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kathierif_ficTitle: With A Little Help From My Friends
Author: Kathie
Series: Ice&Lines
Fandoms: CSI:NY, CSI:Miami, CSI:Las Vegas, Stargate:Atlantis, Stargate:SG1 (mentioned), Criminal Minds, NCIS, Numb3rs
Rating: FRM
Warnings: Multi-fandom hockey AU. Some spoilers for SGA: Sunday, CSI:LV Fannysmacking, CSI:MI: Nailed, CSI:NY Charge of this Post
Disclaimer: Not mine and not even my fault.
Beta: Ginny. Love you lots and lots and lots. Thanks for help and hand-holding.
Summary: The quest for the game continues.
Author’s Notes: To my two wonderful co-authors, Dee and Ginny. I love you two, and when I’m back, I’m going to poke for more v-and-ww-fic, okay?
Title from a song from The Beatles, of course.
This is the same ‘verse like “Taking Off"
• Miami: John Sheppard (forward, #20), Greg Sanders (forward, #22), Ronon Dex (forward, # 14)
Greg fidgeted and rubbed his sweaty palms over his pants. He didn’t want to be here
– he knew he was responsible for a man’s death, and being here, at court, only made it so much worse. It didn’t make things right.
Being cornered by the press and the dead man’s family afterwards didn’t help, either.
He swallowed as questions were shouted at him, together with accusations. He was sweating, his mind was suddenly blank. There was only one thing he could think of right now.
Demetrius James.
The name of the man he’d killed.
Demetrius James.
Again and again.
He couldn’t escape it. Even if he managed to escape the press, he couldn’t escape the images in his head, the name. He was pretty sure that it would stay with him for the rest of his life.
“Back off! Leave the man alone,” a loud voice suddenly called out. An arm was thrown around Greg’s shoulders, and he was pulled against a strong, familiar body.
He managed to take a breath of relief before the questions started up again –
“Mr. Sheppard…” – “Mr. Sanders...”
It was loud enough to form a wall of sound. He couldn’t make out single questions or even words. The flashes from the cameras blinded him, and if not for the arm pinning him down, he would have turned around to run away.
"Are you trying to intimidate the family of my client? They suffered a tremendous loss when their son and brother died in that attack in which Mr. Sanders was involved, and now you're threatening them?" a voice suddenly called out, louder than the others, or maybe the speaker was just closer than the reporters.
"All I'm saying," John answered slowly, calmly, "is that this was not Greg's fault, not at all."
Ronon only nodded and tightened his grip on Greg.
"You okay?" he asked gruffly and nudged Greg. Greg swallowed and nodded. He didn't trust his voice, but that was okay. Ronon understood him nonetheless. Another nudge against his shoulder, and Ronon quietly took a step forwards to protect the smaller man from the bright flashes of the reporters' cameras.
"Let's get outta here," John muttered and half dragged, half pushed Greg towards his car. "Come on." His cell phone rang, and John pulled it out of the inner pocket of his jacket while slipping on his sunglasses.
"Yeah?" His face scrunched up in confusion. "McKay, is that you?" He stopped. "Why are you calling me?"
Rodney told him, and John wordlessly tossed Ronon his car keys. "I'll call you back," he promised and snapped his phone shut. "Your place," he told Ronon and climbed into the car.
Ronon raised an eyebrow, but he didn't comment on Shep's unusual behavior. He waited until Greg had climbed into the back of the car before speeding off.
They drove in deafening silence for a few minutes. Finally John sighed and pulled his cell phone back out. "Teyla," he greeted. "Sorry, did I interrupt something?" He looked out of the window. "Rodney called me." He swallowed. "There was an accident."
He did his best to ignore the glance both Ronon and Greg threw in his direction. "It's Carson," he explained, his voice thick with something he refused to acknowledge. "He's dead."
• New York: Sam Winchester (defense, #7), Danny Messer (forward, #40)
“Sam!”
Danny grinned. “Is that coffee?” he asked, nodding towards the cup Sam was holding.
“Yeah,” Sam nodded and took a sip. “What are you doing here already?”
