This grew by two pages, because it didn't feel right to jump into the main event without building up some steam. Sorry to make you read more. *derp-face*
And, this was where it all started. The first scene I wrote for this story. :)
I am super nervous about it, because I want it to be fun and original, and despite the fact that it's complete tripe, I hope it feels authentic, like you're watching the game. So, here goes nothing... o.o
If you like to listen to music in stories as you read, you may want to pull up Metallica's, Enter Sandman. There are NO song lyrics here. Only the band name and song title.
CHAPTER 12
No one.
Not the team. Not the fans. Not the officials.
No one could have anticipated the events of the third period.
Outside Sokyoku Hill Arena, nestled in the heart of Seireitei, on a crisp, dark Saturday night in December, row after row of empty vehicles sat in frozen silence. A few die-hard smokers huddled by the entrance ways, the red glow of their cigarettes bright but short as they hurried to return to their seats. Security guards paced the lot with lazy steps and heavy flashlights. Though the breeze from the afternoon still picked up a stray bit of garbage and played it with idle hands across the grounds, the air was infused with that sense of peaceful solitude that only comes at night.
But inside...
It was a real shit show.
A Grimmjow-Ichigo extravaganza.
The ice gleamed like a marquee on Broadway beneath the bright lights of the massive stadium. Players from both teams poured back onto a surface that had been left scarred and pitted from hard stops and sharp turns. But now, after being shaved, scraped, washed and squeegeed by two Zambonis, the ice looked clean and untouched.
To an optimist, it may have looked like a fresh start, but the Soul Reaper's returned with a forced sense of hope.
The wintery battle grounds glistened under the bright lights, reflecting team colours like a watery mirror. The Reaper's home turf was not yet touched by the blades of razor sharp skates in the third period. It was liquid smooth, but soon to be chopped up and scoured into a dull white surface, its appearance from afar, the texture of bleached bone.
X X X
Grimmjow's grudge against him was getting old.
Ichigo had tried to go about his business as much as possible, but he still felt the constant nip of the sexta's teeth at the tender skin of his heels. If Grimmjow hated Ichigo so fucking much, then why wouldn't he just leave him the hell alone? Why did he have to push so hard at the teetering edge of Ichigo's resolve to play nice? Ichigo had been raised to play with sportsman-like conduct. He'd fight to protect himself or his teammates in a pinch, but never go looking for it, never betray his morals and seek out revenge. He still believed in that.
Ichigo watched the players on the ice scramble for the puck as they passed by the bench like a rushing current. As he tracked the play to the far end, his eyes couldn't help but find their way back to an angular jaw, smooth, straight nose, and large, hard, predatory eyes that flickered with excitement and hunger.
Ichigo could almost hear the bluenet's heart jumping in anticipation as his upper lip twitched and his eyes fixated onto another player who had just committed some kind of atrocity. A dog waiting to be unleashed. No shadow gathered itself beneath the subtle plane of his cheekbones, but his appearance remained rugged and rabid. It was all in the eyes. All in the face.
The face of the man who'd tried to pick a fight with him, not once, but twice tonight.
If Ichigo had come to just one safe conclusion today, it was this: the man had diagnosable psychological problems. And what a waste.
Physically at the top of the gene pool, he had so much going for him; his potential as player, as a friend, as a lover. And yet, he abused it all.
It wasn't any of Ichigo's business what Grimmjow chose to throw away, but somehow, it had become his problem. Just what was so special about Ichigo? Why was there so much animosity directed at him? Teammates disagreed all the time. You didn't get twenty-some testosterone-fuelled men together in a rink, outfit them with armour, hand them blades and sticks, tell them they had to win... and expect things to run smoothly.
Grimmjow argued with the other guys on the team like anybody else. Ichigo though... Grimmjow seemed to have reserved a special place of loathing for him. And damn himself for letting it get to him. Grimmjow was living rent free inside his head, and no amount of concentration was going to evict him.
X X X
Old? Retired? Better off without him?
Everything that had come out of the orangette's mouth had served to drive the roots of Grimmjow's hate a little deeper into the ground. But at the moment, the slams weren't the thing he was fixated on.
At some point in their argument, Ichigo had been harping like some fucking mother-hen about Grimmjow's bruises. Of all things.
That unwanted attention hadn't even registered until Grimmjow was back out on the bench and waiting for the starting line to set the tone for the third period, hopefully in their favour.
Now he was just confused. Ichigo hated his guts, and damned if Grimmjow hadn't made sure of it. Not gonna last? Where in the fuck did he get off? Why did he bother to bring up Grimmjow's health? He already had a mother. And she already fussed over him in her own masterful way.
