Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories:

F/F, F/M, M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Hayden Pike/Jackie Pike, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander & Jackie Pike, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike & Ilya Rozanov, Jackie Pike & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike's Children, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Original Characters

Additional Tags:

Trans Female Character, Trans Hayden Pike, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Homophobic Language, Internalized Misogyny, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, Good Friend Ilya Rozanov, Good Friend Shane Hollander, POV Hayden Pike, POV Jackie Pike, POV Ilya Rozanov, Coming Out, Misgendering, Queer Themes, Non-Linear Narrative, Mormonism, Hayden Pike Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Panic Attacks, Dissociation

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of The recognition so richly deserved

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-11 Completed: 2026-08-24 Words: 65,417 Chapters: 13/13

Hyaline (see-through)

Summary

Click.
“Is she with you?”

Notes

HELLOOOOOOOOO!
We are back with a much longer and more involved fic! It is going to diverge much more from canon plot-wise, but with wonderful, delicious themes for you to gnaw on.
Because this is non-linear, we will be switching pronouns depending on the context, so be aware!

Chapter 1: Meetings

[July 2007]

Hayden Pike is on top of the world. The most beautiful woman in the world is interested in him, and she’s LDS. She’s perfect.

They didn’t even meet at church, because Hayden still thinks the no-booze strict-dress-code young adult mixers that the churches put on are baloney, just like he had back home in Arizona. But holy mother of holy god did he take back every stupid thing he’s said in the locker rooms about LDS women. 

Jacqueline Connors is funny, beautiful, not too crazy gung-ho Mormon—a girl his parents, actually pretty ambiguous about most of Mormonism, would certainly be impressed by. Jackie speaks French but doesn’t really consider herself Québécoise because she grew up in Alberta, only having moved here with her parents when she was 12. Hayden learned Spanish in high school, and now that he’s drafted to a francophone team, his very first friend could teach him French!

It kind of feels like fate. He’s been here for a month and he hasn’t really talked to any girls—he’d been introduced to most of the WAGs at a summer party, but they didn’t really count. He’d been sure that between billeting with Carleton and how intense pro hockey already seems that he’d never meet anyone. And now he’s scored several dates with Jackie before preseason starts.

No offense to Carleton, honestly. The guy’d opened his home to a dumb rookie before Hayden was even sure he’d be sticking around instead of getting punted to the minors, which was a huge confidence boost. But bringing a date back to your coworker/mentor’s house that you live in is barely a step below bringing them to your parents’ house. He’s glad Jackie moved in to her dorm so early, even if all they had done was stay up talking the first couple times he’d fallen asleep in there. He’d had to scramble to get out before curfew.

One time, Jackie had fallen asleep early and he’d had to sneak past the RAs on his own, not having the heart to wake her up. He’d left a note, wishing he could stay and cursing early-morning practices.

Jackie’s wicked smart, having just finished her two-year college program—CEGEP, he thinks it’s called?—and entering university for a three year program in international studies and French in the fall. Hayden’s pretty sure, at least. The Quebec education system still confuses him, but considering that a) he didn’t go to either US or Canadian college, and b) he’s gonna get paid to take knocks to the head, he figures that it’s not too surprising that he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t need to in order to know how cool Jackie is.

She has siblings, which is good; Hayden can’t date an only child. She’s almost a year older than him, and his teammates keep teasing him, calling her a cougar and a cradle-robber. He’s not sure how he feels about that, but they’re just messing with him. He can handle a little razzing from his teammates. He doesn’t tell Jackie. He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, or have her think he can’t defend her.

Their birthdays are only a couple days apart, though—his is December 28th and hers is January 3rd—which he privately thinks is kinda cute. Maybe—hopefully—if they’re still together by then, they can celebrate together. 

He’s pretty sure they will be. Their first date had been like, five hours long. He’d invited her on a hike, but it had ended up being more of a glorified hill and they’d finished the trail in under an hour. But they’d lingered at the trailhead, and then again at her car, and then again outside of Carleton’s house where Jackie had, ostensibly, been dropping him off. She’d then casually mentioned a farmer’s market downtown she’d been wanting to check out. Hayden had asked if she wanted company, also oh-so-casual. They’d ended up walking all over downtown, Jackie giving him an impromptu tour of his new home city. They’d returned to the farmers’ market hungry and satisfyingly tired, and had whiled away at least another hour eating dinner from a Thai food truck, since neither of them had ever tried Thai food before. 

Hayden’s not sure the conversation died once. Jackie’s just—easy to talk to. He doesn’t think he ever wants to stop.

------

[June 2018]

Click.

“Is she with you?” Jackie’s voice is frantic, and Shane doesn’t miss the pronoun.

He looks at Hayden through the open door to his guest room, where he’d retreated to take Jackie’s call. She’s on the couch, leaning forward with her hands clasped and elbows resting on her knees, staring emptily at the ground in front of her. He keeps his voice level. “Yeah, she’s here.”

“Can I—can I talk to her?”

When Shane’s phone had lit up with Jackie’s name, Shane had expected Hayden to flinch. To start hyperventilating again. Instead, she’d just reached for the phone with a scarily vacant expression, her hand moving like it was independent of her brain. Shane had caught her wrist right as she grabbed the phone and asked if Hayden wanted him to talk to Jackie first and report back. Hayden hadn’t nodded, or acknowledged that Shane spoke at all beyond releasing her grip on the phone. It’d scared the shit out of him, to the point where he’d needed to keep a sightline even as he retreated out of earshot.

To Jackie, he says, “Why don’t you talk to me first, for a bit? I think it might be smart to plan what you’re going to say so you don’t hurt Hayden.”

“That’s not fair, Shane, he’s my husband—shit.”

“Yeah.” He looks down, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How are you acting like this is so easy?”

