#baaaabyyyyyy

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Jordan is watching him. Tuukka can feel his considering gaze heavy on Tuukka’s back for most of practice, although he’s conspicuously paying attention to something else whenever Tuukka manages to spare a glance towards him. The above-and-beyond attention continues after practice and into the locker room.

It’s unnerving.

Tuukka almost fumbles his way through taking off his pads, and absolutely doesn’t rush through his shower so that he can leave sooner. It’s been an unsettling couple of days: Tuukka hadn’t realised just how much of his spare time had been spent with Adam until there was a very conspicuous Morrison shaped hole at his side. Which—of course Adam is excited about his parents being here, and about getting to show them around Boston. There’s no reason for Tuukka to be included in those plans. He’s already impinging on the Morrison family Christmas, so he should most definitely have zero expectations of anything else.

Still. A not-so-small part of Tuukka is burnt and nauseous with jealousy, unbalanced and feeling only more so each time he turns to relate an observation to Adam and he isn’t there. The number of text messages that Tuukka has typed out and then carefully deleted is faintly ridiculous. And—it’s been a couple of days. A couple of days in which Adam has behaved like his normal self and has chatted to Tuukka during practices so it’s not even like Tuukka can justify his ridiculous feelings by having not seen Adam at all.

And Jordan is still watching at him. Under the pretence of concentrating on his phone (there’s a lengthy email from Joonas that Tuukka is avoiding opening, because he’s almost certain he knows what the bulk of it is going to be about), Tuukka manages to look up through his eyelashes and actually catch Caron in the act of staring. His expression isn’t hostile—quite the opposite, in fact—but there’s a contemplative cast to it that Tuukka isn’t at all comfortable with. Considering looks—outside of the bounds of on ice and involving where to aim a puck—are, in Tuukka’s experience, not a good thing to be the recipient of.

Tuukka hurries through tying his shoe laces and grabs up his coat and scarf so that he can beat a hasty retreat from the locker room. Once safely alone in his car, Tuukka hesitates for a long moment before driving home. Part of him had wanted to hang around in the parking lot (creepy) until his team mates (Adam. Tuukka’s subconscious, at least, is willing to own his creepy tendencies) began filtering out, although he’s really not sure what he’d do after that.

His house is, as usual, quiet and boring. There’s a game tonight—with a weirdly early puck-drop at 6pm—so there’s not much that Tuukka can do without compromising his pre-game routines, so it’s not even like Tuukka can go and find anything too involved to do. None of the throw cushions in the lounge have an opinion when Tuukka rearranges them. In addition to the usual array of small change that Tuukka finds when he roots around the depths of his couch, he also finds a loonie and a turquoise right mitten that is nothing he has ever owned in his life.

Tuukka stares at the mitten for an embarrassingly long time before putting it on the coffee table, loonie on top of it, and going to take a shower. Maybe the ridiculously good water pressure will knock some sense into him.

(It doesn’t. Tuukka is left with the same mixed-bag of pining and loneliness as before, except that now he also has wet hair.)

The contents of Tuukka’s fridge and kitchen cupboards aren’t particularly inspiring, but he manages to make himself start assembling a chicken and mushroom stir fry whilst sipping half-heartedly at a glass of chocolate flavour protein shake. From the lounge Tuukka hears the beeping that indicates his phone has received a message. The contents of the wok are safe to look after themselves so Tuukka trails through his house and roots his phone out from the pocket of his abandoned coat.

Huh. He doesn’t have one message, he has seven.

Tuukka wanders back to the kitchen and picks up a wooden spatula to poke distractedly at his stir fry with one hand, whilst unlocking and swiping through his phone with the other.

The most recent message is from Z: a photo of his daughter being predictably adorable that Tatiana has forwarded to him and he has shared with the team. The remaining six messages are divided between Joonas and Adam. Tuukka scowls at his phone but reluctantly taps on his brother’s name first.

I know you’re ignoring my email, and seriously I give the best advice. plus if you don’t respond I will use my AHL contacts and I’ll fix you up myself.

Don’t you dare, Tuukka sends back curtly, because the last thing he needs is the incestuously gossipy nature of the hockey world catching wind of, well, anything.

