Title: They're Telling Stories About You and Me
Fandom: Hockey RPF
Characters/Pairing: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews ish
Rating: R for language
Length: 1644 words
Content notes: None



White

It makes a good story, Patrick guesses. And hockey in Chicago needs one of those, so he puts up with it as they dress him and Toews in contrasting outfits and poses, take increasingly weird photos of the two of them and ask questions about their relationship. So even though they actually already knew each other a little before, they pretend like this is love at first puck drop. Toews wraps his arms around Patrick’s neck and it’s almost a chokehold but Patrick doesn’t comment. This is something they’re doing, and if it works, then Patrick has put up with worse to win.


Blue

Toews turns to him on the bench, all of a sudden, just off the end of their shift. It’s a midweek game and they’re getting their asses kicked and he looks right at Patrick and says, “We gotta fill this place up.”

Patrick stares at him. There’s letting them tell the story, and then there’s buying into it, and he was pretty sure that Toews wasn’t that kind of guy. But Toews leans into Patrick’s side, warm and so fucking earnest, and he finds himself nodding back. “We will, man. We will.”


Pink

Their moms get in on the act, and now there’s definitely no stopping this shit. Now they’re not just opposites in all the ways that matter but one - Captain Serious all Canadian and awkward and good, Patrick American and loud and a mostly a mess - now they’re ‘good for each other’.

They bond, a little, over how horrified they both are at that idea. They’re still a disaster as room-mates, there’s still a good chance Patrick will murder Tazer if he doesn’t let up during training about Patrick being selfish with the puck, but Patrick can think of worse fates than being tied to this guy for a while.


Yellow

Team-mates turned rivals is apparently an even better story. They’re not the only linemates in that category here in Vancouver, so Patrick can only assume it’s more of the same old narrative. Like it’s harder for them because they’re not just teammates and linemates, they’re KaneandToews, with everything that entails.

Tazer confuses matters by suggesting they share a cab to the stadium for the final. That’s unexpected, but Patrick doesn’t think it deserves the level of coverage it ends up getting. Yes, sure, they’re rivals for two weeks but this is their third season together for the Hawks. He even thinks Tazer might mean it, when he says that it’ll be better when they win something together. Patrick doesn’t know how close they are to finding out, but it feels important when Jonny says it.


Green

Patrick cries, yes, and then gets more drunk than he’s been in his life. It’s their third season. Patrick scored the overtime winner to get them the Stanley Cup, Jonny skated at him with the Conn Smythe, and it was forty-nine years, baby, so Patrick is fine with this new version of their narrative. It’s the one that ends with hockey back in Chicago, him and Jonny and the Cup. They are twenty-one and twenty-two, and if this is the best thing either of them ever manage to do in their careers, right now Patrick can make his peace with that. That’s hockey, that’s how these stories go.


Goldenrod

The flipside of having your ascension story tied up with another guy’s is that when he’s out, and you can’t do it alone, there’s no one else to look at. And when you lose, people start asking questions like, ‘can Patrick Kane actually play, or has Jonathan Toews just been dragging him around for years because apparently he’s supposed to be able to step up and be a centre and a fucking mentor to kids three years younger than him and keep producing like he did before and also win all the fucking time which is just not possible, okay?’ And when he goes on a bender, bad enough that it makes even some of the real sports websites, the questions become, ‘is he worth more traded than here in Chicago?’ and ‘what does Toews think of that?’

So this is their story now: Jonny’s blank faced assertions that of course Kane has their full support, and dead silence both ways on their cellphones.


Buff

The cameras and the microphones pick it up no problem, Patrick saying, “I love you, Jonny,” and still crying in the locker-room later. Jonny doesn’t contradict him, doesn’t do anything much but hold onto him and smile. And they’re back to miracles, back to him and Jonny together with the cup at the end of a season that almost wasn’t. Patrick doesn’t try to stop it any more, just lets them tell him how this must be a dream come true, after the last year, because sometimes there’s no arguing with a good cliché.


