by me
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: FAKE!
Summary: Post game 2.
Notes: Grr. Sorry for the delay on Ilya/Dany...
Flesch-Kinkaid Grade Level: 4.3
Dedicated to: The bear currently loose in one of the nearby yards of my suburban Atlanta neighborhood and all of Dunwoody's finest (including the helicopter) here to protect us all from it.
Every minute on the plane calmed him down a little more. The end of the game had been very emotional, being scored on twice so quickly was never easy, and they couldn't seem to get the momentum of the game with all the penalties that were being called. And then the scrum at the end, the roughing with Maltby, and ensured that Erik's adrenaline would be flowing long after the horn sounded at the end of the game.
But his team had a reassuring effect on him. All of them oozed a quiet confidence that could not be shaken, no matter what the situation. Even Bates showed it, despite missing a great chance when it was still tied that would've changed the game entirely. Though despite the calm exterior, Erik could tell that he was not pleased with himself. The rookie knew his lover hadn't felt like he'd performed to his best, dating back to the beginning of the Toronto series. And maybe he still trusted his team, but he was losing the trust in his own abilities that was so important.
He was asleep, had fallen there quickly, his hair falling over closed eyes as his head rested on Erik's shoulder. Cole shut his own eyes, breathing deeply. The murmurs on the plane were faint, not many were still up. Another deep breath. Sleep would come soon, to ease the bitterness of a tough loss. Erik hoped it would also ease the dull ache in the back of his head, courtesy of Jiri Fischer's stick. He opened his eyes as he felt someone standing next to him. Ron Francis was watching him. "You ok, kid?"
"Yeah. Just fine."
"You played well tonight."
"Thanks, Ronnie. You too."
His captain snorted, obviously not pleased with his own performance. "Well, we'll get them Saturday."
Erik nodded, half-smiling. "Nice to be home."
Nodding, Ron clapped him on the shoulder and moved on to the next person.
Home would be nice. Familiar ice, a familiar locker room, an enthusiastic and friendly crowd...no octopi. At least, he hoped not. Opposing fans could be a little crazy sometimes. And his own bed. Well, their own bed. Bates and Erik weren't actually road roommates and it was always nice to be home with some actual privacy.
He must've drifted off, because suddenly the pilot was announcing their descent into the Raleigh-Durham International Airport, where the rain was coming down and the local time was 2:34 am. Battaglia was awake, too, blinking sleepily. Erik caught his eye, and Bates smiled a little and smoothed down Erik's from where it was sticking up. His hand continued around and he gently stroked the back of his head. "You ok? Fish got you pretty hard."
"I'm ok," Erik sighed, rolling his eyes and stealing a quick kiss as the plane rolled into the gate. In a few minutes, they filed off wearily. Erik found it kind of cute, actually, Bates wasn't the only one stumbling down the jet way with half-closed eyes.
The cheer from the crowd woke them up, though. Even after a loss, they were there, a few hundred strong, still loving their team. After all, they'd shown pretty decisively that they could indeed play with the Detroit Red Wings. Bates and Erik were two of the first off the plane, and they both hung around and kept track of who got the biggest cheers for future reference. Unsurprisingly, it was Ronnie and Archie, leaving the plane in succession. Erik kept watching, until finally Bates tugged on his sleeve. "Let's go, Colesy. Home. Bed. Come on."
Erik took the keys when Bates held them out. He was pretty sure the older man would fall asleep the instant he sat down and he wanted to survive the drive home. He was right, of course, and had to wake him up as he pulled into the driveway. John was still up when Erik shoved Bates through the door, smiling brightly at both of them. "Hey, boys, great game."
"Night, Johnny," Battaglia mumbled in reply, going upstairs. Erik frowned, watching him.
"Is he ok? Are you?"
"I'm fine. He's..." Erik sighed. "I think he's fine. He had the best chance all night, and you know, had we scored the second goal first we would've won that game. Being so close...it's bitter."
"I guess the fact that BBC is slumping as a whole doesn't help."
"No...but with their best defense concentrated on us, Ronnie can do his thing. And whatever works."
"Make it work Saturday."
"Yep."
"And go to bed, you don't look much better than he did."
"Night, John."
"Goodnight, Erik."
Cole followed the path Bates had taken, shutting the bedroom door behind him. He watched the lump under the covers as he stripped down to his boxers, wondering if there was something besides disappointment in Bates' withdrawal. He slipped under the covers, and he was somewhat relieved when his lover gravitated to him. "Don't beat yourself up over it, babe," he murmured, his fingers entangling in Bates' hair. "We split with them."
"So close to going up two-nothing."
"Best of five, Bates. The shorter the series gets, the better our chances." He yawned, the softness of the bed and warmth of Bates against him contributing to his fatigue.
"Yeah..." Bates trailed off. "Love you, Erik."
Erik smiled. It signified the end of conversation, and Erik was somewhat heartened. Bates never said it when he was really upset.
"Love you, too." The rookie let sleep overtake him, knowing he was sharing dreams of open nets and slamming Jiri Fischer into the ice with his linemate.