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kathierif_ficTitle: Get Ready For This
Author: Kathie
Fandoms: CSINY, CSIMiami, Supernatural, Criminal Minds, Stargate Atlantis
Rating: FRT-13
Disclaimer: Not of mine, none of it.
Summary: They’re getting closer to the game. And yet – there still are enough problems for everyone around…can they overcome these difficulties?
Author’s Notes: Part of the Ice&Lines Playground AU. This is the second to last part that is structured like this. Afterwards, it either dies or gets better, promise. For Ginny.
***
• New York: Aaron Hotchner (forward, #24)
Aaron smiled, helmet, stick and gloves lying forgotten on the ice behind him. Cradled against his chest was his son.
The baby appeared to be even smaller than it was, held like this. It had grabbed Aaron's jersey with small fists and was fussing a bit.
Haley smiled indulgantly at her husband. She, too, seemed smaller next to him, but years of being married to a professional hockey player had given her the experience to deal with the difference in height whenever he was on skates.
"You look tense," Stella teased with a small smile. Aaron smiled at Jack. "I am," he admitted. "She," he nodded towards his wife, "is the professional here."
Haley laughed. "Come on," she said and held out her arms to take the baby back. "Let Daddy get back to work."
"He really is adorable," Lorne said with a soft grin.
"Thank you," Haley answered and shifted the baby to one arm.
"All right," Aaron interrupted and leaned down to kiss her softly. "I'll talk to you later."
"Yeah, see you later," she answered and stepped back.
"Bye, Haley," Stella waved, and the other teammembers assembled around them quickly echoed the sentiment.
"Okay, everybody!" Stella called out. "Let's go!"
Hotch smiled as he bent down to pick up his discarded equipment. When he straightened again and put his helmet back on, the smile had disappeared from his face.
• Miami: Horatio Caine (coach), Calleigh Duquesne (forward, #21)
After his phone conversation with Eric, Horatio slowly made his way back to the ice. They needed to find something they could do to help Eric - but he just didn't know what. Sadly, there was no way he could stop Marisol Delko's illness.
Calleigh skated over to him. "Is Eric okay?" she wanted to know.
Horatio nodded. "He's with Marisol."
Calleigh echoed his nod. She knew about Marisol, and she also knew what family meant to Eric. Eric, Calleigh and Speed - Horatio smiled slightly. The three of them had been the core of this team for several years now. They were more than teammates - they were friends, if not family, and their concern for each other was more than understandable.
He waved Frank's concern off with an almost non-perceptible shake of his head. They could always worry about this after practice. Right now, he had other things to concentrate on. The game against the New York team was not far away, and Horatio knew that the other team was good and had the depth and strength to beat Miami.
He was looking forward to this game. The better team would win -
- and he was determined to make sure that his was the better team.
• New York: Dean Winchester (forward, #33), Sam Winchester (defense, #7), Danny Messer (forward, #40), Don Flack (goal, #30), Marty Pino (defense, #55), Radek Zelenka (goal, #39)
"Dean, it's not food anymore when it starts moving again!" Sam cried out in frustration as he entered the locker room.
Dean, who followed him, smirked. "Ask Danny about that," he suggested. "He eats everything that can't run fast enough."
"Funny," Danny snorted and pulled his jersey on.
"But true," Don added.
"You shut up," Danny shot back. "You'd eat anything, as long as there's enough sugar in it. It's a miracle that you stay that thin."
"Jealous, Messer?" Marty joined the teasing as he folded his football jersey carefully and picked up his hockey jersey.
"Ha!" Danny dismissed.
"You gain a few pounds," Marty mused. "You'd be known as Messer, the human cannon ball. Nobody can stop him."
"Now who is jealous that he can't keep up with Danny?" Don laughed.
"Can you even skate?" Marty asked him with a grin.
Radek looked up. "Goalies are best skaters on ice," he explained.
