Summary: Gordon Bombay had told Wolf Stansson that they'd see each other again. Little did either of them know how soon that would come to pass. One year after MD2. Established Julie/Gunnar. Julie's POV. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Even on the ninth installment in this Series, I still own nothing. All belong to Disney.
Author's Note: Thank you everyone for your enthusiastic responses to the last chapter! Now that we're all good and frustrated with the Ducks, let's see how they do in the big Rematch. Enjoy!
Sympathy for the Icelanders: Part IX
Rematch: Chapter 6
Since both teams had practiced earlier in the day, we all thankfully had our Friday night free to either prepare for the next day's Rematch or simply relax. Gunnar and I had opted for the latter, deciding that a quiet evening would be the best use of our limited time together. However, when I reached the stable as planned at the designated time, Stahl wasn't there. I waited on him a good twenty minutes, and still he didn't show.
I won't say I was necessarily worried; but knowing how completely out of character it was for him to just blow me off without the slightest forewarning, I decided it was time for a little investigation. My search began at his dorm room, an obvious place. Sanderson answered when I knocked on the door.
"Hey, Olaf." I noticed with relief that while his left arm still looked like an ugly, mottled mess, at least the swelling had gone down dramatically since yesterday. "Sorry to bug you again. I was just looking for Gunnar and thought he might be here."
The tall Icelander stole a quick glance back behind him. "Yah, he is, but he's sleeping. He…had a longer practice than the rest of us today."
Mortified, I immediately deduced, "Did Stansson keep him for another 'special practice session'? And on the day before the Rematch, no less? I mean, seriously, hasn't your coach ever heard of a little thing called recovery time?"
My gosh, that man was infuriating! All of my previous questions had been rhetorical, of course, so Olaf didn't bother offering a response. Driven by my concern, I abruptly pushed past him into the room, where I came face-to-face with the unshielded aftermath of one of Stansson's little "sessions." Even in his sleep, Gunnar appeared pained and utterly exhausted.
"I was going to let him sleep, but I can wake him up now if you want?"
Olaf sounded a little too eager to do that, so out of sympathy for my favorite Icelander, I said, "That's okay, no need to bother him; he needs the rest, anyhow. I should probably be going then…"
"No, you can stay. If we're talking, maybe it will wake him up gently." Unlike Sanderson himself would have been, I'm sure. I sat on the edge of Gunnar's bed as gingerly as I could, careful not to disturb him, and started absently running my fingers through his hair while he slept. A rather maternal gesture, I admit, but I felt the circumstances surely justified it.
Suddenly thinking of Elina, I wondered aloud, "How does his mother stand seeing this year after year?"
My companion shrugged. "I really don't know; and handball can be just as punishing as hockey, so it's not like Mikael makes things any easier for her. She has taken both of them to the emergency room a few times."
I had been afraid it might turn awkward being practically alone with Sanderson; but knowing how he enjoys the sound of his own voice, I needn't have worried. At this rate, I truly would end up spending as much time with him as I did with Gunnar. Connie's words of warning from earlier in the week came back to me then, and thinking of my friend prompted me to speak with sudden boldness.
"Olaf…okay, so we all know hockey is a violent sport, and there's never any way of telling what might happen in a given game. But when we play in the Rematch tomorrow, will you please promise me that you won't deliberately hurt anyone?"
"No." In a split second, his blue eyes had turned icy cold, forcing me to remember why my teammates were all so vehemently opposed to this young man. His voice was likewise unyielding as he continued, "Ask Gunnar for a promise like that if it will make you feel better, but don't expect it from me. Like you said, no one knows what might happen out there on the ice."
I managed a nod in light of that harsh response but said nothing more. I probably shouldn't have expected anything different from Olaf. Thankfully, he now appeared willing to leave the subject behind us.
"Mikael and I talked about you when we were all in Germany."
"Really?" I met his eyes again, appreciative of the new topic. "That's surprising. Do I even want to know what was said between the two of you?"
"Well, of course, I had to give him hell about that stunt he pulled over Christmas. And then I told him that it really won't make it any difference to me if Gunnar ever decides to dump you."
I blinked. "Wow, Olaf, such a way with words. Tell me, is there supposed to be a point to this charming little anecdote?"
"You didn't let me finish," he protested, making it sound as though I had been the one to insult him, rather than the other way around. "I don't care if Gunnar breaks up with you someday – but if he ever starts cheating on you, Mikael and I will both be happy to beat him up for you."
