All gather 'round for crack!fic
Title: Hockey Night in Atlantis
Author: canadian_snoopy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6007
Spoilers: Nothing.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: It was the Stanley Cup for dorks.
Notes: Un-beta'ed as always, this was supposed to be my response to the abandon challenge over at sga_flashfic, only it quickly decended into crack!ficcery the likes which have rarely been seen in this journal. My only excuse is that, one, I spend too much time at dictionary.com and derive entirely too much amusement from picking definitions that are obscure and/or not the norm. And two, aithine and ophidiae are evil enablers that are deserving of any/all pitchforks and torches that this story inspires. This is for the both of you -- NOW ARE YOU SORRY?!
Abandonment: n. Unbounded enthusiasm; exuberance. A complete surrender of inhibitions; freedom from inhibition or worry; "she danced with abandon" [syn: wantonness, unconstraint] 2: a feeling of extreme emotional intensity; "the wildness of his anger" [syn: wildness]
*****
The call to sign up for teams went up on city's server within one hour of Rodney's radio transmission. And watching Petrova, the notorious Ice Queen of Atlantis, the woman Marines *swore* had ice water flowing through her veins and would kill you rather than look at you, coo at the pile of skates and sticks Rodney had found in one of the storage rooms made him think that it had maybe only taken an hour because his own excitement at the find had, perhaps, made the transmission a mite incomprehensible.
"You were babbling," Sheppard told him later, grinning around his mouthful of food. "For a second, I thought maybe you'd found a pile of ZPMs."
Rodney opened his mouth to tell Sheppard that he didn't *babble*, that all of his words were carefully thought out to ensure maximum information transmission, but something in Sheppard's eyes promised Rodney that he would inform everyone within hearing distance that Rodney *might* have squeaked in a very embarrassing manner at finding the skates.
Bastard.
"It doesn't matter anyway," he said, glancing around the room for potential competition and seeing a few of the Russians doing the same with narrowed eyes. "Because Elizabeth's never going to go for it."
"You think?"
Rodney shook his head. "She's either going to say that it's too dangerous, too trivial or too difficult to arrange."
"I happen to think it's a great idea," she told him later, making Rodney swallow the words he'd been ready to use to convince her. All of the East European members (and more than a few Canadians and Americans) had laid siege to his lab until he'd assured them that yes, he would do his best to convince Elizabeth that a hockey game was just the thing they needed.
Granted, they'd hounded him for hours before he'd caved but Rodney still felt oddly vindicated that he'd held out *that* long under the combined might of Zelenka, Corrigan and Petrova.
He had made a list of things to say to Elizabeth that ranged from begging (Petrova intimidated *Marines*, so Rodney wasn't ashamed of his desire to keep her in a good mood) to explaining the necessity of building camaraderie between the military and the scientists (Zelenka's idea, despite the fact that most of Sheppard's Marines thought the sun shone out of Zelenka's ass) to threats to go on a labour strike (an empty threat, considering that most of his people worked twenty hour days because they *wanted* to).
Mentally chucking the list, he frowned at Elizabeth's smile: this was too easy and he didn't trust easy anymore than he trusted Sheppard to not get lost inside a closet. "You do?" he asked warily.
She nodded, smiling more broadly. "I think it's just what we need, something fun and relaxing for everyone to do."
Rodney blinked. "You've never actually watched a hockey game, have you?"
*****
While Rodney knew that the threat of the Wraith and imminent death had bound all of the expedition members together into a cohesive whole that could be characterized as almost familial, when the teams and the countries playing were finally announced three days later, all previous loyalties were cheerfully put off for the duration of the tournament.
It didn't get ugly -- as long as you discounted Zelenka's efforts to coerce Harrigan away from the Americans with the argument Harrigan was one of his because the marine had spent elementary school in a military base in the Czech Republic -- but he was pretty sure that *this* hadn't been what Elizabeth had intended when she'd imagined 'friendly competition' and 'team building'.
Even Rodney, who didn't consider himself a particularly patriotic Canadian, found himself watching the Russians with a jaundiced eye (because they were sneaky and not to be trusted, if Petrova was any indication), the Czechs with wariness (because Radek couldn't be trusted to not accidentally 'trip' someone as they lined up for food) and the Americans with the best gimlet eye in his possession (they were Americans -- that was reason enough).
The entire expedition had been divided among country lines, with cheerful jeering following the players wherever they went.
The Athosians thought they were all insane.
"It's only friendly competition, Teyla," Rodney said after repeating the Russian roulette joke that Corrigan had gleefully told him before. He would've been afraid of having one of the rather large Russians overhearing the uncomplimentary joke if he didn't know that there were stupid Canadian jokes floating around all over the place.
One more crack about his toque and Rodney was getting out his gun.
She gave him a strange look, the one that said 'you Earthlings are strange, strange people' and asked, "What is funny about cannibalism?"
Ford, who'd still been snickering, snorted and covered his face with his hands.
*****
Their hockey uniforms ended up being the jackets with the flags on the sleeves because no one wanted to ruin perfectly good clothes for a couple of games (cotton apparently wasn't something that the Pegasus galaxy provided in great amounts). All the team captains had been made to agree to a modified version of NHL rules, mostly because Elizabeth wanted to actually *have* a staff once the winner was declared and she couldn't exactly say she did if all the players involved ended up laid out under Carson's care. Equipment was sorted out under Ford because everyone involved agreed that he was trustworthy. Rodney, who'd only been fooled by the Lieutenant's baby-face for as long as it had taken him to discover the man's love for explosives, found it amusing that no one else knew better.
Frankly, procuring the ice had been the easiest part of the whole thing. While the city was temperate and cool year-round, it turned out that the planet got actual snow further north and more than one of the planet's lakes had frozen over. Temporary benches were constructed by the Athosians and a few of the MALPs were transported over to serve as a remote video-feed for the people who wouldn't actually get to see the game in person.
Rodney was checking out his equipment one last time before walking down to the Jumper bay and flying one of the last batches of people over when Zelenka came in, skates tied so they looped around his neck and his stick in his hand. "I have come to make a proposition, McKay."
Rodney looked up at that, curious. "Don't worry," he said in a pitying tone. "I'm sure Leschamps will show you mercy after the first ten goals."
"The day I live in fear of Canadians is the day I declare my unending love for Major Sheppard, McKay."
Rodney snorted, vaguely horrified by the images the words inspired despite the amusement. "Don't think I haven't noticed how you look at him, Radek."
"You are a disturbed individual, McKay, and exposure to alien environments has made you even more deranged," Zelenka said with an air of authority, before coming around to take the room's one empty seat. "But this is not why I have come here."
This sounded interesting, Rodney thought. "Really?"
"Petrova must not win."
Rodney groaned and shook his head with some annoyance -- not *this* again. "Radek--"
"I would rather put up with the combined gloating of you and Sheppard for the rest of my life than have to hear Petrova's boasting."
"I can't believe I'm saying this," he said, staring at Zelenka's intent expression, the same expression he wore when Wraith ships were bearing down on Atlantis, with something akin to apprehension. "But you *do* realize this is just a game?"
Zelenka stared at him like he'd just pulled a ZPM out of his ass and made it sing a show tune. "You are most definitely deranged, McKay." Rodney blew out an exasperated breath. "They're *Russians*."
"It's still just a *game*!" he said with irritation.
"This is *hockey*, McKay."
Rodney groaned again.
*****
"I'm not sure I should be seen talking to you," he said to Sheppard as the man came to sit next to him, jostling him lightly as he slid his foot into the skates. He watched with fascination as the boot tightened around his foot, wrapping his foot up to his ankle until it was snug.
Ancient technology *ruled*.
"Miller knows I have no hockey secrets to impart," Sheppard replied, looking around at the crowd of people. Elizabeth had decided to make a day of it, inviting the Athosians to participate in the first annual Atlantian Snow Day.
Rodney hated cute titles with a passion but he'd put up with them if it meant barbeque and hockey.
"Looks like everyone's here," Sheppard said, looking at him with a faint smile.
"Hmm, pretty much, yeah. Aside from the skeleton crew back in the city and the people who decided to take advantage of the available space to do some work, almost everyone's here."
Sheppard bumped his shoulder companionably. "I hear the smart money's on Zelenka's team."
Rodney scowled indignantly. "Why's that?" he demanded.
Sheppard shrugged, smiling the smile that got him shot at more often than not. "Word is that he and Kuzmina are tricky."
