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Give Delight (and Hurt Not): Chapter 2 [Check Please; Patater]
Title: Give Delight (and Hurt Not)
Author: Phnx
Fandom: Check, Please!
Pairings/Character: Patater, Kent Parson, Kit Purrson, Jack Zimmermann, Eric Bittle, Alexei "Tater" Mashkov, Jeff “Swoops” Troy, OCs from the Aces
Rating: T+
Word Count: 3586 (Chapter 2/2) Read Chapter 1
Summary: Prequel/Sequel to Noises, Sounds, and Sweet Airs. A Patater Sentinel AU. Fic and chapter titles are once again from The Tempest.
"Your tale, sir, would cure deafness." — Act 1, Scene 2
Jack’s team—and the world overall, really—took Jack’s coming out so well. Kent has wondered near obsessively if the same would be true for him. He has always suspected not.
Something comes over him in the locker room after a win against the Bruins, though. Maybe it’s the high from the win. Maybe it’s knowing that he’ll be playing Jack—and Mashkov—the next day.
“Hey, guys,” Kent says, trying to keep his voice casual. He must not manage it, because everyone in the room goes quiet and turns to their captain, cheerful and attentive. “I think I’m gay for a Russian giant.”
If the room was quiet before, now it’s eerily silent. Everyone is watching the three Russian members, who seem to be having a full conversation between them with their eyebrows.
Finally, Smirnov says, “You say in locker room, so I think, is maybe not us?” He gestures between himself, Petrov, and Sokolov.
Kent lets his head fall against his locker. “No, none of you, oh my god.”
The majority of the room seems to lose interest in the conversation once the possibility of an intra-team romance vanishes. The three Russians only seem more invested in the speculation.
“Maybe it’s Sasha?” suggests Petrov thoughtfully. “Or Zhenya.”
Smirnov looks at Petrov oddly. “No, of course not Zhenya—he is not Sentinel!”
“I’m talking about the other Zhenya!” says Petrov, rolling his eyes. “He’s a Sentinel, and he said the Captain helped him with a zone before!”
“Wait, what?” asks Kent. “I have definitely not helped anyone out of a zone-out, especially not anyone named Zhenya. Who is Zhenya?”
“You know,” says Smirnov. “Is how we call Evgeny. Kutzy, he is playing on the Caps, yes? He say he zone out before game, you there, you help.”
“Oh. I was there, I guess, but I don’t think I really did anything.”
The Russians exchange a fond head shake around him.
“What?” says Kent. “I didn’t!”
“Anyway.” Smirnov waves a hand dismissively. “Is not Zhenya or Sasha—not big enough for giant.”
Unexpectedly, Sokolov speaks up. “Captain is so small, all Russians are giants,” he says in his quiet voice. “Could be any Russian Sentinel.”
Kent flushes red as the Russians explode into laughter. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters petulantly. Something occurs to him then. “Wait, why are you saying that about Sentinels?”
Sokolov blinks at him, surprised. “You are Guide,” he says, hesitant. “So you look for Sentinel, yes?”
“No way,” Kent laughs. “That’s not how it works at all!”
For the first time in this strange conversation, the Russians seem distinctly uncomfortable. Kent doesn’t understand how the suggestion that he likes men blew over so shockingly easily, but the idea of him dating a man who’s not a Sentinel seems to have them stumped.
“So,” says Petrov. “He’s not a Sentinel? He’s… he is another Guide, maybe?” His face looks blank in a way that suggests that keeping it calm is taking a great deal of effort.
“Is fine,” says Smirnov. “Captain like who Captain like.” But he’s carefully not looking at Kent when he says it.
“Yes,” Kent replies firmly. “I am going to like whomever I like, and that’s totally fine.” He grabs his tie and knots it loosely around his throat. “He is a Sentinel, though. Coincidentally.”
Smirnov, Petrov, and Sokolov all look extremely relieved. “Yes,” says Petrov. “Just a coincidence. No big deal either way.”
“Not Zhenya from Capitals or Zhenya from Penguins,” says Smirnov, already back to his previous musings. “Maybe Zhenya from Panthers?”
“Oh my—no, he’s not a Zhenya! He is none of the millions of Zhenyas! He’s—I mean, I was talking about Mashkov. On the Falcs.” He hunches his shoulders a little and grabs his jacket.
“Oooh,” says Smirnov. “Alyosha! Yes, good, he is good Sentinel. And no girlfriend! Or— boyfriend.”
“We’ll talk to him, get the word on what he thinks of you,” Petrov tells him. “We’ve got your back, Captain.”
“No, no, no, don’t do that! I already know he hates me. It’s fine, it’s whatever. I just thought you guys should know that I—I mean, I just wanted to tell you about me. I mean, about—liking guys. You don’t need to talk to Mashkov about anything, it’s no big deal.”
“I ask Zhenya now,” says Sokolov, waving his phone. “He is saying Sasha tells him other Zhenya says Alyosha thinks the Captain is cute but little bit mean.”
“Oh my god,” Kent says, hiding his face in his hands.
“What?” says Smirnov, offended. “Captain is nicest! Why is he think that?” He pulls out his phone, too, and taps aggressively.
He knew coming out to his team would be a disaster, but this is not the disaster he was expecting.
