Hat Trick
Nico Hischier x fem!reader, Jack Hughes x platonic!reader, Luke Hughes x platonic!reader
summary: part 4 of the locksmith series! reader attends her first ever devil’s hockey game, and leaves a few pucks richer than when she came
notes: y’all i think this is my favorite part of this lil series so far. i literally wrote this in one sitting. i’m so happy with how it turned out. i hope you are too!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼
[6k]
part 1, part 2, part 3
~
You’ve been to a lot of Hughes centered hockey games in your life. You’ve been to watch both Quinn and Luke play during their time in Michigan, and you’ve been to watch several of Jack’s minor league games when you were teenagers.
Though somehow, despite how long you’ve been intertwined with the hockey breathing family, you had never been to a professional game. You talked about making a trip to Vancouver with your family at some point to watch Quinn, but it never worked out with your school schedule. You wanted to come watch Jack with the Devils a few times, too, but the plans always fell through.
You wish you’d tried harder right about now, because walking into the Prudential center, red and black everywhere you look, you’re a little overwhelmed.
Jack had told you exactly where to go and who to call if you got lost, but getting there wasn’t the issue. You finally having your car with you responsible for that, considering it was delivered just yesterday. The company that you hired to haul your car to you had gotten the date of your move wrong, so you had been depending on Jack and Luke for rides anywhere outside of walking distance.
Today, though, they were needed at the rink far earlier than you would’ve been allowed in. And, in true hockey player superstitious fashion, they can’t ride to the rink together for home games because the last time they did they got beat. So, you were extremely excited when you got the call that your car had just been parked outside of the apartment complex the day before.
You had found the arena just fine, leaving your car with the valet Jack had told you to go to. You had gone to the entrance designated for friends and family of the players, flashing the locker room pass Jack had given you, and even managed to find your way to the public areas of the arena by yourself.
The issue you had run in to stems from the fact that not only had you never attended an NHL game before, but you had never attended an NHL game alone.
Even though you blended in with the crowd outwardly, donning a devil’s jersey like everyone else, you were way out of your element. Usually at the boys’ games you had Ellen and Jim with you, or your own parents. They always made you feel like you belonged a little more, because they would explain certain fan behavior to you.
You knew all you had to do was simply sit and watch the game, but with the energy being so chaotic leading to the rivalry game, you knew that the fans were going to be absolutely buzzing. People were walking past you, jumping in front of you for high-fives and fist bumps, yelling “GO DEVS!” before walking away like nothing had ever happened. You didn’t miss the occasional dirty look from anyone in a blue Ranger’s jersey, either.
When you had first made your way to the foyer area at the front of the arena, you had already seen security having to separate a Devils fan and a Rangers fan. They had been screaming at one another over something that you were unaware of when the Rangers fan slammed his fist into the Devils fan’s cheek.
The scene made you a little apprehensive about how the game was going to go. You knew this was one of the biggest rivalries that existed in the hockey world, and you had read that the Rangers had a tendency to play extremely physical, so you were nervous for all of the Devils players you were growing fond of.
You eventually make your way to your seat, but not before going full fan mode and buying a foam finger at one of the many merchandise stands you passed on your way. You thought Jack and Luke would get a kick out of it, figuring you’d need all the help you could get after they see what you’re wearing.
You kept your promise to Nico, currently sporting the number 13 on your back. You felt a little silly, honestly. You had never not worn a Hughes jersey to a hockey game before; you always wore the jersey of whatever brother you were watching. But the conversation you had with Nico a few nights prior kept paying on a loop in your mind. The promise of a hat trick was too tempting to miss out on. Plus, even if he didn’t get a hatty, you knew you’d have the chance to make him do anything you wanted him to. You knew you had teased some ridiculous request, but you had decided you were simply going to ask him for an ice-skating lesson.
You had never been able to learn as a kid, not living close to an ice rink. Jack, Luke, and Quinn had tried to teach you a few times, taking you to their local rink when you would visit them outside of the summer months, but the lessons always ended with fights and hurt feelings. You needed someone that wasn’t going to yell at you anytime you panicked and found yourself sprawled along the frozen ground.
As you walk down the stairs towards your seat, foam finger on display proudly, you take in the pure atmosphere of the place. The arena looked huge from where you stood, lights dimmed and a red shadow cast over everything in sight. Not many people had made their way into the seating area yet, but there were a few fans bunched around the glass, waiting for the players to come out and start their warm ups.