A tight little snort left Grimmjow. Woman had an accomplished hand at packing bags to send along with him on his guilt trips whenever he showed up at her home looking like he'd been mauled by a meat grinder. Which was pretty often. His pa never did that. The old man would just drop one meaty hand onto Grimmjow's head, rifle Grimmjow's hair and tell him 'Gear down big rig. Just remember to have some fun.'
Grimmjow's jaw muscles tightened and he twice blinked hard against the chill of the air before the dampness was gone. That was a subject that wasn't going to see the light of day for as long as Grimmjow could contain it.
Almost without his consent, his attention found its way onto the face of his foe, and his breathing quickened, riled that Ichigo had managed to drag up such a sore subject. Whether he had or not, was mute. He was getting blamed for this anyway. Grimmjow mentally tossed the offence onto the roaring bonfire at his core and watched as it rose sky high, sparking and reaching with wild twitching fingers into black starless skies.
His only refuge had been the ice. A place for rage as old as faded memories and as fresh as new wounds to sluice through the openings of a haphazard barricade in a semi-controlled release. And now, everywhere he turned, he met either lethal sarcasm or misguided concern. When did hockey get to be so fucking confusing? The sexta let his eyes slide shut and a long breath escape from shuddering lungs.
When all the air was gone, azure eyes popped open and resumed their scan of the ice and its living, breathing contents.
Cold and unaffected.
X X X
"Ahhh, goddammit! Sonofa...!" The coach screamed at no one in particular as the Reaper's gave up yet another goal. That made it six to two, and they were only seven minutes into the third.
Ichigo's line had already done two short shifts and they were up again.
"Where the fuck was our defence? Does anybody around here know how to play hockey?" A rattled bass boomed from somewhere beyond the forward's left shoulder. "Get out there and get us some goddamn points!"
Ichigo growled under his breath. He'd had enough of insults tonight.
It was with no sense of pleasure that Ichigo climbed over the bench and dumped himself back into the fray. At best, it got him away from the cursing, spitting man who had been stalking red-faced and ox-breathed behind the players for most of the game.
He didn't blame the guy for being upset. The man was under a lot of pressure, and Ichigo for sure wasn't helping. But he had to question his style. He'd become a little abusive as the game had carried on. Ichigo knew the stakes were different here, but regardless, in his opinion, Urahara was by far a better coach.
He skated out to centre ice with the weight of a hundred missed goals on his shoulders. Grimmjow glared at him. Ichigo glared right back. Their fight, interrupted and unresolved, bubbled back to the surface, and Ichigo gripped his stick a little harder.
It was when his mind reached Grimmjow's suggestion to go back to the minors and he found that it almost sounded like a teasing proposition, that he knew the pressure was getting to him.
X X X
Ichigo took a shot off the draw. It hit the post and was scooped up by the Ryoka's defence man, who passed it behind the net to his teammate. The Reaper's defence men pulled back as the Ryoka's surged forward into Reaper territory. Ichigo took a run at the player, skimming past one of his own and narrowly missing a hip check from one of his rivals.
The player dumped the puck just wide of the Reaper's net. Renji was alert and redirected it with the edge of his stick. The puck landed in the hands of Ikkaku Madarame, who slapped it away as he was rushed by a Ryoka offence man. It skipped across the ice and landed on Ichigo's waiting stick. That made him a target. Ichigo heard Grimmjow call for the puck just as he took a solid hit into the boards which left him on his knees, but otherwise fine.
The puck was gone again. Grimmjow cursed at him. It wasn't a surprise. Grimmjow was going on and on like a colicky baby, and Ichigo could feel the growing buzz of anger, like an approaching swarm of bees. Ichigo grunted, heaved himself up, and threw himself back into the play.
Ichigo rushed into the Ryoka's zone as the play continued, passing by Grimmjow who was digging the puck out from between two player's legs. A moment later, Ichigo twisted his head and ducked as Grimmjow turned and fired the puck a mile wide of the net, but far too close to him as it ticked off his visor.
The play continued but a cold stone sank in his gut as he realized how close that had been. Getting hit with a puck was like taking a giant, frozen, rubber bullet. If you caught one in the head, it could break your jaw or knock you clean out of this world.
He couldn't say for sure if it had been on purpose, but he couldn't not say it either. Grimmjow was being down right belligerent today.
The black disc visited every stick on the ice as the players battled back and forth without incident. The crowd hummed and awed, but stayed relatively mellow. Above the noise, the occasional whistle from the crowd blended in with sharp calls across the ice as players communicated with each other, the clatter of sticks on the hard surface, and the rattling sound of the boards giving way as players were thrown against them. Both teams had taken weak shots at the goalies but they hadn't been able to make anything happen. It had become a game of follow the bouncing puck.