“You okay?” asks Jeff quietly from behind him..
Kent looks down. “Yeah,” he says, smiling helplessly. “I think I’m kind of...great.”
---
I told my team, Kent texts to Jack.
Jack Zimmermann: ?
Jack Zimmermann: Hey do you know where my spare headphones are?
Jack Zimmermann: Never mind, Bitty found them
For fuck’s sake.
I told my team, Kent texts to Bittle.
Eric Bittle: Oh, I’m so glad!!
Eric Bittle: How did it go?!
Eric Bittle: You’re coming over after the game this weekend, right? I’ll make some pie
I seriously don’t know how Jack survived until he had you to take care of him, Kent texts back, and then he settles in for some well-earned gossip.
---
“Hey,” says Jeff. His mysterious ability to track Kent down seems to have worked yet again. Kent fiddles with his snapback nervously as Jeff slides into the seat across from him, drink already in hand. “The team seemed pretty okay with it, right?”
Kent had never told Jeff, either. Jeff’s reaction was the one Kent was the least concerned over, and as Kent’s closest friend, he had probably deserved to be the first to know. And yet, Kent had never considered pulling Jeff aside for a quick confession and a supportive back slap.
“Yeah. Hey, man, I know I could have said something sooner, but…”
Jeff doesn’t smile at him, but nothing in his expression looks antagonistic, either. Kent isn’t sure how to read his face, so he looks away. Jeff waits for a moment, as though expecting Kent to finish his thought, but eventually he says, “I’m just glad you’ve said something now. I already knew, and I’m pretty sure you assumed that I knew and was fine with it.”
Kent had.
When Kent still says nothing, Jeff nods and starts to stand up. “I just wanted to check in with you,” he says, and Kent knows suddenly that he doesn’t want Jeff to leave. Maybe he had even come here, to this anonymous bar in its anonymous neighbourhood, hoping Jeff would find him.
“I’m starting to realise,” he starts. Jeff stills immediately, and Kent has to pause as his throat closes up with nerves. Jeff waits him out with no sign of impatience. “I’m starting to realise, sometimes you need to say things, you know? You knew about me, and I knew that you knew about me, but maybe that’s not enough.”
Jeff finally smiles at him, and he sinks back down. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” says Kent. He feels unexpectedly relieved. He could have stayed silent, and Jeff would have left, and he and Jeff would have stayed friends, and everything would have been fine. But Kent is slowing becoming aware of the fact that he can maybe do better than fine, even at things that aren’t hockey. “Yeah, like—Jack knew things about me, and I knew things about him, and we both knew that the other knew, but now it’s turning out that some of the things that we knew were wrong. Mostly on his end, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Jeff laughs.
“So I guess, maybe some of this stuff that we always assume about everyone needs to be said out loud. So, uh, I’m gay. I used to be with Jack. It was probably nothing serious, but I thought it was. Now I’m into Mashkov, so I guess I have a thing for tall guys who think I’m trash. And I never thought I was a Guide until I met Jack, but I always wanted to be one. And then I turned out to suck at it, which I am really sensitive about but pretend I’m not.”
Jeff is still smiling at him, his eyes soft.
“Well?” demands Kent, fidgeting. “Anything shocking in all that?”
“No,” admits Jeff. “I knew or guessed all of that, but I’m glad you told me.”
Kent lets himself relax back against the booth wall behind him. “I think I’m glad, too. Anyway, I have something else to tell you, and I bet this is new.”
Jeff leans forward on his elbows. “Hit me,” he says, grinning.
Kent leans forward, too. “I think those fucking pretentious craft brews you always order taste just like every other horse piss beer on the planet, and you’re wasting your money when you could be drinking Busch or Keystone, and it’d be the same fucking thing.”
“Sorry, Kent,” Jeff tells him, taking a swig of his bullshit brew, “I already knew that, too.”
Kent sniffs disdainfully.
“But just to return the favour, I want to confess something to you, too. Did you know you can just go to the store and buy punch off the shelves, and it tastes just like your 30-dollar cocktails?” Jeff jabs a finger towards Kent’s drink.
Kent shrugs. “Yeah, probably,” he says agreeably. “But then it wouldn’t sparkle.” He twirls his glass to demonstrate, and Jeff snorts.
“Touché,” Jeff says, and then everything is just like normal, but better.
---
Bittle, Jack, and even George have told Kent repeatedly that there hasn’t been any evidence that Mashkov has been flaring up, be it his hearing or any other sense.
Kent is finally starting to believe that he really did imagine the whole thing when Mashkov takes a hit from Smirnov—”I want him to know, he is not getting away with calling Captain bad names!”—and the world seems to implode around him.
“Back the fuck off,” Kent snarls at the refs who try to block his path to his Sentinel. Kent didn’t hear the whistle, but he’s distantly aware that the game has stopped, and the players are being herded off the ice as a medical team makes their way on. Kent shoves his way roughly past the refs and almost makes it to Mashkov before they grab him by the back of his jersey and start to pull him away.
By then, it’s too late.
Mashkov’s hand shot out blindly as soon as Kent came into reach, and despite the ref’s best efforts, they can’t loosen it from where it’s clamped onto Kent’s arm with bruising force.