Rodney poked Sheppard with his elbow, getting to his feet before the man could retaliate in a similar fashion. "Don't be absurd," he said with a wave of his hand. "We invented the game *and* all the ways people could cheat."
Sheppard snorted, rising to follow McKay to the frozen pond where he was going to practice before the first game got underway. "I see how it is," Sheppard said, grinning as one of the Athosian kids sped past, shrieking with laughter. "It's all a carefully constructed ruse isn't it, the whole 'polite Canadian' thing?"
"I'd tell you Major... but then I'd have to kill you."
*****
Rodney totally *didn't* cackle when Harrigan, successfully poached to Radek's team (the only truly international team of the bunch, since there weren't enough Swedes and Czechs to make up one full team) put one past Carol Brown, the American goalie. Instead, he whistled piercingly, earning a few death-glares from nearby Americans (including Sheppard, whose glare had failed to make Rodney quake in terror since the memorable day he'd carried very under-the-influence Major Sheppard through the gate, assuring the man that no, the Freshta's holy icon didn't love him That Way).
Good times.
Zelenka raised his stick at the other end of the ice, shouting congratulations to Harrigan and bumping sticks with Jensen in celebration. "You said something about tricky, Major?"
Sheppard didn't dignify that remark with a response.
Later, watching as the tiny Airman Lee (who was half the size of Jensen even dripping wet) deftly avoided the Swede, Rodney found himself smiling. He found that he'd *missed* this, the chill in his nose and ears, the sound of blades cutting across the ice. Even the shouted cursing when people hit a bumpy patch of ice and went down like bowling pins was making him nostalgic.
He watched Ann Lee display some more of that almost frightening speed, deke around Kuzmina and shoot the puck at Zelenka, somehow neatly finding a gap between Radek's legs.
The roar of the crowd made Rodney smile but it was Ford's shout of, "*Booyah*, Ann!" that made him snort into his gloves.
Half an hour later, Rodney was listening to the muttered litany of, "Come on, come on, come on," from somebody sitting behind him and after a few minutes, he was ready to turn and tell the person to shut *up*, that he wasn't helping matters by making Rodney bite through his glove in anxiety. But he didn't want to take his eyes away from the ice -- last time he'd done that, Astrid Sajan had tied up the game for the Czech/Swede team.
Brown and Zelenka had turned out to be fairly evenly matched as goalies and the game was tied at 5 goals a piece, with Harrigan and Astrid making the most damage for Zelenka's team and Miller and Private King returning the favour for the Americans. The extra time was almost over and Rodney was vaguely wondering *why* he'd missed hockey, when it obviously did bad things to his blood pressure and his stress levels, when Clark stumbled and fell, hitting the stretch of ice that had set people on their asses all game long. Jensen took advantage of the gap created by Clark's fall and passed the puck to Kuzmina, who drove it deep into the American zone. Miller and Lee converged on Astrid Sajan, who'd been there to receive the puck but she shouted something at Harrigan and managed to, somehow, squirt the puck between the American legs to him. Simon Harrigan fumbled with the puck and everyone seemed to inhale at the same time as the puck bounced against his stick, but then he did *something* to steady his shot and smacked the puck towards the net.
Brown threw herself forward, intending to intercept the puck, but an errant skate got in the way and deflected the shot into the net.
The groan went up at once, nearly drowning out cheering from Zelenka's team and everyone who'd been rooting for them.
Rodney didn't make a comment to Sheppard, instead just sticking out his hand and beaming beatifically when the Major put the Snickers bar in his hand with a disgruntled look.
"Don't *say* it, McKay."
Rodney beamed.
"And cut that out -- you're freaking out the kids."
*****
Rodney watched warily as Zelenka came up to sit beside him before silently handing Rodney his helmet. Radek was still sweaty and pink from the game, the skin around his eyes crinkled in a pleased manner, and Rodney trusted him for about as far as he could throw him.
Warily keeping an eye on Zelenka, Rodney got to his feet, pleased that he didn't wobble, and picked up his stick. Radek coughed a little and waited a beat for Rodney to look at him. Then he said, "Denisov? Leaves his five hole open like it was a Seven-Eleven."
Rodney turned and stared. "I thought you'd want the pleasure of knocking out the Russians yourself."
Zelenka snorted and pushed himself to his feet before moving towards the stands. "Kicking your ass would be almost better than winning against Petrova!" he shouted over his shoulder.
Rodney opened his mouth to shout back something equally as uncomplimentary when Corrigan appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his arm, making him squawk with surprise instead. "Come on, everyone's waiting for you."
Corrigan's team meeting was disturbingly intense, nervously making Rodney wonder if he'd maybe, perhaps, gotten in over his head when he'd signed up to play on Team Canada.
The look in Corrigan's eyes was threatening all kinds of things if they lost.
But then the game started, and Rodney found himself gleefully chasing after Fredek Egorov, stealing the puck with a cheerful shout when the other man fumbled it. He didn't get anywhere near the net thanks to the hulking mass that was Sergeant Dima Grigorev, but Rodney got a kick out of practicing his rusty but creative Russian cursing on a receptive audience.
That, plus the fact that Grigorev looked like he was looking for a chance to send Rodney head first into the net, was making the game much more enjoyable than Corrigan's veiled threats had made it seem.
God, he loved hockey.
*****
Rodney cursed and skated faster, shouting at Walsh to cut Petrova off before she got into position. Miraculously, given Walsh's lead feet, Thomas got ahead of Petrova with an uncharacteristic burst of speed and poked the puck away from her, sending it sailing lazily just off the net. Corrigan, bless him, sat on the puck and got a whistle for a face off.
Damned Russians were *fast* and *tricky* and Rodney suddenly got what Zelenka was talking about before because Petrova totally deserved to go down and she had a filthier mouth than *him* when she got started. And considering that he now had both Egorov and Grigorev circling around him like darkly grinning vultures thanks to a few of his choice words, Rodney knew that that was saying *something*.
Leschamps and Belova took the faceoff, Marie winning it for a change and sending the puck quickly towards Mariam, who moved it up the ice towards the Russian goalie, Filip Denisov.
Kumar wobbled it at the net and Denisov kicked it away easily, sending it to Rodney by accident. He skated around the net, warily keeping an eye on the grinning Egorov and didn't see Belova before she blindside him into the snow.
He spluttered and watched as Sabine laughed and skated away with the puck, Petrova providing backup against Walsh. "Son of a *bitch*," he muttered as he pushed himself to his feet.
Corrigan stopped the puck again -- Rodney was never saying another bad thing about archeology ever again if James kept this up -- and shot it cleanly over Petrova's and Belova's collective heads. Rodney picked it up easily mid-ice and laughed as Egorov tried to change directions to follow him and found that same spot of ice that had set Clark on his ass earlier.
Denisov somehow seemed to grow in size the closer Rodney got to the goal, but he ignored the feeling of impending failure, focusing instead on the tiny bit of net he could see between Denisov's legs.
"Thanks Radek," he muttered, and shot for that space but Denisov, the bastard, shut the gap before the puck could get through. Suddenly, Leschamps was there, picking up the juicy rebound and sending it sharply over Denisov's shoulder before the man could recover.
The most beautiful sound in the world, he thought as the whistle blew and he threw an arm around Marie's middle. His laugh was whooshed out of him thanks to Walsh's enthusiastic hug and shout of congratulations but Rodney, for once, didn't complain and just laughed harder.
Another whistle from the referee and they split. Rodney looked up in time to see Mariam skating away from Corrigan, who grinned like a loon and raised his stick at Rodney in congratulations, and then focused on watching Leschamps as she went to meet Belova at center ice.
Rodney could barely hear the crowd over the noise of the ice, the cursing and jeering interspersed with instructions intended for team mates. There was a *rush* to this that he'd never really understood as a kid, a rush he'd been willing to not explore for the sake of music and physics and making things go boom with handy kitchen chemicals.
Rodney said something about vodka and the sexual habits of polar bears that earned him a dark glare from Petrova and he beamed at her before skating towards Marie, moving to relieve the pressure Sabina was pressing on her.
God, he loved hockey.
*****
It was insane, he thought a little hysterically, that hockey was going to manage to do what the combined powers of the Wraith and the Genii hadn't succeeded in doing -- send him around the bend and into an early grave. "I'm really not sure you want me to do this," he told Corrigan, nervously gripping his stick as James began outlining the order of the shootout. "I'm not much of a puck handler."
"McKay, *everyone* needs to go."