And there I went again, smiling for Sanderson in spite of myself. "You know, that's…strangely touching. But as flattering as it may be, I hope you won't ever have to make good on the offer."
"I doubt it. Of the three of us, Gunnar is the only one who could pull off a long-distance relationship like this; he's the only one with the patience for it. Me, I just don't care enough to keep in touch the way you two have been; it's too much work. And Mikael," here Olaf shook his head, "he isn't physically or emotionally capable of something like this. I don't think he's ever had a relationship last for longer than a few months, even if the girl only lives five minutes away."
"Yeah, Gunnar told me his brother has kind of a restless spirit." Which apparently applied to Mikael's love life as well as to his physical location.
The Viking enforcer snorted at my comment. "That's putting it mildly. If Mikael ever does settle down and get married, I will shake that woman's hand – after I recover from my heart attack."
I laughed a little at that, hoping it wouldn't wake Gunnar. "Can you see Mikael being a father eventually?"
Olaf made a face. "I don't think so, no. But he will make a really cool uncle one day."
His gaze now drifted down to his friend, while I was left feeling uncommonly flustered by all the implications of those last words. Gunnar finally stirred then, looking to Sanderson first before registering my unexpected presence.
"Good morning," I greeted him. "Or good evening, rather."
Gunnar rubbed the sleep from his eyes, squinting over at the clock. "Olaf was supposed to wake me up so I could meet you on time."
The Viking in question ignored the accusing glare from his teammate as I replied, "Well, personally, I'm glad he let you sleep instead. Oh, Gunnar, why do you let Stansson keep doing this to you?"
The tears sprang up out of nowhere; I can't explain it. I suppose I was still upset about the Ducks' behavior last night and even more distressed by the thought of Gunnar's imminent departure…but watching my boyfriend suffer like this must have been the tipping point. I rose and started pacing back and forth, struggling to hold back the tears, but all my efforts only seemed to make them worse.
Good grief, I was hardly ever this emotional; I'd probably cried more in the past two days than I had in the last six months! Gunnar got up to intercept my pacing and take me in his arms, grimacing when his undoubtedly sore muscles protested against the movement. Sanderson, meanwhile, gave his friend a look that clearly said "good luck" and made himself scarce. I couldn't blame him; after all, he'd already dealt with enough of my tears for one week.
Gunnar rubbed one hand up and down my back. "It's all right; this really isn't so bad."
"No?" I tilted my head up to look at him. "Gunnar, you once told me that your brother would only interfere in a fight if he thought it was unfair. Well, you playing against Stansson is not fair! Do you really mean to say that Mikael would just stand by and watch that happen if he was here?"
"Yes, he would, because this isn't a fight; it's different." My crazy Icelandic boyfriend really didn't see anything wrong with this whole tradition, did he? "Besides, Mikael has done the same thing himself many times before. I think he was even the one who inspired Coach to start doing this with some of his players. He always was a little too confident, so it was good for him."
"And is it good for you?"
He nodded gravely. "Playing with Coach reminds me how far I still have to go; he challenges me more than anyone my own age ever could. At least I can keep up with him much better now than I could a year ago."
"But is it really worth the progress when he hurts you like this? I mean, just look at yourself right now." Feeling him tense in pain when I squeezed his shoulders a little too hard, I guiltily relaxed my hold.
"I am not hurt, Julie, I promise – just tired." Here Gunnar sighed wearily, as if to prove his point. "He knows how to cause pain without actually hurting you too badly."
If those words had been meant to placate me, all they managed to do was give my tears a renewed intensity. I sobbed straight into Gunnar's shirt then, grabbing onto fistfuls of it like toddler. There was just too much turmoil inside of me right now, and I couldn't let him go.
"Gunnar, please, please don't leave me again. I can't stand saying goodbye when I have no idea when or even if I'll be seeing you again. And each time I do see you, it just gets more and more difficult to say goodbye."
It was true. When we were apart, things weren't so bad; I could be strong and handle the separation. What I couldn't handle was being with him and then having to say goodbye again after so short a time without knowing when I might see him again. Emotionally, it was taking a toll, and perhaps my teammates hadn't been too far from the truth last night. It was almost like an addiction of sorts; the more I was permitted to be around Gunnar, the more intense my "withdrawal" symptoms became after he was gone.
I miserably rubbed my forehead against his chest, whispering in all earnestness, "I wish I was going back to Reykjavik with you on Monday."