Jackie sounds a little accusatory, but Shane tries to give the question its due. “I mean, she’s not my partner, Jackie. I have some distance. I think it’s fair that it’s hard for you, you just can’t put that on her.” 

“So you’re saying you would have struggled more if Lily, whoever he is, came out as a woman?” This question comes out a little softer. Jackie sounds both pleading and defensive, as if she wants Shane to reassure her but doesn’t want to need the reassurance.

“I might have. But I wouldn’t have wanted to hurt him, so I would’ve relied on my friends and family to help me balance those.” Shane bites his lip, taking a bit of a gamble with the nudge. 

“Dammit, Shane.” It comes out on an exhale, the rest of the tension seemingly leaving Jackie.

“Swear jar,” Shane ribs gently. Jackie lets out a soft huff of laughter.

“I was just surprised, Shane. I love Hay—her. I promise I’ll learn and I’ll get it right, I just have to see her and say I’m sorry. And the kids are still at my parents. We can talk, we can figure this out.”

Shane looks up at a knock on the door frame. Hayden’s standing there, looking a little better. “You were smiling,” she says. “Figured it couldn’t be too bad.”

He nods. Into the phone, he says, “Here she is, Jackie.” 

Hayden takes the phone and says, “Hey, Jacks.” Shane can hear Jackie’s muffled voice saying hey, sweetheart over the line. They both sound choked up. Shane takes this as his cue to leave and gives Hayden one last look, trying to pour all of the reassurance and care and confidence into it that he can. She returns it, looking steadier than she has all night, and Shane pulls the door closed gently behind him. 

------

“I don’t really know what to say,” Jackie admits. She hears Hayden let out a wet chuckle over the line.

“Me neither,” she says. “I didn’t exactly mean for it to come out like that. I didn’t want to blindside you.”

Jackie speaks carefully, keeping Shane’s words in mind. “I think it would’ve caught me by surprise no matter what, honestly.”

Hayden sounds rueful. “Yeah.” 

The pause is heavy. She hears Hayden shift, clear her throat a little. “Are the kids settled?”

“They’re still at my parents,” she tells her. “I didn’t want them to think something was wrong. And I—I didn’t know what to say to them.” She shifts, hoping that doesn’t land wrong.

“Nothing,” Hayden says immediately. “This is really big.” There’s a rustling, and Jackie can picture her running a hand through her hair like she always does. “Fuck, Jacks, we’re struggling with this. I’m not gonna put that on them.”

All at once, Jackie feels her heart crack open, releasing the flood of emotions that’s been building, banked, since she got up from the dinner table. She feels—she takes a moment to sort everything out. There’s relief at Hayden’s use of we, and her mind, a little shamefully, eases at the fact that Hayden doesn’t know what to say to the kids either. There’s still some confusion about what’s actually going on, and fear about what the future is gonna look like now.  

There’s a lot of guilt. Hayden has been struggling, she’s known that Hayden was struggling, and she’d let them both down in a critical moment. God. Jackie leans forward and rests her head on the steering wheel, rubbing a hand over her pregnant belly. She’d done a couple laps around the neighborhood, realized she was stalling because she didn’t want to leave, and had come back to a clean kitchen and the note on the kitchen table. She’d rushed back out the door but had called Shane from the driveway, having been suddenly struck by the fear that Hayden wouldn’t want to see her. 

The wave of emotions swirls around her, and she can feel a couple tears drop off her face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Hayden sounds wary. “For what?”

“For letting you down,” she says honestly. She hears Hayden inhale a little. “You were struggling and I wasn’t there for you.  Not in the way you needed.”

“Jacks…” Hayden trails off. “Fuck.” Her voice breaks in the middle of the word. Jackie hears her take a deep breath and let it out, only a little shaky. “I thought you were gonna say you couldn’t do this.”

Jackie wants to be shocked, wants to deny it vehemently. Instead, she says, quietly, “I want to try.”

“Me, too.” Hayden sounds relieved, hopeful in a way she hasn’t in some time. Jackie feels like shit all over again. Hayden continues, hesitant. “Should I—do you want me to—”

“Please come home.” She knows, at the end of the day, that she just wants her—spouse. Wife? She wants her spouse falling asleep next to her. Wife sounds a little weird, but she thinks it might grow on her.

------

Shane looks up when Hayden walks back in to the living room. He’d grabbed a book to try and keep himself from hearing any of their conversation, but he’s mostly been staring blankly at the page. Hayden walks towards him purposefully, and he stands up just in time for her to pull him into a fierce, tight hug. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, squeezing him tighter before she lets him go. Her eyes are dry but red. She hands him his phone, and he blinks when he sees the call still running. 

“She wanted to talk to you again,” Hayden explains. “I’m gonna grab my stuff and get out of here, though. Sleep in my own bed.” 

Shane catches her shoulder and drags her into another hug. “Proud of you,” he says roughly. Hayden smiles, grabbing her bag and making her way out the door. Shane raises the phone to his ear. “Hey, Jackie. What’s up?”

“I asked her if she was in love with you before she told me, you know.” Jackie sounds wry.

“What?” Shane blinks.

She sighs. “She was having a hard time getting it out. I was trying to lighten the mood, you know? Worked a little too well, I think I shocked her into blurting it out.”

“I—huh.” Shane absolutely cannot process this right now. 

Jackie’s voice grows a little frantic, like she’s trying to keep up the levity but her grip is slipping. “Hayd—she said she laughed because she wondered that too, because she always got jealous of you and Lily, and so me putting my foot in my mouth and asking the same thing just made it slip right out. Pretty—pretty funny.” Shane can hear her breath quicken. Shit.

This, at least, he knows how to respond to. “Breathe, Jackie. You’re okay.” He inhales exaggeratedly, not missing the fact that he’s now done this for both of them the way they’ve always done it for him. 

