Hockey Fic - Deadlines
Title: Deadlines
Rating: R
Beta:nebulia,
Pairing: Mario Lemieux/Nathalie Lemieux/Jaromir Jagr
Summary: Every year around the trade deadline, Mario wanders into Ray's office to make a request.
Right Around the 2015 Trade Deadline
Every year since 2011, Mario has wandered into Ray’s office a week or so before the trade deadline to make a request. Ray is a good man and a good friend, so every year he copies Mario on the email. He is also a shrewd businessman, and so every year he gets back a politely worded refusal. He isn’t offering anything that they want.
“You could call him, you know,” Ray says this year, wearing an understanding expression. Mario is not avoiding his gaze, he is scanning over the draft of the terms they’re offering Buffalo. “You don’t have to keep doing this.” Mario finishes scanning the terms and pushes them back across the desk.
“These look good,” he says, getting up and leaving Ray’s office. He hears a sigh from behind him as he leaves, but there’s an email waiting in his inbox when he gets back to his office. A different team, a different set of terms. He scans them before closing out of the email and burying himself in work.
“Just call him,” Nathalie sighs, rolling over in bed and turning off the light. Mario looks at her, betrayed. He thought she, at least, understood. “Honestly, dear, you get like this every year at this time. Just call him.” She pulls the covers up to her chin and settles into her pillow, yawning. “I miss him too.” The admission is quiet, but Mario is suddenly achingly aware of the cold spot on his other side, where another body used to rest.
As the trade deadline approaches, Mario catches himself pulling out his phone and staring at it more and more often. He always puts it away after a few minutes, a mixture of regret and shame brewing in his gut, but he cannot bring himself to make the first move. He had tried, once, only to be viciously ignored. He does not want to open himself up to being hurt again.
He is, in fact, staring at his phone, trying to work up the courage to call, when it rings the night before the trade deadline. He almost drops it in shock before checking the number on the caller ID. He feels a brief spike of disappointment when it’s just Ray before pulling on his professionalism and answering the call. “Hello?”
“We got him.” Ray sounds surprised, but also brisk and business-like. “They faxed over the paperwork just now. He’s coming back.”
Mario is glad that he was already sitting down, because he doesn’t think his legs would hold him if he tried to stand just now. “When?” he asks, and it comes out as more of a croak, because his throat has gone dry. He clears his throat and tries again. “When?”
“He’ll be here in two days,” Ray says, still brisk and business-like. “Will you be alright?”
And that sounds more like his friend than his frighteningly competent general manager. “Yes,” he says, managing to sound solid and sure even as his mind is awash in turmoil. “Thank you, Ray.”
“Anytime,” Ray replies, returning to brisk and business-like. “I’ll forward you a copy of the contract so you can look it over.” He hangs up, leaving Mario sitting in his home office, stunned, until Nathalie comes to see why he hasn’t come to bed yet.
“Well, now you have to call him,” she says, sounding nervous and excited but also sure. She plucks the phone from Mario’s hands and brings up the number, pushing the call button before handing the phone back. Mario takes it with fingers that are shaking a little and he frowns at them, bringing the phone up to his ear. It rings a few time before it connects.
“Hello?” His voice is thick with sleep, as though he’s just been woken up, and Mario swallows hard.
“Hello, Jaromir.”
0o0o0o0o0
Mario tries to invite Jaromir over for dinner several times, but Jaromir refuses every time, coming up with less and less believable excuses. When Mario pours out his frustration to Nathalie after the fifth or sixth attempt, her eyes narrow and she nods. “I’ll talk to him,” she promises.
The next night, the doorbell rings just before dinnertime, and when Mario goes to open it Jaromir’s standing on the doorstep, holding a bottle of wine and looking constipated. The sight punches him right in the throat and he has to swallow, hard, to shake off the feeling of deja vu. “You came,” he says, and Jaromir gives him a mocking look.
“Very hard to say no to Nathalie,” he says, before looking pointedly at where Mario is blocking the doorway. “You let me in?”
Mario steps aside and takes the bottle of wine from him, glancing down at it. It’s a good wine, of course - Jaromir spent enough time with the two of them over the years to develop excellent taste in wine. “Thank you,” he says, a little belatedly, as Jaromir wipes his feet on the welcome mat.
“Welcome,” Jaromir says absently, sniffing at the air. “Dinner smells good.”
“Nathalie’s in the kitchen,” Mario says after a moment, and Jaromir nods jerkily at him before moving farther into the house. When Mario follows him, he sees Austin and Alexa at the top of the stairs, looking down with huge round eyes. He motions for them to come down and help in the kitchen.
Conversation over dinner is stilted at best - Mario is trying, but Jaromir shuts him down at every turn, and Austin and Alexa are too intimidated by the obvious awkwardness between the adults to be their usual boisterous selves. The two of them escape to the backyard as soon as they can after dinner, leaving the adults inside. After a few moments of increasingly uncomfortable silence, Nathalie leans over and puts a hand on Jaromir’s arm. He flinches away, and then looks unhappy at Nathalie’s hurt expression.
“Jaro,” she says, and he pushes away from the table as fast as he can, getting to his feet.
“Good to see you, Nathalie, Mario,” he says, and Mario is on his feet and reaching for Jaromir before he thinks about it.
“Please,” he says, and Jaromir freezes, his face turned away. “Don’t rush out. Stay for dessert, at least.” Only their long familiarity allows Mario to read that Jaromir’s thinking about it. “Nathalie made your favorite,” he offers, and Jaromir blows out a heavy breath but sits back down.
“How have you been?” Mario asks, tentatively, once the dessert has been brought out. Jaromir shrugs one shoulder.
“Not bad,” he says. “No Cups. Almost, with Boston,” and Mario’s mouth tightens at the reminder of that disastrous series. “But not since then.” He clears his throat and looks down at the table. “I had something to tell you,” he says, and it sounds rehearsed. Mario’s throat goes dry. “I am retiring, at the end of this year.”
