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A/N: Apology for use of the F word, LOL I’ve gone this far without using it give me some credit here!
Chapter 61: Patty VII or The Land of Nuts and Fruits
There were five minutes; maybe a bit more in the game were Patrick had some fun. Where he was feeling that dominating, electric, almost sexual excitement in stopping, catching, blocking and turning away shots. His movement was fluid, it was rubber, it was tireless. He couldn’t hear much except his own breath, his own voice. Even his goalposts were quiet. It was like the world was narrowed down to just him and the shooter, and then that world was burst when Owen Nolan came tearing down the ice at him, and there was only the feeling of his fluttering sweater as the puck tore by it and into the net.
Even then, he tried to forget about it. He played on, not even entertaining any pondering as to why the defensive unit was abandoning him. It was his job to stop the pucks and dammit that’s what he was going to do, no questions asked. And then there it was. Skoula and Kaspar backed down from Patty Marleau and his linemates, like scared kittens they backed down. And then the puck was behind him again.
His gaffes are so unusual and extraordinary, he remembered reading about himself once, that he cannot even glare at his defensemen to take the blame, a common ploy amongst goaltenders.
This time, it was different.
The rage boiled over in Patrick and he snatched Marty’s arm, seeing that doe eyed fear in the boy’s face. And he squeezed harder, he wanted to hurt him, to bruise his pale, European flesh, he wanted him to feel all guilt on this one.
"You whore!" Patrick yelled. "Stop backing down! Stop it! I’m sick of your impotent scrambling! My son could show more balls that you!"
"Ssssh, sssh," The ref Kerry Fraser hissed to Patrick, touching him lightly on the back and nudging him from Skoula. "Calm down, Patty. You’re having a great game, even if your boys aren’t don’t screw it up."
In the locker room during the second intermission, the boys had babbled and fought over monkeys, some were throwing up, Tangers was on the verge of crying and Pascal kept making eyes at Tangers. Hartley, tugging at his tie and trembling took Patrick aside. "Karns says he thinks it may have been the brownies they ate. Patrick, our alternates for tonight are insensible but I can’t take half the team out of the game... can you hold up? I’m only asking for twenty minutes, hold us for twenty!"
The third period began worse.
Only a few minutes into the period and the Sharks had them hemmed into the defensive zone. Patrick could only, at best could see the backs and legs and bodies, could only hear the voices screaming for passes. His chest began to burn as he slid to one side to follow a pass, and then back, and then back, and then back, and still his teammates remained almost passively as if they were at the tail end of a box formation penalty kill. The burning spread to Patrick’s legs, first his thighs as he pushed off from side to side, then his ankles as he jerked to snap off a toe save and then it was back again and again and again. The puck popped off his body a few times, with loud thwaps and Patrick tried to catch it, he needed to freeze it, he could barely breathe anymore.
"I have this one," the goalposts whispered.
And Patrick relaxed, breathed finally as he heard the sharp PING of the puck off the post and it popped onto the ice in front of him where he snagged it in his glove and then sat on his butt, hearing the glorious whistle to freeze it. As soon as play was stopped Patrick gasped and fell to his back completely exhausted. It felt like the inner lining of his mouth was sandpaper, and he would never stand up again.
"Hey, Patty," he heard Blakie say as his face materialized above him. "Fresh troops are in."
"I hate you!" Patrick hissed.
Blake ran his tongue over his lips and grinned, grabbing Patrick by the arm and lifting him to his feet. "Now you’re sounding like Brandi in the morning."
"Shithead!" Patrick snipped.
"Yeah, sounds about right." Blake giggled squirting some water into Patrick’s mouth. "You’re doing awesome Patty, I bet you don’t know how many saves you’ve made today?"
"We’re gonna lose! Cause you’re shitty!" Patrick snipped. "That’s all I care about."
Blake nodded. "Does that mean you’re gonna haveta get a haircut now?"
"Get out of my sight!" Patrick roared, he was more than mad now, he was enraged. He was homicidal!
Robbie laughed and skated away.
As soon as the puck was dropped, the Sharks regained the control that the Avs had never had. The puck crossed from man to man and then as a shot was being teed up from the point, Patrick saw Footer jump in front of it and there was a dull thwap as it bounced off his body. Patrick’s heart was filled with sunshine yet again, Footer had just sacrificed his body for him! Why had he ever doubted him? Why!
Adam collapsed to the ice and Drury having snatched control of the puck skated it out of the zone and the whole lot followed him to the other end of the ice. Yet, Adam remained where he was on the ice. But they needed Adam over there!