• New York: Danny Messer (forward, #40), Don Flack (goal, #30), Rodney McKay (defense, #27), Sheldon Hawkes (defense, #8)
"Speedle?" Danny snorted. "He thinks he's god and can walk on water or something."
Rodney opened his mouth, but he was beaten by Hawkes, who chuckled. "Technically, he is."
"He's what?" Danny asked back and frowned in confusion.
"Walking on water...we all do." Rodney rolled his eyes. "Actually, it's not that compli..." He shut up when a towel was tossed at his head.
"It's perfect for Caine," Danny muttered and pulled off his right skate. "He's just standing around and staring at things, and every now and then, he's opening his mouth..." The rest of the sentence was unintelligible through the material of the jersey he pulled over his head. "He's not doing anything at all," he finished and continued undressing.
"He wasn't always like that," Hawkes added from the other side of the room. "He was pretty good when he was younger."
"And he got worse and worse over the years," Don added and scrubbed his hands through his hair. "But, he isn't our problem."
"Who wears sunglasses to a game?" Danny asked with an eye roll. "There's no sun inside the building! Not even in Miami! That's just...arrogance!"
"That's just his style. He always had this tic, with his glasses. That's nothing new," Sheldon shrugged. "And what is your problem with Caine, anyways?"
"I don't have a problem," Danny defended himself. "I'm just sayin'."
"He's just angry at himself," Don laughed and leaned over to squeeze Danny's knee briefly. "Don't mind him."
• Miami: Tim Speedle (forward, #55)
“Mr. Speedle!”
Tim stopped short and frowned, but he waited for the young woman to catch up with him. She looked at him with a bright smile. “Can I have your autograph?”
“Sure,” Tim answered and took the pen she handed him. “What’s your name?”
“Cookie Devine,” she answered with a smile. “I’m an actress.”
Speed raised an eyebrow as he obediently scribbled his name on a piece of paper. He had a pretty good idea what kind of actress she was.
“Thank you, Mr. Speedle,” she said with an adoring look and took pen and paper from him.
“Welcome,” he answered.
She hesitated. “Would you…I mean…would you like to go for a drink, sometime?”
Speed hesitated. He didn’t really want to, but that had nothing to do with her, it was just that he didn’t want to go out, but he couldn’t think of a smooth and elegant way to tell her. “Er…” he started and pushed both hands deep in his pockets. “I can’t.”
She pouted playfully. “Why not?”
Speed squirmed slightly. “The game…” He shrugged. “Sorry.”
She nodded and pulled a card from her purse. “If you change your mind, give me a call,” she smiled and walked off.
Speed looked at the card – it said “Sara Piper” – and then after her and shook his head in disbelief.
People…
• New York: Dean Winchester (forward, #33), Sam Winchester (defense, #7)
The phone rung two times before it was picked up.
“Yeah? Dean here,” Dean’s voice said, in a perfect mixture of annoyance and expectation.
She smiled. “It’s me. Can you talk?”
“Not for long,” he answered. “Sammy’s in the shower.”
“Okay,” she smiled and relaxed back into the pillows on her bed. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah,” he admitted. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she answered. “How about you?”
“Yeah,” he repeated. “It’s fun. You should see the m&ms yelling at each other just because of the wrong jersey or what.”
He fell quiet for a moment. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” she sighed. “Nothing we can do about that right now, right? You have your job, I have mine. And three days from now, we’ll see each other anyways.”
“Yeah, but I still miss you,” Dean stubbornly repeated.
He could almost see her smile when she said: “I love you.”
“This is such a chickflick moment,” he groused. “But I love you too.” He sighed. “I’ve got to go, seems like Sammy’s done.”
“You should probably encourage him to get back on his own feet,” she advised, even if she knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t. She knew Dean. For him, there was nothing more important than Sam.
“Although, on second thought,” she added with a grin, “I’m looking forward to finally meet him. Really meet him.”
Dean laughed quietly. “After the game, maybe,” he answered. “Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I’ll make him go grocery shopping.”