He still held me after the abrupt change of subject, but didn't say anything – probably because he didn't know what to say. And I don't know what I would have expected him to say, anyway. It wasn't as though he could do anything right now to change our unfortunate geographical circumstances. But if ever Gunnar was waiting for an opportunity to break up with me and say "it's all for the best", -now was undoubtedly the time.
He said no such thing. Even though I'm sure he felt the same as I did, he made no suggestion whatsoever that we end things now just to spare each other the inevitable pain of parting. Other guys might have done so, especially in books or movies. But not him, thankfully! Truth be told, I had never felt more secure in his affection for me than in that moment, despite his ongoing silence.
Feeling myself calm down again, I sniffled and tried with no great success to smooth down the soggy fabric of his shirt, which I'd gotten damp with my tears. "I'm sorry; I should let you get back to bed."
"It's all right…"
"No, no. I don't want to beat you tomorrow if you're not playing at your very best." Now I managed a teary smile up at him. As much as I hated to leave the sheltering warmth of his arms, letting him rest was simply the right thing to do now; and given my overly-emotional state, a good night's sleep would only benefit me as well.
But before turning in early, Gunnar and I indulged in a little guilty pleasure together first – one of my personal favorites that involved a jar of peanut butter, a box of Oreo cookies, and a couple of plastic knives. It wasn't ice cream, but it was close enough.
At long last, Saturday night arrived. I wasn't exactly nervous about the Rematch itself; after all, I knew I could handle the pressures of the game. What I was nervous about was the aftermath. Not only would Gunnar be meeting my parents afterward, but we would both have to answer for the final outcome in one way or another. If the Ducks lost, the blame would fall back on me; and if the Vikings lost, Gunnar alone would bear the responsibility. It isn't fair, I know, but that's how the game works when you're romantically involved with the best player on the opposing team.
When the Mighty Ducks took the ice, I was amazed at how jam-packed the stands were. I thought Coach Bombay had said this Rematch was supposed to be a quieter, more private affair? There were still screaming people everywhere! At a glance, I spied a large group of Varsity hockey players, along with Bombay and Don Tibbles; but I saw no sign of my parents. Then it was time to tune out the crowds altogether and focus solely on the ice in front of me as both teams warmed up. While I wasn't actively paying attention to him, I still found it comforting just to know that Gunnar was out there with me and that whatever happened in tonight's matchup would have no impact on our feelings for one another.
Averman had the unenviable honor of taking the opening face-off for our team. Team Iceland sent Captain Stahl forward in answer, and he wrested the puck from Averman with predictable ease. The game was on!
Right from the start, it was tough for me not to worry about some of the hits Gunnar was taking; but I kept reassuring myself that if he could survive Stansson, he could handle Portman and Fulton. Although most of our Duck guys were indeed taller now than they had been last summer, none of them could really match the Icelanders for weight and muscle except the Bash Brothers, who gladly made the most of every opportunity to knock a couple of Vikings off their feet. Both Connie and Ken likewise seemed to spend more time sprawled out on the ice rather than on their skates, courtesy of Sanderson and others, but so far I hadn't seen either of them get flattened against the glass.
We didn't bother wasting time on any of the standard Duck tricks, seeing that they had apparently lost their effectiveness against more mature teams like the Warriors or the Vikings; besides, Coach Orion was determined that if we were to win tonight, we would do so by means of sound hockey fundamentals. Personally, I think he wanted to see the truly better team win, even if it was Iceland. Coach was always looking ahead, so as far as he was concerned, this Rematch would serve as a measuring stick to gauge the Ducks' readiness for the coming school year. If he found our performance lacking, no doubt he would devise some way of making us all practice rigorously over the summer.
Midway through the first period, I'm happy to say we Ducks were blessed with a rare show of justice from the universe. After having sacrificed his roster spot for Adam back in last year's championship, Charlie Conway scored the first goal of the Rematch. He followed after Luis who was racing down toward net, only to fake a shot and pass the puck behind him a short ways to Charlie, much like Charlie had done to Goldberg at the end of the JV/Varsity showdown. Again, the ploy worked like a charm, and the Viking goalie dove forward to take the bait, leaving Charlie to shoot into a wide open net.
Meanwhile, down on my end of the rink, I'd already racked up some pretty spectacular saves against multiple Vikings who had tried to attack our net individually. So far, none of them had even come close! Even Gunnar had taken a handful of shots at me in a solo effort, but all to no avail. Unfortunately for me, however, his persistence did pay off in a less conventional way.