“Mashkov—” “Tater—” they cajole, “You have to let go.”
But they’re speaking too loudly to a Sentinel whose enhanced hearing just went live—are they fucking idiots?—and Kent would scream in frustration if that wouldn’t make everything worse.
“You morons,” he hisses at them, finally managing to tug his jersey away from them and wrap his free arm around Mashkov’s slumped shoulders. “The noise is still hurting his ears, even if he’s mostly in the zone. You have to shut the fuck up.”
The refs don’t shut up, but there’s a good chance that they didn’t even hear Kent, given how quietly he had to speak. One of the approaching medics, a Sentinel, does hear Kent, and it only takes her one quick glance at the way Mashkov is curled up into Kent before she chases the refs away.
“We have a safe room in the clinic,” she tells Kent. Her voice is so soft that he can barely make it out. “If he can keep holding onto your arm, do you think we’ll be able to get him there?”
“Yes,” Kent whispers back. Of course they’ll have no problem getting Mashkov to the safe room. He wonders how anyone could think differently.
There’s a bad moment when the medics try to urge Mashkov onto the gurney and he nearly lashes out at them, but Kent gives him a sharp rap on his shoulder and orders him, sotto voce, to fucking behave himself, and after that, the move goes smoothly. Mashkov tenses and twitches with every jolt of the gurney, but he relaxes every time Kent coos at him to “chill the fuck out” and “stop being a fucking idiot.” The Sentinel medic gives Kent an amused look, which he thinks is unfair. This might not be approved Guiding protocol, but it’s working, isn’t it?
Jack and Bittle meet them at the safe room, and Kent’s stomach sinks when he catches sight of the other, better Guide.
He helps get Mashkov transferred to the hospital bed, and then he sighs and gestures for Bittle to come closer. “Here,” he says, gently trying to extract his arm from Mashkov’s iron grip. “You take him, and I’ll just—”
Mashkov tugs and Kent tumbles down onto the bed beside him.
“Wha—” Kent flounders as Bittle giggles helplessly beside him. “I thought Sentinels in the zone were supposed to be fucking comotose.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Bittle replies, but his mild tone is undermined by the way he can’t seem to bite back his smirky grin.
“Is it,” says Kent drily. He curls closer to Mashkov despite himself as Bittle looks on approvingly. “What now?”
“Now, you… get his attention,”1 Bittle says delicately. Jack snorts.
Kent rolls his eyes and gingerly lifts his free arm around Mashkov’s shoulders to give him a shake. When that doesn’t produce any noticeable results, he begins flicking his fingers sharply against Mashkov’s face and neck.
“Ah, yes, this method of Guiding seems very familiar to me,” Jack snarks as Bitty gasps in indignitation.
“You are welcome to take over,” Kent lies, twisting his head around to scowl at them.
Jack smirks at him. “Nah, it looks like you’ve got it covered, Kenny.” Bittle appears ready to violently disagree, but then both Kent and and Bittle startle as a flicker of awareness washes over them.
“Oh!” says Bittle, his eyes wide.
“What is it?” Jack asks, looking back and forth between the two of them.
“It’s Tater,” Bittle explains softly. “He’s coming out of it.”
Kent can’t look at them, and he can’t speak. He feels completely overwhelmed, and he doesn’t know what to do other than to hold onto Mashkov as tightly as he can.
Mashkov’s eyes open, and Kent feels—
He feels a lot.
---
After Mashkov is settled, after the medics release him, after everyone has agreed to freshen up and then find each other for dinner, Kent pulls Mashkov aside.
“Is there a place we can talk? Just the two of us?” he asks, not looking at Mashkov.
Mashkov nods slowly and tugs Kent along behind him. He leads them to an empty training room and nudges Kent down onto a bench before he settles beside him, not quite touching.
They sit together in silence for what seems like an eternity, both of them staring blankly at the weight-lifting equipment in front of them.
Kent may have come to terms with the fact that some things need to be talked through, but that doesn’t mean that Kent wants to be the first to speak. Kent shouldn’t have to be the first to speak.
Now that Mashkov has three enhanced senses, he’ll want a Guide. Someone better than Kent. Or maybe just anyone except for Kent. He’ll explain this to Kent, and then he’ll promise to be friends, and they actually probably will be. It’s not the worst rejection Kent has ever faced, but that doesn’t mean that he as the rejectee should have to be the one to bring up the topic.
Anyway, if Kent speaks first, then Mashkov will be forced to object weakly, and then Kent will have to argue to be rejected and that’s just not okay.
But still, Mashkov doesn’t speak.
Well, fine.
“You don’t want me,” Kent tells Mashkov seriously. His neck twinges as he looks up to meet Mashkov’s eyes. “I don’t Guide the right way.”
Mashkov is biting his lip, but it looks less like he’s trying to hold back a polite protest and more like he’s trying not to laugh. “There is right way to Guide? What is this?”
“Oh, you know. The whole thing. I don’t know the chants or the mediation guides or the words we’re supposed to say or do or whatever.”
“The words? The guides?”
“You know, to help you get control of your senses. Like, ‘Be not afeared,’ we’re supposed to say. ‘The isle is full of noises, sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.’ You know, to get Sentinels comfortable with their scary new superpowers.”