Danny shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep well, decided to come a bit earlier,” he explained. “Want to try beating the goalie?”
Sam laughed. "Let me check that Dean didn't fall asleep tying his skates," he answered. "I don't know when exactly he went to bed last night."
Danny dug the toe of his left skate into the ice. "You really should get yourself your own place," he said. "Aren't you sick of sleeping on your brother's couch?"
Sam shrugged. "Not really," he said quietly and dropped his bag from his shoulder to the ground. "After what happened to Jess..." He stopped himself and shook his head. "It's okay. Dean...he's Dean." It was as if that explained it all, and, Danny thought, maybe it did. Sam hadn’t been the same since the tragic fire in which his girlfriend had died, and if living with his brother helped him, Danny couldn’t argue against it, even if the brothers could annoy the whole team with their bickering and mock fighting. One thing was for sure, things never were boring with both Winchesters around.
He patted Sam's shoulder briefly. Despite being on skates, he still was smaller than Sam was, and he did his best to hide his annoyance about that.
"I let you wake up Dean," he said instead.
Sam nodded, picked up his bag and headed towards the locker room. Danny, on the other hand, tightened his grip on his stick and picked up the puck.
He wanted to score on this goalie, after all.
• Miami: Nick Stokes (goal, #30)
Nick sighed as he left his home to drive to the rink. It was strange, he thought, that he didn’t mind being the center of attention while on the ice, but as soon as he left, he felt as if someone was watching him.
He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder as he slowly made his way to his car. He was getting paranoid. Nigel Crane, his stalker, was in prison, he was safe.
He was okay.
He switched on the radio and sang along while driving. It helped to distract him. And if he checked his rearview mirror every now and then, it wasn’t because he was afraid that someone was still following him – it was just because he was a careful and responsible driver.
He managed to smile and wave at Ryan, their rookie, when he arrived, and exchange a few words with Warrick, but before he pulled his bag out of his trunk to follow them inside, he had to stop and take a few deep breaths.
• New York: Sam Winchester, (defense, #7), Dean Winchester (forward, #33), Tony DiNozzo (forward, #13)
"Dean?" Sam poked his brother in the ribs. "Dean!"
Dean didn't answer, and Sam turned around with a roll of his eyes. "He really fell asleep," he exclaimed, disbelief written all over his face. "I can't believe this!"
They had come in together, and while Dean had disappeared in the locker room to get changed, Sam had hunted down coffee and had talked briefly to Danny.
"Can't believe what?" Tony asked as he passed by, his eyes gleaming dangerously. His limp was more pronounced, Sam noticed, and he wondered briefly if Tony would end up not playing against Miami. That would be bad – they needed Tony’s skills.
"He really fell asleep tying his skates," Sam explained with a shake of his head.
Tony blinked. "He did what? -- You think he can score a goal while asleep?"
Sam shot him a glare and poked Dean again. "I really don't know what he did last night...“ he muttered. “Dean!”
Dean jerked awake with a muttered curse. “What?”
“You fell asleep,” Tony laughed and patted Dean’s shoulder. “Wild night?”
Dean only smirked and finished pulling on his gear and practice jersey, pretending not to notice Sam’s expression and Tony’s wide grin.
• Miami: Horatio Caine (head coach), Eric Delko (defense, #17)
Horatio frowned slightly. Practice had started twenty minutes ago; and yet Eric wasn't there. Horatio was aware of the younger man's family troubles, but that did not excuse him from not attending practice. They had a very important game to look forward to, after all.
Hands pushed into his hips, he surveyed the players on the ice in front of him. Nick was laughing about something Warrick had said. Teyla was standing next to them, a strand of her hair falling into her face as she bowed her head to hide a smile.
Calleigh, Don and John stood together with Frank, talking quietly. Speed and Ryan were passing the puck between them, a look of concentration on both their faces. Greg and Ronon were doing the same. Derek was sprawled at center ice, watching his teammates and commenting every now and then on something they said or did.
Eric still wasn't here.
