You Could Make a Life

by Taylor Fitzpatrick

  Obviously, the other teams aren't holding themselves to that standard, but there isn't anything too traumatic said. They get some chirps that are worse than the normal variety, but Dan's always known how to control his temper on the ice, Marc's got Big Bad Buchanan on his wing, and they're never actually on the ice at the same time, so it's not like either one of them can go stick up for the other's honour or something. Dan's been hearing chirps about 'fags' since everyone was old enough to know the word, has known he was gay just as long, so it's not like they're saying anything he hasn't heard before, anything that applies to him more than it always has.

  Still, it's one thing for a guy to call you a 'cocksucker' because it's a standard chirp, and another to have a guy call you 'cocksucker' like a statement of fact, to call you 'cocksucker' and maybe picture you on your knees, but Dan hasn't gotten where he is with thin skin, and he isn't going to start now.

  The media attention isn't that bad either — at first they'd been on the edge of their seats, waiting to see if Marc would crash and burn in, what, the wake of being with Dan? Marc had made it pretty clear it'd been going on for awhile, if not when — or how, thankfully, because Dan is not particularly proud of it — so it's not like they hadn't already seen him under the influence of gay. Once Marc comes out swinging, so to speak, racking up points as easy as always, they get bored and move on to more timely concerns.

  So it's about as good as can be expected, better than Dan would have ever expected, honestly, until Dallas, against Stevens, because even when he's no longer on their team, it's always fucking Stevens.

  From the second the puck drops, Stevens becomes his shadow, when he's not Marc's shadow. He's a second liner getting matched up against the first and the fourth, so Dan guesses their coach is hoping he can say something awful enough to break the back of Marc's line or goad Dan into a penalty, otherwise that line-matching is just stupid.

  Dan keeps that in mind when Stevens muscles him off the puck, says "I knew there was something wrong with that French fag, but you really disappoint me, man." Keeps that in mind when Stevens slams him into the boards, a high shoulder check, and skates away scot-free, fucking grinning at him, all teeth.

  He's almost made it through the onslaught, a little bruised and very tempted to punch Stevens in his stupid, fat face, not for the first time in his life, when Stevens escalates. There's just over five minutes left, and they're up two, so Stevens is doing his level best to get Dan to drop the gloves. He knows the deal — he'll drop them, Stevens will back right up, and Dan will get an instigation call, leave them with a powerplay for one last rush. He knows exactly what Stevens is doing.

  It still doesn't make it easier when Stevens pins him against the boards, the two of them fighting for the puck, and Stevens leans in close, says "I bet he loves to take it. Probably doesn't even care who fucks him, huh Riley? Begs really pretty. Think he'd open his legs for me?", and Dan struggles to ignore him, because it's not worth blowing the game just because Stevens is a piece of shit.

  Of course, that's when Marc comes tearing out from fucking nowhere, dropping his gloves. Stevens laughs, forgets the instigation goal entirely. "I'm going to pound you, faggot," he says, and is in the middle of dropping his gloves when Marc gets him with a right hook.

  Marc's small, not a fighter, but he's a vicious little shit when he needs to be, and he gets a few more blows in before Stevens takes him down, Dan not stepping in only because he knows that'd get the penalty Dallas wants. When the refs separate them, Stevens has a bloody nose, and Marc grins at Dan, feral, blood on his teeth, as he gets sent right off the ice.

  They hold onto the two goal lead through the last few minutes, and when Dan gets into the locker room he finds Marc sitting in Dan's stall, icepack against his mouth, looking battered and smug. Dan gets a closer look at his cheek. "Are those stitches?" he asks, appalled.

  "Only three," Marc says, then, beaming. "I beat his ass."

  "Yeah you did, Lapointe," Tremblay says, coming through and punching Marc on the shoulder, before saying something fast in French that has Marc laughing.

  Marc eventually vacates Dan's stall so that Dan can get undressed and Marc can deal with the media swarming in and surrounding him. Dan's just getting a towel around his waist when he hears "Pardon me?", sharp, Marc's tone when you really better not be saying what he thinks you're saying. The tone that always strikes fear in Dan's heart.

