Fandom: Hockey

Rating: PG

Summary: Ty Conklin is depressed. Brian Pothier does his captainly duty.

Warnings: slash, silliness on the author's part, mentioned discrimination

A/N: This is the last one for the moment. It's set after the last home game of the play-offs. Binghamton was robbed of even a chance because of some terrible refereeing, and one irritable and irritating man chose to comment on Conklin's sexual orientation. This is my reply, I guess. Somewhat strangely, both of the featured players (Conklin and Poth) have since made their ways into the NHL. Conklin is an Oiler, and Poth proudly plays for Ottawa.

Disclaimer: I in no way, shape, or form, have any association whatsoever with these players except for the fact that I like to watch them play. This story in NO way depicts anything that has happened in real life. 'Nuff said.

Conklin leaned his head back, stretched out his legs, and wondered why he was sitting so disconsolately outside the locker room when his team had won the game. He closed his eyes and started to go back through the game. He’d only got about halfway through the first period when he was interrupted.

"Jesus!" someone exclaimed, stumbling over his legs. Conklin opened his eyes to see Brian Pothier, the Senator’s captain, stumbling around and trying to regain his balance. Conklin snickered, then clapped a hand over his mouth. That might not have been the smartest thing for him to do. This guy had just got robbed of even a decent chance at winning because of a shitty referee. The Senators were pissed: the two fights at the end of the game had shown that. They certainly didn’t need the opposing team’s goalie laughing at them as well.

To his surprise though, Pothier chuckled. "I guess that teaches me to not pay attention to where I’m going," he said ruefully, smiling.

Conklin didn’t smile back. "Sorry," he muttered.

"For what? The tripping or the game? Neither was your fault. Why are you out here anyway? Shouldn’t you be celebrating?"

Conklin ignored his question. "How can you be so calm? I’d be pissed if I were you."

"Because of the referee?"

Conklin nodded.

Pothier shrugged. "Things happen. You have to play on regardless. I think we battled well at the end, but could have played better to start with. It happens. It’s not your fault."

"Your fans didn’t seem to agree with that," Conklin said sullenly.

Pothier’s eyes widened. "So that’s what this is about."

"What is this about?" Conklin asked, frustrated.

"You’re upset about some of the stuff the fans were throwing out."

Remembering, Conklin growled. Yup, that was definitely what the problem was. "They had no right to say shit like that."

"It was just one obnoxious guy. You shouldn’t let it bother you."

Conklin didn’t respond. He couldn’t not be bothered. After all, wasn’t what they said true? Almost as if he could read Conklin’s mind, Pothier’s eyes widened again. "Oh," he said softly. "So that’s it."

Conklin felt fear run through him. "What’s it?" he whispered.

"You’re gay," said Pothier bluntly.

Conklin shot to his feet. "I’m not! I’m not! I swear to God I’m not!"

Pothier held up his hands. "Hey, calm down. It’s not that big a deal, and I don’t care either way. Half my team is gay."

Conklin looked at him disbelievingly. "You’re lying. You’re making fun of me."

"I’m not!"

"Then who?"

Pothier grinned. "Full list or edited version?"

"How about proof?"

Pothier considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Come on. We’ll spy on them as they leave the locker room."

Giving him no time to protest, Pothier grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the Senator’s locker room. Conklin let himself be led along, hoping it wasn’t a trap of some kind. The arena was deserted except for players now. Pothier led him up a short flight of stairs and then positioned him behind a dark curtain with a view of the locker room entrance.

They’d just barely got settled when two people exited the locker room. Conklin was fairly sure one was a defenseman, but he didn’t recognize the other. Conklin’s eyes widened as he noticed that they were holding hands.

"Schubert and Dahlman," Pothier whispered.

The two of them had only gotten a few feet when the door to the locker room opened again. Conklin recognized Dennis Bonvie, who’d gotten thrown out during the third period. Then he’d been scowling and arguing for all he was worth. Now he was grinning. Conklin couldn’t quite hear what he said, but judging by his hand gestures it was obviously obscene. Dahlman flipped him off and Conklin was sure all hell was about to break loose. To his surprise though, Bonvie just laughed. "Have a nice night," Bonvie called to the two of them before retreating to the locker room.