"I know, I know," he mumbled, watching as Denisov stretched in front of his goal with trepidation. God, why had he ever agreed to do this? If he missed, he'd never hear the end of it and Petrova and the others would be insufferable.
He wasn't generally patriotic but damned if he didn't feel his Canadian blood stirring at the thought of losing.
"You'll be fine," Kumar said, smiling at him before reaching up and rubbing a sleeve against her forehead. "Filip wants to hit you, you know. You've totally gotten under his skin."
Rodney snorted, leaning his chin against his stick. "I've noticed."
Walsh patted his shoulder. "I'm just glad you're on our side, Rodney."
"You say that now," Rodney muttered darkly but he nodded at Corrigan's expectant expression. "Fine, fine," he said, moving towards where the puck was sitting at center ice.
McKay wiped one hand against his pants before shifting his stick to the other hand and wiping that hand as well. Denisov, somehow overturning the laws of reason, still managed to look imposing even from half a rink away. He looked big and impenetrable and from where he was standing, Rodney couldn't even see a little bit of the net.
Pull yourself together, he thought, and took a deep breath as he waited for the whistle, fervently willing the puck to do what he *wanted* it to for a change, rather than what he *made* it do with his clumsy stick handling.
The whistle blew, sharp and clear over the sudden hush of the crowd, and Rodney took another deep breath before moving the puck up, carrying it from side to side without taking his eyes off Denisov's.
The Russian skated back, cutting down the angle to almost nothing and there, he saw Denisov's eyes flicker to the right and Rodney shot before he could think about it too much, watching as the puck slid between Denisov's left leg and the post.
Denisov fell to the ice and whacked his stick against the ice in irritation and Rodney somehow managed to swing around the back of the net, stick raised in celebration even as he turned back to check, because he honestly couldn't believe that he'd managed to pull it off.
"Yes!" he shouted when he saw that, yes, that was the puck in Denisov's net, he was the best hockey player *ever*! He grinned, matching Corrigan's fierce grin at center ice and distracted, didn't notice the patch of bumpy ice.
It should be noted, at this time, that Sheppard will later say something about drunken penguins and Rodney's resemblance to one that will get him a week's worth of malfunctioning shower units.
*****
This time, *he* was the one muttering, "Come on, come on, come on," in a fervent whisper, watching as Walsh circled once, twice around the puck before heading towards Filip Denisov. Walsh used his slowness to his advantage, making Denisov work to anticipate where he was going to direct his shot. Rodney felt Corrigan tense up beside him and heard Marie and Mariam both suck in a quick breath before Walsh shot for the gap between Denisov's legs
"Oh shit," he said but then the whistle blew and Corrigan was yelling and Marian and Marie were both throwing their arms around him. Corrigan yelled something incomprehensible as he bowled Walsh over, sending the two of them sprawling into the ice even as Rodney struggled to raise one arm over his head, uncharacteristically uncaring about the fact that he had an armful of pretty women for the first time in forever.
The noise was a dull roar in his ears and when one of Leschamps' more enthusiastic hugs sent him tumbling into the ice, he still didn't care because they had won and he had another candy bar coming from Petrova and Denisov.
Hockey was officially the best sport *ever*.
*****
Rodney was talking to Mariam and eating some of the barbeque -- he was trying hard not to think about the fact that the meat was green, even if it did taste like beef -- when Teyla came to sit with them. "Congratulations on your victory," she told them, smiling at the both of them.
Mariam beamed. "Petrova led a tough team," she commiserated.
"We *flattened* them," Rodney said with a gleeful grin.
Teyla laughed and Kumar rolled her eyes, but Rodney noted a distinct lack of disagreement in Mariam's expression.
"The game was most entertaining. You both played well."
Mariam shot Teyla another beaming smile. "Thanks, Teyla." She shifted her plate a little and winced. "I'm sore as hell though."
"God, don't even start," Rodney groaned. "My shins feel like they've been mauled."
Mariam gave him a look. "Sabina?"
"No, Petrova." He winced again. "Those sticks *sting* when whacked at bone."
Mariam groaned. "Oh God, I know. Sabina must have missed the puck," she raised her eyebrow at her disbelief at Sabina Belova, notorious for being careful and exacting in all of her chemistry work, missing *anything*, "On ten separate occasions."
"Between that and my ass, I'm going to be technicolor for a *week* after this."
Teyla listened to the listed injuries with increasing disbelief, finally saying, "And this is *fun* for you?" in a tone that said she was fully expecting a denial.
"God yeah," Mariam breathed, grinning at Rodney's enthusiastic nod.
*****
Corrigan was displaying that same eerie calm from before, his earlier cheerfulness dampened down to almost nothing and replaced by a steely-eyed determination that had probably been useful back in the SGC when he'd been working under Jackson but that was vaguely scary for a supposedly friendly game of hockey.
"James, *relax*," Marie said with a roll of her eyes but Corrigan ignored her words, speaking over Leschamps to remind Walsh to focus on keeping Erik Jensen off-balance.
"Anyone knows how to say 'your mother wears army boots' in Swedish?" Rodney asked, getting a thoughtful look from Corrigan that made Walsh laugh.
"Just worry about keeping up with Harrigan, McKay," Leschamps said, giving Corrigan a pat on the shoulder before skating towards center ice.
"Good luck, James," Mariam said before picking up her stick and following Marie onto the ice.
"Don't forget about Zelenka's--"
"God, Corrigan, you honestly need to calm down," Rodney said, handing Walsh his stick before picking up his own. "We've got this game in the bag. They won't know what hit them."
"McKay--"
"Listen to McKay, James," Thomas said, skating backwards away from the net. "We'll *pancake* them, don't worry!"
Corrigan didn't look like he was nearly close to being finished talking but Rodney was already turning away and heading towards center ice. Honestly, he thought with some annoyance, he was already nervous enough about the game without having to deal with Corrigan's scary levels of intensity.
Elizabeth said a few words about the game being for bragging rights and warning that if anyone got broken, she would make sure Carson deprived them of pain-killers -- she'd obviously been hanging around Sheppard for too long, he thought with amusement -- before she dropped the puck for the ceremonial face-off. Everyone on the ice clapped and there was some cheering from the stands but Rodney would've bet his newly-gained candy bars that Kuzmina, despite clapping and smiling fixedly, was in danger of vibrating through the ice with nerves and that if Zelenka's eyes got any narrower, they would shoot off laser beams.
Rodney ignored the sweat chilling his hands and listened for the whistle, moving quickly to intercept the puck when Leschamps won the face-off. Rodney shot it towards Mariam, who got it deep in the Czech zone before Mona Kuzmina picked the puck off of her and shot it sharply towards Corrigan.
Walsh skated back to pick up the puck from Corrigan and Rodney moved to block Harrigan from intercepting the puck, crowding Harrigan back towards center ice and away from the puck and their net. He didn't touch him, because Jeffrey Martin, the referee, had shown a total lack of patience with physical contact -- which, honestly, neither game had really engaged in because, at the end of the day, no one wanted to actually *kill* anyone -- but Rodney did what he did best, which was make a general nuisance of himself.
"Fuck," Harrigan muttered, shoving at Rodney a little, but McKay was solidly on his feet and didn't get shifted. When Walsh passed the puck up to Kumar cleanly, Rodney grunted and veered away from Harrigan, letting the other man skate away as he himself skated towards Zelenka's net.
Rodney shouted, "Hey Zelenka!" as he went past, joining the crowd of bodies who were fighting for the puck behind Zelenka's net. He never touched it because Erik Jensen snagged the puck and passed it to his team mate Astrid Sajan, who begun skating back towards the Canadian zone with it.
"Bye Zelenka!" he shouted again, racing after Sajan and shouting at Walsh and Leschamps to cover Harrigan. He thought he heard Zelenka shout something back, something that sounded downright unfriendly -- what would the Marines say if they heard their precious Radek say something like *that*? -- but Rodney was too busy moving and ignoring the faint burn of his muscles to reply.
*****
"Have you ever noticed," Sheppard said, reaching for the plate beside him before passing it to Rodney, "how you always bring up your hypoglycemia when I have something you want?"
Rodney plucked one of the brownies off the plate and happily stuffed it in his mouth, ignoring Sheppard's noise of amusement. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled around the chewy brownie. There was something *wrong* about chewy brownies, about chocolate that had the texture of taffy, but the way Rodney figured, as long as the brownies tasted like chocolate they could look and feel like refried blubber and he would still eat them.