Adam’s most recent message, a simple :( doesn’t make any sense. Tuukka blinks at his phone and swipes up the message thread so that he’s at the first of the four messages. Hopefully reading them chronologically will help Tuukka figure out why Adam is sending him sad emoticons.

The first message is timestamped to about five minutes after Tuukka left the practice rink. awww, did i miss you leaving? or are you still here at the rink? please still be here at the rink! :D checking equipment rooms noooow. The second message, twenty minutes after the first, reads: okay i guess i really did miss you, boooo. fancy meeting up for lunch? i have a sushi craving & it always tastes better if i steal it from your plate. The third message, not two minutes later is: oh also my parents want to come since i keep on raving about the sushi place over skype. that’s the main reason i won’t be stealing from your plate, best behaviour & all that. i can either come by & pick you up or we can meet at the restaurant???

Well, the :( sort of makes sense, now. Tuukka sighs and vacillates over how to reply. The final message is about a half hour old (attempting to shower common sense into yourself is time-consuming, okay?) so Tuukka’s pretty sure that he’s missed his window of sushi consumption with Adam. And his parents, although Tuukka is trying not to think about that too hard. He should actually make the effort to meet them in the flesh and at least attempt to make a good impression before he gatecrashes their Christmas.

Sorry I just checked my phone and saw your messages, he types out and sends. It’s not like Tuukka is expecting Adam to reply immediately or anything, but he still keeps his phone in his hand as he continues poking at the stir fry. When it vibrates and chimes in his hand, Tuukka almost drops it. Because he’s an idiot.

no worries! Adam has replied. we’re at the sushi place but you could come join us??

Tuukka looks between his phone and the wok. Instead of listening to the part of him that is shouting yes he sends I am already cooking my lunch.

Burning his lunch, actually. Tuukka curses and dumps his phone on the side as a distinctly charred smell climbs up his nose. He pulls the wok off the heat and knocks off the burner before poking experimentally at the food with the spatula. It appears to be mostly salvageable so Tuukka tips it into a waiting bowl and puts the wok to soak in the sink. His phone chimes and Tuukka absolutely doesn’t abandon his bowl of stir fry on the kitchen table to retrieve it.

awww well enjoy your lunch I guess. what are you making? i’ll eat extra tuna just for yooou. Adam has replied. This is followed almost immediately by, also my folks say hiiii. i think my mum wants to corner you about baking so warning on that.

Tuukka wrinkles up his forehead at that and digs a fork into the stir fry, making it through several mouthfuls before thinking of a reply that isn’t just ‘stir fry’ and then some questions marks. I made a stir fry, although I almost burnt it, he replies. Say hello to your parents from me. As much as he wants to ask why Adam’s mother wants Tuukka’s opinions on baking, Tuukka can’t bring himself to sound more awkward via text message.

oh no! don’t burn your food! he gets back. unless it’s some secretly foodie thing like blackening? in which case go ahead!

I found one of your mittens behind a throw pillow. Tuukka eventually replies, after making himself finish his meal. After stacking his bowl in the dishwasher, Tuukka takes his phone and goes to sprawl on his couch with NHL Network on the television.

the blue one? sweet! i was wondering where that was…don’t suppose you’ve seen the scarf that matches it have you?

No. There was a loonie with it, though.

oh that’s just canadian territory marking. we either use currency or maple-based foodstuffs. i’ll sneak some maple candy into your house soon :D

Tuukka tightens his grip on his phone and flushes hot at Adam’s latest message. He can’t think of anything to reply with, except for a pathetic yes, please, so he just exits out of the message thread and sets the alarm on his phone before setting it on the coffee table. After a brief circuit of the room to pull shut the curtains, Tuukka turns off the TV and settles himself onto the slightly longer half of his couch to nap.

After a restless few minutes, Tuukka huffs out a sigh and flails around with one outstretched hand until he catch hold of the fleece blanket that’s thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch. It’s usually draped over the foot of the guest room bed, and the fact that it’s out here is a remnant from that last movie night that he and Adam had a few days ago, when Adam had complained about being cold not ten minutes in to Dead Man’s Chest. Tuukka had felt fine, but he had paused the film and had gone to search out the blanket and also nudge up the thermostat. He’d expected handing the blanket over to Adam to be the end of it, but somehow they’d ended up watching most of the film tucked next to each other in the corner of the couch, blanket spread over them both.