“What?” Mario doesn’t recognize his own voice, but it makes Jaromir look up sharply, a frown creasing his face.
“I am retiring. You should know what that means,” and Jaromir’s voice sounds cruel. “Of course, maybe not - you came back, after all.”
Mario tries to keep his voice steady. “I didn’t mean. . . “
“You didn’t mean,” Jaromir laughs, and it sounds a little wild. “You didn’t mean! Of course you didn’t mean, but you didn’t even think.” He stops and takes a deep breath. It’s been 12 years, and somewhere in there he learned that screaming doesn’t solve anything. Mario wants him to scream, though - he wants to know that Jaromir felt something, still feels something, because he does.
“You didn’t think,” he says, putting as much venom into it as he can. “You just ran away. How’d that work out for you? Oh wait - it didn’t.”
Jaromir’s face goes white, and then red, and he opens his mouth to say something equally cutting and nasty but Nathalie steps between them, face pale, and the back door bangs open to admit Austin and Alexa, who have decided they want dessert. Jaromir thanks Nathalie in a monotone for the invitation and then leaves, giving Mario a poisonous glare as he goes. Mario waits until he hears the front door close and then buries his face in his hands. Austin and Alexa take their desserts up to their room, giving him worried looks as they go, and when they’ve gone Nathalie comes over and drops into the seat next to him.
“That went about as well as we could have expected,” she says, and Mario lets out a pained groan but doesn’t disagree with her.
0o0o0o0o0
Jaromir is careful to avoid Mario for the next several weeks. The tension between the two of them is palpable, when they’re together, so Mario has abandoned his usual habit of watching practices when he’s free. Sid has started shooting him worried looks when he comes over for dinner, but he hasn’t brought up the subject yet. Unfortunately, Nathalie refuses to let it drop.
“Why do we have to talk about it!” Mario finally explodes, tired of the subject. She thins her lips and puts her hands on her hips.
“Because he was a huge part of our life for over a decade,” she says flatly. “Because he tore us to pieces when he left and he took some of us with him. Because neither of us ever actually got over him.” Mario refuses to look up at her.
“It was easier, when he was on another team,” he says, haltingly. “Because then - he wasn’t here, because he couldn’t be. No matter that we hadn’t talked in years. Now. . . “ he trails off helplessly, and Nathalie puts her hand on his shoulder.
“Now he’s not here because he doesn’t want to be,” she murmurs, and Mario remembers the blinding, furious rage he’d felt when he’d discovered Jaromir had been traded. The fact that, in hindsight, it had been written on the wall, didn’t help. That rage had fueled him for months, until he had woken up one night to Nathalie quietly weeping, and been confronted all over again with the way that the bed just didn’t feel right anymore, with only two of them there. The regret and sorrow had hit him, then, but it was too late - pride, his and Jaro’s both, had demanded apologies that pride refused to give. And so it went for years - only the deeply ingrained habit of not calling Jaro had prevented Mario from cursing him out when he went to Philadelphia instead. Although in retrospect, that had been the best “Fuck You, Mario” Jaro could possibly have come up with.
“You have to talk to him again,” Nathalie says, running her fingers through his hair. Mario twitches away from her, grimacing.
“We have nothing productive to say to each other,” he says shortly, and Nathalie lets out a sigh.
“How about, ‘I’m sorry’?” she suggests. “Lead with that, maybe, see where it gets you.” When he is reluctant, she pulls out the big guns. “Please? For me.”
And he cannot resist that, not when he knows that it’s his fault - his and Jaro’s fault both. Nathalie had loved them both, but she had married him, and that had made her choice for her. She never said a word to blame him, but Mario worries sometimes that it was only for the children that she had stayed, that she would have gone after Jaro otherwise. They never talk about it.
“I’ll try,” he tells her, and her smile is bright enough to light the room.
0o0o0o0o0
When Mario shows up to skate the next day he can almost feel the sigh of relief from the team. He watches from the stands, and every one of his players shoots him a grin or a salute during practice. Except Jaromir. Jaromir is studiously ignoring him.
“Can I talk to you?” he asks, in the locker room after practice is over. Jaromir shrugs and throws on his coat, already finished changing.
“Talk,” he says curtly once they’re out of the locker room, away from the curious eyes and ears of the team. Mario’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth for some reason and he struggles to find the words he needs. Jaromir’s eyes narrow and he turns on his heel, about to stride away.
“I’m sorry,” Mario blurts out, unwilling to let him just walk away, to go back to Nathalie and tell her that he hadn’t at least tried. Jaromir turns around slowly, an unreadable look on his face.
“Sorry,” he says, tasting the word slowly, as though it is unfamiliar to him. “Sorry for what?”
“For everything,” Mario says helplessly, a little overwhelmed. Jaromir’s eyes narrow and he shakes his head.
“Not good enough. Tell me, what you sorry for?”
Mario growls in frustration. “For making you feel pushed out,” he says. “For not realizing what it meant to you. For not talking about it, ever. For not trying to call you after the trade. For everything, Jaro.”
Jaromir’s eyes got bigger and bigger as Mario kept going. He is silent for a moment, stunned, after Mario finishes, before clearing his throat.
“I am sorry, too,” he says roughly. “For everything.” He turns and walks away.
Stung, Mario calls after him. “What, you can’t say it? You made me say it.”
Jaromir whirls around. “Fine! I am sorry for - picking stupid fights. Not talking. Not explaining. For not calling, after trade. Was not my fault only - but. I am still sorry.” He shakes his head, jerkily, before turning back around and walking away, vanishing around a corner and out the door before Mario can pull himself together enough to give chase.
0o0o0o0o0
They avoid each other again in the aftermath of the apologies. Mario is pretty sure that Nathalie is humoring him for the moment, and will eventually force him to go and talk to Jaromir again, so he uses his time wisely. If that means watching Jaromir’s interview clips in his office, well, no one has to know.