Horatio's frown deepened. He caught Frank's look and nodded once - the two of them had worked together for so long now, they often didn't need words to communicate.
Frank nodded back and returned his attention to the three players in front of him before lifting the whistle and continuing with the drills they had been running.
Horatio stepped outside and pulled his cell phone from his pocket.
No calls.
Doing his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, he pressed a few buttons and tried to call Eric.
"H, I tried to call you at home," Eric's voice greeted him a few moments later. He sounded tired, Horatio noticed.
"Eric," he answered, "is everything okay?"
"No," Eric confessed. "I'm at the hospital with Marisol."
"Why didn't you call me?" Horatio asked immediately. His concern for his player grew with every breath he took.
"Sorry, H. I didn't think of it," Eric apologized. "It just...went so quick."
Horatio nodded, even if Eric couldn't see him. "I expect to see you tomorrow morning," he said. "And, Eric? Call me if you need anything, or if you want to talk to someone."
"Thanks," Eric answered after a short pause. "I'll be there tomorrow, I promise."
"I hope so," Horatio said softly before ending the call.
• New York: Danny Messer (forward, #40), Don Flack (goal, #30)
"Duck!" Danny yelled loudly, and instinctively, the man in front of him crouched down, minimizing the risk of getting hit.
Danny bit his lip as he quickly moved forwards, his muscles burning and his shoulders tensing in expectation of the hit.
While he moved, he knew that he wasn't going to be fast enough.
The puck bounced off Don's pads and quickly got covered by the goalie's glove.
Don laughed as Danny came to a stop in front of him. "Duck?" he teased and straightened. "Is that your great plan? Just yell that at Stokes?"
Danny bent over, his hands on his knees, and tried to calm his breathing. "It worked," he said with a small smirk. "You ducked."
Don laughed. "I still stopped it," he answered. "So you failed."
"I what?"
"Lunch is on you," Don informed him and pushed the puck towards Dean.
"Wait a minute!" Danny yelped. "Two out of three!"
Don only laughed.
~~~
The game was sold out. The arena was expected to be full. Fans of both teams started counting down the days.
It was almost time.
...
Author: Kathie
Series: Ice&Lines
Fandoms: CSI:NY, CSI:Miami, CSI:Las Vegas, Stargate:Atlantis, Stargate:SG1 (mentioned), Criminal Minds, NCIS, Numb3rs
Rating: FRM
Warnings: Multi-fandom hockey AU. Some spoilers for SGA: Sunday, CSI:LV Fannysmacking, CSI:MI: Nailed, CSI:NY Charge of this Post
Disclaimer: Not mine and not even my fault.
Beta: Ginny. Love you lots and lots and lots. Thanks for help and hand-holding.
Summary: The quest for the game continues.
Author’s Notes: To my two wonderful co-authors, Dee and Ginny. I love you two, and when I’m back, I’m going to poke for more v-and-ww-fic, okay?
Title from a song from The Beatles, of course.
This is the same ‘verse like “Taking Off"
• Miami: John Sheppard (forward, #20), Greg Sanders (forward, #22), Ronon Dex (forward, # 14)
Greg fidgeted and rubbed his sweaty palms over his pants. He didn’t want to be here
– he knew he was responsible for a man’s death, and being here, at court, only made it so much worse. It didn’t make things right.
Being cornered by the press and the dead man’s family afterwards didn’t help, either.
He swallowed as questions were shouted at him, together with accusations. He was sweating, his mind was suddenly blank. There was only one thing he could think of right now.
Demetrius James.
The name of the man he’d killed.
Demetrius James.
Again and again.
He couldn’t escape it. Even if he managed to escape the press, he couldn’t escape the images in his head, the name. He was pretty sure that it would stay with him for the rest of his life.
“Back off! Leave the man alone,” a loud voice suddenly called out. An arm was thrown around Greg’s shoulders, and he was pulled against a strong, familiar body.
He managed to take a breath of relief before the questions started up again –
“Mr. Sheppard…” – “Mr. Sanders...”
It was loud enough to form a wall of sound. He couldn’t make out single questions or even words. The flashes from the cameras blinded him, and if not for the arm pinning him down, he would have turned around to run away.
