Hero

Rating: PG-13

Original Date of Completion: May 2002

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is fiction, so please don't sue me.

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Text in < > is spoken in Russian

He simply blows my mind. He's 41, and plays better than most could ever dream of. This game tonight was his. He got us on the board, and got us off it in the end; scoring a spectacular goal five minutes and 20 seconds before we headed to quadruple overtime. I may have said it before, but I never meant it more than I do right now; Igor Larionov is my hero.

The guys are all wired. I don't think I've ever seen them this excited. Malts and Mac can't keep their hands off each other. Drapes keeps looking at them and rolling his eyes, but it's obvious he feels left out. Steve and Brendan are doing something with their backs toward everyone, resulting in big laughs, whatever it is. As I look around, everyone is paired off. Except me. I sit here in my locker unable to take my eyes off of him. A gold hue radiates from his smile; I've never seen him happier. He did something tonight no one would ever forget. And he got one step closer to his ultimate goal. Going out on top, Stanley Cup held high.

He knows I've been staring. He knows I've been doing it long before tonight. Call it hero worship, or perverseness, I can't ever seem to stop. Every time he speaks to me, my heart jumps. The feelings I have for him aren't anything I'm prepared to deal with. He’s done so much for me, both personally and professionally. He took me under his wing the first second I stepped into the locker room. I know I love him. But that's something I'll never speak. I'd be too afraid to lose him.

After awhile, he walks over to me. He sits down next to me and rests his elbows on his knees. I try to busy myself with my skate, anything to avoid his stare. But when he speaks, I have no choice but to look up.

<"What is wrong Young One?"> He asks, using the nickname that only he has ever called me.

<"Nothing is wrong. I'm relaxing from the game, I've never played that long,> I reply, still tinkering with my skate.

He stares at me deeply, penetrating my soul with his eyes. He knows that I lied, he always does. I deplore myself for being so readable. He sighs deeply and places his hand on my neck. I tense slightly at his touch, but begin to relax as his hand softly massages my neck. It feels so good anytime he touches me, I almost purr in contentment. But I stop myself each time. I lean back out of his touch and smile at him. He frowns lightly, and rubs his brow.

<"You can tell me Young One. You know I am here for you,">

The concern in his voice is almost enough to make me tell him. Thankfully, I don't speak. But I know I must say something. I search my brain for something, anything to satisfy him. The one that comes to mind satisfies me, but I know it will not satisfy Igor. But as I see everyone starting to clear out of the room, I know it may be enough to get me off the hook, at least for today.

<"You're my hero, Igor,"> I say quietly, smiling at him.

A smile sweeps across his lips, but it only lasts briefly. He sighs and shakes his head, instantly making me feel lower than dirt. I hadn't lied this time, but I hadn't told the truth either. And he knew, he always knew. I drop my eyes from his and gaze down at the floor. I can't help feeling like a little boy lying to my parents. I see him get to his feet, and hear him sigh again. Slowly, I lift my head and look at him. His look is soft, but the intensity continues to burn in his eyes.

<"Pavel,"> He speaks softly, placing his hand on my shoulder. <"I know everything. You'll never lose me,">

He shakes his head again, and my stomach wrenches. I can't explain what I'm feeling, but it's almost like disappointment. I feel as if I'd let him down, somehow. He walks away from me and grabs his bag from his locker. He walks toward the door, but stops when he gets there. He turns back to me and sighs once more.

"I love you,"

I watch him walk away, unable to speak. I had underestimated him, and hurt his feelings in the process. Had I really just cost myself what I think I did? By being stupid and paranoid? I couldn't form a rational thought. There was only one thing in my mind, and it was useless as I sat alone in the locker room. But nonetheless, it was the only thing I could think of.

"I love you, too,"

THE END

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