As it turns out, Nathalie doesn’t have to force Mario to go and talk to Jaromir again. The Peguins PR department takes care of that for her.
“We want you to be present at the press conference when he announces his retirement,” Ginger says. She’s in charge of the PR department for the Penguins, and everyone is terrified of her, even Mario. Even Jaromir.
“Me?” Mario asks, a little surprised. “Why me?”
“Look,” Ginger says, looking up from her tablet and fixing him with her intense gaze. “There’s a really great narrative here. The prodigal son returns, trying for one last Cup in the city where he won his first. He won his first with you,” she points out, and Mario doesn’t actually need the reminder, thanks. He was there. “And like it or not, the two of you are linked together in people’s minds. We’re just going to sell that. People will eat it up with a spoon.” She taps at her tablet for a moment and then gives Mario her best smile, the one with all of the teeth in it. He represses a shudder. “Alright, good talk. It’s on your calendar,” she says, and sweeps out of his office before he can say anything. Not that there’s really anything to say, after that.
The press conference is a total zoo, as Mario expected. He stands half-tucked away in a corner after his own remarks, watching as Jaromir laughs and jokes with the reporters, smiling so hard his face is all crinkled up.
They end the press conference with a video, and Mario feels a little like he’s just been taken into the boards. It’s a highlight reel, showing all of the truly amazing things Jaromir has accomplished over his years in the NHL, but shown in reverse chronological order. The last shot, that lingers on the screen, is that terrible picture of them standing back to back with the Cup, and Mario fights back the rush of memories it evokes.
When they get away from the press conference, Mario takes a deep breath and turns to Jaromir, who has a faraway look in his eyes. “Want to go for a drink?” he asks, carefully neutral, and Jaromir visibly hesitates before shrugging.
“Sure,” he says, giving Mario a half-smile. Mario very carefully doesn’t think about other occasions when he’s seen that same reckless half-smile and instead gestures for Jaromir to get into his car.
0o0o0o0o0
They stop avoiding each other after that, and Jaromir starts accepting invitations over for dinner. Austin and Alexa have relaxed around him, peppering him with questions. Jaromir is endlessly delighted by this, and takes every opportunity to tell terrible stories about Mario and Nathalie “back in the day.” Mario protests them half-heartedly, but then Jaromir will shoot him that smile, the one that takes up his entire face and makes his eyes light up. Mario has never been able to resist that smile.
“The kids like him,” Nathalie says, coming up behind him in the kitchen where he’s doing the dishes and wrapping her arms around his waist. He hums thoughtfully and cranes his neck to peer into the dining room, where Jaromir is telling some story and illustrating it with broad sweeps of his hands.
“He likes them too, I think,” Mario says, and Nathalie’s arms tighten around his waist. He turns to look at her and she looks excited and terrified in equal measure. He knows how she feels - he feels the same way.
The three of them have been talking, albeit in a very roundabout way, about their past. Mario thinks that they’re all on the same page, now, but he’s still hesitant to take that final step. Nathalie and Jaromir haven’t brought it up either, so he thinks maybe he’s not alone. What they have now - it works. He doesn’t want to risk losing it again.
After all of the dishes have been cleared away, Austin and Alexa head up to their rooms. The three adults are sitting around the table, relaxing with a glass of wine, when Jaromir clears his throat.
“This is nice,” he says, and Mario looks over at him, bemused.
“It is a good wine,” he says, and Jaromir gestures impatiently.
“Not the wine - that is nice too, but. I mean this. Here, with you both.” He clears his throat again, blushing slightly, and Mario’s mouth goes dry. “I know we have been. . . talking,” Jaromir says haltingly. “About the past. And I thought, maybe. . . “ his voice trails off, and he looks down at his hands.
Nathalie stands, abruptly, and circles the table so that she is standing directly in front of Jaromir. He tips his face up to look at her, squinting a little in the light, and she leans down to press a soft kiss to his lips.
“Yes,” Mario says, his voice a little hoarse, when they break apart. “The answer is yes.” Jaromir’s smile in response is blinding.
0o0o0o0o0
As they head up to the bedroom, Mario spares a moment to be grateful that Sid has finally managed to move out. Once Austin and Alexa are in their rooms for the evening they rarely come out - Sid would pop back down every so often with a question for Mario. Thoughts of Sid are quickly driven from his head when Jaromir shoots him a sly smile and presses him up against the wall, kissing him. Mario’s hands land on Jaromir’s hips, drawing him in as he deepens the kiss, relearning old territory. Jaromir kisses exactly the same way he had 14 years ago, eager and demanding. Mario brings one hand up and squeezes the nape of Jaromir’s neck gently and he gasps, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead against Mario’s shoulder. After a moment he straightens up and heads towards the bedroom, tossing a wink over his shoulder at Mario and Nathalie. Mario’s doubts choose that moment to roar back into existence and he stands frozen against the wall. Nathalie, who has always been able to read his mind, comes up to him and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.
“We’re older and wiser now,” she whispers. “We won’t let it happen again.” Mario’s fears don’t recede fully, but he is able to push himself off of the wall and follow Jaromir and Nathalie into the bedroom.
“Second thoughts?” Jaromir inquires from where he’s sitting in the middle of the bed. His tone is light and off-hand, but there is tension in the way he’s holding himself. Mario shakes his head.
“No,” he says, crossing the room to cup Jaromir’s cheek in his hand. Jaromir’s eyes slip shut as he leans into the touch briefly, before opening again with a wicked gleam.
“Good,” he says. “Clothes off, now.” Mario laughs and takes his hand back, starting in on the buttons of his dress shirt. Jaromir winks roguishly at Nathalie as he begins wriggling out of his own clothes, and she laughs delightedly at him as she slips her shirt off over her head and steps out of her pants.