"Oh, I think you do."
Rodney swallowed and took a pull of water from his canteen, using his tongue to unstick the chocolate coating the roof of his mouth. "You're just bitter over your lost bet," he said.
"Yes I am, but that's got nothing to do with this."
Rodney grunted his disagreement, looking around at the stands and the familiar faces. More than a few returned his look with a wave and a shout of encouragement, which surprised Rodney enough to make him chew his second piece of brownie more slowly. His fellow hockey players were similarly seated nearby, recharging before the beginning of the second period and Rodney was amused to see Corrigan earnestly trying to explain the offside rule to Halling and Jinto.
"So why are you letting me steal your brownies then?" he asked between bites, grinning a little at Sheppard's eye roll.
"*Letting* you?"
Rodney looked down at the plate John held in his hand, which was within easy-reach distance of Rodney's hands, and then up to Sheppard's face. Rodney let his eyebrow speak for him and manfully beat back the urge to mock when Sheppard's face coloured a little.
The man had given him brownies -- he deserved to be cut some slack for that alone.
"Alright, maybe I'm letting you," Sheppard said reluctantly. "But only because you need to whip Zelenka's ass."
"I thought you said hockey wasn't a real man's sport." Sheppard's hand stilled, brownie frozen halfway to his mouth. *That* deserved no slack-cutting and Rodney grinned his shark grin, the one that was all edges, evil intentions and had been known to make the scientists of Atlantis break out into a cold sweat. "I had an interesting talk with Teyla, Major."
Rodney's shark grin grew at the way Sheppard swallowed and he popped the last piece of his brownie in his mouth with glee.
Oh yeah, he thought, totally the best sport *ever*.
*****
The game didn't turn mean but Rodney felt something change during that final period. There was a lot less cheerful jeering and shouting than there'd been before, Walsh's expression was starting to resemble Corrigan's and Marie hadn't complained once when she'd fallen, had just accepted Rodney's offered hand up and skated off to take the face-off.
Not mean -- Harrigan had reached to pull Marie to her feet too -- but it was definitely tense and competitive and doing bad things to Rodney's blood pressure, damnit.
Jensen suddenly yelped and went down, crashing and taking down Mariam with him. The sudden space gave Rodney room to move and he skated around the flailing limbs, moving the puck towards Zelenka. Rodney could feel Radek's eyes watching him like a hawk and while it was a bit disturbing to be the focus of that kind of intensity, Rodney was more preoccupied by the sound of people catching up to him and by the way Kuzmina was charging towards him.
He shot the puck at the and let out a noise of frustration when Zelenka snagged it and tossed it at Sajan's stick, Mona taking off with a kind of speed that made Rodney tired just to look at.
It didn't stop him from giving chase after her, and he managed to catch her before she could send the puck towards Corrigan. Huffing, he fought with her over the puck, finally winning it from her and desperately passing it to Leschamps, who was shouting for it and whacking her stick against the ice to get his attention.
"God, you're fast," he muttered to Kuzmina, who just grunted in acknowledgment before skating back towards her zone, leaving Rodney to try to catch his breath even as he skated after her more sedately.
And then Walsh caught Marie's pass and shot a slow one at Zelenka that somehow managed to get past.
There was booing and cheering coming from the crowd that Rodney didn't hear because he was too busy trying not to have a heart attack and fend off imminent death.
Not that Kumar cared, since she was too busy shouting into his ear and shaking him like a pinata.
*****
The post-game party involved dancing, food and booze, which wouldn't have been such a bad thing, Rodney thought, if it hadn't also involved James Corrigan weepily telling him that he loved Rodney and would award him the Norris trophy if he could.
Granted, Walsh got the same treatment but since Thomas was nearly as drunk as James, it didn't have the same psyche-scarring effect that it had on Rodney.
Zelenka, Harrigan and the others got a round of applause when they came back from the Jumpers, changed and dressed in more appropriate wear. Marie whistled loudly and cheered along with the others, then gathered her half-drunk team mates to go shake hands with Zelenka's team.
Rodney bit back the urge to gloat, silently handing Radek a beaker full of Athosian ale. Zelenka still looked morose after throwing the drink back -- and wow, Radek could probably give Petrova a run for her money, he thought with some amazement -- but at least he was smiling a little and accepting the Canadian's attempts to be good sports.
"You're going to be a pain in the ass tomorrow, yes?" he asked, accepting the second beaker of ale without word.
"Oh yeah," Rodney said, grinning at the truly impressive eye-roll Radek gave him. "But I'll be good today, I promise." Radek snorted and went in search for more ale with the kind of determination that made him a good scientist but a scary opponent.
Watching as Corrigan looped an arm around Marie and mutter something into her ear that made her do a spit-take worthy of a Looney Toones cartoon, as Sheppard commiserated with Harrigan about the sneaky Canadians that were, obviously, *not* to be trusted and as Zelenka poured Elizabeth and Teyla more Athosian ale before knocking back his own share of the drink, Rodney decided that the fuzzy feeling warming his belly had nothing to do with the ale and a lot to do with the people here.
On top of making horrible bets and providing him with candy bars, these were the people who gave him hockey and weirdly coloured barbeque and who patted his shoulder and congratulated him on his victory despite having lost themselves.
And while he realized that it was messed up that he'd had to travel to another galaxy and play hockey to feel and acknowledge that fuzzy, warm feeling for what it was, watching as Corrigan threw a drunken hug around Elizabeth and thanking her for the tournament with a tearful sniff that made Teyla's eyes dance with merriment, he decided that it probably wasn't the stupidest thing *ever*.
He was still never telling anyone, though.
*Obviously*.
THE END
*****
Lord, it's over! *falls over*
And how weird is it that I finished it the day the NHL and the Player's Association got their act together? IT'S A SIGN, OMG!
Heh. Hehehehe ;o)
Now, to work on the revisions that I promised aithine, which will give me something to do while I avoid LJ like the plague over the weekend. And this isn't 'cause I think you guys won't be good about observing spoiler space but because I am a weakweakweak individual and I will gorge myself on reactions and be utterly and totally spoiled for Monday. And I don't wanna be spoiled, damnit.
Will try to be strong ;o)
ETA: I forgot to include the joke that makes Teyla worry about the future of the Earth/Athosian alliance: An african ambassador visited Russia and was entertained by his opposite number, the Russian ambassador. For three days, the African ambassador was wined, dined, and generally treated to the best hospitality that Russia had to offer.
On the last day of his visit, the Russian ambassador said, "As your stay is coming to an end, it's time for you to play our traditional game, Russian roulette. One of the six chambers of this gun is loaded - you spin the cylinder, point the gun at your head, and pull the trigger."
This phased the African slightly, but he was a proud man of a warrior people, and to show fear would be unthinkable. Both men took their guns, spun, and pulled the triggers.
Both chambers were empty, and both ambassadors breathed a sigh of relief.
The African ambassador was impressed with the courageous game, and thought hard about the subject before the Russian Ambassador was due to visit his country the next year.
When the visit came, the African ambassador treated the Russian with all hospitality, until the final day of his stay. Leading him to a private room in the palace, the African ambassador spoke, "Now, time for you to sample our game, African roulette". He then led the Russian into the room, the only occupants of which were six stunning and naked women.
The African ambassador said, "These women are the most beautiful members of one of our tribes. Any one of them will give you a oral sex - take your pick".
The Russian was not entirely averse to this idea, but he couldn't see the connection with Russian Roulette. He said, "Well, ok, great, but where's the roulette part? Where's the danger?"
With a big grin on his face, the African ambassador answered:
"One of them's a cannibal."
EATA: And, if anyone cares, here are the teams featured in the story. I carried a little piece of paper scribbled with these names for 2 weeks, writing when the muse struck and crying a little each time because holy crap, I am a huge dork.
And the teams are...
USA
Donald Clark (D)
Brian King (D)
Josh Miller (F)
Ann Lee (F)
Carol Brown (G)
CZECH REPUBLIC/SWEDEN
Erik Jensen (D)
Mona Kuzmina (D)
Simon Harrigan (F)
Astrid Sajan (F)
Radek Zelenka (G)
CANADA
Rodney McKay (D)
Thomas Walsh (D)
Marie Leschamps (F)
Mariam Kumar (F)
James Corrigan (G)
RUSSIA
Jelena Petrova (D)
Dima Grigorev (D)
Fredek Egorov (F)
Sabina Belova (F)
Filip Denisov (G)
Author: canadian_snoopy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 6007
Spoilers: Nothing.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: It was the Stanley Cup for dorks.
