," Scott reminded them both. "It's... Kip, what's the fucking word you used?"
"Heteronormative."
"Yeah, that."
Rozy leaned in close enough that Scott had to try his luck at bending away. "Okay, but if you did have a best man, it would be me, right?"
"Ilyusha, leave him alone!" Svetlana called from the kitchen, where she, Shane, and Kip were all involved in getting lunch together.
"Don't bother," Kip said. "He secretly likes it."
The next step startled Scott into a grimace.
"Ah-ah!" Rozy leapt back, pointing at Scott like he'd caught him cheating. "Nerve block is wearing off. Kip, bring me the constipation pills."
"I will get the fucking constipation pills," Scott snapped, continuing his slow journey to the kitchen.
They ate. Vaughan refused to let him win a video game, even though Scott was on drugs. Elena painted his toenails when he was too tired to sit up and stop her. Shane left to make up the guest rooms, and Rozy very conspicuously disappeared right after him, and nobody actually believed it took that long to make up the guest rooms.
Kip sat with Scott's head pillowed in his lap and stroked his hair until he fell asleep again.
He woke to rubbing against his ribs, and when he opened his eyes it was to the sight of Rozy's face, way too close to his own. "Good morning, sunshine," he said, emphasis on the wrong syllable, then darted in and pecked a kiss on Scott's lips.
Scott's arm swung wildly, smacking him away hard as he shouted, "Fuck off, Rozanov!"
Rozy landed on the floor, laughing. "Come on, Hunter, get up. You need to do more walking."
So he did more walking, to the kitchen for another painkiller, then back. Elena had to leave to catch the last train back to New York. She kissed his cheek and said, "You sure know how to throw a party."
"Yeah, yeah."
And as soon as she was out the door, Vaughan leaned closer to him on the couch and asked, "So... is she single?"
Kip woke him the third time, Vaughan the fourth, and by the time Shane woke him for his fifth lap around the living room, Scott was so tired he could cry.
"Just let me fucking sleep, man," he pleaded.
But Shane and Rozy were already practically lifting him off the couch and into position with the walker. It was late, a chorus of frogs singing through the open patio door. "I know, man," Shane sympathized. "But you'll be even more upset if you don't get ahead of the scar tissue."
Scott started walking, eyelids drooping as he shuffled along. "Is Kip asleep?" he asked.
"He and Vaughanie are taking early morning shift," Rozy explained. "Sveta went home." He went ahead of Scott to the kitchen island where the lights were on low and a book sat open. "Here, help me study for exam while you are awake." He lifted the book and cleared his throat to read:
"Name three national US holidays:
A) President's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Memorial Day
B) Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving
C) New Year's Day, Presidents' Day, Christmas Day"
His brain was coming online slowly. "I feel like the first one is there specifically to fuck with Bostonians," he yawned. "St. Patrick's Day is way bigger than Christmas for you fuckers."
"My first St. Patrick's in Boston, I drank so much green beer," Rozy recalled, chin on his hand, "when I threw up, it was like scene from The Exorcist."
Shane had been keeping pace with Scott, a hand out in case he misstepped. "Your first St. Patrick's in Boston you were eighteen," he chastised.
Rozy rolled his eyes at Scott. "He is going to call police now."
Scott reached the counter, eyeing the little practice booklet with the American flag on its cover. "What's the next question? Let's find out if I deserve my citizenship."
"Oh! Here is good one: Who was the US main rival in the Cold War?"
"Canada," Scott said and yawned again. "Bunch of moose-fucking commies."
Shane clicked his tongue. "Shit-talking your spotter? Really?"
Scott feigned a stumble just to watch him dart in immediately. He straightened up and smirked.
"He's being an asshole," Rozy declared. "Put him back to bed."
"Please," Scott agreed.
Either they gave him an extra hour or two in the morning or else the cumulative effect of the naps had finally caught up with Scott's exhaustion, because by the time Kip woke him just before six, he actually felt well-rested.
"You look better," Kip agreed, swiping his thumb under one of Scott's eyes.
Scott ducked his head to sniff himself. "Feel a little ripe, though."
Kip smirked. "Is that you asking for your first sponge bath?"
"Gross," Vaughan complained from his spot in front of the coffeemaker. "I just woke up, dude."
"Did you get that nurse outfit we talked about?" Scott asked, watching for Vaughan's whole-body shudder with a grin.
"Seriously?" he whined. "It's been bad enough watching fucking Rozanov try to stick his hand down Hollander's pants every five minutes."
"Oh, like I haven't had to hear about every model you've banged for the last six years."
Vaughan flipped him off.
Kip held out his arm. "Think you can get to the bathroom without the walker?"
"I'm feeling properly motivated," Scott agreed.