Mario focuses his attention on getting out of his clothes as fast as possible. He glances up only when he hears Jaromir let out a startled sound, and sees that Nathalie has all of her clothes off already and has straddled him on the bed. As he watches, Jaromir reaches up and cups Nathalie’s breasts. Her hands move to Jaromir’s shoulders as he bends his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, and Mario trips his way out of his pants in his haste to join them on the bed.
It takes some negotiation, but eventually Jaromir ends up on his back, propped up on some pillows as Nathalie straddles his shoulders. Mario watches as she slowly lowers herself onto his face and shudders at the sounds of pleasure that come from both of them as he traces aimless patterns over Jaromir’s stomach and thighs.
He just watches them for a while, mesmerized. Jaromir’s always been good with his mouth, and he soon has Nathalie rocking up against him, letting out quiet gasps. Nathalie turns to frown at him teasingly after a moment. “Are you just going to sit there and watch?” she asks, punctuated by a groan as Jaromir brings his hand up and slips two fingers inside of her. Mario shakes himself out of his stupor and bends down to take Jaromir into his mouth.
It’s been a while since he’s done this - 14 years, give or take a few months - and he’s a little too ambitious at first, going down too far and choking. He pulls off, coughing, and Jaromir takes his mouth off of Nathalie for long enough to laugh at him. “Need practice,” he says, and Mario narrows his eyes.
He’s more careful this time, and slowly he gets back into the rhythm of it. He catches Jaromir with his teeth once, accidentally, and Jaromir’s hips buck unexpectedly. Mario pulls off, surprised, and looks up the bed. “Really?”
“Shut up,” Jaromir gasps. Mario smirks as he goes back down, hollowing his cheeks and pressing one hand to Jaromir’s hip to hold him still. Above him, Nathalie’s gasps go abruptly high pitched as she comes before she lets out a satisfied sigh and slumps off to the side, watching them with slitted eyes. Mario looks up and meets Jaromir’s eyes as he goes down as far as he can, humming around Jaromir’s dick as he brings his other hand down to play with Jaromir’s balls. He slips his hand back and brushes against Jaromir’s hole, teasing, and Jaromir’s hands land in his hair, tugging at him insistently.
“Mario - Mario, I’m. . .” Jaromir’s voice is hoarse and Mario pulls off and crawls up the bed to kiss him, because he can, because Jaromir is finally back where he belongs. He kisses him triumphantly as he jerks Jaromir off, and Jaromir comes with a shout and bites Mario’s lip viciously. Mario works him through his orgasm until he twitches, oversensitive, before pulling back and stroking at his own achingly hard cock.
“Let me get that for you,” Nathalie says, pressing up against his back and taking him in her hands. Mario can hardly believe that this is real, Nathalie’s hands on him and Jaromir under him stretching lazily. He gasps as Jaromir leans up on his elbows to bite at his chest, murmuring in his ear.
“Go on, come on me, all over,” he says, and Mario does with a low groan. He feels an intense satisfaction at the sight of Jaromir spread out on the bed, utterly fucked out, covered in their come. Nathalie kisses his shoulder and tightens her arms around his waist before getting up off the bed and going into the bathroom. A few seconds later there’s the sound of running water and she leans back into the room and tosses a damp washcloth at them.
“Clean up,” she says, wrinkling her nose at them, so they do, Mario with some reluctance. When they’ve cleaned up Nathalie comes back out of the bathroom and snuggles up to Jaromir, reaching out to rest a hand on Mario’s chest as well. They stay like that for a moment, and then Jaromir lets out a deep sigh.
“I should go,” he says regretfully. Mario knows he’s right, but that doesn’t stop his instinctive reaction, which is to tighten his grip on Jaromir’s wrist. He releases Jaromir with a murmured apology and stands, stretching, as Jaromir gets up from the bed and begins hunting for his clothes.
“Come over tomorrow,” Nathalie says, as Jaromir finishes dressing and Mario pulls on a pair of sleep pants so he can walk Jaromir to the door. “After practice.”
“Yes,” Jaromir says, stopping by the bed to kiss her, lingeringly. “I will come.”
“Good,” she says, patting him on the cheek. Mario and Jaromir walk to the front door in silence, broken only when Mario pulls Jaromir into a long kiss at the door.
“We missed you,” he says roughly when it ends, and Jaromir looks startled but pleased.
“I missed you both as well,” he says, leaning back in to give Mario a brief peck. “I will see you tomorrow.” Mario watches as he gets into his car and heads down the driveway, then head back up to the bedroom. Nathalie curls up against him when he gets into bed and presses a sleepy kiss to his arm. He puts his arm around her and closes his eyes, feeling more at peace than he has in years.
0o0o0o0o0
Epilogue
This isn’t the first time Sid’s been over to the Lemieuxs for dinner since Jagr came back to the team, but it is the first time that Jagr’s been there. He’s wary at first - everyone felt the awkwardness between Mario and Jagr when Jagr first came back, even though Sid’s not entirely sure what all that was about. But there doesn’t seem to be any tension there now, and Jagr is laughing with Alexa about something while Mario smiles on indulgently.
He relaxes cautiously as dinner progresses, laughing and talking with the Lemieuxs and Jagr about the season and their hopes for the playoffs. He’s feeling pretty content with the world when he walks into the kitchen after dinner and pulls up short.
Mario has Jagr pushed up against the refrigerator, laughing into his mouth, while Nathalie flicks soapsuds at both of them from the sink. They haven’t noticed him, so he backs out of the kitchen quickly and flees, calling a quick goodbye to Austin and Alexa, who wave at him absently. He drives over to Geno’s, looking pleadingly at Geno when he opens the door, startled.
“Sid? Thought you have dinner with Mario, tonight.”
“I did,” he says, covering his eyes. “And Jagr was there, and I saw Mario kissing Jagr, and I need you to get me drunk now so I can forget I ever saw that.”
Geno laughs and opens his door wider, letting Sid in. “Good thing day off tomorrow,” he says. “Come in, sit down. I will get vodka.”
