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They finish the last game before the break in Chicago, a close win, and Dan’s gone before half the team is even showered, so Andy gets out of the shower to find a missing Dan and a sulking Derek.
“I wanted it to go to OT,” Derek says, when Andy wanders over to nudge him into spilling.
Andy blinks. “We won,” he says.
“I wanted to see if Riley would cry if he missed his plane,” Derek says, and Andy kicks him in the shin and goes to finish dressing, ignoring the injured look Derek sends his way.
They don’t have a wedding to plan, so they fly back with everyone else, Andy sleeping on the plane so he can take the first leg of the drive, Derek dozing in the passenger seat, cheek pressed to the window, as Andy hums under his breath to the truly awful travel mix Derek insisted on putting on, then promptly fell asleep to. They swap at a service station outside Belleville, Derek refusing to get out of his seat until Andy runs in and gets him Tim Hortons, and it’s just starting to get light when Derek’s nudging him awake, parked in front of his parents’ house.
Andy’s still groggy on the way in, so the Carruthers, getting ready for work, mostly leave him be, which means Maria tugs him down to kiss him on both cheeks and David claps him on the back so hard Andy thinks he dislodges a lung, but then he’s free to go pass out in Derek’s room. He’s asleep before Derek comes upstairs, and when he wakes up at noon, finds Derek asleep in the guest room. Which maybe Andy should have been crashing in instead. Everything’s weird and Andy hates it.
He makes lunch while Derek sleeps, the Carruthers’ fridge well-stocked with the sort of thing Derek eats, which makes even Andy, dedicated to healthy eating, wrinkle his nose. He nudges the wheatgrass behind the coffee machine before he makes sandwiches, because he doesn’t want to give Derek any ideas. They’re on a break. He’s putting cheese on their sandwiches, and Derek can bite him.
That’s a really unfortunate choice of words.
Derek doesn’t get up until two, finding Andy down in the den, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Andy nudges the second plate over at him, and Derek eats with his eyes shut, leaning on Andy until he seems to wake up completely and puts a foot of space between them. Andy keeps watching Sportscentre and pretends he hasn’t noticed, jaw so tight his teeth hurt.
It’s a relief when the Carruthers come home, Derek’s older sister Beth in tow, because they immediately start on what Andy’s learned is their favourite thing to do when Andy is around, which is telling all sorts of embarrassing stories about Derek until Andy can’t breathe he’s laughing so hard, and Derek’s started loudly describing the ways he is going to kill all of them. Even though Derek looks nothing like either of his parents, it’s pretty obvious they’re related when Maria’s recounting Derek’s nudist phase and his tendency to run out into the snow in just boots with a towel used as a cape, while Derek is trying and failing to cover Andy’s ears with his hands.
After dinner Andy’s forced out of the kitchen while Derek is strongarmed into doing the dishes, and by the time Derek comes out, David, Maria and Beth are in a deadlock about what to watch and each are trying to sway Andy to their side, which leaves him on the corner of the couch, kind of terrified of picking the wrong choice.
“Leave the rookie alone,” Derek says, and hands Andy a beer, and Andy is thankful enough to him in that moment he doesn’t even argue that he isn’t a rookie anymore.
Derek goes to sleep in the guest room again that night, a far cry from the last time Andy was there, the two of them kicking each other trying to fit comfortably in a double bed, but Derek’s whole family had been staying there, and it’d have been that or one of the couches. It makes sense, and this way Andy can stretch out without elbowing Derek in the ribs. It’s still strange, sleeping in Derek’s childhood bedroom without him, a poster of Joe Buchanan on the walls, curling a little at the edges, the scent of Derek clinging to the sheets.
Andy’s awake for awhile.
*
They sleep in the next morning, which means they have to scramble to find a one hour dry cleaner to take their wrinkled game day suits, head to the mall because somehow Derek lost his dress shoes somewhere between Chicago and Brampton. Andy gets sidetracked by the crepe stand.