  "I said," the reporter says, slow, like Marc's stupid, foreign, like Marc doesn't understand the English language better than he does, probably, "Don't you think you're providing a bad example for the kids you claim to want to represent?"

  "If he had been mic'ed," Marc says, "He would have been fined or suspended for hate speech. I am not going to apologise for responding."

  "So you think violence is the answer?" asks some other reporter.

  "This is hockey," Marc says. "What was I going to do, take it? Why can enforcers fight simply for the sake of it, while I cannot fight against prejudice without being judged with more prejudice?"

  "And there's the sound bite," Larsson says, amused, while Dan groans, knocking his head back against his stall.

  "It looked like you did this more to fight for your boyfriend than fight against prejudice," says the first reporter, snide, and Dan practically runs to the showers because he doesn't want to see that guy eviscerated, asshole or not.

  *

  The media picks right back up on Marc, because stir the pot even a little and they come running. It becomes a huge debate about the difference between chirping and slurs. Most of the old guard is convinced Marc is just a sensitive little flower, which is fucking bullshit — Dan doesn't even want to think about what shit Stevens probably spewed at Marc, because Stevens had always been friendly to Dan, but he'd been a dick to Marc even when they were on the same team. Next it's a debate about the role of gay players in sports. Then it becomes a discussion about fighting in general, whether it's necessary.

  Fucking Stevens.

  And fucking Marc.

  "I half think you planned this," Dan says, and Marc just smiles beatifically at him, livid black eye and all.

  *

  The media's dying down and Marc's black eye has faded when the next thing happens, and Dan hopes it has nothing to do with them, hopes to god it's just one of those awful things that happens sometimes, scary when it happens but unfortunately not uncommon.

  It's halfway through the second when it happens, Marc's head down to find the puck against the boards, the shoulder of Olesky making contact with his head as he speeds in behind him, Marc going headfirst into the glass. The Leafs bench immediately jumps up for a call, but they sit down when Marc doesn't get up after a minute, two, Buchanan sticking close to where Marc's lying on the ice. Dan wants to go over the boards, doesn't give a shit if that gets him suspended, but Larsson's got a fist clenched in Dan's jersey like he knows it, and it's the only thing keeping Dan still.

  The whole arena's quiet, no celebration when Olesky's taken to the box for a major, dead silent while a stretcher's brought out. Dan can't fucking breathe.

  "James will drive you to the hospital," Coach says, when they're still taking Marc out, so still and pale.

  Dan looks at him blankly. "The game," he finally says.

  "Can you promise me that you'd keep your head in the game? That you won't go after Olesky the second he's back on the ice?" Coach asks, and when Dan doesn't say anything, "get off the bench, he'll meet you in the locker room."

  Dan changes to a t-shirt and basketball shorts mechanically, numb hands unable to deal with his game day suit. One of the trainers drives him to the hospital, as promised, and when they get there the staff is willing to tell him Marc's conscious, but nothing else, won't let Dan in, conferring with James out of hearing range while he stares at his shoes.

  James sits down with him. "He's awake, he's alert, they should be discharging him soon."

  Dan exhales. "So he's fine," he says.

  "He's got
a pretty severe concussion, he's going to be out of action for awhile, but it's a lot better than it could have been, considering he lost consciousness," James says, then pats his shoulder a little awkwardly. "You'll be able to take him home tonight."

  Dan spends the rest of his time waiting fielding calls from his mom, Sarah, Marc's mom, who somehow got his number. His answers don't seem to satisfy them, but that makes sense, because they don't satisfy him, not until Marc gets discharged, looking pale and sickly, but upright, at least.

  "You know the drill?" James checks with him, and Dan nods, gets Marc bundled into a cab and on his way home. Marc leans on him, shuts his eyes.

  Dan squeezes his shoulder. "What's Coach always say about keeping your head up?" he chides.

  "Mange la merde," Marc responds sleepily, and curls in closer.

  *

  Marc is not a cheerful patient.

