Work Text:
Robbie looks into the fridge, doesn’t know what he wants — except beer, still, but that’s not happening. Georgie’s never been a water drinker — he’ll leave it untouched at restaurants, always gets something else. Says he doesn’t like the taste, which is ridiculous, because it doesn’t taste like anything. But whatever Robbie’s having.
Robbie gets two bottles of Gatorade, slick with condensation under his hands, tosses one at Georgie. Georgie catches it, but he doesn’t open it, just curls his hand around the bottle, holds on.
“What’d you do to your hand?” Robbie asks.
“Danvers jammed it up against the boards,” Georgie says.
“It good to go?” Robbie asks.
“Bit stiff, but yeah,” Georgie says.
“Okay,” Robbie says, nods a few time, cracks open the plastic over the bottle. He can’t get the seal off the top, hands clumsy and awkward, and he can feel Georgie wanting to offer to help, but he doesn’t.
He gets it open eventually, doesn’t bother to screw the cap back on before taking a sip, waits for Georgie to start talking again. Georgie doesn’t say anything.
“You can’t be done,” Robbie says.
“Done?” Georgie asks.
“With all the shit you’re planning on saying,” Robbie says.
“We can take a minute,” Georgie says, all solicitous, like Robbie can’t handle it.
“Only way out is through,” Robbie reminds him.
“Yeah,” Georgie says. “I know I said we should stop during the playoffs—”
“Yeah?” Robbie says. He tries to shove down the hope that comes rushing up, fails completely.
“I think we should just. Stop,” Georgie says.
Robbie swallows hard. He wants to say something — he wants to say a lot of things, most of them ugly, and there are so many options rattling around in his head that it leaves him mute.
“Robbie?” Georgie asks, and Robbie turns his face away, takes a convulsive sip of his Gatorade, chemical on his tongue, sweet enough he feels like he’s going to choke on it.
Georgie takes a step forward, another, and Robbie watches, wary, as Georgie takes the bottle from his loose grip, puts it on the counter. Georgie steps into his space, telegraphing every move, like he’s waiting for Robbie to step back, but Robbie doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t think he can. Georgie reaches out, fingers brushing his cheek, and it’s all Robbie can do not to close his eyes, lean into the touch, the warmth of Georgie’s hand. Or, actually, that is what he does, even as he hates himself for being weak.
“I love you,” Georgie says quietly, thumb brushing Robbie’s cheekbone.
Robbie swallows hard. He wants Georgie’s mouth against his again, he wants Georgie in him again. He doesn’t know how he went without it.
“And we need to stay the fuck away from each other,” Georgie adds, just as soft.
Robbie’s eyes snap open. “Because those two things make sense together,” he says, wrenching his face away.
“Right now?” Georgie says. “Yeah. They do.”
“Brilliant idea,” Robbie snaps. “So are we going to stay the fuck away before games or during or after or what? How are you going to implement this stroke of genius, Georgie?”
“As soon as the season’s over I’m requesting a trade,” Georgie says quietly.
Robbie should feel relieved. Fuck, he’s wanted Georgie gone since before he got there. He should feel so, so relieved.
He feels like he just got punched in the stomach.
“You’ve never played as well with anyone as you do with me,” Robbie says. It comes out thin and thready, like he’s actually been winded. “You played like shit without me. You think that’s going to change?”
“Maybe not,” Georgie says. “So I’ll go play like shit somewhere else. You should get someone better back, the way I played with you this season. A decent pick at least. Rutledge will be happy with the return. He got me for basically nothing.”
“What, you’re going to martyr yourself for my sake?” Robbie says. “Come the fuck on.”
“It’s not just for you,” Georgie says. “You think I’ve been enjoying this? You think this is fun for me, being on a team with a bunch of guys who don’t get too close because they don’t want to piss you off? At least somewhere else I have a chance.”
“You’re being dramatic,” Robbie says. “Come on, I know Matty and Wheels—”
“You don’t even realize how loyal they are to you,” Georgie says. “Christ, Matthews would stab me in the back if you asked him to.”
“Matty wouldn’t stab anyone,” Robbie mumbles, but it’s hard not to remember him, even and steady, saying ‘I’ll kill him’ when Robbie had cried himself out.
“You seem close enough to Frei,” Robbie adds. “You were all over him at practice today.”
Georgie barks out a laugh. “Are you kidding me right now?” Georgie says. “What are you even trying to imply, here?”