Rating: R
Beta:nebulia,
Pairing: Mario Lemieux/Nathalie Lemieux/Jaromir Jagr
Summary: Every year around the trade deadline, Mario wanders into Ray's office to make a request.
Right Around the 2015 Trade Deadline
Every year since 2011, Mario has wandered into Ray’s office a week or so before the trade deadline to make a request. Ray is a good man and a good friend, so every year he copies Mario on the email. He is also a shrewd businessman, and so every year he gets back a politely worded refusal. He isn’t offering anything that they want.
“You could call him, you know,” Ray says this year, wearing an understanding expression. Mario is not avoiding his gaze, he is scanning over the draft of the terms they’re offering Buffalo. “You don’t have to keep doing this.” Mario finishes scanning the terms and pushes them back across the desk.
“These look good,” he says, getting up and leaving Ray’s office. He hears a sigh from behind him as he leaves, but there’s an email waiting in his inbox when he gets back to his office. A different team, a different set of terms. He scans them before closing out of the email and burying himself in work.
“Just call him,” Nathalie sighs, rolling over in bed and turning off the light. Mario looks at her, betrayed. He thought she, at least, understood. “Honestly, dear, you get like this every year at this time. Just call him.” She pulls the covers up to her chin and settles into her pillow, yawning. “I miss him too.” The admission is quiet, but Mario is suddenly achingly aware of the cold spot on his other side, where another body used to rest.
As the trade deadline approaches, Mario catches himself pulling out his phone and staring at it more and more often. He always puts it away after a few minutes, a mixture of regret and shame brewing in his gut, but he cannot bring himself to make the first move. He had tried, once, only to be viciously ignored. He does not want to open himself up to being hurt again.
He is, in fact, staring at his phone, trying to work up the courage to call, when it rings the night before the trade deadline. He almost drops it in shock before checking the number on the caller ID. He feels a brief spike of disappointment when it’s just Ray before pulling on his professionalism and answering the call. “Hello?”
“We got him.” Ray sounds surprised, but also brisk and business-like. “They faxed over the paperwork just now. He’s coming back.”
Mario is glad that he was already sitting down, because he doesn’t think his legs would hold him if he tried to stand just now. “When?” he asks, and it comes out as more of a croak, because his throat has gone dry. He clears his throat and tries again. “When?”
“He’ll be here in two days,” Ray says, still brisk and business-like. “Will you be alright?”
And that sounds more like his friend than his frighteningly competent general manager. “Yes,” he says, managing to sound solid and sure even as his mind is awash in turmoil. “Thank you, Ray.”
“Anytime,” Ray replies, returning to brisk and business-like. “I’ll forward you a copy of the contract so you can look it over.” He hangs up, leaving Mario sitting in his home office, stunned, until Nathalie comes to see why he hasn’t come to bed yet.
“Well, now you have to call him,” she says, sounding nervous and excited but also sure. She plucks the phone from Mario’s hands and brings up the number, pushing the call button before handing the phone back. Mario takes it with fingers that are shaking a little and he frowns at them, bringing the phone up to his ear. It rings a few time before it connects.
“Hello?” His voice is thick with sleep, as though he’s just been woken up, and Mario swallows hard.
“Hello, Jaromir.”
0o0o0o0o0
Mario tries to invite Jaromir over for dinner several times, but Jaromir refuses every time, coming up with less and less believable excuses. When Mario pours out his frustration to Nathalie after the fifth or sixth attempt, her eyes narrow and she nods. “I’ll talk to him,” she promises.
The next night, the doorbell rings just before dinnertime, and when Mario goes to open it Jaromir’s standing on the doorstep, holding a bottle of wine and looking constipated. The sight punches him right in the throat and he has to swallow, hard, to shake off the feeling of deja vu. “You came,” he says, and Jaromir gives him a mocking look.
“Very hard to say no to Nathalie,” he says, before looking pointedly at where Mario is blocking the doorway. “You let me in?”
Mario steps aside and takes the bottle of wine from him, glancing down at it. It’s a good wine, of course - Jaromir spent enough time with the two of them over the years to develop excellent taste in wine. “Thank you,” he says, a little belatedly, as Jaromir wipes his feet on the welcome mat.
“Welcome,” Jaromir says absently, sniffing at the air. “Dinner smells good.”
“Nathalie’s in the kitchen,” Mario says after a moment, and Jaromir nods jerkily at him before moving farther into the house. When Mario follows him, he sees Austin and Alexa at the top of the stairs, looking down with huge round eyes. He motions for them to come down and help in the kitchen.
Conversation over dinner is stilted at best - Mario is trying, but Jaromir shuts him down at every turn, and Austin and Alexa are too intimidated by the obvious awkwardness between the adults to be their usual boisterous selves. The two of them escape to the backyard as soon as they can after dinner, leaving the adults inside. After a few moments of increasingly uncomfortable silence, Nathalie leans over and puts a hand on Jaromir’s arm. He flinches away, and then looks unhappy at Nathalie’s hurt expression.
“Jaro,” she says, and he pushes away from the table as fast as he can, getting to his feet.
“Good to see you, Nathalie, Mario,” he says, and Mario is on his feet and reaching for Jaromir before he thinks about it.
“Please,” he says, and Jaromir freezes, his face turned away. “Don’t rush out. Stay for dessert, at least.” Only their long familiarity allows Mario to read that Jaromir’s thinking about it. “Nathalie made your favorite,” he offers, and Jaromir blows out a heavy breath but sits back down.
“How have you been?” Mario asks, tentatively, once the dessert has been brought out. Jaromir shrugs one shoulder.
“Not bad,” he says. “No Cups. Almost, with Boston,” and Mario’s mouth tightens at the reminder of that disastrous series. “But not since then.” He clears his throat and looks down at the table. “I had something to tell you,” he says, and it sounds rehearsed. Mario’s throat goes dry. “I am retiring, at the end of this year.”