  For the first leg of it he's drowsy, and Dan lets him sleep in short snatches, timing when he gently shakes Marc awake, picking a new question to test him with each time so that Marc doesn't murder him. Marc understands English, but is answering everything in French, so Dan picks questions he can actually understand and verify the answers to. "What's your full name?" he asks, the third time he wakes Marc up.

  "Pierre Marc Lapointe," Marc mumbles, and shuts his eyes again.

  "Your name's Pierre?" Dan asks, delighted. Why hadn't he known this? It's possibly the greatest thing he's ever heard.

  "Ôstie," Marc moans pathetically, and Dan decides he'll save the mockery for when Marc doesn't have a head injury.

  After six hours, when Dan's exhausted as well, he makes Marc some canned soup, feeds him water and Tylenol, curls up around him in bed. "Are you finally going to let me sleep?" Marc asks.

  "Alarm's set for an hour from now," Dan says, eyes already shut.

  "I hate you," Marc groans.

  *

  He's worse the next day. He's no longer constantly sleepy, and he can't do anything he wants to do, no reading, no movies, nothing to distract him from the fact his head hurts and his neck hurts, and the light hurts, and he's dizzy, and if Dan feeds him anything he will throw up on him, he swears.

  When Dan has to leave him for mandatory practice, it's almost a relief, Sarah swooping in to pick up on his nursing shift. That will be interesting, considering Sarah is really not the nurturing type.

  He gets back to Sarah looking frazzled. "Did he behave?" he asks lightly.

  "He was great," she snaps, then books it like their apartment's on fire.

  "You scared Sarah away," Dan chides, entering the bedroom, where Marc's sitting up on a sea of pillows, looking sullen.

  "I am bored," he declares as soon as he notices Dan. "And my head hurts."

  "I know, buddy," Dan says, goes to sit beside him.

  "Do not patronise me," Marc says.

  "I think I preferred it when you were only speaking French," Dan says, and Marc pinches him, hard.

  "Just for that," Dan says, "I think it's time for you to eat something."

  Marc groans to no avail.

  *

  The next day they have to fly out to Winnipeg. Marc insists he'll be able to take care of himself, and technically he's out of the danger zone, but Dan doesn't trust Marc to feed himself, to avoid books and movies in the face of boredom, to not make things worse, so he drives Marc over to his parents' on his way to the airport.

  Marc complains the whole way, then as soon as he's out of the car he's pliant and well-behaved and good. Of course the second Dan's parents are involved he starts behaving again.

  "I know it really isn't the same as home, but Stephen and I have some experience with concussions," Dan's mom says, steering Marc in with a gentle hand on his elbow, "Danny had two before he was even out of Juniors."

  "That explains so much," Marc murmurs to Dan, and Dan gives him the finger behind his mom's back, only to get caught when Marc widens his eyes, mock-hurt, and his mom spins around before he can put it away.

  "You think you'd have a bit more sympathy," his mom says, while Marc smirks at him. It's not fair, no one in his family believes him when he complains that Marc's evil. Well, Sarah probably does, but Dan bets that just makes her like him more.

  "You deal with him two days and see how you feel," Dan says sullenly, though he bets Marc is going to be the perfect guest now, just to make Dan look like a dick.

  Dan gives his mom a hug, pulls Marc in, pressing a kiss, light, against his hair. "Get a goal for me," Marc mumbles.

  "No promises," Dan says, but when he does net one during a messy changeover that leaves the Jets goalie wide open he points at one of the cameras. Marc better not be watching, but Dan's mom can tell him, at least.

  *

  It's Edmonton next, Calgary, Vancouver, a long haul. Marc's been giving him updates on his condition and his mom's been giving him more honest updates on Marc's condition, promising to keep Marc away from any and all game streams, because Marc knew way too many details of Dan's goal for it to have been merely described to him.

  The media's interested in talking to Dan, for once. Okay, it's been interested a fair amount, but Dan is not particularly prone to communicate well, Marc far better at it, so they've just given in and gone after Marc, who's way more interesting anyway. But Dan has no Marc buffer this time, so he has to stutter his way through an interview, tricked by talk about his goal, then suddenly trapped into giving updates on Marc's condition.