Salmon

In the ESPN interview Jonny suddenly asks, “Do you remember the first time we played on the same team, the Junior Flyers?”

Patrick is so glad they’re not running video from this thing because he’s struck dumb for a moment or two. They haven’t ever mentioned that in a presser. But Jonny’s smiling at him so he says, “Yeah. When we were what, 13?” and they tell the rest of the story and add that one more detail to their narrative. Not eighteen and brand new to each other, but thirteen and Jonny remembers this in astounding detail. Patrick does too, but he always thought he was alone on that one. Then, they never mentioned it, so he guesses neither of them knew.

Patrick feels like eighteen was a long way ago but thirteen, somehow, he remembers exactly how it was to see Jonny playing back then. Everything’s changed but him, or maybe that’s the other way around.

“It’s storylines,” Jonny says. “Fairytales.”


Cherry

“I haven’t signed anything,” Patrick says. “If you don’t give a shit, why should I-?”

There is a long, awful silence.

“Fine.”

They were never meant to end like this. For life, everyone said, and if they had never said it to each other Patrick hadn’t known that they needed to. Everyone knew how their story ended.

But he’s a villain now in Jonny’s story, and that’s worse than being a sidekick, or a mirror, or tied together so tight it could choke them both. It was never meant to be like this.


Tan

“Not to say anything against- but everyone knew I hated playing against Jonny. I always did.”

Once, sure, Patrick would have played that off, making as though facing Jonny on the ice was just one more joke in the up and down of their love-hate relationship. But that was a long time ago.

Jonny is sitting beside him at the press conference, on Patrick’s left.

When he gets asked the same question he doesn’t answer for a second. Patrick turns to prompt him, grinning with muscles he hasn’t used in a while; Jonny is staring at him.

Patrick jerks his head towards the reporters. “I’m not answering for you, you know.”

“What was the- yeah, I missed him too.”

Patrick laughs. “Not actually the question, Tazer.”

“Sure it was.”

There’s a burst of laughter from the press below them. Patrick sits back and waits. Jonny leans back too, arm stretching, until it’s draped over the back of Patrick’s chair. Jonny tugs the ends of his hair, and fixes the collar of his brand new jersey which is just like the old. He settles Patrick back down beside him as though that’s where he has always belonged, if only either of them had been paying sufficient attention.


Double White

Patrick is one hundred percent sure that if footage of them on the same team at thirteen existed, someone (for someone, read BHTV) would have found it by now. There’s a shitload of video of them in this thing, skating around each other and crashing into each other, pushing each other away and reeling each other back in, looking tied closer than they had felt some of those times. Patrick kind of thought they’d finish on the footage from the first cup win, but that one’s not quite at the end, his face tucked against Jonny’s neck and God they look like kids. Instead the guys have settled for ending on that old shot of them, heading away from the camera in their red jerseys, nineteen and eighty-eight.

Jonny looks over at him and says, with no judgement and absolutely no surprise, “You’re crying.”

“Of course I’m fucking crying.”

“All right.” He wraps his arm around Patrick’s shoulder. “Okay.”

“It’s so fucking- it makes it look like we knew what we were doing.”

He leans down to meet Patrick’s eyes. “We did.”

“We did not. It’s not like-” They weren’t destined to do this, to end up here, whatever this makes it look like. “We just...”

“We got here,” he says, pulling Patrick in closer, so Patrick can hide his face if he wants, turn and press himself against Jonny so close that maybe it’s clear those stories weren’t altogether wrong. “We made this happen, okay? We knew enough to do that.”

Patrick nods against his chest, lets Jonny steer them towards the ice, just pulling away in time to face the crowd. Jonny keeps his hand on Patrick’s wrist, and keeps it there while they hear their names announced and watch their jerseys hoisted up towards the rafters of the UC.

There are enough cameras on the two of them that this won’t be even a little bit private, but then it’s never been a secret anyway. This is the one part of the story that’s always been true. Patrick turns over his hand to twist their fingers together. “Love you, Jonny.”

Jonny bumps his head gently against the top of Patrick’s. “Yeah. Love you too.”