She laughed. “And he’s going to do that, just like that?” she asked, disbelief coloring her voice.
Dean smirked. “I let him drive the Impala.”
“Okay,” she said with a chuckle. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow then. Bye, Dean.”
His answer was barely audible. “Bye.”
Dean disconnected the call and looked up just in time to see the bathroom door open and Sam emerge in a cloud of steam.
“Who was that?” Sam asked.
Dean smirked. “A fan,” he said. “Met her a while ago. Long, blonde hair, and those legs…to die for, I tell you, Sammy…”
Sam shook his head and tried to comb his hair with his fingers without much success. “You still look like a Sasquatch,” Dean informed him and rose from the couch. “I’m gonna take a shower. You can make dinner.”
Sam stared after him for a moment longer, but to Dean’s surprise, he didn’t argue back. He just nodded, and when Dean closed the door after himself, he slowly made his way to the kitchen.
Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He couldn’t wait for this game, important as it was, to be over.
Two more days.
Sam was lost in thoughts as he sorted through pots and pans in preparation of dinner. Dean was obviously keeping something from him, he was sure about that, and what he’d heard from the phone conversation didn’t sound like he was dealing with a fan, no matter what she looked like.
He would find out, he promised himself. If this was important enough for Dean to talk in that tone of voice with someone, and try to keep it under wraps, then it was important enough to find out what it was. Dean wouldn’t be able to keep this secret for forever. Sam would find out, and if only to keep his brother safe from insane and obsessive fans.
Dean had always been there for him, after all, all his life, ever since their mother had died. Sam didn’t remember their mother at all, but he remembered that he could always trust Dean to be there for him. When Sam had played in California and had broken his hand, Dean had been there for him. When Jess had died in that fire and his whole apartment had burned down two years ago, Dean had been there for him too. When their father had died a year later, Sam had already lived with Dean, but Dean, despite his own grief, had been there for Sam.
Sam sighed. Thinking about the past, about Jess, still hurt, even now, almost two years later. Two years of living on Dean’s couch, or, to be more exact, in the small guestroom in Dean’s apartment. He still couldn’t stand the thought of getting his own place again. The memories were still too painful.
Sam shook his head to clear it, and yelped in pained surprise when his absent-mindedness and the distraction of his memories caused the sharp knife to slip and slice along his hand.
He bit back a curse and started to wrap a clean kitchen towel around his hand.
“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked from behind him.
“Yeah,” Sam answered through clenched teeth, “just a cut.”
“Let me see,” Dean ordered and grabbed Sam’s wrist. “Do you need to go to the ER?”
“No,” Sam declined and leaned against the counter as Dean inspected the wound, dug out the first-aid kit and started to clean the cut. It didn’t matter if it was something small and unimportant as a cut, or something more severe like a trade or serious injury, or death, Dean was always there for him.
Maybe it was time for Sam to repay the favor and find out who this fan was and what their intentions with his brother were.
Dean looked up from his hand and grinned. “Take-out?” he suggested, and Sam could only nod.
• New York: Mac Taylor, LJ Gibbs
“Gibbs,” Mac frowned slightly. “Are you collaborating with the enemy?”
Gibbs snorted softly and leaned back in his seat. “I’m not collaborating with any enemy,” he answered and took a sip of his coffee. “I haven’t talked to Red in a few weeks now.”
“Why not?” Mac asked and raised an eyebrow.
Gibbs laughed. “There will be time for that, after the game,” he answered with a twinkle. “And you better not try to wake me up tonight to talk about the best strategy to play against this team.”
Mac laughed too. “I won’t, I promise,” he said. “The game will be over. Besides, Peyton will be there.”
Gibbs nodded and took another sip. “Good,” he simply said.
“Why’s that?” Mac asked and risked a glance over his shoulder, but his team was either asleep or quietly keeping busy.
Gibbs turned to stare at his old friend. “She’s good for you,” he simply said and emptied the cup. “You should try to keep her around.”