“Because straddling a guy’s dick is so innocent,” Robbie says. “Can’t imagine how it could be taken as dirty.”
“Jesus Christ, Robbie,” Georgie says. “We were play fighting! I do that with my brothers! You used to do that with my brothers! You and Whelan teamed up on Matthews last week and did the exact same thing!”
“Whatever,” Robbie mutters.
“This is exactly why I need to leave,” Georgie says, sounding tired. “I can’t even start to be friends with anyone on this team without you accusing me of sucking his dick.”
“I didn’t accuse you of that,” Robbie says.
“Right,” Georgie says. “Just implied it.”
Robbie rubs his face. “Sorry,” he mutters.
Georgie doesn’t say anything.
“Don’t leave,” Robbie says. It sounds too much like don’t leave me, so he fixes it, makes it a little less honest. “Don’t leave the Caps.”
“Why not?” Georgie says. “You hate me. You say it every chance you get. I don’t know why the hell you aren’t ecstatic at the thought of getting rid of me.”
Robbie should be. Instead, he’s miserable, and he doesn’t know why.
“Don’t,” Robbie says.
“So you have a punching bag handy?” Georgie says.
“You’re not a —”
“Don’t play stupid, because you’re not,” Georgie snaps.
“Aren’t I?” Robbie asks.
“No,” Georgie says, with a lot more emphasis than Robbie thinks warranted.
“No, I’m not stupid,” Robbie says. “I fell in love with this dude who fucked around on pretty much every girl I’d ever seen him with, and I thought I’d be different for some reason. But I’m not stupid.”
“That wasn’t stupidity,” Georgie says.
“Oh yeah?” Robbie asks. “What the fuck was it then?”
“Faith,” Georgie says.
“Well I was pretty damn stupid to have any faith in you, then,” Robbie snaps.
“It isn’t — faith isn’t about intelligence,” Georgie says. “Faith is—”
“Don’t you dare lecture me about religion when you haven’t stepped into a church since your Confirmation,” Robbie says.
“I wasn’t,” Georgie says. “I just — if someone you have faith in fucks up, it doesn’t mean you were stupid to have faith in them. It isn’t on you.”
“What’s it mean, then?” Robbie asks.
“That they didn’t deserve it,” Georgie says. “I know you don’t — you don’t have faith in me now, that’s obvious, but. I didn’t set out trying to—”
“I don’t care,” Robbie interrupts.
“If I could deserve anyone’s faith, I’d want it to be yours,” Georgie says. “I know that doesn’t mean shit to you, but.”
“But you were lonely,” Robbie says flatly.
“Yeah,” Georgie husks out. “I was.”
Robbie knows lonely. Robbie knew lonely most of his life. He thought he’d finally gotten past it when he met Georgie, but in the end, he ended up more lonely than he’d ever been, until he came to this stupid, precious team.
It’s not an excuse. It’s not an excuse for anything.
“I don’t forgive you,” Robbie says. “For the record.”
“I’m not asking you to,” Georgie says.
“What are you asking for, then?” Robbie asks.
“If you think it doesn’t hurt me to see you like this, you are stupid,” Georgie says.
“So you’re here to what, save me from myself?” Robbie asks. “My hero.”
“I’m asking you to get help, Robbie,” Georgie says. “I don’t care where. Ask Quincy or Matthews or get a therapist—”
“I don’t need a fucking shrink,” Robbie snaps.
“No?” Georgie asks. “You wrote me a check because I told you we needed to stop fucking.”
Robbie shuts his eyes.
“A fucking check,” Georgie says.
“It was a bet,” Robbie says. “I just put up what I wagered.”
“Jesus, Robbie, please,” Georgie says, voice cracking. “I’m begging you here.”
Robbie opens his eyes. “Are you fucking crying?” he asks, and Georgie swipes at his cheeks but doesn’t deny it. Robbie can’t handle crying. He can’t even handle his own crying. “Fuck, stop crying.”
Georgie turns his head, which makes it less obvious, but doesn’t make him any less crying.
“Please stop,” Robbie says desperately. He can count on one hand the times he’s seen Georgie cry. Fuck, he can count on two fingers, and both were after heartbreaking losses, and locker room etiquette is to pretend it isn’t happening, that their face doesn’t reflect exactly what you’re feeling yourself.