(Tuukka still isn’t entirely sure about the last half of the film. Captain Jack may or may not have died? The only thing he can really remember with any clarity is the satisfied hum Adam had let out once he’d positioned Tuukka to his liking and burrowed into his side.)

When Tuukka turns onto his side and tucks a bunched up handful of the blanket close to his face it smells faintly of musk and mint. He falls asleep quickly.

A few hours later Tuukka is absorbing the quiet and calmness of the empty locker-room, paused most of the way through getting dressed, the straps of his leg pads dangling loose. He’s willing to admit that he’s waiting. The clock’s about to tick over to the halfway point of the average time that the rest of the Bruins let Tuukka have the locker room to himself, and that has started to mean that—

The door from the hallway creaks open and Adam slips through, pulling it closed behind him. He waves a greeting at Tuukka and detours past his stall to dump the majority of his belongings before vanishing in the direction of the mirrors adjacent the shower room to swap his glasses for contact lenses.

“Hi!” Adam says in a cheerful half-whisper as he sits down in his stall. As is usual, he’s blinking frequently, and is looking faintly disgruntled as he adjusts to having his lenses in. “I trust you had a good nap?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Tuukka fiddles with the straps of his left pad for a moment. “I didn’t, um, find your scarf. And I left your mitten at my house, sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Adam says as he begins the involved process of getting changed from normal clothes to hockey gear. “’s not like we’re not going to see each other or anything. I wonder where that scarf is, though? I could’ve sworn that the last time I wore it was to yours because I remember thinking that the colour reminded me of you.”

“Uh.”

Adam snickers and waves both arms around. “Okay, so the blue is kinda like the blue on the Finnish flag? Well, not really, but still. I ended up thinking of you.”

Tuukka blinks at the artless compliment, manages to mumble a “thank you,” whilst actually starting to buckle up his leg pads instead of just fidgeting with them. Despite his nervous displacement activities, Tuukka is actually starting to feel settled—more so as Adam chatters on about his day (busy) and his parents’ opinions on Boston (numerous, although the Mapparium has been the highlight so far). Tuukka thanks whatever deities have seen fit to bless Adam with the ability to simultaneously notice when he is being acutely awkward and yet defuse matters without drawing attention to Tuukka’s weirdness.

Tuukka has mostly reached his pre-game state of zen by the time that the rest of the Bruins pile into the locker room, a wall of noise and activity that is honestly kind of intimidating, and Tuukka wrinkles his brow but mainly manages to ignore them. He has a game to play.

(He’s not jealous when Carter and Brad latch onto Adam and start using him as some kind of surrogate for their one-upmanship. It’s like watching a rowdy group of puppies fighting over the same chew toy—except that Adam is much better than ‘chew toy’ implies—and Tuukka is somewhat embarrassed to realise that his own suppressed reaction of wanting to stalk over, growl “mine” and tug Adam away fits perfectly with the analogy.)

The game itself is a quick-paced and exciting one. It’s far enough into the season that every win is having an increasing impact on play-off prospects and the Flyers come out of the gate with something to prove, looking to increase their win percentage to .5 on this road trip (a win against the Islanders bracketed by losses to the Penguins and the Rangers). Going into the first intermission down by one—fucking Giroux and his fucking backhand—has Tuukka scowling and gritting his teeth as they troop off the ice.

The Bruins locker room is set up so that the goalie stalls are slightly off to one side—a nod to their extra equipment and the space needed to put it on—and what this used to mean was that Tuukka had an inviolable section of room where he could sit and stew on his own. What this means now is that Tuukka has an inviolable section of room that 1) also contains an Adam, who will, 2) cheerfully but insistently buffer the rest of the team away from Tuukka for the duration of the intermission. Not feeling the need to defend his personal space by having to growl (the letters) or snap (everyone else, including the training staff) means that Tuukka can actually concentrate on calming down and getting ready for the next period, instead of carrying his stress forwards and ending up in a disaster of a game.