Jackie’s breathing slows, hitching softly. “Thank you.” She sounds much more choked up than Hayden had looked when leaving. 

“Of course. Hey, what’s up? That sounded like it went okay.”

“I—” she breaks off. “Can I even fix this, Shane?”

This pulls him up short a little. His mouth moves before he fully catches up. “If you look at it like a problem to be fixed, then no.”

Jackie inhales sharply at that. 

Shane bites his lip. “I just mean—”

“No, you’re right,” Jackie says, cutting him off. “Fuck. She’s my partner. Whatever we do, we do it together.” She sounds resolved.

Shane smiles. “Then you’ll both be just fine.”

------

[September 2007]

Jackie can’t quite believe they just did that. Lying next to her on his narrowish queen, Hayden pants softly. She feels a small burst of pride at that, at the fact that she made a pro athlete lose his breath. 

Hayden shifts, propping himself up to look at her. “Should I—did you—” he blushes, and Jackie bites her lip against the desire that rushes through her. “Was that good? Do you want…more?”

Jackie considers herself. It hadn’t felt quite like the rare, stifled times she’s done this to herself, but she’s pretty sure she—orgasmed. Came. Whatever. She knows Hayden had, shifting pleasantly at the sticky feeling between her legs. She smiles up at him. “It was good.”

Hayden beams back. “Yeah? For me, too.”

It sends another rush through her. She tugs him down on top of her, yanking a bit harder when he resists.

“I don’t want to crush you,” he protests, laughing slightly. She just fixes him with a deadpan look and tugs again, grinning smugly when he relents and blankets her body. They’re both a little sweaty, which isn’t gonna feel great when they separate, but for now, it feels amazing.

She still feels a little shock that they’d—done that. Had sex. She hadn’t arrived at Hayden’s billet house intending to take advantage of it being empty, Hayden’s teammate and his wife on a weekend away. She really had just come over to make the best of her copy of the new NHL 08 combined with his blanket permission on the use of Carleton’s PS3. 

(She’s grateful that her oldest sister Lizzi had bought it for her on its release day, only at the game store to get a birthday gift for her husband but thinking of Jackie and braving the line anyways. She’s not sure Lizzi understands that Jackie can’t just stick the disc in her laptop like a movie, though.

On the other hand, coming over to Hayden’s had been a really good idea. She should send Lizzi a card.)

Hayden had just looked so—alive while they were playing. She’d gone pretty easy the first two rounds, not wanting to run the risk that beating him would make things awkward. He’d picked up on it halfway through the second and had restarted the game, saying he wanted to see what she can really do. She’d obliged, and had obliterated him thoroughly for the next two games. 

The last, she’d lost again because she couldn’t take her eyes off the look on Hayden’s face. His eyes were alight with competition, his tongue poking out between his lips. He looked so excited, like he didn’t want to be anywhere but here getting his ass kicked at ‘Chel.

Now that she thinks about it, she’s actually not sure whether she lost or not, because she’d knocked both of their controllers aside to climb into Hayden’s lap instead. Probably they both forfeit. Hayden had looked up at her in such shock and awe before getting with the program and wrapping his arms around her to kiss her deeply. They’d stumbled down the stairs to his little basement mother-in-law suite, the TV still playing the pause music softly. 

She shifts, the various fluids drying on her skin starting to get uncomfortable. Hayden pushes up immediately, and holds a hand out to pull her to her feet. He leads her to the bathroom, and her knees actually go a little wobbly when she sees her preferred shampoo and conditioner in his shower. He must have snuck a look at her portable shower caddy the last time they were in her dorm. 

She still feels a little disbelief at how easily they’d thrown away the customs they were used to. She thinks, in the most private corner of her mind, that if this is what it gets her, she’ll throw them all out. She wants to discover how happy the two of them can get.

------

[July 2018]

They’ve never really made a big deal of their anniversary—had forgotten it completely the first year, making it up by celebrating on April 9th instead of March 9th. Then they’d forgotten it again when the Metros made the playoffs the next year, March through June a whirlwind of exhilarated chaos. They’d agreed to celebrate on July 9th—well into the offseason and also the month they’d met—if the Metros make the playoffs and April 9th if they don’t. Hayden knows she and Jackie had both felt quiet relief at being able to separate their anniversary a little from the clusterfuck that was their wedding.

Since Shane joined, and the Metros started making the playoffs more often than not, July 9th has become their de facto anniversary. Hayden loves it, usually goes all out with no hockey to get in their way. The day she’d met Jackie was the happiest day of her life; the births of their kids tied for a close second. Their wedding is probably somewhere in the top ten, still, but she can’t be bothered to figure out whether or not it beats winning the Stanley Cup. Both times. Anyways, she usually tries to incorporate an element from one of their first dates every year, giddy over the markers of how much they’ve grown together since that first whirlwind summer. 

This year is their 10th anniversary. And she and Jackie are curled up on the couch eating takeout, watching When Harry Met Sally in the middle of summer, the kids asleep upstairs. 

She hadn’t been able to hide her relief when Jackie has asked if they could do something low-key this year. It’s only been a week since she had come out to Jackie, and putting on a suit and having a night on the town as husband-and-wife sounds exhausting in a way it never had before. 

Thai food and their shared favorite rom-com has been much more enjoyable. 

Hayden’s curled into Jackie with her head on Jackie’s collarbone, one arm supporting Jackie’s lower back and the other resting casually on Jackie’s baby bump. Jackie’s arm is around Hayden’s shoulders with her hand on Hayden’s bicep, keeping her tucked in close. 

They’ve been in this position before, but it’s usually the other way around and it feels—different, this time. Hayden feels held, and…and delicate, almost. It’s strange. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt delicate in her life. She wonders if this is why women like being held like this, because right now it feels like Jackie could and would fight off the entire world while still holding her with the other. 

Shit, women who like being held like this includes her now. It’s a bit of a trip.