Then they were defending once again, players crisscrossing the ice as they all tried to get a piece of the puck. Grimmjow jimmied the puck loose from a large Ryoka player who he'd pinned against the boards, then spun around as an elbow rose to greet him in the jaw. The officials didn't see it, and Grimmjow didn't care. He had the puck.
Then he didn't.
Ichigo had flashed by and scooped it up with a long reach, and passed it off to Shiro who was yelling that he was open from the other side of the net. Shiro's attempt was deflected by the goalie's pads, but Ichigo caught the rebound and tried again.
Grimmjow was spitting acid. The muscles in his chest were squeezing themselves together like shrink wrap under a heat gun.
"Greedy fuck!" he snapped, as he rushed to reposition himself for the rebound he knew was coming. Ichigo had the puck, so... you know.
Grimmjow's curse at his back made Ichigo wince in anger. The puck skimmed just over the net, hit the glass, and was batted out of the air by a Ryoka player before being sent down the ice.
Ichigo swore out loud. The play had turned once again. Captain congeniality was in fine form. And Ichigo was aching to collapse on the bench. This was becoming the longest shift in history. In reality, it had been less than two minutes.
With a collective sigh, the Reaper's rushed down the ice and regrouped to defend their end. The stalemate was beginning to agitate both teams and the play was getting rougher. Ichigo played bumper cars with with a Ryoka player and was upended along the boards in the neutral zone. He shook his head and panted as he righted himself.
Everybody seemed to pile into the end zone as if the rink had been tipped on its end. Shiro tried to clear it, but it was picked up by a Ryoka player at the blue line who faked a shot then chipped it back to another player right behind him. The goal was to screen the shot so Renji couldn't see it coming. The crack of a slap shot echoed, but again Renji saved it.
The fans cheered. They weren't winning, but they were holding their own for now. And after five goals, it was the best Renji had looked all night.
The muted cries of two players were drowned out by the din of the crowd. Grimmjow had circled back, but not quite in time to stop the shot. Instead, he had thrown a clean hit, just a bump, which had knocked the two Ryoka player's on their ass. He barely spared the domino-ed pair a dark scowl.
When he looked up, his eyes flashed with hunger. The deflected puck was chipped out of the corner and driven down the ice, right to him. He caught it with the edge of his stick and spun around. He was at the edge of the neutral zone and the puck was his.
It happened fast. Back on his feet in the neutral zone, Ichigo paralleled the sexta as they both raced down the ice. He cut in front of a fast moving Ryoka, then shoved him hard enough to show him to his seat, to give Grimmjow the break he needed. With two teams hot on their heels, they had about two seconds to take advantage of their breakaway.
The goalie dropped into a tight defensive stance as he backed into his crease, limiting the space they had to shoot at as best he could. He watched the blue-haired Reaper skate towards him at break-neck speed, but his eyes snapped nervously to his right. Kurosaki Ichigo was coming. And until recently, he'd had a reputation for being deadly accurate. The kid might be off his game, but the goalie couldn't afford to take that chance. Though the sexta was the one with the puck, the goalie kept his attention divided between the two oncoming players.
Grimmjow twisted his wrist and snapped the blade of his stick upward, taking the shot as he flew at the net, hoping to sneak it between the Ryoka's distracted goalkeeper and the post, but the puck hit the steel bar and bounced erratically to the right of the bluenet and skipped towards the corner.
He was coming in too hot to turn right in time without hitting the boards. So, Grimmjow cut left, swinging behind the net, his blades catching hard into the ice surface and nearly tripping him up as he tried to jam on the brakes. He was looking back over his shoulder, hoping to retrieve the puck, or at least get himself back into the play. The other players were already converging on the Ryoka's patch of ice, and Grimmjow only had seconds left before he had to hit the bench.
He was ticked now and breathing hard. It was personal. That had been so fucking close.
Ichigo skimmed along the boards as he passed behind the net as well, eyes locked on the wayward puck. He didn't think Grimmjow was going to skirt so far behind the net after taking that shot, but the sexta did, and Ichigo couldn't quite stop himself in time.
Like all good movie moments, there was the briefest point in time where brown eyes locked with blue before their shoulders caught hard enough to be heard. They slammed into one another, the impact dropping both players in a cataclysmic collision.
Ichigo fell with a hard grunt, and Grimmjow went down with a voluble screech of indignation.
The crowd oohed in sympathy at the on-ice collision behind the net as the play carried on around the two fallen soldiers. The fan's faces pinched in discomfort. They could almost feel the pain of the impact as much as the embarrassment.
The two players were both slow to get up, both wishing they could turn back time for a do-over instead of having to live down the humiliation of taking out their own player in front of most of North America.
Unusual? Not really. Embarrassing? You betcha.