He doesn’t have the first idea how to deal with this. Crying over hockey — he gets it, even if he hasn’t himself, at least not since he was a kid. He’s wanted to. He always held the tears back, but he’s wanted to cry. Crying over him, that’s — Georgie has joined the elite company of his mother and no one else ever. Robbie never knows what to do when she cries, and he doesn’t know what to do now.
“Sorry,” Georgie mumbles, wiping over his cheeks again.
Why do you give this much of a shit about me? is on Robbie’s tongue, but he isn’t stupid enough to let it cross his lips. He can’t put together the guy crying in front of him with the guy who told him he loved him and then fucked someone else that same night, but it’s easy to put it together with the guy who cried when they got knocked out. He cried in the room and then later, when the two of them were curled together in bed, his tears hot against Robbie’s neck, and Robbie pretended not to notice for both their sakes. Or, in hindsight, maybe just for his own.
“Can I—” Robbie says, doesn’t know how to finish it, but Georgie looks so wide open lost that he doesn’t think it matters, and he steps into Georgie’s space, wraps his arms around him and lets Georgie cry.
“Sorry,” Georgie says again when he pulls away.
“I cried my eyes out in Cleveland,” Robbie says, too honest. “My mamma didn’t even understand me on the phone, I was crying so hard.”
Georgie starts crying again, which wasn’t Robbie’s intention.
“Me too,” Georgie says. “I know that doesn’t mean shit, but. Me too. I had to bow out on mandatory practice. They weren’t really impressed.”
“I bet,” Robbie says.
Georgie swipes over his cheeks again.
“Don’t leave,” Robbie says. “Okay? We’re better — we play better together.”
“We’ve got some season left,” Georgie says. “A lot, I hope.”
“Me too,” Robbie says.
“I told my agent, but,” Georgie shrugs a little. “I don’t know. We’ll see how it goes, I guess.”
Robbie wants to protest, to make Georgie promise he won’t, to know this is where he belongs, playing beside Robbie, even if — even with everything else the way it is.
It won’t help anything, so he doesn’t say it. “Okay,” he says instead.
“I should go,” Georgie says. “Do you — you should call Matthews or someone to come over.”
“I’m fine,” Robbie says automatically, though honestly, more likely than not he’ll be walking over to Dougie’s and Matty’s sooner than not, because he can’t deal with all this, not on his own. “You shouldn’t be driving,” Robbie adds. They’re all exhausted to start with, and he looks like he just went three rounds. If Robbie got into a car right now he’d wreck it within a block, and he’s — he doesn’t care or whatever, it’s just…Georgie looks about the same, and they need him tomorrow.
“Yeah, well,” Georgie says.
“Get an Uber,” Robbie says. “Pick up your car later. Or I’ll drive it in, get Wheels to drive me back from the game.”
“Yeah?” Georgie asks.
“Yeah,” Robbie says.
“Are we—” Georgie asks, after he’s gotten the confirmation his ride’s five minutes out.
“We’re not okay,” Robbie says.
“I know,” Georgie says. “That’s not what I was asking.”
“What were you asking, then?” Robbie asks.
Georgie’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he whispers.
“Yeah, well,” Robbie says, throat tight. “That makes two of us, I guess.”
They don’t say anything after that, the silence settling, awkward, until the car comes, thankfully ahead of schedule. “So I’m going to—” Georgie says. “My car keys are on the table, thanks for offering to bring it in.”
“Yeah,” Robbie says.
Georgie raises his hands like he isn’t sure what he’s going to do with them, drops them.
“Come here,” Robbie says, and Georgie hesitates, but walks into reaching distance. Close enough for the punch neither delivered. Close enough to kiss.
Robbie does the latter, lips brushing against Georgie’s just long enough to feel pressure, warmth, before he pulls away. As he does he’s suddenly, achingly sure this is the last time he’s going to feel this, and it’s all he can do not to reach for Georgie, pull him back in, hold on so tightly that neither of them can let go.
He doesn’t.
“So, bye,” Robbie says.
“Bye,” Georgie echoes. He leaves, then, and Robbie has no fucking idea what to do with himself, with all the things under his skin, so close to the surface he’s afraid they’ll break through, break him in the process. He sits down, heavy, on the couch.
He wants Georgie to come back. He wants to not be sitting here alone, watching his hands shake. He wants Matty here, but Matty doesn’t deserve to be the one always stuck with Robbie at his worst. He wants his mamma.
He manages to punch in her number only because she’s on speed dial, and he thinks she must get the strongest feeling of deja vu, because the moment he hears her voice he starts to cry.