She shifts against a pulse of nerves that Jackie doesn’t like this position, is merely tolerating it for Hayden’s sake.

“Comfy?” Jackie whispers. 

“I really like this position,” Hayden confesses. “Are you comfy? We can move.”

Jackie instantly pulls her in tighter with the hand on her arm. “No, stay.”

Hayden looks up at her, a little surprised at the force. Jackie’s cheeks pink and she looks away.

“You’re cute like this,” she tells the wall. She looks back down at Hayden. “I haven’t seen you this blissed out in forever. You keep…” she trails off, looking flushed again.

Hayden furrows her brows. Had she been doing something? “What?”

“You’re like—don’t get embarrassed—making these little noises? You sound super content, almost like a purring cat.” She brushes a finger under Hayden’s chin. “Like I said, cute.”

Hayden looks at her, dumbstruck. She’d had no idea she was making noise at all. She can’t remember the last time she was so unaware of her own body. Certainly not since she joined the league. Maybe not since before she started hockey at all.

She’d always chalked it up to the whole athlete of it all. Of course she’s aware of her body, she’s honed that awareness, cultivated it to keep herself in top form. It’s a sign of skill. Of peak performance. 

The idea that her awareness of her body has shifted with her awareness of her gender is a little terrifying. 

Hayden hasn’t spoken in too long, and Jackie looks a little worried. She bites her lip. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Hayd. I’m sorry.”

Hayden shakes her head, opening her mouth to say she hadn’t been uncomfortable. She reconsiders. “Wasn’t your fault. Freaked myself out a little.”

Jackie’s eyes are soft. “Wanna talk about it?” 

Hayden shrugs, settling back into position. “The gender stuff is…hard to put into words sometimes. Not right now, but maybe eventually?” She cranes her neck to look at Jackie. “But thank you.”

Jackie kisses her forehead in understanding, and when Hayden looks back at the screen, starts running her fingers through where Hayden’s impulsive fade has mostly grown back out to her normal length. It’s nice. Hayden lets it feel nice.

------

[October 2007]

Hayden bursts out of the doors to the staff parking lot, feeling electric. They’d won. They’d won. His first win as a pro hockey player, and it was the first home game of the regular season. He feels like he could fly. 

His pace quickens when he sees Jackie at the curb leaning against her car, and he drops his bag to spin her, grinning uncontrollably as she shrieks with laughter and grabs his shoulders. He puts her down and pulls her into a quick kiss, mindful of the fact that he’d only quickly rinsed off.

Jackie pulls back to look at him. “You’re sweaty,” she tells him seriously. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a deeper kiss, making his brain white out. 

He blames that for what comes out of his mouth next. “Marry me,” he mumbles against her mouth.

“Yes,” Jackie says, just as muffled.

There’s a pause. They both pull back, and Hayden’s relieved to see that Jackie looks as sheepish as he feels.

“I mean—” he starts.

“It’s okay if—” Jackie says at the same time. They both pause again, waiting for the other to speak, then break down into giggles. Jackie thunks her head on his shoulder. “You first,” she says into his shirt.

Hayden inhales deeply. “I mean it,” he says against her hair. He feels her breath catch. “I didn’t exactly mean to do it like this, but I’ve got a ring at home.”

Jackie looks up at that, mouth parted. They’re almost the same height, which makes him kinda glad that she doesn’t seem to like heels very much, but it does mean that they’re nearly eye-to-eye. This close, it makes his stomach swoop. 

“You do?” Jackie asks, breathless.

He nods. “I do.”

She flushes at the same time he does, both of them hearing the secondary meaning. He looks away, biting his lip. “It’s okay if it’s too soon—”

Jackie catches his face, guiding him to look back at her. “I meant it, too. Yes, Hayd. Let’s get married.”

Hayden, horrifyingly, feels his eyes start to well up. He takes his turn burying his head in Jackie’s shoulder. “Fuck, don’t tell the guys I cried during this part,” he chokes out, almost certainly getting her shirt damp.

Jackie lets out a bright peal of laughter, running a hand over the back of his head. “I won’t tell your parents you’ve picked up a swearing habit, either.”

Hayden’s head shoots up in dismay. “Oh fuck me, I haven’t introduced you to my parents.”

Jackie throws her head back and cackles.

Chapter 2: about-face

Chapter Summary

"Not a real garden.” Ruby rolls her eyes. “The magic garden."

Chapter Notes

[September 2018]

Hayden is going to lose her mind. The rain is a torrent outside, and the kids have been climbing the walls all day. She’s about to join them, honestly—she’s never liked being cooped up either, and she’s running out of ways to keep them entertained and out of Jackie’s hair. Her methods for developmentally appropriate activities and teaching through play and whatever else the parenting books say have always tended towards physical activity or edu-taining outings, neither of which are currently doable. Jackie’s always had more of a knack for playing pretend or coming up with something that isn’t letting them space out in front of the TV.

Jackie’s also propped up on the living room couch with no sleep and a splitting headache to show for it, so Hayden’s not about to interrupt whatever dozing she can manage now. She’d insisted on leaving their bed, which Hayden can’t necessarily blame her for, but she’d only made it to the couch before going pale and sitting down heavily. Sevenish months pregnant is no joke.

Hayden had felt a pang of frustrated longing go through her as she brought Jackie water and Tylenol and some light food, turning the lights down and making sure all the pillows are configured the way they’ve found is most comfortable. She wishes she could take some of this burden from Jackie. She, maybe just a little, wishes she could’ve carried a couple of their kids. Split the work between them, both contribute to every part of making their life together. The thought scares her as much as it captivates her.