Mac shifted slightly in his seat. “I accidentally called her Claire the other day,” he said and turned away to look out of the window. “She didn’t take that too well.”
Gibbs chuckled. “What do you mean, she didn’t take that too well?”
“She turned and left,” Mac answered with a sigh.
“It could be worse.”
“Yeah? Like what?” Mac raised an amused eyebrow.
Gibbs shrugged and stretched his legs out. “She could’ve come after you with a baseball bat.”
Mac looked at him for a moment before adding: “Or a golf club.”
“Or a hockey stick,” Gibbs nodded.
Mac frowned. “None of your wives hit you with a hockey stick.”
“No,” Gibbs answered with a soft smile. “But Red did. Back in the day.”
Mac shook his head bemusedly. “You’re either a masochist, or you got hit by too many pucks in your active time,” he teased.
Gibbs just laughed and closed his eyes.
• Miami: Ryan Wolfe (forward, #18)
Ryan frowned in concentration as he stared at the wall opposite his locker. He could make out the words written there, he knew he could. His eye had healed enough after he had been injured that he could play the next day. He knew he could.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly. He was aware of the risks, but he wanted to play hockey. It was all he’d ever wanted. Horatio Caine had given him the chance to live that dream, and Ryan was determined to prove to his coach that it had been the right decision.
There was only one good thing that had come from this injury, he thought bitterly and kicked at the floor. Eric Delko had actually been nice too him.
Ryan sighed. He didn’t know why Eric hated him so much. It hadn’t been his fault that the refs had given him the goal Eric had scored. Everybody knew that Eric had scored it, after all. And the most important thing was that they had won the game, so Ryan didn’t quite understand what Delko was complaining about.
And yet, since that game, Eric hadn’t talked to him without adding hurtful or snarky comments, and Ryan could only guess how the other man talked about him behind his back.
He took a deep breath and looked up again. If he could make out the words on the wall, he could play again.
He would play.
...
Author: Kathie
Fandoms: CSINY, CSIMiami, Supernatural, Criminal Minds, Stargate Atlantis
Rating: FRT-13
Disclaimer: Not of mine, none of it.
Summary: They’re getting closer to the game. And yet – there still are enough problems for everyone around…can they overcome these difficulties?
Author’s Notes: Part of the Ice&Lines Playground AU. This is the second to last part that is structured like this. Afterwards, it either dies or gets better, promise. For Ginny.
***
• New York: Aaron Hotchner (forward, #24)
Aaron smiled, helmet, stick and gloves lying forgotten on the ice behind him. Cradled against his chest was his son.
The baby appeared to be even smaller than it was, held like this. It had grabbed Aaron's jersey with small fists and was fussing a bit.
Haley smiled indulgantly at her husband. She, too, seemed smaller next to him, but years of being married to a professional hockey player had given her the experience to deal with the difference in height whenever he was on skates.
"You look tense," Stella teased with a small smile. Aaron smiled at Jack. "I am," he admitted. "She," he nodded towards his wife, "is the professional here."
Haley laughed. "Come on," she said and held out her arms to take the baby back. "Let Daddy get back to work."
"He really is adorable," Lorne said with a soft grin.
"Thank you," Haley answered and shifted the baby to one arm.
"All right," Aaron interrupted and leaned down to kiss her softly. "I'll talk to you later."
"Yeah, see you later," she answered and stepped back.
"Bye, Haley," Stella waved, and the other teammembers assembled around them quickly echoed the sentiment.
"Okay, everybody!" Stella called out. "Let's go!"
Hotch smiled as he bent down to pick up his discarded equipment. When he straightened again and put his helmet back on, the smile had disappeared from his face.
• Miami: Horatio Caine (coach), Calleigh Duquesne (forward, #21)
After his phone conversation with Eric, Horatio slowly made his way back to the ice. They needed to find something they could do to help Eric - but he just didn't know what. Sadly, there was no way he could stop Marisol Delko's illness.