You were pleasantly surprised when you found your seat free of any bodies, being able to settle in and wait for the arrival of the players on the ice. As the minutes ticked by, a few people made their way to your area, smiles and chants of ‘go Devils!’ once again filling the air around you.
You could see why people enjoyed coming to games so much. The sense of community was so strong in this building. Everyone was here to support the same cause, one goal in mind: a Devils’ win. You started to survey all the signs that fans had brought, setting them up against the glass for the players to see. Some of them were clever, some simply reading “puck?” with their favorite player’s number on it.
You also noted how many people were wearing Jack and Luke’s last name on their back. Even as you were driving up to the arena, you noticed the large presence of 86’s and 43’s surrounding you. It was odd, really, to see how many people were supporting your boys. It made your heart swell with pride, a little bit. To physically see the amount of people that believe in them the way you always have was enough to sell you on attending every Devils game from here until the end of time.
The newfound knowledge also further justified your decision for wearing Nico’s jersey tonight. You had seen plenty number 13’s floating around in the crowd, too, but Jack and Luke clearly had no lack of fan support.
The sound of pucks hitting the ice is what broke your attention from observing the people around you. You instantly clocked Luke’s curls, finding Jack not far from where Luke had settled on the ice. You looked around, trying to find a familiar head of brown hair you hadn’t seen nearly enough. Was he not warming up today? Was he okay? Did Luke actually hurt him and he wasn’t playing today?
You don’t remember either of your roommates mentioning that their captain was hurt. That’s something they would’ve mentioned at least once, right? You continue scan the ice for any sign of the Swiss man you couldn’t get off of your mind, not paying attention when Jack started skating in your direction. A loud bang on the glass in front of you with what finally broke your investigation.
“You’re here!” Jack yells through the glass at you, ignoring all the shouts of his name from the people standing around you.
“I told you I wasn’t going to miss it!” you shouted back, wondering if he could even hear you in the noisy environment.
Movement behind Jack caught your eye, Luke making his way over to stand next to his brother, earning an entirely new wave of sound to erupt around you.
“Bouy! You made it!” Luke shares his brother’s surprise.
“Did you guys really have no faith I would show up tonight? Am I that bad of a friend?” you ask them, wondering why they thought you would be a no-show.
“Know it isn’t your scene, is all,” Jack shouts back, shrugging his shoulders, smile on his face.
“Uh-uh, it is now. Look, I even bought a foam finger! I’m legit, now!” you wave your newest Devils merch around.
They both shake their heads and laugh, your eyes wandering to the ice behind them once again.
“Who ya looking for, huh?” Luke is the one to notice they no longer held your attention, turning his head to look at his teammates warming up behind them.
“Oh, no one. Just, taking it all in,” you try to recover. Luke simply looks at you, the moment he caught you staring at Nico in your living room in the back of his mind.
“It’s awesome, right? I’m telling you, you’ll be wanting to come to every home game by the end of the night. There’s nothing like a Devil’s home game,” Jack tells you, oblivious to Luke’s implications moments ago.
Jack must have decided it was time to acknowledge some of the fans around you, skating off after he finishes his statement.
“He’ll be out in a minute, just so you know. Got hung up in a pre-game interview,” Luke’s muffled voice travels through the glass.
“Huh? Who? What’re you talking about?” you rush out, growing nervous at the thought of being caught in your attraction to his teammate.
Luke deadpans at you, basically telling you to cut the bullshit. “You know who, Y/N.”
“Really, don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m here for you and Jack, remember?”
“Yeah? Then why do you have Cap’s jersey on?” Luke questions, raising an eyebrow at you.
Your head shoots down to look at the jersey you were wearing, cheeks turning red. You had forgotten you were even wearing it, surprised Jack didn’t notice when he first skated over to you.
“Don’t think you’re getting away with that, by the way. He’ll be getting an earful once he gets out here, don’t you worry. And god help him when Jack finally notices. Might be the first time a player gets a penalty against his own teammate,” Luke continues, looking over to where Jack is chucking pucks over the ice a few feet away.
“It was Nico’s idea. Said he wanted to mess with you guys, is all. Then said if I wore it he would score a hat trick, and if he didn’t he owed me a favor of my choosing. Figured it’d be fun to mess with him and make him do some outrageous task. You know I never miss the opportunity to get under yours and Jack’s skin, either. Couldn’t resist the offer,” you defend yourself.