“I’m not know, but sounds like you do. If you know, how are you not Guiding the right way?”
“I don’t know them! That’s just the one that came to mind, that I managed to actually retain! I don’t know any of the right methods or the right things to say, and even if I did, I think they’re stupid!”
“If they’re stupid, maybe they’re not working. Even if they’re working, maybe the words is too weird to me. Unless they’re in Russian. You learn Russian Guiding for me, Kent Parson?”
Kent scowls and pulls out his best Russian from his recent Google sprees. “тьфу на тебя.”2
Mashkov pinches Kent’s cheeks. “Accent is so bad, so cute,” he coos, laughing his stupid laugh.
Kent scowls harder to keep from pouting.
Mashkov’s warm eyes drift from Kent’s eyes to his mouth and back again. His hands stay cupped around Kent’s face, fingers stroking gently now instead of pinching. Kent shivers.
“So?” he asks.
Mashkov huffs out a laugh, but his fingers don’t stop moving. “So what?”
“So, do you want me as your Guide or not?” he snaps. He feels twitchy with impatience and nerves, and he just wants this rejection to be over with already. Then he can go back to his teammates, who all support him even when they think Kent’s being weird, and Jeff, who stands by him even when he thinks Kent’s being stupid, and Jack and Bitty, who protect Kent even when they think he’s being unkind, and Kit, who snuggles with him even when she thinks Kent is being an uncomfortable cat bed.
He never had a place to go back to post rejection, but now he does, and he’s not as afraid anymore. It’ll happen, it’ll hurt, and then there will be drinks and hugs and pies and cuddles enough to keep him afloat. He’ll be fine this time.
“You say I’m not want you for my Guide,” replies Mashkov, still amused. “I’m never say. Maybe now I’m thinking you don’t want me for your Sentinel.”
Mashkov is just teasing, but Kent stiffens up anyway. “Of course I want you,” he bites out, squeezing his eyes closed to shut out the shame of it all. “I obviously fucking want you.”
Mashkov’s breath hitches very slightly, and his fingers freeze on Kent’s face for a moment before returning to their gentle motion. “It’s not obvious,” he says. “Not for me.”
“Well, I do.”
“I’m never wanting a Guide before,” says Mashkov meditatively. “I meet many Guides, and I think they’re okay for other Sentinels, but they’re not for me. You see?”
“Yes,” Kent whispers.
“But then I meet Bitty,” Mashkov continues, and Kent feels his sick. Of fucking course. “I meet Bitty, and I think, maybe Guide is okay if it is the right Guide. Bitty is not for me”—Kent nearly sags, and Mashkov tsks at him and dunks down to drop a kiss into his hair. ”Bitty is not for me,” he repeats firmly, “but he makes me think maybe. Maybe there is Guide who is for me.”
Mashkov finally removes his hands from Kent’s face, but instead he wraps them around Kent’s body and tucks Kent into his chest. Kent shivers. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with his hands. Should he hug Mashkov back? But he doesn’t know if that’s okay, so he leaves them hanging stupidly at his side.
“But then I meet you,” Mashkov whispers into Kent’s hair. “I meet you, Kent Parson, and I think you are not a Guide. Or maybe you are Guide for rats. Rat Guide.”
At least now Kent knows what to do with his hands. He smacks roughly Mashkov in his side, and Mashkov sniggers.
“Now, I don’t know that you are good Guide or bad Guide or good Guide for rats only. But I think you are good person. And I think you make me be a good person, too. So yes, Kent Parson. Yes, I want you.”
At this point, Kent definitely doesn’t cry even a little. Later, when Jack raises his eyebrows at the wet spot on Mashkov’s shirt, Mashkov tells him it’s drool, and thus he earns himself another bruise.
And then there are drinks, and hugs, and pies, and cuddles, and through it all, Mashkov keeps his arm wrapped around Kent’s shoulders, and Kent, who is not blushing at all no matter what anyone says, deigns to let him.
---
There are at least three things everyone needs to understand about Kent Parson: (1) If he’s going to be a Guide, he’s going to do it his own way, and (2) If he’s going to have a boyfriend or Sentinel or soul mate or whatever, he’s going to do that his own way, too, and (3) Anyone who has anything to say about any of that can just fuck right off.
To be fair, most people already seem to have figured that out.
---
END NOTES
---
1 – "Now you... get his attention": Pop culture likes to claim that the best method of awakening a zoned Sentinel is a kiss from a compatible Guide—or, to some, the Sentinel's "true" Guide. The evidence in favour of the True Guide Kiss is entirely anecdotal, but the myth still persists, as it has for centuries. One of the earliest records of the story can be found in an old folktale about a Sentinel Princess whose Touch sense was so powerful that a prick on her finger as a teenager was enough to send her into an impenetrable zone that could only be lifted by a kiss from her True Guide. Whether this event actually took place is the cause for much debate in academic circles. On one hand, experts in the field of Sentinel and Guide dynamics have hesitantly confirmed that it is possible for a touch sensitivity as extreme as the one described to exist, and such sensitivity would certainly require an extremely compatible Guide to help the Sentinel make their way through life without severe zones. On the other hand, the story also mentions dragons.