(Tuukka is pathetically close, in post-game media stuff, to just up and telling everyone that the reason for his recent improved play is Adam, of course—are they blind? That he hasn’t is a testament to small mercies and immense amounts of mortifying terror. Probably more the latter than the former, if Tuukka is completely honest with himself.)

The second period is much better: the Bruins D manage to close up the gaps in their coverage at the same time that Tuukka manages to get his head properly in the game, pulling off a few showy saves that have the crowd in TD Garden chanting his name. Tuukka allows himself a slight smile at that: he’s probably carrying the goalie weirdness too far to find an entire crowd of fans less intimidating than being face to face with just one person but, well. That’s just how it is.

There’s five minutes left in the period when Bergy’s line manage to complete an odd-man rush, scoring on Emery, with Marchy getting a deflection off a win from the very next face-off. The roar of the crowd is loud for the first goal and positively volcanic on the back of the second, and the team manages to ride that energy through to the end of the period.

Although he’s feeling much happier with his play, the Bruins still leave Tuukka pretty much alone for the second intermission, barring Coach Julien and Z’s approving words. As he’s not obviously and actively seething Adam adopts his more relaxed Tuukka-guarding position of sitting as close to him as their respective goalie pads will allow.

It’s not a terrible way to spend twenty minutes.

The third period flies by, all parts of the team finally clicking together seamlessly, and the final horn sounds with the score still one goal in favour of the Bruins, the bench erupting in a wave of enthusiasm, players streaming out to give Tuukka the traditional post-game helmet-bump as the Flyers silently exit the ice to the echoing cheers of the crowd.

As ever, the last two people to greet Tuukka are Adam, who whoops and flings himself at Tuukka for a hug that has no sense of self-preservation about it and then refuses to entirely let go, and Z, who has gotten remarkably good at managing his helmet-bump and shoulder tap combination around Adam.

The locker room is the usual post-win scrum of exuberance, the noise level only ratcheting up as more guys emerge from the showers and post-game plans are made. Tuukka manages a shower and gets dressed enough to be halfway decent before Coach Julien completely throws him under the bus. Well, not really. Coach does not-so-stealthily manoeuvre Tuukka to where Jackie can grab a firm hold of one of his elbows and tow him over to where a cluster of reporters are waiting.

Tuukka tries not to glare too hard at either the reporters (despite the more inane than usual questions because it’s close to Christmas and there’s always at least one baby beat reporter who feels the need to make a joke about reindeer and Lapland) or their digital sound recorders and parrots the usual PR-approved sound bites at them until they go away. Tuukka learnt his lesson about media relations when he was a rookie, thank you.

By the time that he’s released about half the team have already vanished out into the Boston evening. Tuukka is the strange kind of jittery awake that he sometimes gets after intense games and he’s half considering tagging along to whatever group is going just to a bar. Alcohol will help take the edge off Tuukka’s not-quite hyperactive state and he’s not quite pathetic enough to drink alone. He scans the locker room but doesn’t see Bergy or Z, his usual go-to guys for a quiet drink (there’s no Adam in the locker room either, and Tuukka feels something in his chest deflate like a punctured ball), so Tuukka huffs out a sigh and piles his belongings together in his stall, topped off by his coat. He should check the corridor—maybe he’ll catch sight of Z, Bergy or even Dennis and they’ll invite him out for a drink.

The crowded corridor. Tuukka blinks and pulls up short as he nearly runs into Z’s back. Before he has a chance to ask what’s going on, Tuukka is ambushed by Adam who appears out of nowhere to pounce excitedly on him, shouting his name.

“There you are,” Adam says. “I thought you were never gonna get finished up with those reporters. Man, they sure can talk, can’t they?”

“That’s what they’re paid to do. And, um, write.” Tuukka trails off awkwardly as Adam arranges them so that one of his arms is wrapped around Tuukka’s shoulder and begins impatiently tugging him after the Z-led group of players that are heading to—oh, the Family Suite.

Tuukka ducks his head and darts a look around as he’s nudged through the doorway by a general press of team mates. He’s been in here before, of course, but not frequently or particularly recently. The suite is crowded with player family members—Tuukka is caught by the sight of Z hoisting up his daughter for a hug, because Elliz is getting big—many of whom spare nods and cheerful greetings for him and Adam as they pass. Adam still has one arm firmly across Tuukka’s shoulders, hand curled in his shirt sleeve, and he appears to have a destination in mind if the determined way he’s moving across the room is any indication.