Grimmjow was incensed as he tried to shake off the other player. It wasn't enough for Ichigo to argue and complain and be a general pain in Grimmjow's ass. Now he had to tie him up and physically keep him from playing too?
"Jesus Christ, Kurosaki! If you're not gonna help, get off the ice!" Grimmjow snapped as he worked to disentangle himself from number fifteen, teeth gnashing together.
Ichigo's own teeth rattled, and he nipped at the end of his tongue while he tried to rise to one knee. Grimmjow was violently yanking his skate blade away from Ichigo's own blade where they had somehow managed to hook. Ichigo's laces had been sliced in the fall, and a rogue loop had tangled around Grimmjow's blade. And now the bluenet was kicking and pulling with absolutely no care for its affect on the younger player. The action caused Ichigo to tumble back down from one knee and land against the bluenet once more.
As Ichigo fell forward, he landed with his hands on Grimmjow's chest, narrowly avoiding hitting the bluenet's face with his own. Ocean blue eyes drew wide with surprise as Ichigo's scarlet face stopped short a mere inch from his, then suddenly pulled away.
Ichigo couldn't get himself away fast enough. Grimmjow was such an idiot. Ichigo had been helping him, despite what a dick he'd been. And now he was being an even bigger dick. He was dragging out this embarrassing scenario in front the nation on purpose, and Ichigo was ready to blow his stack.
"Why don't you watch where you're going, you dick!" Ichigo kicked out wildly as he desperately tried to yank himself free. "You suck at this!"
"You aughta know, yo sucker!" Grimmjow shot back, furious. Wait. Had he just insulted Ichigo or himself? He couldn't think. Ichigo was squirming and writhing on top of him like a one-legged prostitute.
"Fuck you! Maybe if you tried using your stick to aim the puck instead of just flailing it around you could get us a goal and we wouldn't..." the orangette groused back. The rest of his words were muffled in the rumpled folds of Grimmjow's sweaty jersey as he face-planted against the bluenet's chest. Ichigo growled as he attempted to haul himself back onto his skates, using Grimmjow's chest and stomach to push himself roughly away from the blue-haired menace.
Frankly, Ichigo was beginning to panic. Their skates were hooked, Ichigo's stick was pinned beneath Grimmjow, and Grimmjow's stick was... Was that Grimmjow's stick?! Ichigo jerked back. The more they moved, the tighter their entanglement, and the more compromising their situation seemed to become. As Ichigo struggled to rise, his glove slid down the bigger man's wall of muscle, resting low against his navel. Ichigo pushed off against the padding that rose up and protected most of Grimmjow's stomach.
The hard shove pulled a low, alarming sound from the fallen sexta, much higher in pitch than he should have produced given the situation. Grimmjow hoped it sounded like pained grunt to Ichigo. It was definitely not a whine.
"Guhh... Maybe if you quit hoggin' the fuckin' thing once in a while I would, you selfish fuck!" Grimmjow spat, as he too finally up-righted himself, staggering before he found his legs and skated away, retreating to the side of the net.
"Why don't you just go hit someone, Jaegerjaquez?" Ichigo snapped from the opposite side of the goal crease, face beginning to redden further. "It's all your good at!"
He didn't really mean it, but he didn't regret it. Words were just sticks and stones to throw. Ichigo couldn't even hear the crowd cheering on the Reapers, who were desperately holding their own at the other end, beyond the blood river now thrumming in his ears. In truth, it had been less than fifteen seconds since their collision, but it felt like this conversation had been going on for weeks.
Why was that? Oh, right. Because it had.
As both men circled around to the front of the goal crease, the Ryoka goalie's eyes stayed fixed on the play that had moved to the far end of the ice. Ichigo and Grimmjow stopped on either side of the goal crease, their sudden absence from the game leaving the remaining Reapers back in their own zone, trying to defend themselves while stuck in a dangerous five on three disadvantage.
"You wanna find out first-fucking-hand how good I am, asshole?" Grimmjow yelled back.
The goalie's attention finally strayed from the game as the two men moved to meet each other in front of the net, effectively blocking his view, postures stiff and intimidating, teeth bared like slavering dogs trapped behind a wire fence.
The Ryoka's goalie wasn't the only one to become entranced with the heated interaction going on behind the play. While the Reaper's fought valiantly to defend their zone with only three men, the attention of the crowd began to waiver, one by one, heads turning towards the bizarre scene. While the fans were left to wonder and murmur amongst themselves, the announcers did their best to explain the growing situation to the viewers at home.
"And... what is this? What is going on behind the play?"
"Number 15, Kurosaki and number 6, Jaegerjaquez seem to have stalled in front of the opposing team's net while the play carries on without them."