2 – тьфу на тебя: I am led to believe that this is a Russian idiom meaning “I spit on you.”
Author: Phnx
Fandom: Check, Please!
Pairings/Character: Patater, Kent Parson, Kit Purrson, Jack Zimmermann, Eric Bittle, Alexei "Tater" Mashkov, Jeff “Swoops” Troy, OCs from the Aces
Rating: T+
Word Count: 3586 (Chapter 2/2) Read Chapter 1
Summary: Prequel/Sequel to Noises, Sounds, and Sweet Airs. A Patater Sentinel AU. Fic and chapter titles are once again from The Tempest.
Jack’s team—and the world overall, really—took Jack’s coming out so well. Kent has wondered near obsessively if the same would be true for him. He has always suspected not.
Something comes over him in the locker room after a win against the Bruins, though. Maybe it’s the high from the win. Maybe it’s knowing that he’ll be playing Jack—and Mashkov—the next day.
“Hey, guys,” Kent says, trying to keep his voice casual. He must not manage it, because everyone in the room goes quiet and turns to their captain, cheerful and attentive. “I think I’m gay for a Russian giant.”
If the room was quiet before, now it’s eerily silent. Everyone is watching the three Russian members, who seem to be having a full conversation between them with their eyebrows.
Finally, Smirnov says, “You say in locker room, so I think, is maybe not us?” He gestures between himself, Petrov, and Sokolov.
Kent lets his head fall against his locker. “No, none of you, oh my god.”
The majority of the room seems to lose interest in the conversation once the possibility of an intra-team romance vanishes. The three Russians only seem more invested in the speculation.
“Maybe it’s Sasha?” suggests Petrov thoughtfully. “Or Zhenya.”
Smirnov looks at Petrov oddly. “No, of course not Zhenya—he is not Sentinel!”
“I’m talking about the other Zhenya!” says Petrov, rolling his eyes. “He’s a Sentinel, and he said the Captain helped him with a zone before!”
“Wait, what?” asks Kent. “I have definitely not helped anyone out of a zone-out, especially not anyone named Zhenya. Who is Zhenya?”
“You know,” says Smirnov. “Is how we call Evgeny. Kutzy, he is playing on the Caps, yes? He say he zone out before game, you there, you help.”
“Oh. I was there, I guess, but I don’t think I really did anything.”
The Russians exchange a fond head shake around him.
“What?” says Kent. “I didn’t!”
“Anyway.” Smirnov waves a hand dismissively. “Is not Zhenya or Sasha—not big enough for giant.”
Unexpectedly, Sokolov speaks up. “Captain is so small, all Russians are giants,” he says in his quiet voice. “Could be any Russian Sentinel.”
Kent flushes red as the Russians explode into laughter. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters petulantly. Something occurs to him then. “Wait, why are you saying that about Sentinels?”
Sokolov blinks at him, surprised. “You are Guide,” he says, hesitant. “So you look for Sentinel, yes?”
“No way,” Kent laughs. “That’s not how it works at all!”
For the first time in this strange conversation, the Russians seem distinctly uncomfortable. Kent doesn’t understand how the suggestion that he likes men blew over so shockingly easily, but the idea of him dating a man who’s not a Sentinel seems to have them stumped.
“So,” says Petrov. “He’s not a Sentinel? He’s… he is another Guide, maybe?” His face looks blank in a way that suggests that keeping it calm is taking a great deal of effort.
“Is fine,” says Smirnov. “Captain like who Captain like.” But he’s carefully not looking at Kent when he says it.
“Yes,” Kent replies firmly. “I am going to like whomever I like, and that’s totally fine.” He grabs his tie and knots it loosely around his throat. “He is a Sentinel, though. Coincidentally.”
Smirnov, Petrov, and Sokolov all look extremely relieved. “Yes,” says Petrov. “Just a coincidence. No big deal either way.”
“Not Zhenya from Capitals or Zhenya from Penguins,” says Smirnov, already back to his previous musings. “Maybe Zhenya from Panthers?”
“Oh my—no, he’s not a Zhenya! He is none of the millions of Zhenyas! He’s—I mean, I was talking about Mashkov. On the Falcs.” He hunches his shoulders a little and grabs his jacket.
“Oooh,” says Smirnov. “Alyosha! Yes, good, he is good Sentinel. And no girlfriend! Or— boyfriend.”
“We’ll talk to him, get the word on what he thinks of you,” Petrov tells him. “We’ve got your back, Captain.”
“No, no, no, don’t do that! I already know he hates me. It’s fine, it’s whatever. I just thought you guys should know that I—I mean, I just wanted to tell you about me. I mean, about—liking guys. You don’t need to talk to Mashkov about anything, it’s no big deal.”
“I ask Zhenya now,” says Sokolov, waving his phone. “He is saying Sasha tells him other Zhenya says Alyosha thinks the Captain is cute but little bit mean.”
“Oh my god,” Kent says, hiding his face in his hands.
“What?” says Smirnov, offended. “Captain is nicest! Why is he think that?” He pulls out his phone, too, and taps aggressively.
He knew coming out to his team would be a disaster, but this is not the disaster he was expecting.
“You okay?” asks Jeff quietly from behind him..