Tuukka blames the headiness of close, prolonged contact with Adam for not figuring out what—or rather who—Adam is looking for until they come to an abrupt stop in front of an animated looking older couple. He looks blankly from the smiling man with a very familiar shade of dark blond hair, to the woman who has a kind-looking face and bright blue eyes and realises that—

“Mum! Dad!” Adam says excitedly. “Hi! Wasn’t the game awesome? Did you have fun up here? It’s, like, super exciting to watch a home game here at TD, right? Oh! So, this is Tuukka! It’s kinda dumb that you guys have been in Boston for several days and you haven’t met yet so: here he is! Best goalie in the NHL, yeah?”

Tuukka finds himself flushing hotly at Adam’s exuberant introduction and praise, a situation that only gets worse when Adam adjusts his grip on Tuukka’s shoulders and pushes him forwards slightly. “Uh,” he says stupidly. “Hello. It is nice to meet you.” As ever when he’s feeling out of his depth, Tuukka’s English becomes painfully correct and he winces at how stilted and awkward he sounds.

“Pleased to meet you too, son,” Adam’s dad says cheerfully, reaching out to shake Tuukka’s hesitantly offered hand with a firm but not overpowering grip. “I’m George—or Dad, I guess—whichever you’re more comfortable with. That was a hell of a game you played, you must be made of elastic bands to pull off some of those saves!”

Well that doesn’t help Tuukka’s currently blushing problem in the slightest. “I—um—thank, thank you,” he finally manages to mumble out, unable to meet Adam’s dad’s gaze for more than a few moments. Tuukka is fully aware that as first impressions go this is rapidly heading into mortifying territory.

“Oh, Morrison men are terrible. It’s all hockey-hockey-hockey with you,” Adam’s mum laughs. She elbows her husband back a step and then steps forwards and pushes her son away from Tuukka so that she can wrap him in a hug that feels surprisingly all-encompassing given that she’s at least eight inches shorter than him. “Hello Tuukka dear. I’m Annie but you should call me Mum. How badly do you need to refuel? Dinner’s our treat tonight.”

“I’m not the one that got into a fight with a midget league official,” George says mildly. “Twice, I might add.”

“Hush, you,” Annie says firmly. She ends the hug but keeps both hands on Tuukka’s shoulders as she steps back to look up at him. “I’m serious: food is being paid for by us. Don’t any of you boys eat? There’s hardly anything to you, I’m surprised you aren’t falling over tired right now.”

“I. Uh. Could eat?” Tuukka says uncertainly, completely off balance at the immediate welcome despite the horrible impression he’s making.

“Good, good. Adam—“ Annie pushes Tuukka gently backwards, only letting go of him once Adam has wrapped an arm around him again, “—you know what Tuukka likes to eat and what restaurants are near here, pick one and lead the way.”

Tuukka turns his head enough to see the delighted expression on Adam’s face as he uses turning them around as an excuse to pull Tuukka more firmly against his side.

“Oh, I know just the place,” Adam says excitedly. “It’s in walking distance, even. We just need to get our coats and stuff from the locker room first.”

“I’ll get our coats, dear,” George says. “I’ll meet the three of you out in the corridor. Divide and conquer seems to be the best way to get through this crowd at any rate.” He makes good on his statement and forges a path off in the general direction of the small cloak room Tuukka vaguely remembers being attached to the main room of the suite.

Tuukka finds himself leading the way out of the Family Suite, although he’s not entirely sure how that comes about. They have to drop to single file to squeeze past a large, chattering crowd: Tuukka recognises some of the faces as Chara family members that he was irredeemably awkward around the last time Z and Tatiana had him around for a big holiday celebration. Adam’s hands are warm on Tuukka’s shoulders as he trails along behind him, chattering happily over his shoulder to his mother. This continues as they meet back up with George and make their way back down to the locker room. Tuukka is actually glad to be somewhat divorced from the conversation happening behind him. He’s feeling somewhat overwhelmed and welcomes the chance to keep his facial expressions private whilst he tries to find some balance.