"They're having what appears to be a heated exchange of words. They're both well out of position and the play has moved into their defensive zone."
"What on earth are they doing? It's like they've forgotten they're in the middle of a hockey game!"
"Oh, I've seen how good you are, Jaegerjaquez!" Ichigo sneered, gesturing towards the net. "We'd be better off if you'd just give it up and pass off the puck to someone who knows how to shoot it."
Grimmjow winced at the dig, the small element of truth in it making it sting like it was intended. But Grimmjow's bad streak of luck boiled down solely to the orangette's beef with him, and he pushed forward, seething, and looming over the smaller player, lashing back with equal intensity.
"And I suppose you think that someone should be you? Like you've been doing anything worthwhile for this team!" Grimmjow's gloved hand was up in front of Ichigo's face, jabbing at the empty air, but Ichigo barely flinched, even when the glove came down... "Yer nothin' but a distraction! The only reason I ain't scoring is 'cause you're always in the way, you cocksucker!" ...and drove into his shoulder, pushing him back.
The Ryoka's goalie was standing up straight now, his stick hanging forgotten in his glove, his masked head darting back and forth as he tried to follow the barrage of words that were being fired off in a free-for-all of machine gun spray in front of him.
"What a load of crap!" Ichigo's body jerked forward, reclaiming his lost ground, the physical contact setting a five alarm blaze inside of him. "You couldn't find the net with a map and directions!" he yelled, his left arm swinging up to point towards the hapless goalie, before returning the favour and jabbing Grimmjow in the chest with his own gloved hand. "Quit blaming other people for your own shortcomings, you jackass!"
Ichigo glared up at the taller man, every muscle tensed and ready for a scrap. His whole body was just aching to throw a solid punch right between those hatefully blue eyes, but he didn't need to. Ichigo's words had the same effect, and they found their target.
Quit blaming other people for your own shortcomings.
"THE FUCK YOU SAY TO ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT?" Grimmjow roared, every muscle coiled so tight it burned. He wouldn't lose it. He wouldn't give up his control so easily.
"I SAID, YOUR MOM SHOULD YOU!" Ichigo bellowed back.
It was probably one of the worst things he'd ever said to anyone in his entire life.
But Ichigo was well and truly derailed. And the thought that if his family could hear him now, they would probably disown him, didn't even enter his mind.
Grimmjow's jaw dropped open and hung suspended in the air for one long second as his mind completely and irreparably short circuited. He couldn't believe what Kurosaki Ichigo had just said to him. A man he fought to protect.
How he'd just talked about his ma like that.
How he'd basically just told Grimmjow he shouldn't exist.
Ichigo's heart was hammering out a war cry, and he braced himself as he watched Grimmjow's eyes go wild, the maddened look in them as revealing as a spotlight. Time slowed to a crawl, and it was with a strange sense of fascination and regret that he watched the emotional carnage play out across the other man's face. He couldn't possibly fully understand what was going on behind those eyes, but he knew one thing for damn sure.
Ichigo had just swanned dived across the line. And the sexta had just come unglued.
Then the moment was over, and so was Grimmjow's restraint.
Grimmjow's eyes lit up with rage, bursting into a blue inferno. Every angle of his face, from the sharply arrowed eyebrows, to the twin fish-hooked upper lip, was radiating pure malice. All at once, all of the anger that had compressed inside the bluenet exploded outward.
It stunned Ichigo for a split second. The rush of rage was like watching the universe being birthed, a formless mass of power ripping outward from a single point in space.
And every ounce of that fear inspiring attention was focused solely on Ichigo. It was absolutely captivating.
"THAT'S IT!" Grimmjow exploded. "DROP'EM, YO !"
Grimmjow didn't realize how much he'd truly been longing to just pound Kurosaki into oblivion until this moment. It took every last scrap of mental power for him to not just lunge at the smaller man and (X X X).
In fact, if you asked Grimmjow, he would insist that he was being quite polite about the whole thing. Grimmjow could have sucker-punched Ichigo with a quick cheap shot to the face. And that would have been it. Lights out.
But despite the orangette's completely jaundiced opinion of Grimmjow, he did in fact have a moral code. And even as he seethed at number fifteen through a blood red rage, if they were going to fight, Grimmjow wanted to win it fair and square. With Ichigo, it mattered. He had to win it clean or there would be no point.
And he would. Oh, he would.
It would be no contest. He'd seen Ichigo fight, and he could certainly hold his own, but he was tangling with Grimmjow now. Ichigo was delusional if he thought he could win against the sexta. He was gonna bring the pain to Kurosaki, and then he was gonna make him eat it.
Both players' sticks clattered to the ice.
The world around them had all but disappeared. It was just the two of them.