She settles for this, for taking care of Jackie however she can. It’s a good alternative. It gets her a sleepy smile and a thank you, sweetheart or you’re the best, honey whenever she creeps upstairs from where she’s mostly contained the kids to the basement and checks on Jackie, which never fails to send a flutter through Hayden. The pet names are new, and she’s been trying not to let Jackie know just how stupid Hayden goes for them. She’s pretty sure she isn’t succeeding. 

She’s startled out of her reverie by Ruby flopping down over her lap in a whoosh of little blonde menace and the sudden weight of Jade leaning on her back. Jasper sprawls himself against Ruby’s legs and all three of them let out such identical sighs that Hayden has to stifle a laugh. 

“Dad, I’m bored,” Ruby informs her. She swallows down the complicated feelings that always rise now at the word Dad. Ruby continues, “we’ve already done everything in the house.” She draws the last word out into a whine.

She feels Jade perk up from where she’s draped over Hayden’s back, red hair bobbing in the corner of Hayden’s vision. She drums her hands on Hayden’s shoulder excitedly, and if Hayden didn’t kind of get beat up for a living, she’d wince hard. These kids do not know how to do things gently.

“Let’s play the switch game with Dad!” Jade says excitedly. Ruby and Jasper both perk up as well, nodding enthusiastically.

The switch game? Did they get their hands on a Nintendo without Hayden—or Jackie, presumably—noticing? She’s gonna have words with Jackie’s parents. 

“The switch game?” she questions, keeping her tone light.

Ruby and Jade both start to explain at once, tripping over each other in a way they seem to think is an easily followed conversation.

“We wanted to play outside—”

“But you were at work and—”

“And Mama’s pregnant so you said—”

“You told us to be gentle so we didn’t wanna play sewer ball—” 

“And Jasper was soooo scared—”

“Was not!” Jasper interjects.

“Yes you were! So Mama was like what if I’m not Mommy? And—”

“And we were like huh??? but she said I’m actually DADDY!”

“And, and, and she started roaring and chasing us like you do for keepaway! So we could play outside but also Mama was okay because she was Daddy and we kept the ball away from her!”

Ruby nods her agreement so enthusiastically that Hayden’s worried she’s gonna give herself a concussion. Hayden’s not too sure she doesn’t have a concussion herself right now, because she can’t follow the twins’ explanation at all.

“So…” she starts. “You called Mama—Dad? Or Daddy?”

All three kids nod.

“And if I play, I would be—you want me to—you would call me…” she doesn’t think she can say it out loud.

“Mommy is Daddy,” Jasper says. He looks up at her. Carbon copy of Jackie, this kid, with his fluffy brown hair and big brown eyes, and just like with Jackie, Hayden can feel her resolve starting to crumble at the sight. “Daddy is Mommy.”

Ruby gives a thumbs up, and Jade bonks her head against Hayden’s. Again, hard. Ow, kid.

She shifts. Tries one last time. “I don’t know, guys…”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Ruby and Jasper immediately turn the puppy eyes on full-force, and Jade, because Hayden and Jackie are raising evil masterminds, gives her a hug and whispers, “I love you, Dad. Please?”

Fuck. Right for the heart, these little shits. She sighs. “Okay, let’s play the switch game.” The kids cheer, and she raises her hands to cut them off. “But, you have to show me how, okay? I don’t know how to be a good—a good mama.” To her relief, none of the kids seem to notice how her voice breaks.

To Hayden’s surprise, it’s Jasper that tugs her up first, chattering a mile a minute. “Mama, we check on the garden, okay?”

“What garden, buddy? It’s raining out.” She’s already lost. And sure enough, mama sends her head reeling.

“Not a real garden.” Ruby rolls her eyes. “The magic garden.”

Oh, the magic garden. “Oh, the magic garden,” she says like she had just forgotten. “Lead the way, Jasper!”

He leads her to the closed second spare bedroom that they never use and stops, looking up at her expectantly. She falters again. “Um—”

“Mama’s gotta listen to the door!” Jade says, leading. “What’s the password today?”

Hayden obediently leans into the door. She takes a deep breath. She can do this. “The password is…” she draws the words out like she’s heard Jackie do before, and all the kids lean in, entranced. She pauses, trying desperately to think of something. Ruby bounces on her feet a little. 

Ooh, she’s got it. She hopes this works. “Everyone teaches Mama—” she points to herself and winks. “Their secret handshake with Dad.”

Jade and Ruby giggle at the joke. Jasper looks confused. “But—”

Jade elbows him, and his eyes light up. “Ohhh. Me first!”

Hayden sits down in front of the door, and goes through each kid trying to teach her a handshake she, luckily, already knows. When they finish, she stands up and opens the door with a flourish, putting on an officious voice. “Welcome, children—” she sweeps a hand out and bows. “To the magic garden!”

The kids barrel past her, and she follows them, taking in the room that she’s not sure she’s needed to look at since they bought the house.

Both the bedspread and wallpaper are floral, a little outdated but not too grandmotherly. Oh, magic garden, Hayden gets it now. There are drawings plastered all over, mostly of more flowers and various cute animals, as well as a couple that are a little too avant-crayon for Hayden to make out. In the corner, somewhat terrifyingly, is a cavelike structure made out of spare blankets and labeled WITCH’S CORNER in Jackie’s handwriting. It’s tall enough for an adult to sit in comfortably. 

Ruby and Jade drag her over and push her until she sits under the blanket. All three kids look at her expectantly.

“You haveta give us our quests,” Jasper informs her.

Hayden has to give them quests? “Why is there a witch in the garden?” she asks. “Isn’t that scary?”

“She’s a good witch, Mama.” Jade rolls her eyes.

“There has to be a witch in a magic garden,” Ruby adds. “That’s why it’s magic!”

Oh, right. 

“Oh, right.” Hayden draws herself up, trying to give witch. It’s kind of fun. “The good witch of the magic garden declares that your first quest is to sneak past the dragon guarding the living room and kiss Ma—uh, Dad on the forehead. If Dad wakes up, then the dragon gets you!”