Luke rolls his eyes, not wanting to call bullshit out here in the open like this, deciding to save the rest of the conversation for when you get home tonight.
You were going to respond, try to further plead your case, when you see a blur of red jump onto the ice from over near the Devils’ bench. Any attention you had granted to Luke was gone, watching a much anticipated head of hair flopping around as Nico does a few circles on the ice. You watch him wave to a few fans around the glass, conversing with a few of his teammates as he made his way around the ice.
Luke watches you follow Nico’s figure glide around on the ice, laughing to himself at how you were just trying to convince him you weren’t looking for anyone.
“I think I’ve proved my point,” you barely hear as Luke starts to skate away, noticing his captain skating over towards your section of the glass.
You’ve tuned out the shouts of Nico’s name around you as he makes eye contact with you, skating towards you with a smile.
“Hey! You’re here!” he winks at you, parroting Jack and Luke’s words. “And I see you chose the right Jersey!”
“Why did no one think I was going to show up?” you huff out, throwing your arms up, foam finger still attached to your hand.
“Jack and Luke were convinced you’d bail because of your aversion to hockey crowds. But I see you’ve made yourself right at home,” he chuckles, nodding towards the foam finger.
“Well, yeah. Had to make myself official, y’know?” you give the foam accessory a small wave.
Nico laughs, sliding his feet back and forth in short strokes, planting his stick on the ice for stability.
“You ready to score that hat trick you promised, Cap?” you shout to him, crossing your arms in a challenging stance.
“Never been more ready in my life, Bouy,” Nico smirks.
“If you keep using that nickname I won’t be so nice in choosing a favor for you to do when you don’t score your hatty,” you threaten, hating that Jack introduced the nickname to Nico in the first place.
“Oh, I’m gonna score that hatty,” he moves closer to the glass, making sure you can hear him. “My good luck charm did exactly what I asked her to do, so I’d say my chances are pretty solid.”
You’re so taken aback from Nico’s words that you completely miss Jack making his way back over to your area, slapping Nico on the back once he reaches his destination.
“Hey, Cap! ‘Bout time you made it out here. Was starting to wonder if someone was going to have to come and save you.”
Nico removes his eyes from your flushed face, turning to chat with Jack as you’re left speechless.
You wonder to yourself, what made Nico so…bold? You hadn’t really known him for that long, and it wasn’t like you two even saw each other that often, so what did you miss? You were definitely into him, there was no denying that, but you didn’t expect any kind of reciprocation from the man in front of you. You’ve always had a habit of letting your mind wander when you find someone attractive.
Not that Nico was just a pretty face. You could see in the few times that you’ve been in his presence that there was a dangerous amount of potential for you to fall for him. The way he seems to love Jack and Luke as much as you do, the genuine kindness that he seems to radiate, and the easy conversation that always seems to flow between the two of you contributing to your budding emotions.
His boldness surprises you, still. You’ve overheard Luke and Jack talk about Nico’s interactions with women. The amount of times they’ve poked fun at his obliviousness to women’s advances not forgotten. Or the way they claim he’s too focused on his career to think about anything other than hockey. You remember one story Jack told of Nico completely misreading a conversation with a woman at the bar, begging Jack to take him home after he all but ran away from the woman, claiming a stomach ache when she tried to coax him into an uber.
So, what was different about you? You feel like you hadn’t spent enough time with the Swiss hockey player to justify his remarks. You wonder if your habit of reading too far into things applies here. The comment could have been a friendly tease, but as you notice Luke standing off to the side, a strange look on his face as he watches his captain glance over at you during his conversation with Jack, you wonder if he knows something you don’t.
“Y/N, what the fuck are you wearing,” you hear Jack’s voice, snapping your head to look at his face, eyes staring at the black C on the upper left side of the jersey you’re wearing.
“A…jersey?” you answer apprehensively.
“Yeah, I can see that. But why do you have on Neeks’ jersey, specifically?” He asks you, but looks at the player standing next to him.
“Guess she decided the better jersey wasn’t even in the Hughes family at all,” Nico references the argument Jack and Luke were having days prior.
“You know what, I’m going to walk away from this before I say something I’ll regret, but this conversation isn’t over,” Jack shoots to two of you a glare before skating away, huffing like a little kid.
“I knew he would get mad!” you point an accusing (foam) finger at Nico.
“Don’t worry, Y/N, he’ll get over it. It’s just one game.”
“Well I’ll let you handle this then, mr. nonchalant. It was your idea, it’s your bomb to diffuse.”