The game. The arena. The crowd. All of it had faded to a distant whisper, driven by madness into the blurred edges of their periphery.
They shook off their gloves in one sharp motion as they ( DELETED PARAGRAPH).
In an instant, the announcers were out of their seats, along with every single fan and player in the entire building. The only man who didn't seem affected was the Soul Reaper's coach, his expression composed and unreadable. The crowd barely noticed the goal that finally slipped through the Soul Reapers' defence just as whistles began to blow frantically in a shrill command to end the play.
The arena's JD wasted no time filling the huge space with the primal roar of the heavy, rolling drumbeat of Metallica's, Enter Sandman, skillfully adding to the feeling of burgeoning blood lust by jumping straight into the ominous drums that made way for the chilling chorus.
X x x
The whole arena was in an uproar, their frenzied screams of excitement blending together with the thundering music to reach near deafening levels. They were fuelled by passion... and perhaps just a little bit of beer.
X x x
As if the two enraged players were following its lead, number six and number fifteen threw X X X. The music seemed to conduct their movements. They grabbed and pulled at each others jerseys, blue and black material secure and twisted inside white knuckled fists, using the contact for leverage, keeping each other locked in battle.
Every punch was an insult, a retort, a statement.
Challenge me, and I will knock you down.
Grimmjow reeled back, arm... (DELETED PARAGRAPH).
While the unbelieving crowd inside the Sokyoku Hill arena looked on in thrilled amazement, the fans at home and in the bars watched the spectacle unfold with varied looks of disbelief and awe as the two announcers excitedly gave the play by play.
"Holy cow! In all my years, I've never seen anything like this. They're going at it!"
"Whoa! You havin' fun yet?!"
"Unbelievable! The mittens are off! And two players from the same team are fighting out their shift!"
Grimmjow's fist (DELETED PARAGRAPH)
The best part was that Ichigo wasn't even defending himself. Neither of them were. They were both just (DELETED PARAGRAPH).
Ichigo reeled from another (DELETED PARAGRAPH)
Even through their mutual haze of anger, Grimmjow could feel X X X. And if Ichigo was enjoying himself as much Grimmjow knew he was, Ichigo was every bit as excited as him. Grimmjow's breaths were lashed out through sharp, red and white teeth framed by a wide, angry snarl.
Almost a grin.
Every (DELETED). It didn't really do anything to release all that anger, but at least it came with a fun buzz.
"Nobody knows what sparked it, but it' looks like the notorious sexta, Jaegerjaquez, and newcomer, Kurosaki have found a reason to disagree!"
"And what a fight! I mean they are really wailing on each other!"
"Jaegerjaquez is a strong man. Kurosaki is a battler. We've seen that all season long."
"Now Jaegerjaquez is trying to yank Kurosaki's jersey off..."
"Just like a kid on Christmas morning, he's tearing through Kurosaki's jersey like cheap wrapping paper!"
"The linesmen are wondering if it's a good idea to jump in."
"I'd say no! The refs aren't even going to touch this one. They're just gonna let'em go."
"Well, what are you going to do? There has to be some extremely bad blood there for two teammates to start fighting in the middle... whoa!... Look at that left hook!
"Ooh! That one stung!"
"Kurosaki is really giving it to Jaegerjaquez. One, two, three times to the face!"
"Well he has to be fast, doesn't he, if he wants to avoid that infamous devastating right uppercut of Jaegerja... oooh... he ducked when he should have weaved, and number fifteen goes down in a heap, all tangled up and taking number six with him. And the refs are all over that!"
"There' on the ice tonight folks and it's not what you would expect. What a mess! What a fight! What a day in hockey!"
"The fans are beside themselves!"
"Well so am I, Kent. So am I!"
"This is unheard of. I mean, two players from the same team fighting at training camp, sure."
"It's not uncommon for fights to break out during practice. When you spend so much time together, travelling, eating and sleeping together. Confrontations are the norm. But during a game?"
"Well, I hope those two boys have gotten it out of their system because they are definitely out of this game."
"They may be down, but they're not out. They're still grappling on the ice beneath a dog pile of officials. It's taking all three referees to peel those two boys apart."
"Absolutely unbelievable. Now the officials are escorting both men separately off the ice."
"Seems to me like it's a bad idea to send them to the same locker room. I mean look at them. Covered i and they're still chirping at one another."
"Yup. Don't read their lips, kids."
"I think Jaegerjaquez just said 'I love you'. And Kurosaki just saluted."
"'You're number one', he said. Oh my. Neither of them appears to be out of gas. I'd bet my first born that if those officials weren't between them right now they'd just go right back at it."
"No doubt about it. Well, the Reaper's coach is going to have some words for those two after this game is over. That's for sure."