Jasper and Jade nod seriously. Ruby furrows her brows. “What if Dad’s already awake?”

Fuck, that’s pretty likely, actually. “Then…give Dad this secret message and the dragon will know not to eat you.” Hayden beckons each kid forward and whispers I love you in their ears. They stand up, looking as if they’ve been tasked to find the Holy Grail. She puts on her witch voice again. “Go forth, my knights of the magic garden, and fulfill this quest!”

They scramble over each other to the stairs. Hayden winces. “Carefully! Go forth carefully!”

Jade’s offhanded thumbs up disappears up the steps behind her, the other two already out of sight.

------

Hayden jolts from where she must’ve dozed off—she can’t sleep if Jackie can’t sleep—to the kids bursting through the half-open door. That had taken longer than she’d thought, but when she checks her watch, it’s only been about fifteen minutes. Still, they must’ve actually done some sneaking. Thank god. She’d taken a big gamble on not disturbing Jackie too much.

“O Good Witch of the Magic Garden, we have completed your quest,” Ruby says imperiously.

“We gave Dad the message!” Jade adds. “And we got one to bring back to you!”

Hayden smiles. “Tell me, my knights.”

Jasper steps forward. “Dad says, ‘tell Mama I love her too.’”

Oh fuck, Hayden’s going to cry. Or throw up. Maybe both. She blinks several times rapidly, trying to hold it together.

The kids look at her expectantly. She swallows, pulls herself together enough to say, “Well done! The quest has been completed!” In a bit of inspiration she adds, “The garden bursts to life around you! Every flower is ten times bigger because of the love magic you guys brought!”

The kids cheer and dance around the room, oohing and aahing at the imaginary flowers.

Jade turns to her beseechingly. “Can our next quest be painting your nails, Mama?”

Oh, god. Maybe when she won’t get snot or vomit all over the manicure, kid.

“Dad’s gotta stop playing the switch game and go make dinner, okay? I can grab the nail polish down for you guys, though.” She smiles thinly.

The twins boo and Jasper pouts. Damn, it’s a good thing the CIA—over a decade in Canada and she can still never remember the equivalent—doesn’t recruit kids, because these three could break the toughest mafia don with a look.

“Next time,” she promises to cheers. She’s even pretty sure she means it. 

------

[October 2007]

Hayden flops down on his bed with a sigh. It’s been a grueling road trip through the southwestern US, with the one highlight of Jackie flying down for their game against Arizona to meet his parents for dinner before they flew home early the next morning. He’d hoped to introduce at least a couple of his siblings as well, but Reese and Alicia had been on an overnight school trip and Danny wouldn’t have had time to drive up after work. He’s got plans to introduce her to Chip the next time they’re in New York. 

It’d gone well. Really well. His parents had been super nice to Jackie, and they hadn’t questioned whether he was sure or judged the short timeline. He’s glad they hadn’t thought he got Jackie pregnant or anything.

Jackie sits gingerly on the edge of the bed and bites her lip. He sits up a little, suddenly nervous that she’d had a terrible time and wants to reconsider.

She seems to steel herself. “So, I missed my period,” she says matter-of-factly.

He blinks. “Okay…?” He sends mental thanks to Reese and Alicia’s frankness growing up for keeping him from reacting in disgust like he’s seen some guys do, but he’s lost on why Jackie would be telling him.

Jackie shifts, looking apprehensive again. “I didn’t want to bring it up at your parents’ house, so I, uh, I grabbed a test from the airport convenience store and took it when I said I was gonna walk around.” She leans down and grabs a small resealable bag from her carry-on. 

In it is a pregnancy test with a small pink plus sign.

Hayden sits up straight in a rush. “But we always use—oh fuck, not the first time.”

“Not the first time,” Jackie agrees. She gives a small, self-deprecating smile. “Sorry I jumped you.”

“If you hadn’t, I would’ve,” Hayden says absently. It’s not the part he should be responding to, but he can’t quite believe what’s happening right now. “Fuck. What do we do?”

He pauses. “What do you want to do?” There. He remembers his Feminism 101, even if he desperately wants—

“We can end it,” Jackie whispers. She looks queasy at the thought. “Your career—”

“Fuck my career,” Hayden says immediately. “I’ll retire right now.” He hopes it doesn’t come to that, but it sounds like there’s a chance that Jackie wants to keep it and he needs her to know he’s serious. That he can make the hard choices.

Jackie laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s the thing, Hayden. I’m gonna have to drop out.”

“What?” Hayden can’t believe his ears. Jackie’s too smart to drop out. “No, we can—there’s gotta be childcare or something—I can support us!”

Jackie lifts one shoulder and lets it drop. “My parents are paying for my degree,” she says sadly. “But they stop if I get married or knocked up. If I get married, then they use the money towards my wedding and a trust fund. If I get knocked up, I never see another cent.”

Her eyes well up, and she looks at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. “Neither of my sisters have a university degree. Lizzi tried, but she didn’t make it past the first year before she got engaged, and Tori barely even bothered with CEGEP. Michael’s the only one of the four of us who got the full degree, and he didn’t even have to make the stupid deal.” She takes a deep breath, and Hayden’s heart cracks with how it shakes. “You’ve got money, but you can’t afford a newborn and a degree, Hayden. Especially not now that they’re lifting the tuition freeze.” 

Hayden’s heart sinks. “Do you want to end it? I’ll pay for it. Your parents don’t have to know.” He swallows at the wave of grief this sends through him. They’ll have other chances.

Jackie looks at him, and a tear finally makes its way down her face. “No,” she whispers. “I want to keep it.”

Then she breaks down sobbing and all Hayden can do is hold her tight.

------

Jackie stays over, an increasingly frequent occurrence now that he’s less scared of Carleton. Even if he weren’t, he’d risk it now.