  "You look shell-shocked, man," Larsson says, after. "I'm going to buy you a drink."

  "Yes please," Dan says meekly.

  Marc calls him the next morning just to laugh at him.

  "Hey," Dan says. "Stop watching TV!"

  "I heard it on the radio," Marc says, and doesn't even bother to make it sound like anything but a lie.

  *

  They manage six points out of the possible eight, going down in overtime against Edmonton and Vancouver, and it could certainly be worse considering they're missing their star centre, who is currently busy complaining that he can't keep anything but bland food down, and has somehow roped Dan's dad into reading to him. Dan's dad is a sucker. Dan probably inherited it from him.

  When Dan gets back, Marc's feeling better. He's not 100%, but he's able to join their first practice back the next day, non-contact jersey mandatory, and he's been okayed to read and watch movies again, which makes him way less intolerable.

  The first night back Larsson follows Dan, handles Marc, the two of them watching some Swedish film Larsson been anticipating all trip while Dan does the laundry, delivers Larsson a beer (Marc's pleading look does nothing to sway him), puts their kitchen back in order.

  "Okay," Dan says, when the movie's done and Marc's so tired he's drooping into Larsson. "Play date over."

  Larsson claps him on the shoulder and heads out quick enough to save Marc the embarrassment of Larsson watching Dan haul him to bed, which he has to do, because he didn't have bedtimes at Dan's parents, and also isn't six, Daniel, wait, you are going to sprain your back, I will walk.

  *

  The next practice he's almost 100%, notwithstanding the fact that it's probably easier for him to get a goal when everyone's trying to skate out of his way for fear of accidentally hitting him and getting Dan and Coach on their backs. It's probably not a particularly unreasonable fear considering Dan and Coach are both watching with their arms crossed.

  "What are you doing," Marc says, hitting Dan in the shin with his stick. "You are not a coach, stop slacking."

  "No contact means you too, Lapointe!" Coach yells.

  *

  It's while Marc's still trying to wheedle his way into full contact practice that the first player comes out, retired almost a decade by now, so big in his day that Dan thinks he still has an action figure of him in his parents' basement. Marc flies down with them to New York, even though he's not cleared to play, just so he can go on a talk show with him to discuss the state of gay rights in hockey.

  "Are y
ou jealous?" Marc asks on the plane, nudging him, not even bothering to look up from his book.

  "No," Dan sulks.

  "Do you want me to get his autograph for you?" Marc asks. Dan is 99% sure he's teasing.

  "Maybe," he mumbles anyway.

  "Okay, cheri," Marc says, and doesn't even laugh at him, so he's forgiven, though Tremblay, who overhears Marc and is now calling Dan cher and cheri every chance he gets, Tremblay's in the shit.

  Marc does the show in the afternoon, so he's up in the press box during the game, joins them after, has to field questions from a bunch of reporters who won't leave him alone even though he didn't even play. Knocks his foot against Dan's when he reaches his stall, sits down in his own, left empty in his absence. Cameras flash, because of course they do. Dan doesn't even think all of these journalists are hockey related.

  "I am back to full-contact tomorrow," Marc says, as Dan knocks his foot back against him.

  "They're not going to let you play for the Islanders game," Dan says, nay, decrees, and Marc quirks a smile at him.

  "Devils, maybe, if I show no more symptoms," he says. "Now take a shower, I want to go out."

  "Of course you do," Dan says, making sure there aren't any cameras actively on him while he sheds his last layers.

  They do go out, getting burgers that are, without a doubt, diet breaking (for Dan at least, Marc needs to gain back a couple pounds), but also awesome. They get stopped by a woman who recognises Marc from the show that day and seems confused when they tell her they came from the game, but charmed when Marc introduces Dan as his boyfriend.

  "She didn't even know you were a hockey player," Dan says in horror.

  "Of course she did," Marc says, "That was what the show was about."

  "Well, she doesn't even watch hockey," Dan says. There is maybe even more horror at that fact, he won't lie.

  Marc smiles cheerfully at him, knocks his feet against Dan's under the table. Oh god, Marc's transcended hockey.