Kent looks down. “Yeah,” he says, smiling helplessly. “I think I’m kind of...great.”
I told my team, Kent texts to Jack.
Jack Zimmermann: ?
Jack Zimmermann: Hey do you know where my spare headphones are?
Jack Zimmermann: Never mind, Bitty found them
For fuck’s sake.
I told my team, Kent texts to Bittle.
Eric Bittle: Oh, I’m so glad!!
Eric Bittle: How did it go?!
Eric Bittle: You’re coming over after the game this weekend, right? I’ll make some pie
I seriously don’t know how Jack survived until he had you to take care of him, Kent texts back, and then he settles in for some well-earned gossip.
“Hey,” says Jeff. His mysterious ability to track Kent down seems to have worked yet again. Kent fiddles with his snapback nervously as Jeff slides into the seat across from him, drink already in hand. “The team seemed pretty okay with it, right?”
Kent had never told Jeff, either. Jeff’s reaction was the one Kent was the least concerned over, and as Kent’s closest friend, he had probably deserved to be the first to know. And yet, Kent had never considered pulling Jeff aside for a quick confession and a supportive back slap.
“Yeah. Hey, man, I know I could have said something sooner, but…”
Jeff doesn’t smile at him, but nothing in his expression looks antagonistic, either. Kent isn’t sure how to read his face, so he looks away. Jeff waits for a moment, as though expecting Kent to finish his thought, but eventually he says, “I’m just glad you’ve said something now. I already knew, and I’m pretty sure you assumed that I knew and was fine with it.”
Kent had.
When Kent still says nothing, Jeff nods and starts to stand up. “I just wanted to check in with you,” he says, and Kent knows suddenly that he doesn’t want Jeff to leave. Maybe he had even come here, to this anonymous bar in its anonymous neighbourhood, hoping Jeff would find him.
“I’m starting to realise,” he starts. Jeff stills immediately, and Kent has to pause as his throat closes up with nerves. Jeff waits him out with no sign of impatience. “I’m starting to realise, sometimes you need to say things, you know? You knew about me, and I knew that you knew about me, but maybe that’s not enough.”
Jeff finally smiles at him, and he sinks back down. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” says Kent. He feels unexpectedly relieved. He could have stayed silent, and Jeff would have left, and he and Jeff would have stayed friends, and everything would have been fine. But Kent is slowing becoming aware of the fact that he can maybe do better than fine, even at things that aren’t hockey. “Yeah, like—Jack knew things about me, and I knew things about him, and we both knew that the other knew, but now it’s turning out that some of the things that we knew were wrong. Mostly on his end, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Jeff laughs.
“So I guess, maybe some of this stuff that we always assume about everyone needs to be said out loud. So, uh, I’m gay. I used to be with Jack. It was probably nothing serious, but I thought it was. Now I’m into Mashkov, so I guess I have a thing for tall guys who think I’m trash. And I never thought I was a Guide until I met Jack, but I always wanted to be one. And then I turned out to suck at it, which I am really sensitive about but pretend I’m not.”
Jeff is still smiling at him, his eyes soft.
“Well?” demands Kent, fidgeting. “Anything shocking in all that?”
“No,” admits Jeff. “I knew or guessed all of that, but I’m glad you told me.”
Kent lets himself relax back against the booth wall behind him. “I think I’m glad, too. Anyway, I have something else to tell you, and I bet this is new.”
Jeff leans forward on his elbows. “Hit me,” he says, grinning.
Kent leans forward, too. “I think those fucking pretentious craft brews you always order taste just like every other horse piss beer on the planet, and you’re wasting your money when you could be drinking Busch or Keystone, and it’d be the same fucking thing.”
“Sorry, Kent,” Jeff tells him, taking a swig of his bullshit brew, “I already knew that, too.”
Kent sniffs disdainfully.
“But just to return the favour, I want to confess something to you, too. Did you know you can just go to the store and buy punch off the shelves, and it tastes just like your 30-dollar cocktails?” Jeff jabs a finger towards Kent’s drink.
Kent shrugs. “Yeah, probably,” he says agreeably. “But then it wouldn’t sparkle.” He twirls his glass to demonstrate, and Jeff snorts.
“Touché,” Jeff says, and then everything is just like normal, but better.
Bittle, Jack, and even George have told Kent repeatedly that there hasn’t been any evidence that Mashkov has been flaring up, be it his hearing or any other sense.
Kent is finally starting to believe that he really did imagine the whole thing when Mashkov takes a hit from Smirnov—”I want him to know, he is not getting away with calling Captain bad names!”—and the world seems to implode around him.
“Back the fuck off,” Kent snarls at the refs who try to block his path to his Sentinel. Kent didn’t hear the whistle, but he’s distantly aware that the game has stopped, and the players are being herded off the ice as a medical team makes their way on. Kent shoves his way roughly past the refs and almost makes it to Mashkov before they grab him by the back of his jersey and start to pull him away.
By then, it’s too late.
Mashkov’s hand shot out blindly as soon as Kent came into reach, and despite the ref’s best efforts, they can’t loosen it from where it’s clamped onto Kent’s arm with bruising force.
“Mashkov—” “Tater—” they cajole, “You have to let go.”