“Gladly. By the way, heads up,” Nico warns you, chucking a puck over the glass, landing on the ground beside you. You bend over to pick it up, noticing the writing on the back.
You read the sribble of “hatty” followed by the date and Nico’s signature in silver marker, looking up to see him skating off with a wink.
———————————————————————————
After you watched Jack throw his fit about you wearing Nico’s jersey from afar, earning nothing but a laugh from the jersey owner himself, they both skated away from each other to start actually warming up for the game ahead. You noticed Jack kept glaring at Nico, shoulder checking him a few times for good measure. Jack wouldn’t even look over at you, earning a pout from you in Luke’s direction, begging him to do something to make Jack love you again.
Luke would just shrug at you as if to say “told you so,” choosing to focus on his warm ups instead. As the players left the ice to prepare for puck drop, you watched Jack finally look over to you, sporting a glare and giving a shake of his head before he disappeared from your view.
Even after the game started, you could feel Jack’s pouting from where you sat. He was hesitant to pass the puck to Nico, costing them a few chances at goals. You cursed him every time, worried that this would’ve happened. You don’t know what was said, but during one of the tv timeouts, Nico skated over to Jack and all you could see was a finger poking out to jab Jack in the chest. Jack’s face growing more and more unimpressed as the conversation went on, but ultimately Jack nodded and skated off, rolling his eyes in your direction.
For the rest of the period, you noticed Jack was better about passing the puck, no longer alienating Nico from his plays. He was still mad, though. You could see it in his body language and how he was playing rougher than he normally does. As soon as the first period was over, you were out of your seat and making your way down to the locker rooms. You flashed your pass and waited patiently after you asked someone to go fetch Jack for you, claiming it was an emergency.
Jack comes walking out of the locker room into the hallway, towel around his neck, jersey left behind.
“Okay, get it all out now, or so help me god I’ll jump onto that ice and beat some sense into you,” you tell him, wanting him to get all of his anger out of his system.
“You always wear one of our jersey’s, Y/N. Always. This is your first time watching me and Luke in a professional game, and you’re wearing a someone else’s jersey?” Jack asks you, a small bit of hurt showing on his face.
“Jack, it was a joke. A last minute suggestion from Nico the other night. He thought it’d be funny since you and Luke were arguing about it,” you tell him, feeling a little bad that he genuinely seems hurt. “Plus, I didn’t really want to choose between you and Luke. It was hard. I had all three jerseyss laying on my bed earlier, and I just couldn’t choose between the two of you.”
“I still don’t like that you wore someone else’s jersey,” Jack pouts, but seems to brighten up a bit, getting over the situation once he voiced his thoughts.
“It’s just one game, Jack, it’ll be fine. I promise this isn’t going to become a habit,” you assure him, reaching up to ruffle his hair, regretting your decision when you feel how sweaty it is.
“You sure about that?” Jack asks you, catching you off guard.
“What?”
“Oh c’mon, Y/N,” Jack starts, dropping his arms to his sides. “Don’t act like you haven’t been staring at him the whole game.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you feel your cheeks heating, hating that this is the second time one of your roommates has asked you about this today.
“You can’t lie to me, remember? Know you too well,” he tells you, reminding you he’s always been able to tell when you’re caught in a lie.
“I mean…maybe I’ve been watching him. So what? He’s your friend, Jack. Not to mention our neighbor and the only teammate of yours I really know,” you try to justify.
“Bullshit. You’re into him.”
“No, I’m not!” you say too quickly, your voice going up in pitch, causing you to clear your throat. The sudden change in conversation came out of nowhere, causing your brain to short circuit.
“Oh yeah? Then why do you ask about him every time Luke and I mention practice, or our jobs in general? Why do you always ask us if Nico made it home when we get home from practice? Or when you spent basically the whole night talking to him at the bar your first night here?” Jack asks you, waiting for your answers.
“I- I don’t ask about him that much,” you say, trying to retrace your conversations with Jack and Luke. Maybe you do ask about him more than you thought. “And I spent the night at the bar being shuffled around from table to table, which you did!” you remind him, having felt like you were speed dating, but platonically.
“When I came to get you to leave you were completely alone with him in a dark corner of the bar,” Jack throws back at you.
“He came and found me. I was on the phone with my mom and he decided to come check on me. I had nothing to do with that,” you defend.