"Absolutely. I'd be afraid to be a fly on the wall for that one."
"I don't think you'd need to be a fly on the wall to hear that one!"
"I think you're right!"
"Well folks. Just ten minutes remaining in the third. Five - two... no... pardon... six - two for the Ryokas.. And if you're just tuning in, you will definitely not want to miss the post game wrap up."
"No worries if you do though. This is going to make every highlight reel for about a decade."
"Just in time for the holidays. Those are two boys who are definitely getting coal in their stockings this year!"
X X X
Three security guards filled the space between the two (dishevelled) players.
They stood at opposite ends of the locker room as they stripped off the remnants of their equipment quickly and efficiently. It took less time than usual to peel out of their uniforms since both men had managed to help each other out of a good portion of it already during their on-ice scuffle. In fact, by the time they were done, they had both left the ice shirtless, much to the appreciation of the ladies in their audience, and perhaps some of the males as well. Their sought after physiques were covered only in a sheen of sweat, (red) splatter and smears, and a handful of bruises.
Both players kept their eyes fixed on the task at hand, and their backs stayed turned to one another. Just one look would be enough to set them off again, and they both knew it. And enough damage had already been done for one night.
By the time they'd exposed their damaged bodies to the air and changed into their street clothes, their tempers had cooled just enough for reason and logic to begin to rear its head. And as reality started to sink back in, to be honest, both men were beginning to wonder what the hell had actually happened.
Grimmjow sent a surreptitious glance towards his rival. Ichigo looked like he'd been through a rusty propeller. The throbbing sting from the cut on the bridge of his nose told Grimmjow he probably didn't look much better.
In less than twenty minutes, they were both leaning silently against their respective lockers, arms crossed, each man glaring at the far wall.
They hadn't showered. There was no way that one was going to fly. Ichigo was by far the most presentable of the two. He had managed to use the sink to rinse away the (red) on his face, but Grimmjow had just left it there. He always wore his battle scars without remorse. Ichigo had a feeling it served as more of a reminder than anything; that he owed someone something. Ichigo slid a sidelong look at the blue-haired player. He looked like shit. Had Ichigo really done all that?
Both men glanced up when the team began pouring into the locker room. Except for the clunking of skates and sticks, and the rustling of heavy gear, the silence was deafening.
"Way to go, assholes." The team's red-haired goalie spoke for the whole team as soon as he entered the room. Grimmjow sneered and huffed quietly, while Ichigo cringed internally. If the man who had let in five relatively easy shots felt mighty enough to put them down, then they really were no better than the nasty hairy shit that got stuck in the drain.
Moments later, the coach entered the locker room like a tropical storm, and the other players quickly shuffled out of the way, knowing that if they didn't, he would have simply cut a swath through them.
"Kurosaki! Jaegerjaquez! Get your GOD DAMN asses on this bench!"
Ichigo was mortified. Not only were they going to be read the riot act, but it was going to be in front of the entire club. Ichigo grimaced and did his best not to actually scurry to the bench. He'd never seen the coach, (or anyone outside of Grimmjow), this angry in his entire life. The man's face was as red as a tomato, and the large veins of his neck were sticking out and pulsing in a most unhealthy manner.
The bench vibrated as Grimmjow sauntered over then dropped himself heavily right next to Ichigo, forearms resting across his legs as he hunched forward, assuming the position and preparing to be chewed out but good.
Neither man was disappointed.
"ARE YOU TWO INSANE?! What in the fucking hell was THAT?! I aught' to kick both your asses off my TEAM for that stupid STUNT!"
"Sorry... I..." Ichigo squirmed like a hooked worm as he glanced up at the extremely distraught man who was about five... four... three... seconds away from having a stress induced coronary, if the bulging veins in his bright red neck were any indication. Ichigo didn't get to finish his apology as the enraged man instantly began shouting like a bullhorn over his muted reply.
"DON'T YOU 'SORRY' ME, KUROSAKI! Do you have any IDEA what kind of DAMAGE you two just caused to the reputation of this team?! To MY REPUTATION?!"
The distraught coach threw his arms in the air as if he was about to pull God himself down off his perch, and began pacing back and forth as he ran one large, gnarled hand through what was left of his formerly lustrous, grey mottled hair. Then he rounded on the two delinquent Reapers and bellowed at them from a mere foot away, flecks of spittle flying through the air and littering their relatively composed faces.
"We're going to be the laughing stock of hockey because of you two IDIOTS!" he shrieked.
His eyes were comically wide in his head, and for his own part, Ichigo had to force down a completely inappropriate surge of laughter.
He was in shit. This was not funny.
"What the hell is WRONG with you two?!" The man practically screamed his question.