But they’re speaking too loudly to a Sentinel whose enhanced hearing just went live—are they fucking idiots?—and Kent would scream in frustration if that wouldn’t make everything worse.
“You morons,” he hisses at them, finally managing to tug his jersey away from them and wrap his free arm around Mashkov’s slumped shoulders. “The noise is still hurting his ears, even if he’s mostly in the zone. You have to shut the fuck up.”
The refs don’t shut up, but there’s a good chance that they didn’t even hear Kent, given how quietly he had to speak. One of the approaching medics, a Sentinel, does hear Kent, and it only takes her one quick glance at the way Mashkov is curled up into Kent before she chases the refs away.
“We have a safe room in the clinic,” she tells Kent. Her voice is so soft that he can barely make it out. “If he can keep holding onto your arm, do you think we’ll be able to get him there?”
“Yes,” Kent whispers back. Of course they’ll have no problem getting Mashkov to the safe room. He wonders how anyone could think differently.
There’s a bad moment when the medics try to urge Mashkov onto the gurney and he nearly lashes out at them, but Kent gives him a sharp rap on his shoulder and orders him, sotto voce, to fucking behave himself, and after that, the move goes smoothly. Mashkov tenses and twitches with every jolt of the gurney, but he relaxes every time Kent coos at him to “chill the fuck out” and “stop being a fucking idiot.” The Sentinel medic gives Kent an amused look, which he thinks is unfair. This might not be approved Guiding protocol, but it’s working, isn’t it?
Jack and Bittle meet them at the safe room, and Kent’s stomach sinks when he catches sight of the other, better Guide.
He helps get Mashkov transferred to the hospital bed, and then he sighs and gestures for Bittle to come closer. “Here,” he says, gently trying to extract his arm from Mashkov’s iron grip. “You take him, and I’ll just—”
Mashkov tugs and Kent tumbles down onto the bed beside him.
“Wha—” Kent flounders as Bittle giggles helplessly beside him. “I thought Sentinels in the zone were supposed to be fucking comotose.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Bittle replies, but his mild tone is undermined by the way he can’t seem to bite back his smirky grin.
“Is it,” says Kent drily. He curls closer to Mashkov despite himself as Bittle looks on approvingly. “What now?”
“Now, you… get his attention,”1 Bittle says delicately. Jack snorts.
Kent rolls his eyes and gingerly lifts his free arm around Mashkov’s shoulders to give him a shake. When that doesn’t produce any noticeable results, he begins flicking his fingers sharply against Mashkov’s face and neck.
“Ah, yes, this method of Guiding seems very familiar to me,” Jack snarks as Bitty gasps in indignitation.
“You are welcome to take over,” Kent lies, twisting his head around to scowl at them.
Jack smirks at him. “Nah, it looks like you’ve got it covered, Kenny.” Bittle appears ready to violently disagree, but then both Kent and and Bittle startle as a flicker of awareness washes over them.
“Oh!” says Bittle, his eyes wide.
“What is it?” Jack asks, looking back and forth between the two of them.
“It’s Tater,” Bittle explains softly. “He’s coming out of it.”
Kent can’t look at them, and he can’t speak. He feels completely overwhelmed, and he doesn’t know what to do other than to hold onto Mashkov as tightly as he can.
Mashkov’s eyes open, and Kent feels—
He feels a lot.
After Mashkov is settled, after the medics release him, after everyone has agreed to freshen up and then find each other for dinner, Kent pulls Mashkov aside.
“Is there a place we can talk? Just the two of us?” he asks, not looking at Mashkov.
Mashkov nods slowly and tugs Kent along behind him. He leads them to an empty training room and nudges Kent down onto a bench before he settles beside him, not quite touching.
They sit together in silence for what seems like an eternity, both of them staring blankly at the weight-lifting equipment in front of them.
Kent may have come to terms with the fact that some things need to be talked through, but that doesn’t mean that Kent wants to be the first to speak. Kent shouldn’t have to be the first to speak.
Now that Mashkov has three enhanced senses, he’ll want a Guide. Someone better than Kent. Or maybe just anyone except for Kent. He’ll explain this to Kent, and then he’ll promise to be friends, and they actually probably will be. It’s not the worst rejection Kent has ever faced, but that doesn’t mean that he as the rejectee should have to be the one to bring up the topic.
Anyway, if Kent speaks first, then Mashkov will be forced to object weakly, and then Kent will have to argue to be rejected and that’s just not okay.
But still, Mashkov doesn’t speak.
Well, fine.
“You don’t want me,” Kent tells Mashkov seriously. His neck twinges as he looks up to meet Mashkov’s eyes. “I don’t Guide the right way.”
Mashkov is biting his lip, but it looks less like he’s trying to hold back a polite protest and more like he’s trying not to laugh. “There is right way to Guide? What is this?”
“Oh, you know. The whole thing. I don’t know the chants or the mediation guides or the words we’re supposed to say or do or whatever.”
“The words? The guides?”
“You know, to help you get control of your senses. Like, ‘Be not afeared,’ we’re supposed to say. ‘The isle is full of noises, sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.’ You know, to get Sentinels comfortable with their scary new superpowers.”
“I’m not know, but sounds like you do. If you know, how are you not Guiding the right way?”