Notes: Un-beta'ed as always, this was supposed to be my response to the abandon challenge over at sga_flashfic, only it quickly decended into crack!ficcery the likes which have rarely been seen in this journal. My only excuse is that, one, I spend too much time at dictionary.com and derive entirely too much amusement from picking definitions that are obscure and/or not the norm. And two, aithine and ophidiae are evil enablers that are deserving of any/all pitchforks and torches that this story inspires. This is for the both of you -- NOW ARE YOU SORRY?!
Abandonment: n. Unbounded enthusiasm; exuberance. A complete surrender of inhibitions; freedom from inhibition or worry; "she danced with abandon" [syn: wantonness, unconstraint] 2: a feeling of extreme emotional intensity; "the wildness of his anger" [syn: wildness]
*****
The call to sign up for teams went up on city's server within one hour of Rodney's radio transmission. And watching Petrova, the notorious Ice Queen of Atlantis, the woman Marines *swore* had ice water flowing through her veins and would kill you rather than look at you, coo at the pile of skates and sticks Rodney had found in one of the storage rooms made him think that it had maybe only taken an hour because his own excitement at the find had, perhaps, made the transmission a mite incomprehensible.
"You were babbling," Sheppard told him later, grinning around his mouthful of food. "For a second, I thought maybe you'd found a pile of ZPMs."
Rodney opened his mouth to tell Sheppard that he didn't *babble*, that all of his words were carefully thought out to ensure maximum information transmission, but something in Sheppard's eyes promised Rodney that he would inform everyone within hearing distance that Rodney *might* have squeaked in a very embarrassing manner at finding the skates.
Bastard.
"It doesn't matter anyway," he said, glancing around the room for potential competition and seeing a few of the Russians doing the same with narrowed eyes. "Because Elizabeth's never going to go for it."
"You think?"
Rodney shook his head. "She's either going to say that it's too dangerous, too trivial or too difficult to arrange."
"I happen to think it's a great idea," she told him later, making Rodney swallow the words he'd been ready to use to convince her. All of the East European members (and more than a few Canadians and Americans) had laid siege to his lab until he'd assured them that yes, he would do his best to convince Elizabeth that a hockey game was just the thing they needed.
Granted, they'd hounded him for hours before he'd caved but Rodney still felt oddly vindicated that he'd held out *that* long under the combined might of Zelenka, Corrigan and Petrova.
He had made a list of things to say to Elizabeth that ranged from begging (Petrova intimidated *Marines*, so Rodney wasn't ashamed of his desire to keep her in a good mood) to explaining the necessity of building camaraderie between the military and the scientists (Zelenka's idea, despite the fact that most of Sheppard's Marines thought the sun shone out of Zelenka's ass) to threats to go on a labour strike (an empty threat, considering that most of his people worked twenty hour days because they *wanted* to).
Mentally chucking the list, he frowned at Elizabeth's smile: this was too easy and he didn't trust easy anymore than he trusted Sheppard to not get lost inside a closet. "You do?" he asked warily.
She nodded, smiling more broadly. "I think it's just what we need, something fun and relaxing for everyone to do."
Rodney blinked. "You've never actually watched a hockey game, have you?"
*****
While Rodney knew that the threat of the Wraith and imminent death had bound all of the expedition members together into a cohesive whole that could be characterized as almost familial, when the teams and the countries playing were finally announced three days later, all previous loyalties were cheerfully put off for the duration of the tournament.
It didn't get ugly -- as long as you discounted Zelenka's efforts to coerce Harrigan away from the Americans with the argument Harrigan was one of his because the marine had spent elementary school in a military base in the Czech Republic -- but he was pretty sure that *this* hadn't been what Elizabeth had intended when she'd imagined 'friendly competition' and 'team building'.
Even Rodney, who didn't consider himself a particularly patriotic Canadian, found himself watching the Russians with a jaundiced eye (because they were sneaky and not to be trusted, if Petrova was any indication), the Czechs with wariness (because Radek couldn't be trusted to not accidentally 'trip' someone as they lined up for food) and the Americans with the best gimlet eye in his possession (they were Americans -- that was reason enough).
The entire expedition had been divided among country lines, with cheerful jeering following the players wherever they went.
The Athosians thought they were all insane.
"It's only friendly competition, Teyla," Rodney said after repeating the Russian roulette joke that Corrigan had gleefully told him before. He would've been afraid of having one of the rather large Russians overhearing the uncomplimentary joke if he didn't know that there were stupid Canadian jokes floating around all over the place.
One more crack about his toque and Rodney was getting out his gun.
She gave him a strange look, the one that said 'you Earthlings are strange, strange people' and asked, "What is funny about cannibalism?"
Ford, who'd still been snickering, snorted and covered his face with his hands.
*****
Their hockey uniforms ended up being the jackets with the flags on the sleeves because no one wanted to ruin perfectly good clothes for a couple of games (cotton apparently wasn't something that the Pegasus galaxy provided in great amounts). All the team captains had been made to agree to a modified version of NHL rules, mostly because Elizabeth wanted to actually *have* a staff once the winner was declared and she couldn't exactly say she did if all the players involved ended up laid out under Carson's care. Equipment was sorted out under Ford because everyone involved agreed that he was trustworthy. Rodney, who'd only been fooled by the Lieutenant's baby-face for as long as it had taken him to discover the man's love for explosives, found it amusing that no one else knew better.
Frankly, procuring the ice had been the easiest part of the whole thing. While the city was temperate and cool year-round, it turned out that the planet got actual snow further north and more than one of the planet's lakes had frozen over. Temporary benches were constructed by the Athosians and a few of the MALPs were transported over to serve as a remote video-feed for the people who wouldn't actually get to see the game in person.
Rodney was checking out his equipment one last time before walking down to the Jumper bay and flying one of the last batches of people over when Zelenka came in, skates tied so they looped around his neck and his stick in his hand. "I have come to make a proposition, McKay."
Rodney looked up at that, curious. "Don't worry," he said in a pitying tone. "I'm sure Leschamps will show you mercy after the first ten goals."
"The day I live in fear of Canadians is the day I declare my unending love for Major Sheppard, McKay."
Rodney snorted, vaguely horrified by the images the words inspired despite the amusement. "Don't think I haven't noticed how you look at him, Radek."
"You are a disturbed individual, McKay, and exposure to alien environments has made you even more deranged," Zelenka said with an air of authority, before coming around to take the room's one empty seat. "But this is not why I have come here."
This sounded interesting, Rodney thought. "Really?"
"Petrova must not win."
Rodney groaned and shook his head with some annoyance -- not *this* again. "Radek--"
"I would rather put up with the combined gloating of you and Sheppard for the rest of my life than have to hear Petrova's boasting."
"I can't believe I'm saying this," he said, staring at Zelenka's intent expression, the same expression he wore when Wraith ships were bearing down on Atlantis, with something akin to apprehension. "But you *do* realize this is just a game?"
Zelenka stared at him like he'd just pulled a ZPM out of his ass and made it sing a show tune. "You are most definitely deranged, McKay." Rodney blew out an exasperated breath. "They're *Russians*."
"It's still just a *game*!" he said with irritation.
"This is *hockey*, McKay."
Rodney groaned again.
*****
"I'm not sure I should be seen talking to you," he said to Sheppard as the man came to sit next to him, jostling him lightly as he slid his foot into the skates. He watched with fascination as the boot tightened around his foot, wrapping his foot up to his ankle until it was snug.
Ancient technology *ruled*.
"Miller knows I have no hockey secrets to impart," Sheppard replied, looking around at the crowd of people. Elizabeth had decided to make a day of it, inviting the Athosians to participate in the first annual Atlantian Snow Day.
Rodney hated cute titles with a passion but he'd put up with them if it meant barbeque and hockey.
"Looks like everyone's here," Sheppard said, looking at him with a faint smile.
"Hmm, pretty much, yeah. Aside from the skeleton crew back in the city and the people who decided to take advantage of the available space to do some work, almost everyone's here."
Sheppard bumped his shoulder companionably. "I hear the smart money's on Zelenka's team."
Rodney scowled indignantly. "Why's that?" he demanded.
Sheppard shrugged, smiling the smile that got him shot at more often than not. "Word is that he and Kuzmina are tricky."