“What?” Mario doesn’t recognize his own voice, but it makes Jaromir look up sharply, a frown creasing his face.
“I am retiring. You should know what that means,” and Jaromir’s voice sounds cruel. “Of course, maybe not - you came back, after all.”
Mario tries to keep his voice steady. “I didn’t mean. . . “
“You didn’t mean,” Jaromir laughs, and it sounds a little wild. “You didn’t mean! Of course you didn’t mean, but you didn’t even think.” He stops and takes a deep breath. It’s been 12 years, and somewhere in there he learned that screaming doesn’t solve anything. Mario wants him to scream, though - he wants to know that Jaromir felt something, still feels something, because he does.
“You didn’t think,” he says, putting as much venom into it as he can. “You just ran away. How’d that work out for you? Oh wait - it didn’t.”
Jaromir’s face goes white, and then red, and he opens his mouth to say something equally cutting and nasty but Nathalie steps between them, face pale, and the back door bangs open to admit Austin and Alexa, who have decided they want dessert. Jaromir thanks Nathalie in a monotone for the invitation and then leaves, giving Mario a poisonous glare as he goes. Mario waits until he hears the front door close and then buries his face in his hands. Austin and Alexa take their desserts up to their room, giving him worried looks as they go, and when they’ve gone Nathalie comes over and drops into the seat next to him.
“That went about as well as we could have expected,” she says, and Mario lets out a pained groan but doesn’t disagree with her.
0o0o0o0o0
Jaromir is careful to avoid Mario for the next several weeks. The tension between the two of them is palpable, when they’re together, so Mario has abandoned his usual habit of watching practices when he’s free. Sid has started shooting him worried looks when he comes over for dinner, but he hasn’t brought up the subject yet. Unfortunately, Nathalie refuses to let it drop.
“Why do we have to talk about it!” Mario finally explodes, tired of the subject. She thins her lips and puts her hands on her hips.
“Because he was a huge part of our life for over a decade,” she says flatly. “Because he tore us to pieces when he left and he took some of us with him. Because neither of us ever actually got over him.” Mario refuses to look up at her.
“It was easier, when he was on another team,” he says, haltingly. “Because then - he wasn’t here, because he couldn’t be. No matter that we hadn’t talked in years. Now. . . “ he trails off helplessly, and Nathalie puts her hand on his shoulder.
“Now he’s not here because he doesn’t want to be,” she murmurs, and Mario remembers the blinding, furious rage he’d felt when he’d discovered Jaromir had been traded. The fact that, in hindsight, it had been written on the wall, didn’t help. That rage had fueled him for months, until he had woken up one night to Nathalie quietly weeping, and been confronted all over again with the way that the bed just didn’t feel right anymore, with only two of them there. The regret and sorrow had hit him, then, but it was too late - pride, his and Jaro’s both, had demanded apologies that pride refused to give. And so it went for years - only the deeply ingrained habit of not calling Jaro had prevented Mario from cursing him out when he went to Philadelphia instead. Although in retrospect, that had been the best “Fuck You, Mario” Jaro could possibly have come up with.
“You have to talk to him again,” Nathalie says, running her fingers through his hair. Mario twitches away from her, grimacing.
“We have nothing productive to say to each other,” he says shortly, and Nathalie lets out a sigh.
“How about, ‘I’m sorry’?” she suggests. “Lead with that, maybe, see where it gets you.” When he is reluctant, she pulls out the big guns. “Please? For me.”
And he cannot resist that, not when he knows that it’s his fault - his and Jaro’s fault both. Nathalie had loved them both, but she had married him, and that had made her choice for her. She never said a word to blame him, but Mario worries sometimes that it was only for the children that she had stayed, that she would have gone after Jaro otherwise. They never talk about it.
“I’ll try,” he tells her, and her smile is bright enough to light the room.
0o0o0o0o0
When Mario shows up to skate the next day he can almost feel the sigh of relief from the team. He watches from the stands, and every one of his players shoots him a grin or a salute during practice. Except Jaromir. Jaromir is studiously ignoring him.
“Can I talk to you?” he asks, in the locker room after practice is over. Jaromir shrugs and throws on his coat, already finished changing.
“Talk,” he says curtly once they’re out of the locker room, away from the curious eyes and ears of the team. Mario’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth for some reason and he struggles to find the words he needs. Jaromir’s eyes narrow and he turns on his heel, about to stride away.
“I’m sorry,” Mario blurts out, unwilling to let him just walk away, to go back to Nathalie and tell her that he hadn’t at least tried. Jaromir turns around slowly, an unreadable look on his face.
“Sorry,” he says, tasting the word slowly, as though it is unfamiliar to him. “Sorry for what?”
“For everything,” Mario says helplessly, a little overwhelmed. Jaromir’s eyes narrow and he shakes his head.
“Not good enough. Tell me, what you sorry for?”
Mario growls in frustration. “For making you feel pushed out,” he says. “For not realizing what it meant to you. For not talking about it, ever. For not trying to call you after the trade. For everything, Jaro.”
Jaromir’s eyes got bigger and bigger as Mario kept going. He is silent for a moment, stunned, after Mario finishes, before clearing his throat.
“I am sorry, too,” he says roughly. “For everything.” He turns and walks away.
Stung, Mario calls after him. “What, you can’t say it? You made me say it.”
Jaromir whirls around. “Fine! I am sorry for - picking stupid fights. Not talking. Not explaining. For not calling, after trade. Was not my fault only - but. I am still sorry.” He shakes his head, jerkily, before turning back around and walking away, vanishing around a corner and out the door before Mario can pull himself together enough to give chase.
0o0o0o0o0
They avoid each other again in the aftermath of the apologies. Mario is pretty sure that Nathalie is humoring him for the moment, and will eventually force him to go and talk to Jaromir again, so he uses his time wisely. If that means watching Jaromir’s interview clips in his office, well, no one has to know.