Jack still doesn’t look convinced, crossing his arms once again, tilting his head towards you. “Listen, I’m not mad that you’re into him – out of all the guys on the team I’m thankful it’s him, honestly – but I know how you are. Once you see potential, you go a little starry eyed and don’t think, sometimes,” he reads you.
You open your mouth to respond, trying to defend yourself once again, but Jack interrupts you before you can get a word out.
“All I’m saying is, think about this before you make sure it’s what you really want. Nico’s a great guy, but this team demands a lot of our time and attention, as you can already tell. I just don’t want you getting disappointed if you end up in the middle of something with him and get upset because you feel like you’re being neglected. He wouldn’t ever do it on purpose, but hockey comes first sometimes. I just want you to be prepared for that.”
You don’t know what to say to him. I mean, he is right. You do see potential with Nico, and you wouldn’t mind if you tried to see where things would go with him, but you think Jack is a few steps ahead of you. I mean, you don’t even have the man’s phone number yet. You don’t even really know if Nico is into you, too. You appreciate the intent behind Jack’s words, but you don’t know if they’re even necessary.
You stood there for a few moments, trying to figure out how the conversation even led to what it is. One second you were talking about a jersey, the next Jack is basically giving you his blessing to go after Nico. Had Luke said something to him? Were you too obvious with your forming crush on his captain?
“Thanks, Jack, really. But I don’t even know if he’s the least bit interested in me, so I wouldn’t be too worried if I were you. It’s just a silly little crush. Who knows if it’ll even last,” you finally say through a nervous laugh, wanting to alleviate some of the intensity of the conversation.
Jack just stares at you, looking like he wants to say something but decides against it. The look on his face has you once again wondering if he knows something you don’t. You decided to let it go, though, and shoo him back into the locker room.
“Alright, talk over. Go back in there and get ready, you have some Rags to beat!” you push him away from you. You hear him laugh as you walk away, thinking about his words the whole way back to your seat.
———————————————————————————
Shit. He actually did it. He scored a fucking hat trick. The crowd goes absolutely wild when Nico’s shot sails straight into the goal as the buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game. You jump up from your seat, screaming as loud as you can with the crowd around you. You bang against the glass, cheering for Nico as he celebrates with his teammates.
Once he breaks away from the group hug, he skates right over to you, pointing a gloved finger in your direction. You flash him a huge smile, not even caring that you lost whatever bet – if you could even call it that – you had going on with Nico. You were too high on the atmosphere. The goal causing the Devils to win in the last second, ego a little inflated at the thought that you contributed to it.
After the players left the ice and the crowd started to disperse a bit, you slowly made your way back down to the locker room, having been told to wait there after the game by Jack. You took in the sight of the happy fans milling about the arena, soaking in the energy for a little bit longer. You didn’t realize just how much you were soaking it in until you realized the time, figuring the guys would be changed and ready to go any minute.
As you were walking down the hallway to where other friends and family of the team gathered, you felt a harsh contact with your shoulder. It flung your body back, nearly making you lose your balance until you caught yourself at the last second.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you,” you said, knowing it wasn’t your fault, but apologizing anyways.
“Obviously,” you heard a deep voice say, a man in a blue Rangers jersey standing across from you, rolling his eyes.
“Well, no need to be rude about it. You bumped in to me, y’know,” you grumbled out, a little pissed as the man’s response after you apologized first.
“Watch it, bitch. Just cause your shitshow of a team won tonight doesn’t mean you’re truly better than us. Just wait till next game. We’ll smoke your asses,” he spits out at you, letting you smell the alcohol on his hot breath.
“What the hell does the game have to do with you bumping in to me? The two are completely unrelated,” you question, stepping back and scrunching your nose at the foul smell.
“Keep talking, bitch, and I’ll show you just how bad we can beat the Devils’ asses,” the man steps forward, stumbling a bit before correcting himself.
“Alright, chill out. It’s just a game, buddy,” you back up against the wall next to you, trying to put some distance between you and him.
“God, why do you puck bunnies never shut the fuck up? I literally told you to stop talking, what part of that don’t you understand?” he backs you up even further, not leaving much room for you to make an escape.
“Technically you told me to keep talking,” you say before you can think better of it.
The man basically growls at you raising his hand back. To do what, you never find out, because a voice brings him back to reality, making him seem to remember he’s in public.
“I suggest you drop your hand and step away.”
The man’s head whips around, looking behind him. Once he steps back from you slightly, you make your escape, removing yourself from the wall.