Rodney poked Sheppard with his elbow, getting to his feet before the man could retaliate in a similar fashion. "Don't be absurd," he said with a wave of his hand. "We invented the game *and* all the ways people could cheat."
Sheppard snorted, rising to follow McKay to the frozen pond where he was going to practice before the first game got underway. "I see how it is," Sheppard said, grinning as one of the Athosian kids sped past, shrieking with laughter. "It's all a carefully constructed ruse isn't it, the whole 'polite Canadian' thing?"
"I'd tell you Major... but then I'd have to kill you."
*****
Rodney totally *didn't* cackle when Harrigan, successfully poached to Radek's team (the only truly international team of the bunch, since there weren't enough Swedes and Czechs to make up one full team) put one past Carol Brown, the American goalie. Instead, he whistled piercingly, earning a few death-glares from nearby Americans (including Sheppard, whose glare had failed to make Rodney quake in terror since the memorable day he'd carried very under-the-influence Major Sheppard through the gate, assuring the man that no, the Freshta's holy icon didn't love him That Way).
Good times.
Zelenka raised his stick at the other end of the ice, shouting congratulations to Harrigan and bumping sticks with Jensen in celebration. "You said something about tricky, Major?"
Sheppard didn't dignify that remark with a response.
Later, watching as the tiny Airman Lee (who was half the size of Jensen even dripping wet) deftly avoided the Swede, Rodney found himself smiling. He found that he'd *missed* this, the chill in his nose and ears, the sound of blades cutting across the ice. Even the shouted cursing when people hit a bumpy patch of ice and went down like bowling pins was making him nostalgic.
He watched Ann Lee display some more of that almost frightening speed, deke around Kuzmina and shoot the puck at Zelenka, somehow neatly finding a gap between Radek's legs.
The roar of the crowd made Rodney smile but it was Ford's shout of, "*Booyah*, Ann!" that made him snort into his gloves.
Half an hour later, Rodney was listening to the muttered litany of, "Come on, come on, come on," from somebody sitting behind him and after a few minutes, he was ready to turn and tell the person to shut *up*, that he wasn't helping matters by making Rodney bite through his glove in anxiety. But he didn't want to take his eyes away from the ice -- last time he'd done that, Astrid Sajan had tied up the game for the Czech/Swede team.
Brown and Zelenka had turned out to be fairly evenly matched as goalies and the game was tied at 5 goals a piece, with Harrigan and Astrid making the most damage for Zelenka's team and Miller and Private King returning the favour for the Americans. The extra time was almost over and Rodney was vaguely wondering *why* he'd missed hockey, when it obviously did bad things to his blood pressure and his stress levels, when Clark stumbled and fell, hitting the stretch of ice that had set people on their asses all game long. Jensen took advantage of the gap created by Clark's fall and passed the puck to Kuzmina, who drove it deep into the American zone. Miller and Lee converged on Astrid Sajan, who'd been there to receive the puck but she shouted something at Harrigan and managed to, somehow, squirt the puck between the American legs to him. Simon Harrigan fumbled with the puck and everyone seemed to inhale at the same time as the puck bounced against his stick, but then he did *something* to steady his shot and smacked the puck towards the net.
Brown threw herself forward, intending to intercept the puck, but an errant skate got in the way and deflected the shot into the net.
The groan went up at once, nearly drowning out cheering from Zelenka's team and everyone who'd been rooting for them.
Rodney didn't make a comment to Sheppard, instead just sticking out his hand and beaming beatifically when the Major put the Snickers bar in his hand with a disgruntled look.
"Don't *say* it, McKay."
Rodney beamed.
"And cut that out -- you're freaking out the kids."
*****
Rodney watched warily as Zelenka came up to sit beside him before silently handing Rodney his helmet. Radek was still sweaty and pink from the game, the skin around his eyes crinkled in a pleased manner, and Rodney trusted him for about as far as he could throw him.
Warily keeping an eye on Zelenka, Rodney got to his feet, pleased that he didn't wobble, and picked up his stick. Radek coughed a little and waited a beat for Rodney to look at him. Then he said, "Denisov? Leaves his five hole open like it was a Seven-Eleven."
Rodney turned and stared. "I thought you'd want the pleasure of knocking out the Russians yourself."
Zelenka snorted and pushed himself to his feet before moving towards the stands. "Kicking your ass would be almost better than winning against Petrova!" he shouted over his shoulder.
Rodney opened his mouth to shout back something equally as uncomplimentary when Corrigan appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his arm, making him squawk with surprise instead. "Come on, everyone's waiting for you."
Corrigan's team meeting was disturbingly intense, nervously making Rodney wonder if he'd maybe, perhaps, gotten in over his head when he'd signed up to play on Team Canada.
The look in Corrigan's eyes was threatening all kinds of things if they lost.
But then the game started, and Rodney found himself gleefully chasing after Fredek Egorov, stealing the puck with a cheerful shout when the other man fumbled it. He didn't get anywhere near the net thanks to the hulking mass that was Sergeant Dima Grigorev, but Rodney got a kick out of practicing his rusty but creative Russian cursing on a receptive audience.
That, plus the fact that Grigorev looked like he was looking for a chance to send Rodney head first into the net, was making the game much more enjoyable than Corrigan's veiled threats had made it seem.
God, he loved hockey.
*****
Rodney cursed and skated faster, shouting at Walsh to cut Petrova off before she got into position. Miraculously, given Walsh's lead feet, Thomas got ahead of Petrova with an uncharacteristic burst of speed and poked the puck away from her, sending it sailing lazily just off the net. Corrigan, bless him, sat on the puck and got a whistle for a face off.
Damned Russians were *fast* and *tricky* and Rodney suddenly got what Zelenka was talking about before because Petrova totally deserved to go down and she had a filthier mouth than *him* when she got started. And considering that he now had both Egorov and Grigorev circling around him like darkly grinning vultures thanks to a few of his choice words, Rodney knew that that was saying *something*.
Leschamps and Belova took the faceoff, Marie winning it for a change and sending the puck quickly towards Mariam, who moved it up the ice towards the Russian goalie, Filip Denisov.
Kumar wobbled it at the net and Denisov kicked it away easily, sending it to Rodney by accident. He skated around the net, warily keeping an eye on the grinning Egorov and didn't see Belova before she blindside him into the snow.
He spluttered and watched as Sabine laughed and skated away with the puck, Petrova providing backup against Walsh. "Son of a *bitch*," he muttered as he pushed himself to his feet.
Corrigan stopped the puck again -- Rodney was never saying another bad thing about archeology ever again if James kept this up -- and shot it cleanly over Petrova's and Belova's collective heads. Rodney picked it up easily mid-ice and laughed as Egorov tried to change directions to follow him and found that same spot of ice that had set Clark on his ass earlier.
Denisov somehow seemed to grow in size the closer Rodney got to the goal, but he ignored the feeling of impending failure, focusing instead on the tiny bit of net he could see between Denisov's legs.
"Thanks Radek," he muttered, and shot for that space but Denisov, the bastard, shut the gap before the puck could get through. Suddenly, Leschamps was there, picking up the juicy rebound and sending it sharply over Denisov's shoulder before the man could recover.
The most beautiful sound in the world, he thought as the whistle blew and he threw an arm around Marie's middle. His laugh was whooshed out of him thanks to Walsh's enthusiastic hug and shout of congratulations but Rodney, for once, didn't complain and just laughed harder.
Another whistle from the referee and they split. Rodney looked up in time to see Mariam skating away from Corrigan, who grinned like a loon and raised his stick at Rodney in congratulations, and then focused on watching Leschamps as she went to meet Belova at center ice.
Rodney could barely hear the crowd over the noise of the ice, the cursing and jeering interspersed with instructions intended for team mates. There was a *rush* to this that he'd never really understood as a kid, a rush he'd been willing to not explore for the sake of music and physics and making things go boom with handy kitchen chemicals.
Rodney said something about vodka and the sexual habits of polar bears that earned him a dark glare from Petrova and he beamed at her before skating towards Marie, moving to relieve the pressure Sabina was pressing on her.
God, he loved hockey.
*****
It was insane, he thought a little hysterically, that hockey was going to manage to do what the combined powers of the Wraith and the Genii hadn't succeeded in doing -- send him around the bend and into an early grave. "I'm really not sure you want me to do this," he told Corrigan, nervously gripping his stick as James began outlining the order of the shootout. "I'm not much of a puck handler."
"McKay, *everyone* needs to go."