What balance he manages to scrape up during retrieving their coats and exiting TD Garden is abruptly lost when Adam makes a disgruntled sound and goes from standing on the sidewalk, re-wrapping his scarf around his neck, to crowding up against Tuukka’s side and slinging an arm across his shoulders again.

“It’s cold,” is all Adam says, wrinkling his nose up and huffing. “Come on guys, the restaurant’s this way.”

Normally, this is where Tuukka would chirp him about being the worst Canadian, but Adam’s parents are right there, so he falters. And the falters again when Annie comes up on his free side and loops her arm through his, essentially bracketing Tuukka with A. Morrisons.

“Adam, dear, you’re letting down the Canadian reputation,” Annie admonishes. “Isn’t he, Tuukka?”

“Uh.”

“So mean to me.” Adam pouts, picking up his pace. “And I can hear what you’re thinking, Dad, so don’t even say it!”

Both of Adam’s parents laugh at this, George leaning forwards from his position on Annie’s other side so that he can grin widely in Adam’s direction. Tuukka finds a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth in response, but can’t think of anything to say so he remains quiet as the Morrison family chatter around him.

The promised restaurant, when they arrive at it, turns out to be one of the family-style places close to the rink that serves sweet potato fries that are one of Tuukka’s guilty pleasures. The waiter quickly shows them to a booth and sets them up with menus, water glasses and a cheery “good game!” Tuukka manages to remove his coat and woollens first so he slides onto one of the benches, scooting until he’s next to the wall. Annie ends up sitting opposite him with George next to her and Adam finally gets himself free of both his scarf and his coat and sits next to Tuukka.

Tuukka barely glances at the menu; he knows what he’s going to order, the same thing that he gets every time he’s in here. This leaves him free to divide his attention between surreptitiously watching Adam’s parents and their easy interactions with each other and their son, and in noticing the not-so-stealthy way that Adam has slid across the bench so that his leg is firmly pressed against Tuukka’s.

They’re going to have some elbow-bumping difficulty eating dinner if Adam doesn’t move away. Tuukka can’t find it in himself to care.

“So,” Adam says in a wheedling tone that Tuukka recognises. “I know you’re gonna get the sweet potato fries. If I get an order of garlic fries, can we do some sharing?”

Tuukka turns sideways to look at Adam and—oh. That’s always a mistake, because the pleading expression is in full force, and Tuukka has very little response to that that isn’t immediate capitulation.

“Okay, we can do that,” Tuukka says quietly, starting slightly when Annie breaks out into laughter.

“Oh, Tuukka. Don’t let him get away with that too much. He’ll become insufferable!”

“Hey!” Adam slumps back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest, giving Annie a reproachful look. “I’m offering to share.”

“Oh, I don’t—sorry. Um.” Tuukka gets tangled up between professing not to mind and apologising and instead limps to a flustered halt, biting his lip as he ends up caught in eye contact with Annie.

“Oh, no, dear,” Annie reaches over the table and pats at Tuukka’s tightly grasped hands. “There’s no need to apologise for being nice. I should be apologising for that hellion next to you.”

People don’t really think I’m nice, Tuukka manages to avoid blurting out, instead managing, “I don’t mind, really.”

Adam leans into Tuukka’s side—Tuukka can see his beaming grin from the corner of his eye—and crows, “see, I told you he was the best.”

Thankfully the waiter arrives to take their orders before Tuukka can embarrass himself any further. That successfully changes the topic of conversation, and the first one to get ahold of the conversational direction after the waiter leaves is George, who has clearly been desperate to dissect the game since they left TD Garden.

Hockey, as ever, is something that makes Tuukka feel in control and he manages to relax out of the tense posture he hadn’t even really noticed he’d adopted, leaning back in his seat slightly as he describes a particular play that he’d made.

After a few moments, Annie also joins in and—well. She’s a hockey mum, so of course she has opinions about the game. Her impassioned breakdown of the Bruins’ blue line presence has Tuukka stifling a surprised laugh: she sounds almost exactly like Tuukka’s mother when she has a bee in bonnet about something.

It’s…nice. Tuukka relaxes even further, leaning his shoulder against Adam’s, and waits eagerly for their food to show up.