Conklin looked at Pothier with wide eyes. "I thought they were dead," he hissed.

Pothier grinned. "Make sure to pay close attention when Bonvie leaves, which should be soon. Speak of the devil. . ."

The door opened, and out walked Bonvie and another guy. Conklin thought his name was Melanson or something. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about them at first. Until Bonvie grabbed Melanson and claimed his mouth. Conklin watched spellbound as they literally seemed to devour each other. Finally, they pulled away just as Conklin became sure that he’d totally forgotten how to breathe. He was so caught up in learning how to again that he didn’t notice Pothier leaning over the rail to whistle at the two of them. Conklin shrunk back as the two of them looked up.

"Are you spying on us?" Bonvie asked. "I mean, I know we’re hot, but I never figured you for a voyeur."

"Whereas we all know you’re an exhibitionist."

"Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it."

Pothier rolled his eyes. "Too bad you haven’t got it."

"Hey, is that any way for our awesome supportive captain to be talking?"

Pothier shook his head. "Go home, Bonvie! You’re becoming incoherent."

Melanson leaned down to whisper something in Bonvie’s ear. Bonvie grinned evilly. "I’ll leave you to your voyeurism, Poth. I’ve got more important things to do."

Pothier snickered and watched them walk away. As soon as they vanished from sigh, Conklin turned to Pothier. "They...It..."

"Yeah."

"But..."

"Gay or bi does not equal wimp. I would think you would realize that."

Conklin used a massive effort to pull himself together. "I do. It was just a shock."

"I guess I can understand that. I mean, everyone in the locker room saw it coming since February, but for anyone else...Well, I can see how that’d be a surprise."

Conklin opened his mouth to say something, then shut it as Pothier waved a hand at him. He peeked out just in time to see a whole group of Senators come out, most of whom he recognized. In fact, there was only one that he didn’t know. He could easily identify Antoine Vermette, Alexandre Giroux, Bob Wren, Josh Langfeld, and Chris Kelly. After all, they’d all been coming at him like they were out for his blood instead of a goal tonight. It wasn’t that hard to remember them. He was pretty sure he’d noticed the other guy skating warm-ups, but he hadn’t seen him during the game.

Pothier leaned closer and whispered, "Brian McGrattan. Healthy scratch."

Conklin nodded, not taking his eyes off the scene in front of him. Langfeld and Kelly each had an arm around the other’s waist. Wren was leaning wearily on Giroux. Neither Vermette nor McGrattan seemed in the least bothered by these displays. In fact, they looked like they were teasing Langfeld and Kelly. First Vermette was making smooching noises at them. Then he started batting his eyes at McGrattan. "Oh Josh, whatever shall I do? The big, bad Bulldogs were pushing me around out there," Vermette said in a squeaky falsetto.

"I’ll protect you Chris-baby," replied McGrattan in a deep voice, playing along.

Wren shook his head at them. "I think you guys have it reversed."

"Yeah," chimed in Giroux. "Josh is much more a whiner than Chris."

"Hey!" objected Langfeld. "I am not!"

McGrattan snickered, patting Langfeld on the shoulder. "It’s ok, Josh. We all know that you’re the bitch in the relationship. There’s no need to deny it. You are whipped bad."

Langfeld sputtered. "I am not. You. . . He. . . I. . . God dammit! You’re such a-"

Kelly interrupted by pulling away. "I’m going this way," he said, heading for the stairs. Langfeld glared at McGrattan and then hurried to catch up.

Wren changed direction as well, pulling Giroux with him. "We’re gonna go this way too. See you guys."

Conklin froze, and then readied himself to bolt. They were coming right for them! Only Pothier’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. Then Kelly was in sight and it was too late anyway. Kelly stopped at the top of the stairs, taking in the scene. Langfeld nearly ran him over, then he stopped as well, eyes widening and mouth gaping.

Wren carefully guided Giroux around the two frozen men, and walked over to stand right in front of Conklin. "Hi, I’m Bob Wren. You’re Ty Conklin, right?"

Conklin nodded mutely.

"Nice to meet you," said Wren calmly.