"I know, I know," he mumbled, watching as Denisov stretched in front of his goal with trepidation. God, why had he ever agreed to do this? If he missed, he'd never hear the end of it and Petrova and the others would be insufferable.
He wasn't generally patriotic but damned if he didn't feel his Canadian blood stirring at the thought of losing.
"You'll be fine," Kumar said, smiling at him before reaching up and rubbing a sleeve against her forehead. "Filip wants to hit you, you know. You've totally gotten under his skin."
Rodney snorted, leaning his chin against his stick. "I've noticed."
Walsh patted his shoulder. "I'm just glad you're on our side, Rodney."
"You say that now," Rodney muttered darkly but he nodded at Corrigan's expectant expression. "Fine, fine," he said, moving towards where the puck was sitting at center ice.
McKay wiped one hand against his pants before shifting his stick to the other hand and wiping that hand as well. Denisov, somehow overturning the laws of reason, still managed to look imposing even from half a rink away. He looked big and impenetrable and from where he was standing, Rodney couldn't even see a little bit of the net.
Pull yourself together, he thought, and took a deep breath as he waited for the whistle, fervently willing the puck to do what he *wanted* it to for a change, rather than what he *made* it do with his clumsy stick handling.
The whistle blew, sharp and clear over the sudden hush of the crowd, and Rodney took another deep breath before moving the puck up, carrying it from side to side without taking his eyes off Denisov's.
The Russian skated back, cutting down the angle to almost nothing and there, he saw Denisov's eyes flicker to the right and Rodney shot before he could think about it too much, watching as the puck slid between Denisov's left leg and the post.
Denisov fell to the ice and whacked his stick against the ice in irritation and Rodney somehow managed to swing around the back of the net, stick raised in celebration even as he turned back to check, because he honestly couldn't believe that he'd managed to pull it off.
"Yes!" he shouted when he saw that, yes, that was the puck in Denisov's net, he was the best hockey player *ever*! He grinned, matching Corrigan's fierce grin at center ice and distracted, didn't notice the patch of bumpy ice.
It should be noted, at this time, that Sheppard will later say something about drunken penguins and Rodney's resemblance to one that will get him a week's worth of malfunctioning shower units.
*****
This time, *he* was the one muttering, "Come on, come on, come on," in a fervent whisper, watching as Walsh circled once, twice around the puck before heading towards Filip Denisov. Walsh used his slowness to his advantage, making Denisov work to anticipate where he was going to direct his shot. Rodney felt Corrigan tense up beside him and heard Marie and Mariam both suck in a quick breath before Walsh shot for the gap between Denisov's legs
"Oh shit," he said but then the whistle blew and Corrigan was yelling and Marian and Marie were both throwing their arms around him. Corrigan yelled something incomprehensible as he bowled Walsh over, sending the two of them sprawling into the ice even as Rodney struggled to raise one arm over his head, uncharacteristically uncaring about the fact that he had an armful of pretty women for the first time in forever.
The noise was a dull roar in his ears and when one of Leschamps' more enthusiastic hugs sent him tumbling into the ice, he still didn't care because they had won and he had another candy bar coming from Petrova and Denisov.
Hockey was officially the best sport *ever*.
*****
Rodney was talking to Mariam and eating some of the barbeque -- he was trying hard not to think about the fact that the meat was green, even if it did taste like beef -- when Teyla came to sit with them. "Congratulations on your victory," she told them, smiling at the both of them.
Mariam beamed. "Petrova led a tough team," she commiserated.
"We *flattened* them," Rodney said with a gleeful grin.
Teyla laughed and Kumar rolled her eyes, but Rodney noted a distinct lack of disagreement in Mariam's expression.
"The game was most entertaining. You both played well."
Mariam shot Teyla another beaming smile. "Thanks, Teyla." She shifted her plate a little and winced. "I'm sore as hell though."
"God, don't even start," Rodney groaned. "My shins feel like they've been mauled."
Mariam gave him a look. "Sabina?"
"No, Petrova." He winced again. "Those sticks *sting* when whacked at bone."
Mariam groaned. "Oh God, I know. Sabina must have missed the puck," she raised her eyebrow at her disbelief at Sabina Belova, notorious for being careful and exacting in all of her chemistry work, missing *anything*, "On ten separate occasions."
"Between that and my ass, I'm going to be technicolor for a *week* after this."
Teyla listened to the listed injuries with increasing disbelief, finally saying, "And this is *fun* for you?" in a tone that said she was fully expecting a denial.
"God yeah," Mariam breathed, grinning at Rodney's enthusiastic nod.
*****
Corrigan was displaying that same eerie calm from before, his earlier cheerfulness dampened down to almost nothing and replaced by a steely-eyed determination that had probably been useful back in the SGC when he'd been working under Jackson but that was vaguely scary for a supposedly friendly game of hockey.
"James, *relax*," Marie said with a roll of her eyes but Corrigan ignored her words, speaking over Leschamps to remind Walsh to focus on keeping Erik Jensen off-balance.
"Anyone knows how to say 'your mother wears army boots' in Swedish?" Rodney asked, getting a thoughtful look from Corrigan that made Walsh laugh.
"Just worry about keeping up with Harrigan, McKay," Leschamps said, giving Corrigan a pat on the shoulder before skating towards center ice.
"Good luck, James," Mariam said before picking up her stick and following Marie onto the ice.
"Don't forget about Zelenka's--"
"God, Corrigan, you honestly need to calm down," Rodney said, handing Walsh his stick before picking up his own. "We've got this game in the bag. They won't know what hit them."
"McKay--"
"Listen to McKay, James," Thomas said, skating backwards away from the net. "We'll *pancake* them, don't worry!"
Corrigan didn't look like he was nearly close to being finished talking but Rodney was already turning away and heading towards center ice. Honestly, he thought with some annoyance, he was already nervous enough about the game without having to deal with Corrigan's scary levels of intensity.
Elizabeth said a few words about the game being for bragging rights and warning that if anyone got broken, she would make sure Carson deprived them of pain-killers -- she'd obviously been hanging around Sheppard for too long, he thought with amusement -- before she dropped the puck for the ceremonial face-off. Everyone on the ice clapped and there was some cheering from the stands but Rodney would've bet his newly-gained candy bars that Kuzmina, despite clapping and smiling fixedly, was in danger of vibrating through the ice with nerves and that if Zelenka's eyes got any narrower, they would shoot off laser beams.
Rodney ignored the sweat chilling his hands and listened for the whistle, moving quickly to intercept the puck when Leschamps won the face-off. Rodney shot it towards Mariam, who got it deep in the Czech zone before Mona Kuzmina picked the puck off of her and shot it sharply towards Corrigan.
Walsh skated back to pick up the puck from Corrigan and Rodney moved to block Harrigan from intercepting the puck, crowding Harrigan back towards center ice and away from the puck and their net. He didn't touch him, because Jeffrey Martin, the referee, had shown a total lack of patience with physical contact -- which, honestly, neither game had really engaged in because, at the end of the day, no one wanted to actually *kill* anyone -- but Rodney did what he did best, which was make a general nuisance of himself.
"Fuck," Harrigan muttered, shoving at Rodney a little, but McKay was solidly on his feet and didn't get shifted. When Walsh passed the puck up to Kumar cleanly, Rodney grunted and veered away from Harrigan, letting the other man skate away as he himself skated towards Zelenka's net.
Rodney shouted, "Hey Zelenka!" as he went past, joining the crowd of bodies who were fighting for the puck behind Zelenka's net. He never touched it because Erik Jensen snagged the puck and passed it to his team mate Astrid Sajan, who begun skating back towards the Canadian zone with it.
"Bye Zelenka!" he shouted again, racing after Sajan and shouting at Walsh and Leschamps to cover Harrigan. He thought he heard Zelenka shout something back, something that sounded downright unfriendly -- what would the Marines say if they heard their precious Radek say something like *that*? -- but Rodney was too busy moving and ignoring the faint burn of his muscles to reply.
*****
"Have you ever noticed," Sheppard said, reaching for the plate beside him before passing it to Rodney, "how you always bring up your hypoglycemia when I have something you want?"
Rodney plucked one of the brownies off the plate and happily stuffed it in his mouth, ignoring Sheppard's noise of amusement. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled around the chewy brownie. There was something *wrong* about chewy brownies, about chocolate that had the texture of taffy, but the way Rodney figured, as long as the brownies tasted like chocolate they could look and feel like refried blubber and he would still eat them.