As it turns out, Nathalie doesn’t have to force Mario to go and talk to Jaromir again. The Peguins PR department takes care of that for her.
“We want you to be present at the press conference when he announces his retirement,” Ginger says. She’s in charge of the PR department for the Penguins, and everyone is terrified of her, even Mario. Even Jaromir.
“Me?” Mario asks, a little surprised. “Why me?”
“Look,” Ginger says, looking up from her tablet and fixing him with her intense gaze. “There’s a really great narrative here. The prodigal son returns, trying for one last Cup in the city where he won his first. He won his first with you,” she points out, and Mario doesn’t actually need the reminder, thanks. He was there. “And like it or not, the two of you are linked together in people’s minds. We’re just going to sell that. People will eat it up with a spoon.” She taps at her tablet for a moment and then gives Mario her best smile, the one with all of the teeth in it. He represses a shudder. “Alright, good talk. It’s on your calendar,” she says, and sweeps out of his office before he can say anything. Not that there’s really anything to say, after that.
The press conference is a total zoo, as Mario expected. He stands half-tucked away in a corner after his own remarks, watching as Jaromir laughs and jokes with the reporters, smiling so hard his face is all crinkled up.
They end the press conference with a video, and Mario feels a little like he’s just been taken into the boards. It’s a highlight reel, showing all of the truly amazing things Jaromir has accomplished over his years in the NHL, but shown in reverse chronological order. The last shot, that lingers on the screen, is that terrible picture of them standing back to back with the Cup, and Mario fights back the rush of memories it evokes.
When they get away from the press conference, Mario takes a deep breath and turns to Jaromir, who has a faraway look in his eyes. “Want to go for a drink?” he asks, carefully neutral, and Jaromir visibly hesitates before shrugging.
“Sure,” he says, giving Mario a half-smile. Mario very carefully doesn’t think about other occasions when he’s seen that same reckless half-smile and instead gestures for Jaromir to get into his car.
0o0o0o0o0
They stop avoiding each other after that, and Jaromir starts accepting invitations over for dinner. Austin and Alexa have relaxed around him, peppering him with questions. Jaromir is endlessly delighted by this, and takes every opportunity to tell terrible stories about Mario and Nathalie “back in the day.” Mario protests them half-heartedly, but then Jaromir will shoot him that smile, the one that takes up his entire face and makes his eyes light up. Mario has never been able to resist that smile.
“The kids like him,” Nathalie says, coming up behind him in the kitchen where he’s doing the dishes and wrapping her arms around his waist. He hums thoughtfully and cranes his neck to peer into the dining room, where Jaromir is telling some story and illustrating it with broad sweeps of his hands.
“He likes them too, I think,” Mario says, and Nathalie’s arms tighten around his waist. He turns to look at her and she looks excited and terrified in equal measure. He knows how she feels - he feels the same way.
The three of them have been talking, albeit in a very roundabout way, about their past. Mario thinks that they’re all on the same page, now, but he’s still hesitant to take that final step. Nathalie and Jaromir haven’t brought it up either, so he thinks maybe he’s not alone. What they have now - it works. He doesn’t want to risk losing it again.
After all of the dishes have been cleared away, Austin and Alexa head up to their rooms. The three adults are sitting around the table, relaxing with a glass of wine, when Jaromir clears his throat.
“This is nice,” he says, and Mario looks over at him, bemused.
“It is a good wine,” he says, and Jaromir gestures impatiently.
“Not the wine - that is nice too, but. I mean this. Here, with you both.” He clears his throat again, blushing slightly, and Mario’s mouth goes dry. “I know we have been. . . talking,” Jaromir says haltingly. “About the past. And I thought, maybe. . . “ his voice trails off, and he looks down at his hands.
Nathalie stands, abruptly, and circles the table so that she is standing directly in front of Jaromir. He tips his face up to look at her, squinting a little in the light, and she leans down to press a soft kiss to his lips.
“Yes,” Mario says, his voice a little hoarse, when they break apart. “The answer is yes.” Jaromir’s smile in response is blinding.
0o0o0o0o0
As they head up to the bedroom, Mario spares a moment to be grateful that Sid has finally managed to move out. Once Austin and Alexa are in their rooms for the evening they rarely come out - Sid would pop back down every so often with a question for Mario. Thoughts of Sid are quickly driven from his head when Jaromir shoots him a sly smile and presses him up against the wall, kissing him. Mario’s hands land on Jaromir’s hips, drawing him in as he deepens the kiss, relearning old territory. Jaromir kisses exactly the same way he had 14 years ago, eager and demanding. Mario brings one hand up and squeezes the nape of Jaromir’s neck gently and he gasps, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead against Mario’s shoulder. After a moment he straightens up and heads towards the bedroom, tossing a wink over his shoulder at Mario and Nathalie. Mario’s doubts choose that moment to roar back into existence and he stands frozen against the wall. Nathalie, who has always been able to read his mind, comes up to him and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.
“We’re older and wiser now,” she whispers. “We won’t let it happen again.” Mario’s fears don’t recede fully, but he is able to push himself off of the wall and follow Jaromir and Nathalie into the bedroom.
“Second thoughts?” Jaromir inquires from where he’s sitting in the middle of the bed. His tone is light and off-hand, but there is tension in the way he’s holding himself. Mario shakes his head.
“No,” he says, crossing the room to cup Jaromir’s cheek in his hand. Jaromir’s eyes slip shut as he leans into the touch briefly, before opening again with a wicked gleam.
“Good,” he says. “Clothes off, now.” Mario laughs and takes his hand back, starting in on the buttons of his dress shirt. Jaromir winks roguishly at Nathalie as he begins wriggling out of his own clothes, and she laughs delightedly at him as she slips her shirt off over her head and steps out of her pants.