"Sorry," Ichigo repeated softly. He knew it was pointless to apologize but he couldn't help himself. It just seemed natural to fill in the blank at this point.
"Sorry," Grimmjow muttered, shadowed blue eyes briefly tearing from the floor to chance a look at their coach, the subdued bluenet saying the word like he was choking on a chicken bone.
"Sorry," the coach repeated bitterly. His voice had dropped to something almost devoid of emotion."Well, that's just great. Thanks for that."
Nobody dared move in the locker room as a few tense seconds of silence passed while the coach regarded his two unruly players as if he were contemplating the shit stuck to the bottom of his shoes. Ichigo jumped in his seat as the man gave a choleric snort and continued, voice teaming with anger once again.
"YOU THINK SORRY COVERS THIS?"
Grimmjow shrugged, but didn't say anything else. He didn't dare. He knew better. It didn't matter what either of them said. It would only add more fuel to their coach's already raging fire. All they could do was wait out the tirade and hope they could get out of the building without being crushed under the avalanche of reporters that were no doubt buzzing outside the locker rooms walls and lurking at every exit by now.
And the man was right. Now that his temper had calmed somewhat, and Grimmjow's brain cells were functioning in something vaguely resembling that of a human's again, it was embarrassing. Humiliating. Even for Grimmjow who rarely felt embarrassed about anything.
It wasn't the fact that he had fought his own team mate that irked him. It was how easily he had lost his composure and become enraged to the point of near madness. One minute of locking horns with the orangette, and he'd bridged the gap between anger and blind insanity. Grimmjow had always maintained a degree of control. If he was angry it was because he damn well wanted to be. What the hell was it about Kurosaki that made him lose his shit so profoundly?
Fights among players were actually more common than most of the public would realize. But they usually happened during practice and at training camps, where players would sometimes but heads and argue. Confrontations were normal, but on rare occasions the heated words escalated into brief physical altercations as the players struggled to adjust their playing styles and find a compromise so that the team could work together as a unit.
Fights happened. But never during a game. They were supposed to be professionals.
"You know what." The sound of air being compressed rapidly through a tight, obstructed passage filled the room as the coach hauled in a breath through his nose, then expelled it.
"You're both suspended. I don't wanna see either of your faces here for the next two games. Not even practice." The man leaned forward, wagging his crooked finger in front of matted blue and spiky orange locks.
"If either one of you sets foot near this arena before Christmas, I will personally have you arrested."
Suspended. Grimmjow's eyebrows jumped in response while his breath hitched in his throat. Almost instantly his head snapped to the side and he threw a baleful eye towards his orange-haired team mate
And arrested? Like he'd never hear that before. But coming from his own coach?
This was all Kurosaki's fault.
Ichigo's mouth fell open. Suspended? Him? His sterling reputation was being dragged down inch by inch by the blue Hessian. Okay, maybe sterling was a bit far fetched, but still. He met the dirty, cobalt glare with a slow, fiery burn of his own. Grimmjow was going to pay dearly.
He was already imaging the things he was going to do to Grimmjow, within the confines of the law of course, but Ichigo's thoughts were cut short. The coach wasn't done yet.
"Oh, do I have your attention?" he puffed.
At the coach's stiff question, both player's looked away. They broke eye contact, partly in disgust, but also because if they didn't snap-to, the very angry man might start yelling again. And neither one wanted their mutual scolding to be extended any longer than it had to be.
"Good." The coach leaned in a little bit closer, and both men stiffened. "Not one foot before Christmas. And when you return, you'd better behave like you are the best of the best of friends."
The coach's bloodshot eyes darted between the two men again. His expression was dark, almost manic, and it gave Ichigo the willies. Even Grimmjow was eyeing him up and developing a subtle lean.
"Ichigo, if Grimmjow asks you to help him wipe his X X X, you will do it and say 'Thank you, Grimmjow'!" He grinned, unamused but shark-like, eyes flashing with malevolence. "And Grimmjow, if Ichigo asks you to hold hi while he pisses, you will do it with.. a... smile. Is. That. Clear?"
The hum of quiet amusement being poorly held at bay behind arms and hands filled the locker room, and two pairs of stunned eyes blinked back at the coach. The man wasn't kidding. He meant every word.
Disclaimers: So, I hope that chapter was fun for you. I'm dog tired. I've watched so much hockey and stared so hard at this screen, my eyeballs have fallen out. And, don't think I came up with the announcers' talk all on my own. The announcer's comments are bits and pieces of actual things I've heard announcers say during games. They are the creative ones, not me. *salutes announcers everywhere* ^_^
Also, if you type in "Unbelievable Crazy Hockey Fight!" on You tube, you will see why I chose that song.
God I love hockey. :D