"Oh, I think you do."
Rodney swallowed and took a pull of water from his canteen, using his tongue to unstick the chocolate coating the roof of his mouth. "You're just bitter over your lost bet," he said.
"Yes I am, but that's got nothing to do with this."
Rodney grunted his disagreement, looking around at the stands and the familiar faces. More than a few returned his look with a wave and a shout of encouragement, which surprised Rodney enough to make him chew his second piece of brownie more slowly. His fellow hockey players were similarly seated nearby, recharging before the beginning of the second period and Rodney was amused to see Corrigan earnestly trying to explain the offside rule to Halling and Jinto.
"So why are you letting me steal your brownies then?" he asked between bites, grinning a little at Sheppard's eye roll.
"*Letting* you?"
Rodney looked down at the plate John held in his hand, which was within easy-reach distance of Rodney's hands, and then up to Sheppard's face. Rodney let his eyebrow speak for him and manfully beat back the urge to mock when Sheppard's face coloured a little.
The man had given him brownies -- he deserved to be cut some slack for that alone.
"Alright, maybe I'm letting you," Sheppard said reluctantly. "But only because you need to whip Zelenka's ass."
"I thought you said hockey wasn't a real man's sport." Sheppard's hand stilled, brownie frozen halfway to his mouth. *That* deserved no slack-cutting and Rodney grinned his shark grin, the one that was all edges, evil intentions and had been known to make the scientists of Atlantis break out into a cold sweat. "I had an interesting talk with Teyla, Major."
Rodney's shark grin grew at the way Sheppard swallowed and he popped the last piece of his brownie in his mouth with glee.
Oh yeah, he thought, totally the best sport *ever*.
*****
The game didn't turn mean but Rodney felt something change during that final period. There was a lot less cheerful jeering and shouting than there'd been before, Walsh's expression was starting to resemble Corrigan's and Marie hadn't complained once when she'd fallen, had just accepted Rodney's offered hand up and skated off to take the face-off.
Not mean -- Harrigan had reached to pull Marie to her feet too -- but it was definitely tense and competitive and doing bad things to Rodney's blood pressure, damnit.
Jensen suddenly yelped and went down, crashing and taking down Mariam with him. The sudden space gave Rodney room to move and he skated around the flailing limbs, moving the puck towards Zelenka. Rodney could feel Radek's eyes watching him like a hawk and while it was a bit disturbing to be the focus of that kind of intensity, Rodney was more preoccupied by the sound of people catching up to him and by the way Kuzmina was charging towards him.
He shot the puck at the and let out a noise of frustration when Zelenka snagged it and tossed it at Sajan's stick, Mona taking off with a kind of speed that made Rodney tired just to look at.
It didn't stop him from giving chase after her, and he managed to catch her before she could send the puck towards Corrigan. Huffing, he fought with her over the puck, finally winning it from her and desperately passing it to Leschamps, who was shouting for it and whacking her stick against the ice to get his attention.
"God, you're fast," he muttered to Kuzmina, who just grunted in acknowledgment before skating back towards her zone, leaving Rodney to try to catch his breath even as he skated after her more sedately.
And then Walsh caught Marie's pass and shot a slow one at Zelenka that somehow managed to get past.
There was booing and cheering coming from the crowd that Rodney didn't hear because he was too busy trying not to have a heart attack and fend off imminent death.
Not that Kumar cared, since she was too busy shouting into his ear and shaking him like a pinata.
*****
The post-game party involved dancing, food and booze, which wouldn't have been such a bad thing, Rodney thought, if it hadn't also involved James Corrigan weepily telling him that he loved Rodney and would award him the Norris trophy if he could.
Granted, Walsh got the same treatment but since Thomas was nearly as drunk as James, it didn't have the same psyche-scarring effect that it had on Rodney.
Zelenka, Harrigan and the others got a round of applause when they came back from the Jumpers, changed and dressed in more appropriate wear. Marie whistled loudly and cheered along with the others, then gathered her half-drunk team mates to go shake hands with Zelenka's team.
Rodney bit back the urge to gloat, silently handing Radek a beaker full of Athosian ale. Zelenka still looked morose after throwing the drink back -- and wow, Radek could probably give Petrova a run for her money, he thought with some amazement -- but at least he was smiling a little and accepting the Canadian's attempts to be good sports.
"You're going to be a pain in the ass tomorrow, yes?" he asked, accepting the second beaker of ale without word.
"Oh yeah," Rodney said, grinning at the truly impressive eye-roll Radek gave him. "But I'll be good today, I promise." Radek snorted and went in search for more ale with the kind of determination that made him a good scientist but a scary opponent.
Watching as Corrigan looped an arm around Marie and mutter something into her ear that made her do a spit-take worthy of a Looney Toones cartoon, as Sheppard commiserated with Harrigan about the sneaky Canadians that were, obviously, *not* to be trusted and as Zelenka poured Elizabeth and Teyla more Athosian ale before knocking back his own share of the drink, Rodney decided that the fuzzy feeling warming his belly had nothing to do with the ale and a lot to do with the people here.
On top of making horrible bets and providing him with candy bars, these were the people who gave him hockey and weirdly coloured barbeque and who patted his shoulder and congratulated him on his victory despite having lost themselves.
And while he realized that it was messed up that he'd had to travel to another galaxy and play hockey to feel and acknowledge that fuzzy, warm feeling for what it was, watching as Corrigan threw a drunken hug around Elizabeth and thanking her for the tournament with a tearful sniff that made Teyla's eyes dance with merriment, he decided that it probably wasn't the stupidest thing *ever*.
He was still never telling anyone, though.
*Obviously*.
THE END
*****
Lord, it's over! *falls over*
And how weird is it that I finished it the day the NHL and the Player's Association got their act together? IT'S A SIGN, OMG!
Heh. Hehehehe ;o)
Now, to work on the revisions that I promised aithine, which will give me something to do while I avoid LJ like the plague over the weekend. And this isn't 'cause I think you guys won't be good about observing spoiler space but because I am a weakweakweak individual and I will gorge myself on reactions and be utterly and totally spoiled for Monday. And I don't wanna be spoiled, damnit.
Will try to be strong ;o)
ETA: I forgot to include the joke that makes Teyla worry about the future of the Earth/Athosian alliance: An african ambassador visited Russia and was entertained by his opposite number, the Russian ambassador. For three days, the African ambassador was wined, dined, and generally treated to the best hospitality that Russia had to offer.
On the last day of his visit, the Russian ambassador said, "As your stay is coming to an end, it's time for you to play our traditional game, Russian roulette. One of the six chambers of this gun is loaded - you spin the cylinder, point the gun at your head, and pull the trigger."
This phased the African slightly, but he was a proud man of a warrior people, and to show fear would be unthinkable. Both men took their guns, spun, and pulled the triggers.
Both chambers were empty, and both ambassadors breathed a sigh of relief.
The African ambassador was impressed with the courageous game, and thought hard about the subject before the Russian Ambassador was due to visit his country the next year.
When the visit came, the African ambassador treated the Russian with all hospitality, until the final day of his stay. Leading him to a private room in the palace, the African ambassador spoke, "Now, time for you to sample our game, African roulette". He then led the Russian into the room, the only occupants of which were six stunning and naked women.
The African ambassador said, "These women are the most beautiful members of one of our tribes. Any one of them will give you a oral sex - take your pick".
The Russian was not entirely averse to this idea, but he couldn't see the connection with Russian Roulette. He said, "Well, ok, great, but where's the roulette part? Where's the danger?"
With a big grin on his face, the African ambassador answered:
"One of them's a cannibal."
EATA: And, if anyone cares, here are the teams featured in the story. I carried a little piece of paper scribbled with these names for 2 weeks, writing when the muse struck and crying a little each time because holy crap, I am a huge dork.
And the teams are...
USA
Donald Clark (D)
Brian King (D)
Josh Miller (F)
Ann Lee (F)
Carol Brown (G)
CZECH REPUBLIC/SWEDEN
Erik Jensen (D)
Mona Kuzmina (D)
Simon Harrigan (F)
Astrid Sajan (F)
Radek Zelenka (G)
CANADA
Rodney McKay (D)
Thomas Walsh (D)
Marie Leschamps (F)
Mariam Kumar (F)
James Corrigan (G)
RUSSIA
Jelena Petrova (D)
Dima Grigorev (D)
Fredek Egorov (F)
Sabina Belova (F)
Filip Denisov (G)