"Are you trying to intimidate the family of my client? They suffered a tremendous loss when their son and brother died in that attack in which Mr. Sanders was involved, and now you're threatening them?" a voice suddenly called out, louder than the others, or maybe the speaker was just closer than the reporters.
"All I'm saying," John answered slowly, calmly, "is that this was not Greg's fault, not at all."
Ronon only nodded and tightened his grip on Greg.
"You okay?" he asked gruffly and nudged Greg. Greg swallowed and nodded. He didn't trust his voice, but that was okay. Ronon understood him nonetheless. Another nudge against his shoulder, and Ronon quietly took a step forwards to protect the smaller man from the bright flashes of the reporters' cameras.
"Let's get outta here," John muttered and half dragged, half pushed Greg towards his car. "Come on." His cell phone rang, and John pulled it out of the inner pocket of his jacket while slipping on his sunglasses.
"Yeah?" His face scrunched up in confusion. "McKay, is that you?" He stopped. "Why are you calling me?"
Rodney told him, and John wordlessly tossed Ronon his car keys. "I'll call you back," he promised and snapped his phone shut. "Your place," he told Ronon and climbed into the car.
Ronon raised an eyebrow, but he didn't comment on Shep's unusual behavior. He waited until Greg had climbed into the back of the car before speeding off.
They drove in deafening silence for a few minutes. Finally John sighed and pulled his cell phone back out. "Teyla," he greeted. "Sorry, did I interrupt something?" He looked out of the window. "Rodney called me." He swallowed. "There was an accident."
He did his best to ignore the glance both Ronon and Greg threw in his direction. "It's Carson," he explained, his voice thick with something he refused to acknowledge. "He's dead."
• New York: Sam Winchester (defense, #7), Danny Messer (forward, #40)
“Sam!”
Danny grinned. “Is that coffee?” he asked, nodding towards the cup Sam was holding.
“Yeah,” Sam nodded and took a sip. “What are you doing here already?”
Danny shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep well, decided to come a bit earlier,” he explained. “Want to try beating the goalie?”
Sam laughed. "Let me check that Dean didn't fall asleep tying his skates," he answered. "I don't know when exactly he went to bed last night."
Danny dug the toe of his left skate into the ice. "You really should get yourself your own place," he said. "Aren't you sick of sleeping on your brother's couch?"
Sam shrugged. "Not really," he said quietly and dropped his bag from his shoulder to the ground. "After what happened to Jess..." He stopped himself and shook his head. "It's okay. Dean...he's Dean." It was as if that explained it all, and, Danny thought, maybe it did. Sam hadn’t been the same since the tragic fire in which his girlfriend had died, and if living with his brother helped him, Danny couldn’t argue against it, even if the brothers could annoy the whole team with their bickering and mock fighting. One thing was for sure, things never were boring with both Winchesters around.
He patted Sam's shoulder briefly. Despite being on skates, he still was smaller than Sam was, and he did his best to hide his annoyance about that.
"I let you wake up Dean," he said instead.
Sam nodded, picked up his bag and headed towards the locker room. Danny, on the other hand, tightened his grip on his stick and picked up the puck.
He wanted to score on this goalie, after all.
• Miami: Nick Stokes (goal, #30)
Nick sighed as he left his home to drive to the rink. It was strange, he thought, that he didn’t mind being the center of attention while on the ice, but as soon as he left, he felt as if someone was watching him.
He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder as he slowly made his way to his car. He was getting paranoid. Nigel Crane, his stalker, was in prison, he was safe.
He was okay.
He switched on the radio and sang along while driving. It helped to distract him. And if he checked his rearview mirror every now and then, it wasn’t because he was afraid that someone was still following him – it was just because he was a careful and responsible driver.
He managed to smile and wave at Ryan, their rookie, when he arrived, and exchange a few words with Warrick, but before he pulled his bag out of his trunk to follow them inside, he had to stop and take a few deep breaths.