You see Nico standing a few feet away from you, a grey suit on his body, his hair covered by a cream color beanie.
“Oh, how convenient. Captain to the rescue,” the guy slurs, turning his body to fully face Nico.
“Do I need to call security or are you going to be smart and get the fuck out of my arena?” Nico spits, surprising you with his harshness.
“Whatever. I’m going. Don’t be so dramatic. The puck bunny started it, anyways,” the man waves you off, stumbling away without a glance back.
Nico watches him walk away, stepping towards you the second the man is out of view.
“Are you okay? Did he do anything to you? Do I need to go get security?” He fires off questions, concern present in his brown eyes.
“No, I’m fine. He bumped into me then started spewing some bullshit about the game. I asked him how the two were related and he just kept talking about how he was gonna show me how ‘we can really beat the Devils’ asses’,” you put up air quotes.
“Are you sure?” his eyes continue to look you up and down, darting across your face to check for any sign showing you weren’t okay.
“Really, it’s fine. He didn’t do anything. Thank you, though. For scaring him away,” you assure him, causing him to relax.
“Of course. Seems to be a pattern, after all. Me running to your rescue,” he references your previous encounters. Letting you into your apartment, getting the bartender’s attention so you could order a drink that same night, his help when you were making dinner just a few nights ago. He really did always show up when you needed help.
You look up at him with a smile. “My very own knight in shining armor.”
He bows dramatically. “M’lady.”
You laugh at the action, causing Nico to join in.
“So I guess I owe you a congratulations, huh?” you ask after your laughter dies down.
Nico beams at you, pulling a stack of three pucks out of the bag slung over his shoulder, the tape they’re held together by reading ‘hat trick”. He holds the pucks out towards you, signaling you to grab them.
“Here, they’re yours. You’re the reason I got them, after all,” he tells you, placing the pucks into your hands.
“I don’t think I had anything to do with it,” you look at your hand before looking back up at Nico.
“Sure you did. I told you if you wore the jersey I’d score one. And you did. And then I scored three goals. I told you, you’re my goodluck charm,” he smiles at you, shrugging like a hat trick was no big deal.
You roll your eyes at him, trying to fight a smile. “Sure, whatever you say, Cap.”
He chuckles at your sarcasm, shaking his head at you.
“Guess I need to pocket that ridiculous favor I had in mind, then,” you tell him, toying with the pucks, thinking about how he gave you four different pucks tonight.
“I’m sure you can save it for future use. Think you’ll be able to cash it in sooner than you think,” he tells you, a confused look on your face.
“You won, though. I wore the jersey, you scored three goals. That was the whole thing,” you remind him, not knowing where he was going with his statement.
“You never asked me what I got if I did score a hatty.”
You were taken aback by his words, not realizing that was part of the deal. “Okay…well, what do you get, then?”
“You have to do me a favor,” he tells you, grin on his face.
You furrow your brows, confused. “I thought the whole point of my end of the deal was because I already did you a favor?”
“You did. But now I get to ask you for another one,” he rocks back on his heels, way too giddy about the situation.
You look at him, a little scared at what he has planned. He just continues to look at you, his shit-eating grin still extremely present.
“Okay…what is it?” you ask him, getting impatient.
“Oh, I’m not telling you yet. I’ll cash it in when I’m ready,” He replies, amused at the unamused look on your face.
“Seriously? You’re not going to tell me what cruel fate you’re subjecting me to?”
You hear the voices of Jack and Luke echoing through the hallway on the other end of the room. You turn your head away from Nico, watching the two brothers make their way towards you, lost in their own conversation.
“All in due time, dear Bouy,” Nico says, taking a step back from you.
Your distaste for the nickname shows on your face, causing Nico’s eyes to twinkle, loving how mad you get over the silly name he still hasn’t learned the origin of.
“Whatever. Keep it to yourself, then. I don’t care,” you lie.
“Have a good night. See you soon,” Nico says with a wink, turning to walk in the direction of Jack and Luke, giving them a wave as he passes them. Both of them look up and notice you standing where he just came from, turning to look at each other with raised eyebrows.
You look down at the pucks in your hand once more, looking at the emblem on top noting what game and date they were from. When you look at the bottom of the last puck, you catching a streak of silver reflect off of the fluorescent lights in the hallway. Turning it completely upside down, you make out the 9 digits of a phone number scribbled along the bottom, matching the handwriting of the words and signature on the first puck Nico gave you that night.
