Page 15 of Speak in Fever

"Hey, if Cap wants to make me look good with impossible passes, I'm not complaining," Rath says with smugness that's clearly performed for the team's entertainment. "Though I should probably warn him that my redirect game is only getting better."

"Your redirect game?" Percy raises an eyebrow, grateful for the opportunity to deflect attention from his allegedly showing off. "That last goal was pure luck."

"Luck?" Rath's voice pitches higher with mock offense, his hand pressed to his chest in exaggerated affront. "Excuse me, that was athletic artistry. Perfect timing, flawless execution, absolute—"

"It was a decent tip," Percy interrupts, but his tone is fond rather than critical.

"Decent?" The entire locker room is watching their back-and-forth now with obvious entertainment, teammates pausing in their changing to follow the playful argument. "Cap, I turned your cross-ice prayer into poetry. Show some appreciation."

"I'll show appreciation when you can do it consistently," Percy challenges.

"Oh, it's like that?" Rath grins, and there's something almost predatory in his expression that makes Percy's stomach flip with something that isn't entirely comfortable. "Fine. Tomorrow's practice, I'm going to make every single one of your passes look better than it actually is."

"Looking forward to it," Percy replies, and realizes he absolutely means it. The prospect of tomorrow's practice, of continuing to build this connection with Rath, fills him with anticipation that goes beyond professional interest.

"This is the best entertainment we've had all season," JP announces to general agreement. "Please tell me you two are going to keep this up at the bar."

"Only if Cap keeps buying rounds every time I make his assists look good," Rath says with obvious satisfaction.

An hour later, they're settled into a booth at O'Malley's, the team spread across several tables in the back section that the bar usually reserves for larger groups.

The first round has turned into the second, and the conversation has moved beyond hockey into the territory of personal stories and harmless gossip that characterizes most team bonding sessions.

Percy finds himself directly across from Rath in the booth, close enough that their knees occasionally bump under the table when one of them shifts position.

Each contact sends a small jolt of awareness through Percy that he tries desperately to ignore.

Rath seems oblivious to the effect he's having, animated and relaxed in a way that Percy doesn't get to see very often.

"I still can't believe how different you two looked today," Martinez says, taking a long pull from his beer. "Like you've been playing together for years instead of struggling to complete basic passes."

"It was just a good practice," Percy deflects, but he can feel Rath watching him across the table.

"Just a good practice?" Torres scoffs. "Dude, you made three passes today that should be physically impossible. And Platts was reading your mind out there."

"I wouldn't say mind-reading," Rath interjects with a grin. "More like really good guessing."

"Same thing," JP waves dismissively. "Chemistry is chemistry. You either have it or you don't."

The conversation flows easily from there, touching on upcoming games, scouting reports on their next opponents, and the usual collection of stories about teammates who aren't present to defend themselves.

Percy finds himself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of team social time, the comfortable camaraderie that makes the physical demands of their sport worthwhile.

But he's hyperaware of Rath's presence across from him.

The way Rath gestures when he talks, the genuine laughter that bubbles up when someone tells a particularly good story, the quick smile he sends Percy's way when their eyes meet across the table.

All of it feels significant in a way that Percy knows it probably isn't.

"Speaking of celebration," Torres says with a wicked grin, clearly emboldened by his second beer, "anyone getting lucky tonight? Because after watching you two today, I'm feeling inspired to find some chemistry of my own."

"Always thinking with your dick, Torres," JP laughs, but not disapprovingly.

"Hey, it's been a good day. Good hockey makes me optimistic about my chances." Torres waggles his eyebrows suggestively, earning groans and laughter from the table. "Plus, there's nothing like athletic success to boost your confidence with the ladies."

Percy notices the way Rath's posture changes slightly at the direction of the conversation, his shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly. It's a subtle shift, but Percy has been watching Rath closely enough today to catch it.

"What about you, Cap?" Terrible asks with obvious mischief, leaning forward with the predatory glee of someone who's found a topic worth pursuing. "When's the last time you got laid? Because I'm starting to think all that pent-up energy is why your passes were so aggressive today."

Percy nearly chokes on his beer, coughing as he tries to process the unexpected question. "That's not—we're not discussing my personal life."

"Come on," Torres presses, clearly enjoying Percy's discomfort. "You're always wound so tight. When's the last time you just let loose? Had some fun?"

"Hockey is fun," Percy says weakly, knowing it's an inadequate response but unable to come up with anything better.

"Hockey fun doesn't count," JP clarifies with exaggerated patience, as if explaining something to a child. "We're talking about actual human connection. You know, the kind that involves taking someone home and—"

"I get it," Percy interrupts quickly, his face burning with embarrassment. "And no, I'm not discussing this with you degenerates."

"Degenerates?" Martinez laughs. "Cap, we're talking about basic human needs here. You're twenty-eight years old and built like a professional athlete. Women should be throwing themselves at you."

"Maybe they are and he's just not catching them," Torres suggests with obvious glee.

Percy shakes his head and takes another long drink of beer, hoping the conversation will move on to someone else. But he can feel the team's collective attention focused on him, the predatory interest that comes when teammates sense weakness.

"What about you, Platts?" Torres turns his attention to Rath with the same mischievous energy. "You've been awfully quiet during this conversation. When's the last time you picked up a lady at the bar?"

Rath's grip visibly tightens on his beer bottle, and Percy notices the way his jaw has gone rigid.

The easy confidence from earlier has been replaced by something more guarded, more careful.