His elbow spurred Giroux out of his shock, and Giroux smiled reflexively. "I'm Alexandre Giroux," he said, holding out his hand to shake. Conklin mechanically shook his hand, pasting a fake smile on his face.

Now Langfeld had recovered enough to return his arm to its position around Kelly’s waist, and the two of them moved forward. "Josh Langfeld," he said with a sincere-looking smile. Kelly nodded, but didn’t introduce himself.

"So what’s up, Poth?" inquired Wren.

"Just doing my captainly duty."

"To a guy from the other team?" Kelly asked quietly.

Pothier gave him a warning look. "Kelly..."

"Just commenting."

"You’re awfully defensive," commented Langfeld. "You’re acting like you have a crush or something."

"Hey, you’re right, Josh!" exclaimed Giroux. "That’s so freaky!"

Pothier glared. "What do you mean by that - freaky?"

"Well, you’re our captain. He’s the enemy goalie. Most people-" Giroux choked as Wren stomped heavily on his foot.

"Most people would mind their own business," said Wren pointedly.

"Aw, but it’s not every day that we get a chance to tease Poth, Wrenlet!"

Conklin snorted, then tried to disguise it as a cough. Wrenlet? That had to be the funniest thing he’d heard all day! He wasn’t successful at his attempt at concealment though, and he tensed as Giroux leaned toward him. All he did though, was whisper, "He hates that nickname. McGrattan came up with it when he was drunk."

Conklin snickered a little and relaxed. These guys weren’t threatening at all! They were just like over-grown kids.

Wren coughed and latched onto Giroux’s arm. "Well, we’d better get going. Long ride ahead of us tomorrow, need our rest. See you, Conklin," Wren said, pulling Giroux back toward the stairs.

Giroux waved to Conklin and Pothier, nodded at Kelly, and smacked Langfeld’s ass, grinning all the while. Langfeld looked ready to return the favor, but stopped at a warning look from Pothier. Langfeld pouted and Kelly rolled his eyes.

"We’d better go too, before this big baby starts having a temper tantrum," said Kelly dryly, turning to leave.

Langfeld perked up. "If I’m a baby, that means you have to put me to bed," he said gleefully, turning to follow.

"If you keep acting like Vermette you won’t be sleeping in a bed. You’ll be trying a couch on for size."

"But - but, Chris!"

Kelly gave him a look, and Langfeld fell silent. He didn’t seem overly subdued though because a moment later he slung an arm around Kelly’s shoulders. Kelly, for his part, didn’t shrug him off either, so Conklin guessed there wasn’t much force behind his threat.

Kelly paused just before going out the door and turned back to look at them. "See you on the ice, Conklin," he said.

Langfeld poked Kelly with his free hand. "You sound like some kind of mobster, man."

Kelly looked abashed. "Sorry. See ya."

"Later," said Langfeld.

"So, feel better?" asked Pothier.

Conklin raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Yeah. I actually do..."

Pothier laughed. "Don’t act so shocked. Cheering people up is part of my job."

Conklin smiled, feeling a hint of shyness creeping into it. "You’re really good at it."

"Thanks."

"Conklin!" A voice rang out from somewhere below them. Conklin recognized it as that of Hinz. "Shit, man, where are you?"

"I guess that’s my cue to go. Thank you. You didn’t have any responsibility to me, but I really appreciate it." Pothier smiled and darted forward. Before Conklin could even think of reacting, he had kissed him lightly on the cheek and then darted back.

Pothier smiled gently. "Anytime. Now you’d better go."

As if to reinforce that message, Hinz chose that moment to yell again. He sounded closer this time. "Conklin! The bus is ready to leave! Where the fuck are you?"

"Coming!" yelled Conklin. With a small wave, he headed down the stairs.

As soon as he came within sight, Hinz came rushing over. "Where were you? I swear I searched this whole rinky-dink arena! Never mind. Let’s just get out of here." Hinz grabbed his arm and dragged him off.

Before they’d gone out of sight though, Conklin threw one last smile to the barely visible figure above. "There’s one obnoxious bigot whose words didn't have the intended effect," he whispered happily to himself, ignoring the strange look Hinz gave him. Then he linked his arm through Hinz’s.

"You know, Conklin, you’re really weird, even for a goalie."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say. Being normal is highly overrated."

---END