He’s glad she stayed, because she seems much refreshed in the morning. She’s sitting up next to him in bed, sipping a mug of coffee from his little kitchenette and tapping away at her laptop. His mouth waters, and he’s not sure if it’s for his fiancee or the coffee.

“So, I emailed my advisor,” Jackie says without preamble. She looks over at him. “She said that if I can make the spring semester work, I already have most of the requirements for a DEP in administrative sciences. I lucked out by picking a school where I can transfer those credits.” 

Hayden sits up and grins. “That’s great!” His brows furrow. “What’s a DEP in administrative sciences?”

Jackie snickers at him, but explains. “A DEC is academic and a DEP is vocational. It’s usually shorter and more career-focused than a DEC. Means I could be a secretary, basically. After—after the baby’s old enough to start school.” She shrugs lightly, but he can see the grief lingering in the motion. “It’s not the same, but it’ll keep a lot more options open than if I fully drop out.” 

She looks away, her breath shaking minutely. Hayden leans in immediately, pulling her down to rest against his chest. He presses a kiss into her hair and, taking a chance, lays a hand lightly on her stomach. 

It works, Jackie relaxing into him. She folds her hands over his and presses them tightly to her belly. Hayden imagines that he can feel the baby in there, and surprises himself by tearing up slightly at the thought.

Jackie continues, “I already wasn’t planning on telling my parents we’re engaged until after the new semester had started, so that shouldn’t be too much of an issue. It’ll be a little harder to hide a pregnancy, but if my brother can sneak girlfriends and weed in while he’s under their roof, then I think I can hide a baby bump.”

A thought strikes Hayden. “They’re gonna think I proposed because you’re pregnant.”

Jackie shrugs, shoulder digging into his sternum. “No way around that. I am pregnant.”

When Hayden doesn’t reply, she looks up, concerned. “Hayd, you okay?”

“I don’t want—” Hayden clears his throat, struggling to get the words out around the lump that’s developed. “I didn’t want to be that guy. Dumbass rookie who knocked up his first real girlfriend and has to have a shotgun wedding.”

Jackie pulls back, hurt evident in her eyes. 

“Fuck, that came out wrong,” he says in a rush. “I’m sorry. I don’t think that about us.”

He runs a hand through his hair, casting for the words to explain himself. “People are gonna see me that way, though. The guys will. Your parents will. Probably most people will, and I hate it because it isn’t true.”

He thinks, and says slowly, “The guy they have in their heads, whether they love him or hate him, he’s not me. And I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.”

“Fuck them,” Jackie says easily. “They’re not in your head and they’re not in our relationship.”

Hayden gasps. “You said a naughty word.”

“Alright,” Jackie says, rolling her eyes. She puts her laptop next to her mug on the tray table that is his nightstand and without warning, whips around to tackle him down on the bed. His hands come up instinctively and he pulls her in, laughing.

She grins at him, eyes twinkling. “Let’s see if we can give the baby a twin, huh?”

Hayden’s already rolling them over.

------

[November 2007]

“Twins?!”

Jackie hears Hayden’s voice ring out in unison with hers. The ultrasound tech looks like she’s trying to suppress a smile but her voice is professional when she speaks.

“Yes, you can see Baby A here,” she points to a blob on the screen, then moves to point at an indistinguishable blob above it. “That’s Baby B.”

“Oh my god,” Hayden says faintly.

“But I’m like, not showing at all,” Jackie protests. 

The tech nods. “This is your first pregnancy, correct?” 

“Mhm,” Jackie confirms. She furrows her brows. “Does that change something?”

“Yes, actually!” The tech smiles. “Most women don’t show as much or as soon on their first pregnancy because the muscles and tissue have never been stretched like this before. It’s like how doing yoga makes you more flexible, you muscles are like oh, we’ve done this before, we know how. Plus, even with twins, second trimester is when women really start looking noticeably pregnant.”

Jackie sighs. “Something to look forward to, I guess.”

Hayden bumps his shoulder against hers. When she looks at him, his eyes are worried but comforting, and he squeezes her hand.

The tech, not understanding the source of her discomfort, also tries to reassure her. “Don’t worry hon, the pregnancy glow is not a myth. You’re gonna look gorgeous the entire time.”

Jackie rolls her shoulders back and smiles thinly. “Thanks.”

The tech pats her on the shoulder and stands up. “Okay, because this is a multiple pregnancy, I’m gonna get Dr. Nguyen in here to take a look, answer any questions you guys have. Sound alright?”

Jackie nods mutely. Hayden looks at her and then back at the tech, smiling. “Sounds great. Thanks, Jen.”

Oh, good job, Hayden. Jackie had absolutely not remembered the poor woman’s name. 

Hayden bumps her shoulder again as Jen leaves. “Hey, you okay?”

She leans forward, propping her forehead on their joined hands. “There’s no way I’m gonna be able to hide it if I’m pregnant with twins.”

Hayden leans into her, resting his chin on her hair. Jackie waits for him to repeat what Jen had said about first pregnancies, or downplay the issue to make her feel better.

Instead, Hayden shrugs against her side. “I’ll start buying my sweatshirts a size up. Guess you’ve gotten into the habit of stealing them.”

Jackie giggles, fond. “Maybe two sizes up to be safe.”

Hayden snorts. “We’re both gonna be swimming in them. Plus, if it’s about muscles, maybe you’ll be okay for longer. My gym teacher in middle school was a fitness nut and she didn’t look pregnant until like, eight months.”

Jackie sits up so she can flex a little. “Calling me buff, Pike?”

“I mean, you’re no hockey player,” Hayden says loftily. He makes a show of eyeing her arms appreciatively even as he speaks and Jackie grins. She’s no hockey player, but she’s kept fit enough to attract one. 