“Nutella’s good for you,” Andy says, aloud, totally lying to himself.
“Go for it, rebel,” Derek says, and Andy rolls his eyes and gets a nutella and banana crepe, pretending not to notice when Derek steals bites, because he’s thoroughly convinced that if he didn’t order it himself, it doesn’t count.
Derek is conflicted over two different pairs of shoes for so long that Andy just grabs the empty boxes while he’s distracted and goes to pay for them both, because they’re not going to make it to the actual wedding at this rate. Besides, he can afford it. Derek can afford it too, but Derek’s being difficult and ignoring Andy’s totally logical argument that they have to wear dress shoes for work all the time, so it’s easier just to pay.
Derek lights up when Andy returns with the boxes and the receipt, and Andy shifts, a little uncomfortable. “We need to pick up our suits,” he says, suddenly incredibly relieved that they’re not buying them. Andy is never going clothes shopping with Derek again, he’s firmly in favour of finding something his incredibly difficult to locate size and buying it in bulk. Derek was discussing the merits of patent and matte like either of those words made any sense to Andy.
They do make it on time, barely, because Derek starts fiddling with his hair and makes it steadily worse until Andy has to physically restrain him.
“Expecting hot girls or something?” Andy asks, light, hoping it doesn’t sound forced, but from the look Derek shoots him, he guesses it does.
He doesn’t push it though, just says, “hey, Riley’s mom was pretty hot in those cup photos with Buchanan.”
“You just think Buchanan was hot in those photos,” Andy says, automatically, and Derek tries to deadarm him.
Derek’s GPS directs them to a little venue that’s all quiet class, the kind that sort of intimidates Andy.
“Riley definitely didn’t choose this,” Derek says, and since Andy’s been to Dan’s apartment before, he can’t disagree. There’s security at the door that checks them off the guest list, and they get a personal escort to the room for the ceremony. “Dude,” Derek says, under his breath. “We get to go to a celebrity wedding.”
Andy snorts, and the escort eyes them. “We’re celebrities too!” Derek tells her, but she doesn’t look particularly impressed. “Best buds, I see one of them naked all the time.”
“I don’t know this guy,” Andy tells her quickly.
She drops them off at the entrance to a room in the back, then practically runs away, which is something Derek causes a lot, but not before she directs them over to Sens seating, which is surprisingly not empty.
“The fuck?” Derek says, as they come up to Olsen and Leon. “Aren’t you supposed to be playing in the All-Star game?”
“It isn’t until Sunday,” Olsen says.
“Yvette kicked him out because he wouldn’t stop hovering,” Leon says. “And told him he could come back when he got reasonable. So he woke me up at seven this morning and bullied me into a road trip.”
Olsen elbows him and somehow looks serene doing it.
“I am here to support my teammate on this special occasion,” he says, and then elbows Leon again when he snorts.
“How did you even get past security?” Andy asks, and Olsen just continues to look serenely at him, which is probably the closest thing Andy’s going to get to an answer.
When Hab after Hab starts filing in on the opposite side, seeming annoyed that there isn’t an aisle to separate them more clearly, Andy’s suddenly grateful for the bulked up Sens presence, because he knows at least half of those guys well enough on the ice to dislike them. Everyone seems to know where to sit, at least, until Joe Buchanan comes in with his wife and visibly waffles.
Derek grabs his arm, tight. “Andy,” he whispers.
“Yep,” Andy says. “I see him.”
“Andy,” Derek whispers, even more fervent.
Andy bites his lip hard, trying not to laugh.
“Oh my god,” Derek mumbles to himself, and Andy gives up and starts giggling.
“Leafs fans are raised strangely,” Olsen says, in that voice that usually means he’s being wise, and Andy can’t really disagree with him right now, with Derek trying to stealthily watch Buchanan, fingers still curled in Andy’s sleeve. Buchanan ends up sitting a couple rows behind them, and Derek looks conflicted between excitement and disappointment that he can’t watch him without completely turning around in his seat.
