Written for the bladesofglory LJ community's Background Story challenge.

Cabin Fever

Jimmy had been to the cabin before. Most recently, he had stayed there for the first few months after his adoptive dad had, well, un-adopted him. Left alone, scared, and standing in an embankment of snow with a stack of his personalized luggage and a jacket that really only worked in weather about thirty degrees warmer, he'd grabbed up one of the emergency phone cards stored in his overnight bag, walked until he found a pay phone, and called the first person he could think of who might know what to do.

"Hello?" Coach's voice was gruff but kind, and the familiarity of it made Jimmy want to cry a little. He managed not to.

"Coach?" he bit out. A brisk wind picked up overhead and he shivered.

"Jimmy?" The surprise in his voice was expected after all, his dad ex-dad had fired Coach after Jimmy had tied for gold with Chazz Michaels, and once Darren MacElroy had made up his mind about something, that was that. "Where are you? There's a lot of static on your end."

Jimmy cradled the phone closer to his ear. He looked around, and rattled off the name of the intersection he was near. "What are you doing all the way out there?" Coach asked, sounding confused now.

Jimmy took a shaky breath. "I he Dad disowned me," he blurted out. "I don't have a place to live, I don't know if I have any money anywhere he just left me, Coach. And I don't I don't know what to do, and I know you're probably busy, but I couldn't think of anyone else " He was blubbering now. "I t-thought maybe you could h-help somehow "

"Hey, kiddo, calm down," Coach said, and Jimmy forced himself to take a couple of calming breaths. "I'll come pick you up," Coach promised, and Jimmy could hear keys jangling in the background. "Do you have anything with you?"

Jimmy nodded, and then realized that Coach couldn't see him. "Just the stuff I took with me to competition," he answered.

"Okay. I'll be there in about ten minutes, Jimmy. Just hold on." Jimmy waited for Coach to hang up first, reluctant to leave the tenuous grasp of affection he'd gleaned from the short conversation.

Coach showed up approximately when he said he would, his face marred with concern and a twinge of anger, which Jimmy imagined was not directed at him. He gladly accepted the gruff bear hug Coach pulled him into by way of greeting, and not just because it was cold outside. Coach's car was far from his dad's personal stretch limo, but it was functional, and warm, and Jimmy found himself comforted by the familiar smells (cigars and slightly musky cologne) and, well, essence of Coach. He'd met the man almost as soon as his dad had plucked him from the orphanage, and up until recently, they'd spent at least six or seven hours in each other's company nearly every day since.

The ride up to the cabin seemed to encompass every bumpy, narrow, windy road in the entire country. Once there, Jimmy peered at their destination curiously. "Is this your home?" he asked.

Coach shut off the engine. "It's more a vacation spot than anything," he explained. "We've been furnishing it pretty well lately, though." He got out of the car, and walked around to the back, popping open the trunk and extracting Jimmy's luggage. "It's livable."

Jimmy struggled to lift all of his stuff, grateful when Coach shouldered some of it. "You, uh, said 'we'?" he asked, trying to keep the curiosity out of his voice, but probably failing.

Coach nodded, but didn't quite meet his gaze. "Uh, yeah. Jesse's staying here, too." It occurred to Jimmy at that moment just how little he actually knew about Coach. He felt like there was something more he should say, but Coach just grunted and led the way up the steps.

Jimmy knew Jesse, of course. He'd helped create the peacock routine, and now that Jimmy thought about it, he'd come "highly recommended" by Coach. Everything clicked in his head. It was sort of overwhelming. Hauling two of his smaller bags up the steps, he was greeted by Jesse bustling around a small yet cozy kitchen area, an apron slung loosely on top of his clothing. "Hey there, Jimmy." Jesse waved a spatula at him, and Jimmy produced a weary smile. "Robert'll show you where you can put your stuff, and then why don't you wash up for dinner."

The first couple of weeks there, Jimmy mostly spent skulking about, trying to keep out of everyone's way. In truth, he didn't know what to do with himself the lifetime ban had been a huge cut to not only the expansion of his trophy case, but also several feelings and, apparently, selling points all related to his self-worth. He hated Chazz Michael Michaels, he hated the Skating Federation, and the longer he thought about it, it was easy to come up with reasons to hate his dad. He'd never felt like much more than a human show-horse, always being paraded about, expected to prance and sit pretty and spent hours perfecting a technique that, in the end, got beaten out by a chump in a pair of ripped leather pants and a drunken swagger. He'd missed out on so much, being Jimmy MacElroy, ice-skating champion, and now he didn't even have that.

Coach and Jesse, for the most part, allowed him his autonomy. When Jimmy wasn't poached on the sofa in the den, partaking in Coach's impressive collection of musicals and feeling sorry for himself, he spent his time wandering around the cabin. Many of the decorations were hand-made; it became clear to Jimmy how multi-faceted his former skating mentor was. It made him feel guilty; he knew Coach had been well-paid for his services as Jimmy's one-on-one teacher for essentially his entire career, but he couldn't help but think back on all the times he'd been bratty and insolent and unappreciative of all that Coach had done for him, how selflessly he'd given of himself. His dad never had much time for him in terms of father-son bonding; in a way, his emotional outbursts were the one way to ensure that somebody was paying attention to him.