Calleigh skated over to him. "Is Eric okay?" she wanted to know.
Horatio nodded. "He's with Marisol."
Calleigh echoed his nod. She knew about Marisol, and she also knew what family meant to Eric. Eric, Calleigh and Speed - Horatio smiled slightly. The three of them had been the core of this team for several years now. They were more than teammates - they were friends, if not family, and their concern for each other was more than understandable.
He waved Frank's concern off with an almost non-perceptible shake of his head. They could always worry about this after practice. Right now, he had other things to concentrate on. The game against the New York team was not far away, and Horatio knew that the other team was good and had the depth and strength to beat Miami.
He was looking forward to this game. The better team would win -
- and he was determined to make sure that his was the better team.
• New York: Dean Winchester (forward, #33), Sam Winchester (defense, #7), Danny Messer (forward, #40), Don Flack (goal, #30), Marty Pino (defense, #55), Radek Zelenka (goal, #39)
"Dean, it's not food anymore when it starts moving again!" Sam cried out in frustration as he entered the locker room.
Dean, who followed him, smirked. "Ask Danny about that," he suggested. "He eats everything that can't run fast enough."
"Funny," Danny snorted and pulled his jersey on.
"But true," Don added.
"You shut up," Danny shot back. "You'd eat anything, as long as there's enough sugar in it. It's a miracle that you stay that thin."
"Jealous, Messer?" Marty joined the teasing as he folded his football jersey carefully and picked up his hockey jersey.
"Ha!" Danny dismissed.
"You gain a few pounds," Marty mused. "You'd be known as Messer, the human cannon ball. Nobody can stop him."
"Now who is jealous that he can't keep up with Danny?" Don laughed.
"Can you even skate?" Marty asked him with a grin.
Radek looked up. "Goalies are best skaters on ice," he explained.
• New York: Danny Messer (forward, #40), Don Flack (goal, #30), Rodney McKay (defense, #27), Sheldon Hawkes (defense, #8)
"Speedle?" Danny snorted. "He thinks he's god and can walk on water or something."
Rodney opened his mouth, but he was beaten by Hawkes, who chuckled. "Technically, he is."
"He's what?" Danny asked back and frowned in confusion.
"Walking on water...we all do." Rodney rolled his eyes. "Actually, it's not that compli..." He shut up when a towel was tossed at his head.
"It's perfect for Caine," Danny muttered and pulled off his right skate. "He's just standing around and staring at things, and every now and then, he's opening his mouth..." The rest of the sentence was unintelligible through the material of the jersey he pulled over his head. "He's not doing anything at all," he finished and continued undressing.
"He wasn't always like that," Hawkes added from the other side of the room. "He was pretty good when he was younger."
"And he got worse and worse over the years," Don added and scrubbed his hands through his hair. "But, he isn't our problem."
"Who wears sunglasses to a game?" Danny asked with an eye roll. "There's no sun inside the building! Not even in Miami! That's just...arrogance!"
"That's just his style. He always had this tic, with his glasses. That's nothing new," Sheldon shrugged. "And what is your problem with Caine, anyways?"
"I don't have a problem," Danny defended himself. "I'm just sayin'."
"He's just angry at himself," Don laughed and leaned over to squeeze Danny's knee briefly. "Don't mind him."
• Miami: Tim Speedle (forward, #55)
“Mr. Speedle!”
Tim stopped short and frowned, but he waited for the young woman to catch up with him. She looked at him with a bright smile. “Can I have your autograph?”
“Sure,” Tim answered and took the pen she handed him. “What’s your name?”
“Cookie Devine,” she answered with a smile. “I’m an actress.”
Speed raised an eyebrow as he obediently scribbled his name on a piece of paper. He had a pretty good idea what kind of actress she was.
“Thank you, Mr. Speedle,” she said with an adoring look and took pen and paper from him.