Mario focuses his attention on getting out of his clothes as fast as possible. He glances up only when he hears Jaromir let out a startled sound, and sees that Nathalie has all of her clothes off already and has straddled him on the bed. As he watches, Jaromir reaches up and cups Nathalie’s breasts. Her hands move to Jaromir’s shoulders as he bends his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, and Mario trips his way out of his pants in his haste to join them on the bed.
It takes some negotiation, but eventually Jaromir ends up on his back, propped up on some pillows as Nathalie straddles his shoulders. Mario watches as she slowly lowers herself onto his face and shudders at the sounds of pleasure that come from both of them as he traces aimless patterns over Jaromir’s stomach and thighs.
He just watches them for a while, mesmerized. Jaromir’s always been good with his mouth, and he soon has Nathalie rocking up against him, letting out quiet gasps. Nathalie turns to frown at him teasingly after a moment. “Are you just going to sit there and watch?” she asks, punctuated by a groan as Jaromir brings his hand up and slips two fingers inside of her. Mario shakes himself out of his stupor and bends down to take Jaromir into his mouth.
It’s been a while since he’s done this - 14 years, give or take a few months - and he’s a little too ambitious at first, going down too far and choking. He pulls off, coughing, and Jaromir takes his mouth off of Nathalie for long enough to laugh at him. “Need practice,” he says, and Mario narrows his eyes.
He’s more careful this time, and slowly he gets back into the rhythm of it. He catches Jaromir with his teeth once, accidentally, and Jaromir’s hips buck unexpectedly. Mario pulls off, surprised, and looks up the bed. “Really?”
“Shut up,” Jaromir gasps. Mario smirks as he goes back down, hollowing his cheeks and pressing one hand to Jaromir’s hip to hold him still. Above him, Nathalie’s gasps go abruptly high pitched as she comes before she lets out a satisfied sigh and slumps off to the side, watching them with slitted eyes. Mario looks up and meets Jaromir’s eyes as he goes down as far as he can, humming around Jaromir’s dick as he brings his other hand down to play with Jaromir’s balls. He slips his hand back and brushes against Jaromir’s hole, teasing, and Jaromir’s hands land in his hair, tugging at him insistently.
“Mario - Mario, I’m. . .” Jaromir’s voice is hoarse and Mario pulls off and crawls up the bed to kiss him, because he can, because Jaromir is finally back where he belongs. He kisses him triumphantly as he jerks Jaromir off, and Jaromir comes with a shout and bites Mario’s lip viciously. Mario works him through his orgasm until he twitches, oversensitive, before pulling back and stroking at his own achingly hard cock.
“Let me get that for you,” Nathalie says, pressing up against his back and taking him in her hands. Mario can hardly believe that this is real, Nathalie’s hands on him and Jaromir under him stretching lazily. He gasps as Jaromir leans up on his elbows to bite at his chest, murmuring in his ear.
“Go on, come on me, all over,” he says, and Mario does with a low groan. He feels an intense satisfaction at the sight of Jaromir spread out on the bed, utterly fucked out, covered in their come. Nathalie kisses his shoulder and tightens her arms around his waist before getting up off the bed and going into the bathroom. A few seconds later there’s the sound of running water and she leans back into the room and tosses a damp washcloth at them.
“Clean up,” she says, wrinkling her nose at them, so they do, Mario with some reluctance. When they’ve cleaned up Nathalie comes back out of the bathroom and snuggles up to Jaromir, reaching out to rest a hand on Mario’s chest as well. They stay like that for a moment, and then Jaromir lets out a deep sigh.
“I should go,” he says regretfully. Mario knows he’s right, but that doesn’t stop his instinctive reaction, which is to tighten his grip on Jaromir’s wrist. He releases Jaromir with a murmured apology and stands, stretching, as Jaromir gets up from the bed and begins hunting for his clothes.
“Come over tomorrow,” Nathalie says, as Jaromir finishes dressing and Mario pulls on a pair of sleep pants so he can walk Jaromir to the door. “After practice.”
“Yes,” Jaromir says, stopping by the bed to kiss her, lingeringly. “I will come.”
“Good,” she says, patting him on the cheek. Mario and Jaromir walk to the front door in silence, broken only when Mario pulls Jaromir into a long kiss at the door.
“We missed you,” he says roughly when it ends, and Jaromir looks startled but pleased.
“I missed you both as well,” he says, leaning back in to give Mario a brief peck. “I will see you tomorrow.” Mario watches as he gets into his car and heads down the driveway, then head back up to the bedroom. Nathalie curls up against him when he gets into bed and presses a sleepy kiss to his arm. He puts his arm around her and closes his eyes, feeling more at peace than he has in years.
0o0o0o0o0
Epilogue
This isn’t the first time Sid’s been over to the Lemieuxs for dinner since Jagr came back to the team, but it is the first time that Jagr’s been there. He’s wary at first - everyone felt the awkwardness between Mario and Jagr when Jagr first came back, even though Sid’s not entirely sure what all that was about. But there doesn’t seem to be any tension there now, and Jagr is laughing with Alexa about something while Mario smiles on indulgently.
He relaxes cautiously as dinner progresses, laughing and talking with the Lemieuxs and Jagr about the season and their hopes for the playoffs. He’s feeling pretty content with the world when he walks into the kitchen after dinner and pulls up short.
Mario has Jagr pushed up against the refrigerator, laughing into his mouth, while Nathalie flicks soapsuds at both of them from the sink. They haven’t noticed him, so he backs out of the kitchen quickly and flees, calling a quick goodbye to Austin and Alexa, who wave at him absently. He drives over to Geno’s, looking pleadingly at Geno when he opens the door, startled.
“Sid? Thought you have dinner with Mario, tonight.”
“I did,” he says, covering his eyes. “And Jagr was there, and I saw Mario kissing Jagr, and I need you to get me drunk now so I can forget I ever saw that.”
Geno laughs and opens his door wider, letting Sid in. “Good thing day off tomorrow,” he says. “Come in, sit down. I will get vodka.”