They stayed in Connecticut for three weeks. Vaughan left after a few days. Elena made one trip back. Kip's dad came for a few days, Shane's parents for a week. Rose Landry even made an appearance, and Scott surprised himself with how star-struck he got.
The house was on a big plot of land with old, mature trees framing a garden and koi pond with a paved walking path Scott had traversed so many times by their last night, the rubber pad of his cane was rubbed and stained the same pearly tan.
"What if we did the wedding here?" Kip asked, staring out at the yard from his seat at the patio table. "Something small. String lights up in the trees. We could put a dance floor over there." He gestured to an open stretch of grass.
Scott let himself picture it, fondly, before reminding him, "It'd have to be really small, babe. Only people that know about Shane and Rozy. We're not gonna make them play pretend in their own house."
Shane shrugged a shoulder. "We're planning to tell more people once Ilya has his citizenship. As long as you kept it small..." He glanced at Ilya, questioning, but when he made to speak with his mouth full of pasta salad, Shane tucked two fingers under his chin and made him finish chewing.
Rozy swallowed demonstratively. Lifted his eyebrows, a silent, happy? then turned to Kip and Scott. "We talked to a PR manager a few times. She is saying things like 'soft launch.' You know, let it leak a little, become badly kept secret. Probably already happening with Shane, but I think it got mixed up with hashtag head-Hunter. Most people think it's a joke. Anyway, I think it's a good idea."
"Plus, we could hire security," Shane suggested. "Make sure there's no paps."
"We could have a phone drop," Kip added over the rim of his wine glass. "Like a secret orgy."
Scott narrowed his eyes at him. "What secret orgies have you been to?"
Waggled eyebrows. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Shane washed down a bite of chicken with his ginger ale. Asked his boyfriend, "Do you know who you want to tell first?"
"Marly," Rozy said, no hesitation. "I thought about telling him before exam, but..." He tipped his head from side to side. "After what happened in Montreal..."
Wincing, Shane nodded his understanding.
"I think he will be cool, though. We did a threesome together once. He did not even say 'no homo.'" For the life of him, Scott still couldn't tell if he was joking when he said things like that.
"I wanna tell Wagner," Shane said. "He's gonna ask a million questions, but I think you two will get along really well."
Scott felt a flush of warmth run through him that he couldn't blame on wine — he was stuck with Shane's ginger ale, too, according to his recovery plan. He had eleven months before he needed to be able to dance all night. As Shane and Ilya traded names back and forth, he let the earlier vision of the backyard fill out in his mind.
His phone beeped.
"Okay," Rozy declared. "Off your ass, old man. Time for evening walk."
Scott glanced around his chair, then said, "Fuck, I left the cane inside."
Rozy stood up and held his arm out. "Come on. I know you are just making excuse to feel up my beautiful muscles. I understand."
"Fuck off," he laughed, but grabbed Rozy's arm and stood up.
"I guess we're on dish duty," Kip told Shane, and the two of them started gathering the remnants of their dinner.
He didn't need to lean on Rozy at all as he walked, really just needed the extra stability to prevent a fall. They started down the path into the darkening garden as fireflies began to glint in the grass.
"So, back to training camp next week," Scott noted. "Doing okay with that?"
Rozy hummed. "Boston and New York play four games just in the preseason this year. Three in regular. Come to the house whenever we have the same free day. We might even get sick of each other."
Scott let himself grin under the cover of darkness. The frogs started to sing.
"Okay, Scott Hunter," Rozy said. "I am going to say something just once, and you are not going to be a jerk about it or ever mention it again. Understand?"
"Alright."
They slowed to a stop, and Rozy turned to look at him. Took a deep breath. "Thank you," he said. "For everything."
With the hand still holding his bicep, Scott gave him a squeeze. "Back at you, kid."
The moment hung between them, Rozy's lip quivering just briefly, his eyes sliding away. Then he huffed and slapped at Scott's hand until it dropped to his elbow. "Stop groping me, pervert. Come on. If you cannot do another half mile, I will put you in the nursing home myself, and then you can tell all the other perverted eighty year olds how you got to feel up the best hockey player in the world."
"I get to feel up Shane after this?"
"Betrayal!" he shouted. "My own best friend, he says this! I'm going to cry, Hunter. And I will tell my boyfriend you made me cry, and he will beat you up. He's very strong. And second best hockey player in the world. Repeat after me, okay? I want to hear you say it or I'll leave you out here for the wolves."
"There's no wolves in Connecticut."
"Oh! He is wildlife expert now. Mr. City Boy, he knows about wolves."
"I know about fucking New Haven."
Rozy made a few wordless mocking noises at him, flapping his hand like a mouth.
"I can't wait until I can beat you up again."
"You have never beat me up!"
"I've beat you up four times."
"Planned fight doesn't count. Or beach! Or the time with the paint — I wasn't trying that time."
And so it went for another half mile.