“Hey, ready to go? We’re starving. Luke wants waffles so we’re going to meet a few of the guys at a diner not far from the apartment, you want go?” Jack asks as the two approach you.
You don’t respond, too stuck on the fact that Nico gave you his phone number on the bottom of his hat trick pucks. You’re impressed at how smooth it was, but also freaking out and trying not to jump to conclusions. It’s just a phone number. It could mean nothing. Maybe he just wanted you to have it because you’re neighbors? Or because you’re so close with Jack and Luke. Maybe he wanted you to have it for emergencies.
“Hello, earth to Y/N. You good?” Luke snaps you out of your trance, bringing the pucks down to press the bottom against your leg, hiding the phone number from your roommates.
“What? Yeah. I’m fine. Great. Perfect.”
“Okay…” Jack trails off, giving you a suspicious look. “So, yes or no to the waffles?”
“Oh my god, yes. The answer to waffles is always yes,” you say excitedly.
“Okay then, let’s go. Some of the guys are already there. I’ll drive,” Jack laughs at you, walking towards the exit leading to where the players park.
“Shotgun!” Luke yells out, turning back to see your reaction to the competition that was so fierce when you were kids.
Your mind is once again on the pucks in your hands, and the player that gave them to you. You look at the numbers again, deciding the boys were far enough ahead for you to safely sneak a peek, wanting to make sure they were actually there and you weren’t seeing things.
Luke just smiles and shakes his head, remembering watching his captain frantically ask for a sharpie in the locker room, writing something on the exact set of pucks you now have in your hands before bolting from the room like a man on a mission.
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Fanatic Intervention Part 7!!!
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It will not surprise you at all, dear Reader, to learn that Aziraphale keeps very little in his kitchen cupboards. There is no stove or oven, and the only thing in the fridge is milk (for his tea no doubt). When you start opening cupboards, you find one pack of custard creams, and a second one of chocolate digestives. Well, it will have to do. You find yourself a small plate and fill it half and half before heading back into the shop just in time to say goodbye to Anathema and Newt.
As they leave, you turn to the supernatural entities in the room.
“So,” You say, “If we’re going to the States, then we have a few problems. First, I don’t have my passport or any ID at all, so airport security is going to be fun. Second, I have no money. Third, I’m gonna need a Walmart or something because I don’t even have a toothbrush, my dudes. Fourth, these,” You indicate the cookies, “are fine for a snack, but overall they’re not gonna cut it.”
“You just leave the airport security to us,” Aziraphale replies. You make a note that he glided right past ‘my dudes,’ they’re getting used to you already. Dammit. “As for the rest of it,” Aziraphale continues, “I suppose a trip to Tesco’s is in order.”
Crowley produces a shiny black credit card from nowhere and hands it to you. “We’ll take the Bentley,” he says. He starts to stand, but you shake your head.
“Nuh-uh, you both stay here,” You say. Crowley raises his eyebrow.
“You realize we can take care of ourselves,” he says, “We’ve been doing it for a few millennia.”
“I’m not talking about that,” You say, “Look, what we’re going into is really dangerous. And I know that your pattern is to just wait to talk about things until you’re in the clear, but that’s not a good idea anymore. I mean, I get that I’m not exactly an expert, but I read just as much as you do and I’ve heard a million stories by this point in my life, and in NONE of them do people ever say ‘I’m so glad I never told them how I feel’ - you know? It’s always ‘I wish I would have’ or ‘I should have told them every day.’ So Muriel and I will go ask Maggie to take us to Tesco, and you two need to talk. Please. While it’s safe, while you have the chance, before things get dangerous and possibly deadly.”
Crowley and Aziraphale are silent. You notice that they aren’t looking at each other. Well, you’ve done your best. Now you need to trust them.
At this point, dear Reader, you are probably thinking to yourself ‘well I would snoop and spy on them while they talk! I want to watch them make out!’ But here is the thing – in this world they are real people, not characters. It’s one thing to say that you would creep on them from the other side of this fiction, but when they’re very real and looking at you in person, things are a little different. For one thing, you realize that real people deserve things like boundaries and privacy, especially for sensitive conversations.
And so, you take Muriel over to Maggie’s shop, where you explain that Mr. Fell has sent the two of you on an errand and you need to stop for dinner somewhere and have no idea where anything is. You flash her the credit card and say ‘It’s all on me,’ and she conveniently agrees with a look on her face that says something like ‘least they could do after all that shit they put us through.’