It isn’t exactly a traditional set-up. Andy’s never been to a wedding that wasn’t in a church, and there’s no altar or anything, no walking down the aisle, Dan and Lapointe come out at the same time from opposite sides, Dan looking the same as he always does, Lapointe looking kind of like he’s going to throw up.
They hold hands while the woman in front of them reads a poem, and this is totally not like any wedding ever except maybe the fact they’re wearing bowties. That’s about it. She does do the vows eventually. Derek loudly snorts when she refers to Lapointe as Pierre, and Andy digs his elbow into his thigh, hard, but Dan looks like he’s trying not to laugh, up front, and then completely misses his cue, responding quick and panicky while Lapointe glares at him, and this time it seems like half of the room is trying not to snort, so Andy’s pretty impressed only one or two got out.
When they do kiss, Derek wolf whistles, which fits in with the catcalls coming from the Habs section and throughout the seats. Andy doesn’t, just watches them, only four years older than Andy and married, kissing in front of everyone and their cameras like it’s okay, which it probably only is because they made it so in the first place.
After that, everyone drifts out, escorted by that same unimpressed girl en masse to another room, this one bigger, with tables and shiny wood floor cleared off in the middle of the room. Olsen and Leon get put at their table after some shuffling, the four of them outnumbering two of Marc’s cousins, from Leon’s translation, Dan’s mom muttering under her breath about not trusting Dan to tell her anything. All four of them look tragically down at the menu.
“It’s healthy,” Leon says.
“It’s very healthy,” Olsen agrees.
“What did I even come here for,” Leon says under his breath.
Derek flails until a server stops. “Beer,” he says. “Lots.”
“Oh right,” Leon says, brightening.
The beer makes it easier to forgive Dan--or whoever planned the menu, because Dan’s shit about his own diet--for no cheat food, and even Olsen’s mellowed out by the time dessert’s cleared away. Derek’s stripped off his jacket and tie, because he’s still a little bit of nudist when it comes down to it or at least allergic to anything formal, sleeves rolled up to his elbow and first few buttons undone, and Andy’s had enough beer of his own to watch the way his forearms flex when he raises the pint to his mouth, the bob of his throat when he swallows, though hopefully not enough to get caught.
Once Dan and Lapointe make it clear they’re not going to do the first dance, and get a smattering of boos, Derek and shockingly Olsen among the boo-ers, Leon offers a hand to one of Lapointe’s cousins, who blushes and takes it, and Olsen solemnly offers his to the other, who can’t be older than thirteen and is giggling and saying something in rapidfire French to her sister as they wander over to the dance floor that makes Leon start laughing.
Andy firmly stays seated. Derek side-eyes him.
“I’m going to get you to dance by the end of tonight,” he declares, in a tone Andy’s come to dread because it means Derek’s had a bad idea and will follow it through no matter what.
“I’m going to go--Dan,” Andy says, and wanders over to the head table, waiting while someone he vaguely recognizes offers the two a card, which--shit, they were so busy with Derek’s stupid shoes that Andy forgot to get a present. He scoots a bit closer, trying to see what he should be getting them, and then almost gets knocked into as the guy takes a step back, saying “It was a joke. What, you two are the only ones who can joke about our threesomes?”
Andy blanches. “What did I just hear?” he asks, sort of traumatized, and then the guy turns around, and promptly hugs him. Andy goes stiff and tries to signal to Dan for help while the guy puts his face in his neck and mumbles about his sacrifice, but Dan just laughs at him, and Andy’s finally started to relax into it, partly in self-defence, partly because the guy is really good looking, before Derek sweeps in to save him, tugging Andy away like a freaking Raggedy Andy doll, not that Andy minds right now.
“Come on,” Derek says, once Andy’s gotten free. “We have to say hi to Joe Buchanan.”
“Are you going to cry?” Andy asks, and Derek steps on his foot.