“Welcome,” he answered.
She hesitated. “Would you…I mean…would you like to go for a drink, sometime?”
Speed hesitated. He didn’t really want to, but that had nothing to do with her, it was just that he didn’t want to go out, but he couldn’t think of a smooth and elegant way to tell her. “Er…” he started and pushed both hands deep in his pockets. “I can’t.”
She pouted playfully. “Why not?”
Speed squirmed slightly. “The game…” He shrugged. “Sorry.”
She nodded and pulled a card from her purse. “If you change your mind, give me a call,” she smiled and walked off.
Speed looked at the card – it said “Sara Piper” – and then after her and shook his head in disbelief.
People…
• New York: Dean Winchester (forward, #33), Sam Winchester (defense, #7)
The phone rung two times before it was picked up.
“Yeah? Dean here,” Dean’s voice said, in a perfect mixture of annoyance and expectation.
She smiled. “It’s me. Can you talk?”
“Not for long,” he answered. “Sammy’s in the shower.”
“Okay,” she smiled and relaxed back into the pillows on her bed. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah,” he admitted. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she answered. “How about you?”
“Yeah,” he repeated. “It’s fun. You should see the m&ms yelling at each other just because of the wrong jersey or what.”
He fell quiet for a moment. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” she sighed. “Nothing we can do about that right now, right? You have your job, I have mine. And three days from now, we’ll see each other anyways.”
“Yeah, but I still miss you,” Dean stubbornly repeated.
He could almost see her smile when she said: “I love you.”
“This is such a chickflick moment,” he groused. “But I love you too.” He sighed. “I’ve got to go, seems like Sammy’s done.”
“You should probably encourage him to get back on his own feet,” she advised, even if she knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t. She knew Dean. For him, there was nothing more important than Sam.
“Although, on second thought,” she added with a grin, “I’m looking forward to finally meet him. Really meet him.”
Dean laughed quietly. “After the game, maybe,” he answered. “Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I’ll make him go grocery shopping.”
She laughed. “And he’s going to do that, just like that?” she asked, disbelief coloring her voice.
Dean smirked. “I let him drive the Impala.”
“Okay,” she said with a chuckle. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow then. Bye, Dean.”
His answer was barely audible. “Bye.”
Dean disconnected the call and looked up just in time to see the bathroom door open and Sam emerge in a cloud of steam.
“Who was that?” Sam asked.
Dean smirked. “A fan,” he said. “Met her a while ago. Long, blonde hair, and those legs…to die for, I tell you, Sammy…”
Sam shook his head and tried to comb his hair with his fingers without much success. “You still look like a Sasquatch,” Dean informed him and rose from the couch. “I’m gonna take a shower. You can make dinner.”
Sam stared after him for a moment longer, but to Dean’s surprise, he didn’t argue back. He just nodded, and when Dean closed the door after himself, he slowly made his way to the kitchen.
Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He couldn’t wait for this game, important as it was, to be over.
Two more days.
Sam was lost in thoughts as he sorted through pots and pans in preparation of dinner. Dean was obviously keeping something from him, he was sure about that, and what he’d heard from the phone conversation didn’t sound like he was dealing with a fan, no matter what she looked like.
He would find out, he promised himself. If this was important enough for Dean to talk in that tone of voice with someone, and try to keep it under wraps, then it was important enough to find out what it was. Dean wouldn’t be able to keep this secret for forever. Sam would find out, and if only to keep his brother safe from insane and obsessive fans.
Dean had always been there for him, after all, all his life, ever since their mother had died. Sam didn’t remember their mother at all, but he remembered that he could always trust Dean to be there for him. When Sam had played in California and had broken his hand, Dean had been there for him. When Jess had died in that fire and his whole apartment had burned down two years ago, Dean had been there for him too. When their father had died a year later, Sam had already lived with Dean, but Dean, despite his own grief, had been there for Sam.
