Page 30 of Speak in Fever
"I was handling it," Rath says, his voice sharp with something that might be anger or might be pain. "I didn't need you to rescue me."
"I know you can handle yourself," Percy replies, confused by Rath's reaction. The gratitude he expected is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by something that looks almost like betrayal. "I just thought—"
"You thought what? That I needed my captain to swoop in and save me from an awkward conversation?" Rath's eyes are bright with hurt and frustration, his voice drops to a harsh whisper. "Or maybe you were worried about how it would look if one of your problem players got into a scene at the team bar?"
The words hit Percy like a slap to the face. "Rath, that's not—" Percy starts, desperate to explain, but Rath is already turning away.
"Thanks for the help, Captain," Rath says with bitter formality, the title falling from his lips like a curse. "Really appreciate you looking out for your difficult teammates."
He walks away before Percy can explain, leaving Percy standing alone at the bar with the growing realization that whatever miscommunication JP told him about has created a rift that will be much harder to bridge than he anticipated.
God, he's fucked this up so bad. Every attempt to fix things only seems to make them worse, every gesture misinterpreted through the lens of Rath's hurt and Percy's own inability to communicate what he really feels. Although it's not like Rath is making it any easier. Does he have to be so god damned stubborn all of the time? If he would just listen for five minutes, just give Percy a chance to explain—
But even as he thinks it, Percy knows it isn't fair. Rath thinks Percy betrayed him, thinks everything between them was a lie, and Percy can't blame him for being defensive.
Across the bar JP gives him a shrug, likewhat can you do?But Percy isn't prepared to give up that easily. He won't just let this get worse and worse. They have a game next week and he needs Rath to play his best—needs him to play with him—and they can't have this hanging between them any longer. It's destroying the team and the team is everything.
He drains his beer and sets the glass down with more force than necessary, decision made. This ends tonight.
Percy follows Rath's path through the crowd, past the pool tables and the dartboard, toward the back of the bar. The hallway leading to the back exit is dimmer, quieter, the noise from the main bar fading to a dull roar. Percy pushes through the heavy door and into the night air.
It's still September, so it isn't cool enough to need a jacket, but the air is welcoming after the warmth and noise of the bar. The alleyway is mostly empty, save for a couple a little further down sharing a cigarette, their voices a low murmur in the darkness. Rath is there, leaning against a brick wall with his head in his hands, and the sight of him looking so defeated makes something twist painfully in Percy's chest.
He looks up when the door opens and his eyes widen when he sees Percy. The naked vulnerability in his expression lasts only a moment before the shutters slam back down. He lowers his hands and shoves them in his pockets, like he's already closing himself off, and Percy takes a deep breath and walks over to him.
"I don't want to talk to you," Rath says when he's five feet away. His voice is steady but Percy can hear the exhaustion underneath it, like he's been fighting this battle for too long.
"Look, I'm sorry about that back there. I didn't mean to overstep. I just thought—you looked uncomfortable, and I—" Hewhat? He didn't like seeing him get hit on by other guys? That's a weird thing to think all of the sudden, almost out of nowhere. Like he has any claim on Rath whatsoever. The shock of the thought almost veers him off course and makes him forget his trajectory, but he shakes his head and carries on. "We need to talk about the other day."
"And I said I don't want to talk to you," Rath pushes off the brick wall and comes two feet closer, hands now fisted at his sides. There's something desperate in his posture, like a cornered animal. "What part of that don't you get, Cap? Or does what I want not matter as long as you get what you want out of it?"
Percy flinches, thinking suddenly of that heated phone call all those nights ago—the way Rath sounded, breathless and wanting, the trust he placed in Percy's hands—and feels a rush of guilt like a storm washing over him. "Rath—"
"What is even the point, huh?" Rath bites his lip, looks down at the ground for a moment before his gaze snaps back up, hard and bright with unshed tears. He's almost vibrating, he's so angry, and it's not like Percy can blame him. "I just don't understand what you get out of all of this. Does it like…get you off to fuck with my head? Is that it? This is some sort of game to you?"
"What? No! I wasn't—"
"I trusted you," Rath seethes, and he's shaking now, face flushed and—fuck, Percy doesn't know what to do. The words come out broken, like they're being torn from his throat. "I looked up to you and you—you said you believed in me, and then—"
He can't finish the sentence, but Percy can fill in the blanks.And then you tried to get me kicked off the team. And then it was all a lie. And then you made me believe in something that wasn't real.
Percy knows explicitly that his right to touch Rath off of the ice is something he's taken for granted and now it's gone, just like their chemistry, just like their chances at a championship. He knows the last thing he should do is touch him, knows that any physical contact right now will probably be interpreted as manipulation or coercion. But in that moment the urge to reach out bypasses his brain and goes directly to his hands.
Percy takes the last step forward and grabs Rath by his shoulders, thumbs resting on the pale exposed skin at his collar. Rath flinches like Percy has struck him, like they're about to come to blows in the middle of this alleyway, his whole body goes rigid with shock or fear or both. But Percy doesn't give him a chance to pull away, doesn't give him a chance to retreat behind his walls again.
"I want you on the first power play," Percy blurts out, the words coming out louder than intended in the quiet alley.
Rath freezes underneath his grip. He stares up at Percy with wide eyes, his face flushed and his expression shocked, like he can't quite process what he's heard.
Percy holds his breath, like that will help. Like suspending his own breath will somehow make the words sink in, will somehow undo all the damage of the past few days.
"W-What?" Rath manages, his voice almost a croak.
"You overheard me talking about Miller," Percy explains, and it comes out almost all in a rush, he's so desperate to clear the air between them. "Miller isn't ready to be part of the team. Miller needs more work. I told Coach that Miller should be sent back down to the AHL for more development time."
Rath is still frozen solid in his hands, but some of the tension leaves his face. Slowly, ever so slowly, some of the rigidity seeps out of his shoulders. "You— But, I thought—"
"I told coach I want you on the first power play," Percy says again, because he feels like it bears repeating. The truth of itrings in the space between them, solid and undeniable. Maybe it gives too much away, maybe it shows his hand in a way that will complicate everything, but he can't help but add, almost pleading, "I want you on the ice with me."