“I don’t know them! That’s just the one that came to mind, that I managed to actually retain! I don’t know any of the right methods or the right things to say, and even if I did, I think they’re stupid!”
“If they’re stupid, maybe they’re not working. Even if they’re working, maybe the words is too weird to me. Unless they’re in Russian. You learn Russian Guiding for me, Kent Parson?”
Kent scowls and pulls out his best Russian from his recent Google sprees. “тьфу на тебя.”2
Mashkov pinches Kent’s cheeks. “Accent is so bad, so cute,” he coos, laughing his stupid laugh.
Kent scowls harder to keep from pouting.
Mashkov’s warm eyes drift from Kent’s eyes to his mouth and back again. His hands stay cupped around Kent’s face, fingers stroking gently now instead of pinching. Kent shivers.
“So?” he asks.
Mashkov huffs out a laugh, but his fingers don’t stop moving. “So what?”
“So, do you want me as your Guide or not?” he snaps. He feels twitchy with impatience and nerves, and he just wants this rejection to be over with already. Then he can go back to his teammates, who all support him even when they think Kent’s being weird, and Jeff, who stands by him even when he thinks Kent’s being stupid, and Jack and Bitty, who protect Kent even when they think he’s being unkind, and Kit, who snuggles with him even when she thinks Kent is being an uncomfortable cat bed.
He never had a place to go back to post rejection, but now he does, and he’s not as afraid anymore. It’ll happen, it’ll hurt, and then there will be drinks and hugs and pies and cuddles enough to keep him afloat. He’ll be fine this time.
“You say I’m not want you for my Guide,” replies Mashkov, still amused. “I’m never say. Maybe now I’m thinking you don’t want me for your Sentinel.”
Mashkov is just teasing, but Kent stiffens up anyway. “Of course I want you,” he bites out, squeezing his eyes closed to shut out the shame of it all. “I obviously fucking want you.”
Mashkov’s breath hitches very slightly, and his fingers freeze on Kent’s face for a moment before returning to their gentle motion. “It’s not obvious,” he says. “Not for me.”
“Well, I do.”
“I’m never wanting a Guide before,” says Mashkov meditatively. “I meet many Guides, and I think they’re okay for other Sentinels, but they’re not for me. You see?”
“Yes,” Kent whispers.
“But then I meet Bitty,” Mashkov continues, and Kent feels his sick. Of fucking course. “I meet Bitty, and I think, maybe Guide is okay if it is the right Guide. Bitty is not for me”—Kent nearly sags, and Mashkov tsks at him and dunks down to drop a kiss into his hair. ”Bitty is not for me,” he repeats firmly, “but he makes me think maybe. Maybe there is Guide who is for me.”
Mashkov finally removes his hands from Kent’s face, but instead he wraps them around Kent’s body and tucks Kent into his chest. Kent shivers. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with his hands. Should he hug Mashkov back? But he doesn’t know if that’s okay, so he leaves them hanging stupidly at his side.
“But then I meet you,” Mashkov whispers into Kent’s hair. “I meet you, Kent Parson, and I think you are not a Guide. Or maybe you are Guide for rats. Rat Guide.”
At least now Kent knows what to do with his hands. He smacks roughly Mashkov in his side, and Mashkov sniggers.
“Now, I don’t know that you are good Guide or bad Guide or good Guide for rats only. But I think you are good person. And I think you make me be a good person, too. So yes, Kent Parson. Yes, I want you.”
At this point, Kent definitely doesn’t cry even a little. Later, when Jack raises his eyebrows at the wet spot on Mashkov’s shirt, Mashkov tells him it’s drool, and thus he earns himself another bruise.
And then there are drinks, and hugs, and pies, and cuddles, and through it all, Mashkov keeps his arm wrapped around Kent’s shoulders, and Kent, who is not blushing at all no matter what anyone says, deigns to let him.
There are at least three things everyone needs to understand about Kent Parson: (1) If he’s going to be a Guide, he’s going to do it his own way, and (2) If he’s going to have a boyfriend or Sentinel or soul mate or whatever, he’s going to do that his own way, too, and (3) Anyone who has anything to say about any of that can just fuck right off.
To be fair, most people already seem to have figured that out.
END NOTES
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1 – "Now you... get his attention": Pop culture likes to claim that the best method of awakening a zoned Sentinel is a kiss from a compatible Guide—or, to some, the Sentinel's "true" Guide. The evidence in favour of the True Guide Kiss is entirely anecdotal, but the myth still persists, as it has for centuries. One of the earliest records of the story can be found in an old folktale about a Sentinel Princess whose Touch sense was so powerful that a prick on her finger as a teenager was enough to send her into an impenetrable zone that could only be lifted by a kiss from her True Guide. Whether this event actually took place is the cause for much debate in academic circles. On one hand, experts in the field of Sentinel and Guide dynamics have hesitantly confirmed that it is possible for a touch sensitivity as extreme as the one described to exist, and such sensitivity would certainly require an extremely compatible Guide to help the Sentinel make their way through life without severe zones. On the other hand, the story also mentions dragons.
2 – тьфу на тебя: I am led to believe that this is a Russian idiom meaning “I spit on you.”