Eventually, Coach began showing Jimmy the ins-and-outs of the adult world. Living in the MacElroy household, he'd never had to so much as pick out his own outfits for the day. Coach showed him the ropes of planning his own meals, of doing his own laundry. He accompanied Jimmy to the bank one afternoon, and helped him start his own accounts though he'd been legally disowned, skating endorsements and the like had seen fit to give him a decent enough nest-egg.

All the while, Coach never complained about Jimmy cramping his lifestyle, or even implying that he hoped he'd pack up and move on. Still, about four months into the arrangement, Jimmy began actively searching for a way to make his own living. He felt bad leeching off of someone who had already given so much of himself. Eventually, he latched onto a job in a ski-and-skate supply shop. It was small and run-down, but the owner seemed impressed enough with his reputation to give him a job, despite his lack of employment or really, lack of any skills off the ice. The gig afforded him a small, cramped apartment, about three hours away from the cabin. It wasn't ideal, but it gave him a sense of independence, and he tried to convince himself that that was enough for now.

Coach and Jesse helped him move in. As the last of his belongings was dumped in the middle of the single room he was now leased to rent for the next year, Coach clasped Jimmy's shoulder with a large palm and met his gaze, warm brown melding with skittish blue. "Keep in touch, kiddo, okay?" he said. And Jimmy nodded and pursed his lips and held back his sighs until they left, not wanting Coach to know how much he wanted to go with them.

The cabin looked a lot like he remembered some three years later, though some furnishings and home-made knick-knacks had been added. The bunk beds were new; the small bathroom was the one Jimmy had commandeered during his brief residence before, though sharing it with Chazz made it seem much less ideal now.

All of the excitement over the ban's loophole, of becoming the League's first male-male team, of skating again kept everyone's emotions running high. Jimmy found that ripping on Chazz provided him an easy outlet for releasing excess energy, not only because Chazz was about a million times more annoying than any other human being on the planet, but also since Chazz gave it back as well as he gave. It pissed Jimmy off, but at the same time, it gave him a guilt-free punching bag.

Still, while most of Chazz's remarks were moronic, some of his insults could hit a little too close to home. Jimmy had sulked at being referred to as "the precious and pampered Richie Rich", and Chazz seemed to have made a mental note of that to use later on. Later came during their first week together; Coach had thawed out some pork chops for their dinner one night, garnished with home-grown steamed vegetables and rice. "This meat is really hard to chew," Jimmy mumbled. Coach shrugged noncommittally and continued to eat.

Chazz, however, rolled his eyes. "You want someone to do all the work for you, Princess?" he scoffed, his mouth full of chop. A bit of meat sprayed out, landing on Jimmy's cheek. He picked it off in disgust with his napkin.

"It's probably not a big deal if you're a Neanderthal."

Chazz swallowed the remaining bite and smirked. "Save all the fancy word soup for your ten live-in tutors at MacElroy Manor. Do they teach you how to wipe your ass there, too?"

Jimmy flushed a little and glared. "Shut up, Chazz."

But the abnormally high levels of testosterone cruising around in Chazz Michael Michaels' bloodstream, coupled with the copious amounts of pork grizzle he'd just imbibed, were doing their job. "Oh, I'm sowwy," he minced, "is that too saucy of language for poor, pwecious Jimmykins? Does Daddy not want us to speak that way and harm your sweet, virgin ears? We must always do what Daddy says, don't we? After all, can't earn his love if we're not a good boy!"

Jimmy opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. Stricken, he stood up quickly and stumbled out of the dining room. Chazz stared after him, blinked, and turned to Coach. "I was just kidding," he said defensively.

Coach shrugged. "He didn't think so, apparently."

Chazz harrumphed. "What's his problem, anyway? He called me a 'neon thong', which is clearly a gay joke."

Coach shook his head, exasperated. "Jimmy hasn't had any contact with his father since the skating ban. Darren disowned him."

Chazz exhaled and clucked his tongue. "Oh. Well man. That sucks." He looked moderately chastised. Then, when Coach got up to bring his plate to the sink, Chazz nabbed the rest of Jimmy's barely-eaten pork chop and stuffed it in his jeans pocket for later.

The bedroom door was ajar, and Coach found Jimmy inside, lying on his back on the bottom bunk, clutching one of his many stuffed animals. "How're you doing, kiddo?" Coach asked, ruffling the younger man's hair. Jimmy sighed and shrugged. "Listen," Coach continued. "I know Chazz can be kind of a dolt-" At this, Jimmy snorted - "but I don't think he meant to hurt your feelings the way he did."

Jimmy glanced up at Coach, and opened his mouth to say something. Before he could, however, Chazz busted in, his hand hovering near his right jeans pocket, and looking flustered. "Hey, man, I'm real sorry. I know I can be kind of a dolt, but I didn't mean to hurt your feelings the way I did."

"Thank you for the incredibly original insight, Chazz," Coach said wryly. He glanced at Jimmy. "Though it WAS an apology, nonetheless."

Jimmy blinked, and then nodded. "Yeah, it was. Thanks, Chazz."

The other man looked relieved. "No problem-o," he asserted, giving Jimmy a thumbs up sign with his free hand. He began inching back towards the kitchen. "I'll, uh, I'm gonna go take care of the dishes. You know, to show I'm a team player, and all that." He disappeared, and then poked his head back in the doorway briefly a moment later. "But seriously, dude? I do not do thongs. Unless you count that one time, but I was like, incredibly hammered so you really can't."

He left again. Jimmy turned to Coach, his brow furrowed, but the older man just shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine, kiddo."