Derek doesn’t cry, though he does start to babble a bit once he’s gotten through the ‘hi’ and ‘you are amazing’ parts, though Buchanan’s pretty nice about it, just nodding and smiling, even when Derek’s basically reduced himself to gushing.
Buchanan shakes Andy’s hand when Derek’s run out of air. “You guys play with Riley, right?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Andy says. “Derek’s bad at being a Senator.”
“It’s Joe Buchanan,” Derek says under his breath, and Andy tries to keep a straight face.
Buchanan excuses himself after a minute to find his wife, and Derek stands very still beside Andy, way more still than usual. It’s kind of freaky.
“Dude,” Derek says, finally.
“I think we need to get you another drink,” Andy says. It’s not usually what he’d be leaning towards, but he thinks Derek is actually speechless and that’s weird.
“Dude,” Derek repeats, but he follows Andy to the bar.
Derek insists on constantly refilling Andy’s beer, but if he thinks that’ll be enough to make Andy dance, he doesn’t know Andy as well as Andy thought. Then again, he probably has some master plan he’s going to pull out, so Andy just goes with it, drinks what’s offered, because regrettable things happen when Andy and Derek get drunk together, but they’re bumping shoulders in a crowded room, and going to go back to Derek’s parents, so Andy has at least a little confidence that he can drink without the irresistible urge to get his hand down Derek’s pants. It’s always there, like a low grade headache, but he can resist.
Of course then the shots happen. The crowd’s been trickling down slowly, the older group disappearing until it mostly seems like hockey players. Andy’s hit the point of tipsy where he mostly just wants to take a nap, and they’ve got at least a half-hour ride to get back to Derek’s, so he’s planning on finishing his drink and dragging Derek away from his argument with the bartender about the Leafs-Sens rivalry (at this point Andy doesn’t even know what side Derek’s on), and heading out, when Leon appears and grabs them both. Literally. Andy submits to being dragged, he’s used to it, Derek does it all the time, but Derek doesn’t deal with the indignity as much, Andy guesses, because he stands still, obstinate.
“There is a Leaf insulting me,” Leon says.
“That’s all you needed to say,” Derek says, and allows Leon to drag him too.
The Leaf isn’t so much insulting Leon, it turns out, as absolutely everyone, and he’s standing toe to toe with Lapointe, arguing something in French, with Habs clustered around them while Dan looks completely resigned. Leon goes into the fray, while Andy wanders over to Dan, Derek in tow.
“What’s up?” Andy asks.
“I genuinely have no idea,” Dan says. “But I think there’s something about drinking?”
There is, it turns out, something about drinking, though Andy never figures out what, or what they’re drinking to, or the rules of the drinking game, but Leon presses shots into Andy and Derek’s hands and stares at them until they drink. He tries to hand one to Dan, but Dan puts his hands up. “No way,” he says. “I have to get that one home alive.”
Lapointe is holding two shots and his face is red even before he drinks one and then the other. Leon doesn’t press Dan.
Derek and Andy make up a drinking game of their own between Leon ferrying them shots, speculating why they’re drinking, Dan’s mouth twitching as he half listens to them, half keeps an eye on Marc, who is leaning heavily on the blond guy who hugged Andy earlier that night.
“French people are weird,” Dan says. “Just go with it.”
Derek points at him. “That’s the one, we have a winner, we are drinking because French people are weird.”
Andy laughs, leaning into Derek’s side, and Dan nudges a half empty glass of water over to Andy, which he drinks obediently. When Leon returns, Andy looks at the vodka and then back up.
Leon pushes it forward, the shot spilling over his wrist. “Bowie,” he says.
Andy huffs but drinks it, Derek laughing against his side, Andy feeling the movement all through him.
There’s a reason he shouldn’t be drinking with Derek, not like this, he knows that, but it’s becoming less and less important when Derek’s a warm line against his side. Derek likes to think he’s got a good alcohol tolerance, but he doesn’t, so he’s flushed and smiling stupid, watching the never-ending French argument, fingers brushing against the back of Andy’s neck until Andy shivers, and he pulls back, looking like he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Andy nudges back against him, and he starts back up. Andy would mind more, would be more embarrassed, if he wasn’t feeling hot from head to toe, blooming out of his stomach, the half-idle brush of Derek’s fingers nudging that heat up to scalding.