Anytime Gunnar came near my net, I couldn't take my attention off of him – not because I was so enamored but because I had to respect his talent. Even the briefest glance away from him might give him sufficient opportunity to score. I blocked yet another one of his shots with my stick, but the puck rebounded straight to Uberjavik, who sent it back on the same side of the net but much higher. Without enough time for me to react and adjust, his shot hit the back of the net, and we were all square with one goal apiece. I could never be sure, but for all I knew, perhaps Gustav and Gunnar had preconceived that entire exchange.
The Rematch continued into the second period with both teams battling hard. Stahl and Portman had been hounding each other relentlessly since the first drop of the puck, resulting in several skirmishes that often grew to include their teammates. The refs diligently broke things up each time, although so far they hadn't seen fit to call any penalties. That was, not until Dean reached out to blatantly trip Gunnar as the latter was bringing the puck across the Ducks' blue line. Naturally, our top enforcer still grumbled about the referees' "poor judgment" as he was led away to the penalty box.
Gunnar immediately went to work on the ensuing power play, using his newfound liberty to muscle past a couple of Duck defenders and then circle behind the net. No problem. Anticipating a wrap-around shot, I slid over to close off one side of the net as he emerged. But rather than attempting a shot himself like I'd expected, Gunnar passed the puck off to Amssalik, who had knocked down Goldberg and was now granted a much too easy shot stick-side. The result was another goal for Team Iceland. Those Vikings certainly were ganging up on my weaker side at every opportunity!
With his team now down by one, Orion called a timeout and challenged us to score one more goal in the waning moments of the second period. He put Russ in the game, but predictably, the Vikings constantly had him double-teamed at the very least. And so the burden fell to others. Dwayne utilized some of his fancier moves to advance the puck into Iceland territory, and then Banks scored on a quick corner shot after accepting a sweet pass from our showboating Cowboy. Fearing some sort of violent reaction, I kept an apprehensive eye on Sanderson while my teammates celebrated the goal, but nothing of note transpired. Thank goodness.
That concluded the second period, and my team went into the locker room feeling pretty good about a tied game. Back on the ice a short while later to start the third, the defenses for both teams were remarkably tight; Stansson must have emphasized that point during the break just as Orion had.
Time ticked away, and the gritty style of play in this period reminded me very much of our showdown against the Varsity. The Rematch remained tied at two. With less than ninety seconds to go, Gunnar was fast approaching with the puck on my left. I couldn't see that he had any immediate help. Was he really feeling confident enough to attack my legendary glove again? I had already stopped a couple of his shots from that direction.
Stahl came up on the net, narrowly avoiding a check from Fulton; but at the last possible second, he passed the puck across center ice back toward the blue line, where Sanderson was waiting for it. I knew what was coming in the span of a single heartbeat, but again, I just didn't have time to reposition my body accordingly. Olaf has arguably the strongest slap-shot on Team Iceland, and his powerful shot sailed over my stick into the netting. Dang it!
In spite of a frenzy of heroic efforts in the moments that followed, there was no miracle, last-second score for the Mighty Ducks that evening. As I stood and heaved out a defeated sigh at the sound of the final buzzer, only then did I realize that, while Gunnar still hadn't scored against me, he'd been directly involved in all three of Iceland's goals. Probably not how he or Stansson would have designed things, but it still seemed rather fitting.
Before removing my helmet, I indulged in a small, secret smile as I watched the Vikings celebrate their victory on the far side of the rink. Losing was never a pleasant experience, but at least tonight I could find some personal gratification in seeing Gunnar so happy. The Ducks, on the other hand, were a subdued group that retreated off the ice and into the locker room. I honestly didn't pay much attention to them after that. Unable to truly share in my teammates' dejection, I felt fresh anxiety growing in my chest with each piece of hockey gear that I removed. It was time for Gunnar to meet my parents. In light of that milestone, the Rematch already seemed like little more than a distant memory.
The plan was for me to grab Gunnar as soon as he was ready, and then the two of us would meet my parents at a previously designated spot outside. But as soon as I stepped out of the locker room, I stopped dead in my tracks. Because standing there right in front of me were –
"Jeff? Jacob? What are you guys doing here?"
Author's End Note: Would you believe that the next chapter will be our last together in this story? I may run off and cry somewhere now. But first, let me reveal that familial introductions will abound in the final chapter, and we will finally hear a few words from Coach Stansson himself. See you there!