So the three of you go for dinner at the nearest Weatherspoons, where you and Maggie eat while Muriel watches in morbid fascination. Then you all take the bus to Tesco where you buy yourself a small wardrobe, and manage to coax Muriel into some light blue jeans and an argyle jumper so they look a little less like the Beacon of Gondor. You quickly find out that Muriel has an adorable fascination with fuzzy socks, novelty mugs, and coloured pencils. Of course, you enable their fascinations with a happy heart, and as an afterthought, you grab them a small pot of orange daisies from the flower section. It will give them something alive to tend to while you’re gone. Muriel appreciates the thought. All in all, it’s a long but good time.
You don’t know about the talk, and you’re worried about asking when you get back.
THAT BEING SAID
You and I, dear Reader, not actually being in that world, are allowed certain privileges.
The bookshop is silent for a long time. Both of them are thinking, digesting, processing. Feelings are hard to feel, and harder to put into words. Especially when it has been made clear, twice now in the span of a number of hours, that you absolutely need to put them into words.
It isn’t until after Crowley notices you, Muriel, and Maggie heading down the street that he stands up and begins to pace. A few more minutes pass before he speaks.
“So...uhm...are you going to go first or should I?”
“Are we...are we actually going to do this? Have this talk I mean?” Aziraphale has been shelving books to try and take the edge off. Now he puts down the book in his hands and absent-mindedly fidgets with his ring.
“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” Crowley says, aiming for non-chalance and missing ever-so-slightly, “No one can actually make us.”
“Yes, except it feels very much like everyone is trying to.”
“Trying is the key word there.”
“That’s true enough I suppose.”
The silence returns and stretches. It is anything but comfortable. The air is full of words that they have been told they should say, words that perhaps they want to say, but words that have been dammed up with fear and uncertainty for so long now that they’ve become very hard to un-stick. After a while, Aziraphale clears his throat and speaks.
“I, erm, I suppose you had better go first.”
“Me, right, okay.” Crowley clears his throat now and stops his pacing near the desk. He looks down at the scattered papers and books, the pens and photos and newspaper clippings. The assorted clutter of Aziraphale’s life. Looking away makes it easier to start. He takes a breath. “Um..right...well...we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time – you and me, I mean. I’ve always been able to rely on you, and you’ve always relied on me,” another breath, “We’re a team, yeah? A group of the two of us. And...erm...we pretend that we aren’t. Always have. Safer that way I guess.” He looks up at Aziraphale. The angel isn’t looking at him, but he nods anyway to show that he’s listening. Crowley continues. “And I mean...I’ve tried not to think about it much before but...but it would be nice, I mean, UGH” He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his eyes as though he can massage the words and make them easier to say. “I mean, I would like to spend...mmm….I would like to spend the rest not pretending anymore. Be an us. I mean,” suddenly the dam breaks, and Crowley finds the words come tumbling out, “If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, we can. We don’t need Heaven or Hell, they’re both toxic. We can be an us, on our side. You and me. What do you say?” He looks at Aziraphale without reservation now. His angel looks back at him, eyes wide. When he does speak, it’s with a smile and a small nod of acknowledgment rather than agreement.
“That was very well done Crowley,” he says. This isn’t an answer.
“Nnyeah, thanks. Your turn though.”
“Right, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself. After hearing Crowley be so open about this, he feels more resolved himself to do this properly. He faces Crowley and folds his hands to keep himself grounded. “Crowley,” he begins, “I...I wish that this conversation were happening under better circumstances. Although it’s been pointed out that ideal circumstances aren’t a promise that we can wait around for. Well, the thing is that I would like the same thing. Very much in fact. My biggest concern by far is for your safety because, well, frankly I don’t see the point in saving the world again if you’re not around to enjoy it with me. An us, as you said. You and me.” He smiles. Crowley smiles.
“Guess we’d better save the world together then. And try not to die.”
“Yes, quite.”
“Aziraphale?”
“Yes, Crowley?”
“You’re my angel. No one else.”
“And you, my wiley serpent. No one else.”
The shop bell dings.
“We’re baaaaaack!” You sing as you waltz through the door, shopping bags in hand. Muriel follows after you, carefully carrying their daisies. “Did you miss us?”
When you eventually get the courage to ask them about their talk later, you get a “ngk” from Crowley, and a “We’ve said all that needs to be said, for now.” from Aziraphale. And that, you suppose, will have to do.
❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤
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