Patrick skated to Adam doubling over, keeping one eye on the other end of the ice and poking Adam gently with his stick. "Adam! Adam! Get up! We need you now!"
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep," Adam moaned. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"
Patrick paused for a minute, his blood running cold. Was Adam hurt again? No! Not now! And then he saw the way Footer was laid out in a fetal position, his gloves over his crotch. Patrick cringed.
"Eh... Footie," he whispered, "Did they ring your berries?"
"Shut-up!" Footer yelled. "This fucking hurts!"
Patty shook his head and sat on his bottom, rubbing Footer’s back as the whistle was blown and Karns came running, looking as if his world was collapsing. Well, Patty thought, it’s not like Adam was using his willy much anyway.
Muttering and whimpering, Footer was led off the ice.
Patrick sighed and set up for another face off as it was taken at the other end of the ice. They scrimmaged around a bit and then the puck was dumped into his zone. Patrick glanced at the Sharks, they were coming first, and they would beat the icing call.
"Don’t do it!" the posts hissed.
"I have to!" Patrick insisted, and he ran for the loose puck, getting it on his stick, seeing the seam between players, aiming for it and shooting. It didn’t work that way. Owen Nolan caught it and snapped it into the empty net. This time the crowd began to taunt him.
"Shit!" Patrick snarled, swinging his stick at the posts and snapping it over the crossbar.
Patrick lay on his bed in the hotel, his arms crossed over his chest, listening to the sound of Footer snoring. He was in so much pain that Karns had popped him with some tranquilizers for the night. They wouldn’t be leaving until tomorrow morning for Los Angeles anyway. Probably the best thing for Adam, he supposed.
Karns had also drawn blood from Adam and pretty much everyone who had the brownies. He was determined to figure out the culprit, he was already muttering about suing the caterer. And now he was gone and Patrick was alone, with his own anger.
There was a light knocking on the door and Patrick sighed loudly. "Entrez!" he snapped.
"Knock, knock," Dave Aebischer said with a purr as he stepped into the room, a smile on his face and a bottle of wine in his hand. "I thought you might need some cheering up darling."
"Shoo!" Patrick snapped. "You’re not playing tomorrow either so get that out of your head!"
"Awww," Abby whimpered. "Don’t be mean."
Patrick sniffed and sat up, grabbing the bottle. It was a nice brand, one he was quite fond of. "Merci," he said, and he uncorked it, taking a swig.
Aebischer nodded his head, and he glanced over at Foote. "And how is he?"
Patrick swallowed, "He’ll be OK, he’s just drugged up. And you?"
"I’m lovely," Abby answered in French, "I only had a taste of brownie. What do you think was in them? Acid? Grass?"
Patrick grinned and took another warm swig of wine, it felt good as it began to settle in his stomach, warming him. "Probably both, my friend," he replied in French.
Aebischer laughed. "You have to admit darling, it is a priceless thing, to always have the memory of Peter squealing that Marchment was Mojo Jojo and the monkey invasion was going to get us all... I mean actually running from him and crying? He’ll never live it down!"
Patrick laughed, and he felt a little more warmth for the lad. "Yeah," and he hiccuped. "I wonder what his senorita will think of him now."
David took the bottle and sipped a bit from it, the boy had such a delicate mouth, and Patrick couldn’t stop noticing it.
"Have you seen her?" Abby asked. "I haven’t."
"No," Patrick said. "I haven’t seen her, Mimi has. She said the woman is out of Peter’s league, he doesn’t deserve her."
David sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Ooooh Patrick," he moaned, "It’s so sad."
The lad leaned forward on his thighs, putting his face in his hands. He actually looked distressed, the way his back was slumping. Patrick burped silently and leaned forward, patting him on the shoulders. "What’s wrong?" he asked.
"Well," David began, taking a deep breath, "How exquisitely you played today, you made over fifty saves... and all that the fans back home are gonna remember from this game... is that you coughed up a cheap one to Owen Nolan."
"Get out!" Patrick snarled.
David laughed and hopped up to his feet. "There it is! Those angry eyes!"
Patrick stood up, his buzz ruined. "Playing with fire, boy!"
David crossed his ivory arms over his chest, batting his eyes. "And what are you going to do? Hmmm? Hurt me?"
Patrick flopped back onto the bed, closing his eyes, still seeing the image of Abby’s pale flesh. "I’m going to sleep," he muttered. "I’m too tired to do anything else."
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