"Not really my thing," Rath says, his voice carrying a forced casualness that doesn't quite hide his discomfort.

"What, dating?" Terrible looks genuinely surprised, his eyebrows rising comically. "Kid, you're young and good-looking and playing professional hockey. You could have your pick of any girl in this bar."

"It's complicated," Rath mutters, not meeting anyone's eyes. He's focused intently on peeling the label off his beer bottle, his movements sharp and agitated.

"Complicated how?" Torres presses, clearly enjoying himself and oblivious to Rath's obvious discomfort. "Come on, we're all friends here. What's your type? Blonde? Brunette? Are you a tits or ass man?"

The last comment earns laughter from several teammates, but Percy notices that Rath has gone even more tense, his jaw clenched in a way that suggests he's deeply uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

There's something almost painful in the way Rath is holding himself, like he's trying to disappear into the booth.

"I just... I don't really do casual hookups," Rath says finally, his voice tight and strained. "Not my scene."

"Oh, you're a relationship guy," Raul nods with understanding. "That's cool, man. More meaningful that way. Some guys need the emotional connection to really enjoy the physical stuff."

"Yeah," Rath agrees quickly, and Percy catches the way his eyes dart briefly in Percy's direction before looking away.

There's something vulnerable in that quick glance, something that makes Percy's chest tight with an emotion he can't quite name. Without fully understanding why, he finds himself jumping into the conversation.

"Nothing wrong with that," Percy says, his voice carrying more conviction than he expected.

Rath looks at him then, and there's something grateful and vulnerable in his expression that makes Percy's heart rate pick up.

The moment stretches between them, heavy with unspoken meaning that Percy is afraid to examine too closely. The rest of the table seems to fade into background noise, and for a few seconds it feels like they're having a private conversation in the middle of a crowded bar.

"Alright, alright," Torres says, apparently sensing that his teasing has hit some kind of nerve. "We get it. Rath's a romantic. Cap's a monk. The rest of us will have to carry the team's reputation for debauchery."

"I'm not a monk," Percy protests automatically, but his heart isn't really in it.

"Could have fooled me," JP grins. "When's the last time you even went on a date?"

Percy opens his mouth to respond, then realizes he doesn't actually have a good answer.

When had he last gone on a date? When had he last been interested enough in someone to pursue them?

The truth is, he's been so focused on hockey and his captaincy responsibilities that he hasn't really thought about dating in months.

"See?" Torres says triumphantly. "Total monk behavior."

The conversation moves on to other topics—Martinez's disastrous attempt to ask out a barista, JP's ongoing situationship with someone he met on a dating app, Torres's elaborate plans for his next conquest. But Percy finds himself stealing glances at Rath, who seems to have retreated into himself after the awkward questions about his dating life.

The easy confidence from earlier has been replaced by something more guarded, and Percy has the uncomfortable feeling that Torres's casual comments have somehow touched on something deeper.

Rath participates minimally in the ongoing conversation, offering polite laughs at appropriate moments but clearly not engaged the way he had been earlier.

As the evening wears on, Percy becomes increasingly aware of Rath's discomfort.

There's something almost fragile in the way Rath holds himself now, like he's protecting something vulnerable.

Percy wants to say something, to find a way to ease whatever tension Rath is feeling, but he doesn't know how to do it without drawing more attention to the situation.

"Another round?" Torres asks as their glasses empty.

"I should probably head out," Rath says quickly, already reaching for his jacket. "Early morning tomorrow."

"Come on, it's barely ten," JP protests. "The night's still young."

"I'm good," Rath insists, his voice carrying a finality that discourages argument. "Thanks for tonight, though. It was fun."

But as he stands to leave, Percy can see that "fun" is the last thing Rath looks like he's having. There's something almost desperate in the way he's putting on his jacket, like he can't get out of there fast enough.

"I should head out too," Percy finds himself saying, surprising everyone including himself. "Captain's responsibilities and all that."

"Since when do you leave before midnight?" Torres asks suspiciously.

"Since always," Percy lies, grabbing his own jacket. "Some of us take conditioning seriously."

He follows Rath out of the bar, the cool evening air a relief after the warm, beer-soaked atmosphere inside. Rath is already halfway to his car, moving with quick, agitated steps that suggest he's trying to put as much distance between himself and the bar as possible.

"Rath," Percy calls, jogging to catch up. "Hey, wait up."

Rath stops but doesn't turn around immediately. When he finally faces Percy, his expression is carefully neutral in a way that doesn't hide the tension underneath.

"You okay?" Percy asks, though it's obvious that Rath isn't okay at all.

"I'm fine," Rath says, but his voice is tight. "Just tired."

"Torres can be an asshole sometimes," Percy offers, hoping to acknowledge what just happened without making it worse. "He doesn't mean anything by it, but he doesn't know when to stop pushing."

"It's not..." Rath starts, then stops, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"It's fine. Really. I just need to get home.

Take another shower, empty the dishwasher, you know.

" Rath looks at him for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering across his features before he manages to lock it down again. "I should go."

"Yeah," Percy agrees, though he makes no move toward his own car. "Just... today was good. On the ice. I meant what I said about the foundation."

A small smile breaks through Rath's carefully constructed mask. "Yeah. It was good."

"See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow."

Percy watches as Rath gets into his car and drives away, taillights disappearing into the night.

Standing alone in the parking lot, Percy realizes that somewhere between this morning's practice and tonight's awkward conversation, something fundamental has shifted.

He's not just attracted to Rath's skill on the ice anymore—he's invested in the person underneath the jersey.