Sam sighed. Thinking about the past, about Jess, still hurt, even now, almost two years later. Two years of living on Dean’s couch, or, to be more exact, in the small guestroom in Dean’s apartment. He still couldn’t stand the thought of getting his own place again. The memories were still too painful.
Sam shook his head to clear it, and yelped in pained surprise when his absent-mindedness and the distraction of his memories caused the sharp knife to slip and slice along his hand.
He bit back a curse and started to wrap a clean kitchen towel around his hand.
“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked from behind him.
“Yeah,” Sam answered through clenched teeth, “just a cut.”
“Let me see,” Dean ordered and grabbed Sam’s wrist. “Do you need to go to the ER?”
“No,” Sam declined and leaned against the counter as Dean inspected the wound, dug out the first-aid kit and started to clean the cut. It didn’t matter if it was something small and unimportant as a cut, or something more severe like a trade or serious injury, or death, Dean was always there for him.
Maybe it was time for Sam to repay the favor and find out who this fan was and what their intentions with his brother were.
Dean looked up from his hand and grinned. “Take-out?” he suggested, and Sam could only nod.
• New York: Mac Taylor, LJ Gibbs
“Gibbs,” Mac frowned slightly. “Are you collaborating with the enemy?”
Gibbs snorted softly and leaned back in his seat. “I’m not collaborating with any enemy,” he answered and took a sip of his coffee. “I haven’t talked to Red in a few weeks now.”
“Why not?” Mac asked and raised an eyebrow.
Gibbs laughed. “There will be time for that, after the game,” he answered with a twinkle. “And you better not try to wake me up tonight to talk about the best strategy to play against this team.”
Mac laughed too. “I won’t, I promise,” he said. “The game will be over. Besides, Peyton will be there.”
Gibbs nodded and took another sip. “Good,” he simply said.
“Why’s that?” Mac asked and risked a glance over his shoulder, but his team was either asleep or quietly keeping busy.
Gibbs turned to stare at his old friend. “She’s good for you,” he simply said and emptied the cup. “You should try to keep her around.”
Mac shifted slightly in his seat. “I accidentally called her Claire the other day,” he said and turned away to look out of the window. “She didn’t take that too well.”
Gibbs chuckled. “What do you mean, she didn’t take that too well?”
“She turned and left,” Mac answered with a sigh.
“It could be worse.”
“Yeah? Like what?” Mac raised an amused eyebrow.
Gibbs shrugged and stretched his legs out. “She could’ve come after you with a baseball bat.”
Mac looked at him for a moment before adding: “Or a golf club.”
“Or a hockey stick,” Gibbs nodded.
Mac frowned. “None of your wives hit you with a hockey stick.”
“No,” Gibbs answered with a soft smile. “But Red did. Back in the day.”
Mac shook his head bemusedly. “You’re either a masochist, or you got hit by too many pucks in your active time,” he teased.
Gibbs just laughed and closed his eyes.
• Miami: Ryan Wolfe (forward, #18)
Ryan frowned in concentration as he stared at the wall opposite his locker. He could make out the words written there, he knew he could. His eye had healed enough after he had been injured that he could play the next day. He knew he could.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly. He was aware of the risks, but he wanted to play hockey. It was all he’d ever wanted. Horatio Caine had given him the chance to live that dream, and Ryan was determined to prove to his coach that it had been the right decision.
There was only one good thing that had come from this injury, he thought bitterly and kicked at the floor. Eric Delko had actually been nice too him.
Ryan sighed. He didn’t know why Eric hated him so much. It hadn’t been his fault that the refs had given him the goal Eric had scored. Everybody knew that Eric had scored it, after all. And the most important thing was that they had won the game, so Ryan didn’t quite understand what Delko was complaining about.
And yet, since that game, Eric hadn’t talked to him without adding hurtful or snarky comments, and Ryan could only guess how the other man talked about him behind his back.
He took a deep breath and looked up again. If he could make out the words on the wall, he could play again.
He would play.
...