• New York: Sam Winchester, (defense, #7), Dean Winchester (forward, #33), Tony DiNozzo (forward, #13)
"Dean?" Sam poked his brother in the ribs. "Dean!"
Dean didn't answer, and Sam turned around with a roll of his eyes. "He really fell asleep," he exclaimed, disbelief written all over his face. "I can't believe this!"
They had come in together, and while Dean had disappeared in the locker room to get changed, Sam had hunted down coffee and had talked briefly to Danny.
"Can't believe what?" Tony asked as he passed by, his eyes gleaming dangerously. His limp was more pronounced, Sam noticed, and he wondered briefly if Tony would end up not playing against Miami. That would be bad – they needed Tony’s skills.
"He really fell asleep tying his skates," Sam explained with a shake of his head.
Tony blinked. "He did what? -- You think he can score a goal while asleep?"
Sam shot him a glare and poked Dean again. "I really don't know what he did last night...“ he muttered. “Dean!”
Dean jerked awake with a muttered curse. “What?”
“You fell asleep,” Tony laughed and patted Dean’s shoulder. “Wild night?”
Dean only smirked and finished pulling on his gear and practice jersey, pretending not to notice Sam’s expression and Tony’s wide grin.
• Miami: Horatio Caine (head coach), Eric Delko (defense, #17)
Horatio frowned slightly. Practice had started twenty minutes ago; and yet Eric wasn't there. Horatio was aware of the younger man's family troubles, but that did not excuse him from not attending practice. They had a very important game to look forward to, after all.
Hands pushed into his hips, he surveyed the players on the ice in front of him. Nick was laughing about something Warrick had said. Teyla was standing next to them, a strand of her hair falling into her face as she bowed her head to hide a smile.
Calleigh, Don and John stood together with Frank, talking quietly. Speed and Ryan were passing the puck between them, a look of concentration on both their faces. Greg and Ronon were doing the same. Derek was sprawled at center ice, watching his teammates and commenting every now and then on something they said or did.
Eric still wasn't here.
Horatio's frown deepened. He caught Frank's look and nodded once - the two of them had worked together for so long now, they often didn't need words to communicate.
Frank nodded back and returned his attention to the three players in front of him before lifting the whistle and continuing with the drills they had been running.
Horatio stepped outside and pulled his cell phone from his pocket.
No calls.
Doing his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, he pressed a few buttons and tried to call Eric.
"H, I tried to call you at home," Eric's voice greeted him a few moments later. He sounded tired, Horatio noticed.
"Eric," he answered, "is everything okay?"
"No," Eric confessed. "I'm at the hospital with Marisol."
"Why didn't you call me?" Horatio asked immediately. His concern for his player grew with every breath he took.
"Sorry, H. I didn't think of it," Eric apologized. "It just...went so quick."
Horatio nodded, even if Eric couldn't see him. "I expect to see you tomorrow morning," he said. "And, Eric? Call me if you need anything, or if you want to talk to someone."
"Thanks," Eric answered after a short pause. "I'll be there tomorrow, I promise."
"I hope so," Horatio said softly before ending the call.
• New York: Danny Messer (forward, #40), Don Flack (goal, #30)
"Duck!" Danny yelled loudly, and instinctively, the man in front of him crouched down, minimizing the risk of getting hit.
Danny bit his lip as he quickly moved forwards, his muscles burning and his shoulders tensing in expectation of the hit.
While he moved, he knew that he wasn't going to be fast enough.
The puck bounced off Don's pads and quickly got covered by the goalie's glove.
Don laughed as Danny came to a stop in front of him. "Duck?" he teased and straightened. "Is that your great plan? Just yell that at Stokes?"
Danny bent over, his hands on his knees, and tried to calm his breathing. "It worked," he said with a small smirk. "You ducked."
Don laughed. "I still stopped it," he answered. "So you failed."
"I what?"
"Lunch is on you," Don informed him and pushed the puck towards Dean.
"Wait a minute!" Danny yelped. "Two out of three!"
Don only laughed.
~~~
The game was sold out. The arena was expected to be full. Fans of both teams started counting down the days.
It was almost time.
...