Besides, one of the grooms is now practically in the blond’s lap, and no one’s batting an eye, including Dan, so it’s whatever. Andy doesn’t know when his eyes fall shut, but they do at some point, and when one of the bartenders announces last call, the clamour loud enough that Andy can feel it behind his eyelids, Derek pulls his hand away, says, “I should probably get this lightweight back.” Which is sort of rich, since he’s saying it very carefully. Andy suspects he’d be slurring if it was just the two of them. Andy opens one eye, indignant.
“Town cars outside,” Dan says, a little distracted, standing up because Lapointe’s weaving his way to them, leaning heavily on the blond.
“I tried,” the blond says.
“Hey babe,” Dan says. “Have a good secret society meeting?”
“Not a cult,” Lapointe mumbles, then leans heavily on him instead, face in Dan’s neck.
Andy feels kind of like he’s intruding, but hey, it’s their wedding. The blond meets his eyes, looking over at Dan and Lapointe and then rolling his eyes, grinning crookedly, and Andy smiles back.
Derek’s disappeared to find his coat, and he comes back then, nudging Andy towards the door with a hand in the centre of his back, like Andy can’t find his own way outside. There’s a number of town cars in the parking lot, as promised, and one pulls up to them, Derek nudging Andy in then following, giving his address, or what Andy thinks are cross-streets.
The driver looks kind of long-suffering, but he doesn’t say anything, just pulls out, and Andy’s lulled by the drive, the streets mostly empty except for passing cabs, the smooth run of the streetcar, guys hollering at each other when they pass an all-night diner.
They get onto the highway, and Andy’s almost drifting, but he feels itchy, and when he turns to look at Derek, Derek’s looking right back, seems embarrassed to be caught but keeps looking.
“Good night?” Derek asks, uncharacteristically soft, but everything’s close and dark, the only light from the dash, the halogen lamps they’re passing.
“Why wasn’t Olsen still there to stop us?” Andy asks plaintively, and Derek huffs out a laugh. His knuckles brush the back of Andy’s hand, and Andy swallows, drops his eyes to where their hands are touching in the middle seat.
“Derek,” Andy says, then stops, because he doesn’t know what he wants to say, and probably shouldn’t be saying it anyway. Definitely shouldn’t. Should also be pulling his hand back, giving in to the urge to drowse against the window instead of the fact his pulse has started pounding in his ears and he can feel the ridge of every one of Derek’s knuckles like he’s punched him instead of touching him.
Derek pulls his hand back and Andy feels the loss immediately, looks out the window, feeling stung, even though it’s good that at least one of them is being smart about it. Even if that person is Derek.
“Hey,” Derek says, “Andy,” gentle, like he’s going to spook him, and Andy bites his lip. “Andy,” he says again, and Andy looks over, freezes when Derek reaches up, puts his thumb on Andy’s bottom lip, and Andy’s lips part, instinctive. “S’bad habit,” Derek says, husky, and Andy swallows.
“Don’t run away tomorrow,” Derek says, and Andy furrows his brow, because there’s nowhere for him to go, but then Derek’s dropping his hand and leaning in, mouth against Andy’s, tasting sharp like vodka, same as Andy does, probably, and Andy can’t help but make a noise, his eyes falling shut, reaching out to clutch the back of Derek’s neck, tangle his fingers in the thin gold chain that always makes his skin look even more tan, golden. “Promise,” he mumbles, half into Andy’s mouth, and it takes a second for Andy to even remember what he’s supposed to be promising.
“Okay,” Andy says, pulling back, his eyes opening to see Derek’s, almost black in the dark.
“Promise,” Derek says.
“Promise,” Andy agrees, and Derek groans and leans in to kiss him again.