She blows out a breath. Once again, Hayden’s easygoing support and teasing has helped her relax and clear her head in a way she can never manage on her own. She has a sneaking feeling that they’ll maybe be alright at this marriage thing.

Chapter End Notes

And she's BAACK! I actually love this chapter so much, it might be my favorite. I have been seeing all the comments about loving the dynamics betwix our main characters, and this bad boy is just chock-full of all that gooey shit (vivet wrote it, so of course it's sweet)

vivet's note: CEGEP (say-zhep) is a part of Quebec's education system, it's an intermediary step between secondary school and university designed to make post-secondary education more accessible and make transitions easier. CEGEP technically only refers to public colleges, which are free or have minimal administrative fees, but colloquially, it encompasses all schools that offer these intermediary programs. There are two main paths: professional programs, which are vocational and typically three years long, and academic programs, which set someone up to enter university and are typically two years long. I don't know that Jackie could actually switch so easily, but i've long learned to never doubt a university staff person--administrative or faculty--who's determined to help you find a creative solution. they can do magic i think.

also! there was in fact a tuition freeze for Quebec students that ended around this time period, and the entire time i was researching i just kept going "god i fucking WISH" because even with the hikes they paid for three semesters what i paid for one. god bless america

Chapter 3: I reflect on my reflection

Chapter Summary

She welcomes the respite, holds on tightly to the moments where her body feels like hers and she's in tune with the Hayden Pike that everyone knows. She's not him, but sometimes, rarely, briefly, the locker room will stop making her feel like she's piloting his body around and she'll instead feel him as one part of her whole self, in cohesion with the rest.

Chapter Notes

Chapter title: Man or Muppet by Jason Segel, Walter
Guys this chapter... I love her. She's got ups, she's got downs, there's feelings, parents, ruffles. If you liked this video, remember to hit that bell, and NEVER forget to like and subscribe!
Enjoy

[October 2018]

“Heatmiserrrrrr!” Comeau crows.

Myers, who’d scored the game-winner, grins and flexes to cheers. He showboats, sticking his tongue out and shaking his head like a dog. 

“Couldn’a done it without that gorgeous fuckin’ assist, Ace!” he shouts, pointing at Hayden. She blinks.

Ace? Oh, like AC, maybe. She likes it better than some of the other shit they’ve come up with, she supposes. 

Hayden shrugs internally and flexes too, renewing the cheers. She grins when she even hears a couple wolf whistles. It feels good, makes her feel good about her body, even in the locker room. The post-win adrenaline is still coursing through her and she feels fucking electric. 

Though, she’s glad Hollzy is still doing press. It’s fucking loud in here.

“Still think it should be Snowmiser,” Stedlund grumbles. “We’re goddamn hockey players, we’re on ice.”

Schneider clicks his tongue and pops Steddy on the back of the head. “Man, shut up. Snowmiser sounds stupid. He’s the Heatmiser because he’s on fucking fiiiiiiiiire!” He throws his head back and howls, a cacophony of barks and growls rising up from all corners of the room.

It dies down as Shane walks in, volume reduced to polite levels in front of Cap. Hayden thinks it would bother her, if she were Shane, always feeling like she killed the mood with her presence. One more way to feel like an outsider, even if the distance the team keeps with Shane is—usually—respectful. And—Hayden would never say this to Shane’s face, because the man’s her best goddamn friend in the world—but he isn’t like the rest of them. He’s in a league of his own, skills-wise, especially now that Rozanov’s lost his mind and moved to Ottawa. And he doesn’t always feed off of or into the team energy the way the rest of them do. Privately, she thinks it’s for the best, that’d he be even more uncomfortable at the center of it than he is on the edge. He’s lucky, though, that he has his talent to justify it. Hayden knows if he were any less than the untouchable player he is, the distance would be a lot less respectful.

Shane gives his pat good game speech, most of the locker room paying half attention at best. A couple players nod or pat him on the back, JJ and Hayden among them. She’s just pulled her sweatshirt over her head when she notices Myers staring into the depths of his cubby with an unreadable look on his face. Berkes, on his other side, sees it too.

“What’s with the evil eye, Halloween? Michael’s mask appear in your locker?” He chuckles at his own joke.

“Shut the fuck up.” Myers—first name Jackson, not Michael—rolls his eyes. He grabs something small out of his locker and flips it open, revealing a ring. 

“Oh shit,” Hayden breathes, feeling a grin steal across her face. She hears Berky echo her. 

“Myers’s getting married,” he sings, drawing the attention of several more players. Myers flushes.

“I haven’t even asked her yet, asshole.” He waves the ring box for emphasis. He looks downright bashful compared to his earlier cockiness. “I have no idea how. Is it lame to do it tonight? I don’t want Ellie to think it’s just because we won.”

Myers grins, softer than anybody usually gets in the locker room. “It’d be a good fuckin’ end to a good fuckin’ night, though. First game of the regular season, I get a bar down game winner and go home and propose to my girl. Like a goddamn movie.”

Hayden’s own grin grows, and she slings an arm around Myers’s shoulders to jostle him. “I proposed to Jackie in the arena parking lot after I won my first ever pro game, and we’ve been married for ten years. Go fucking get her, Heatmiser.” She bobbles Myers’s head around to more cheers and whistles.

Andropov, an old-guard d-man who’s been on the team longer than anybody she knows, lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Don’t listen to Pike, kid. He knocked up his first WAG and had to marry her because they’re Mormon. He’s lucky it’s not cheating for him to get some on the road.”

Just like that, Hayden’s good mood pops, leaving her cold. She drops her arm and starts shoving her shit in her bag, suddenly wanting out. She doesn’t know how to defend herself, doesn’t know which part of Andy’s bullshit would be easiest to address. She wants to refute the cheating part, can’t figure out how to do it without getting accused of a guilty conscience—or feeling like she’s defending the LDS, when the last year has only expedited her family’s inevitable split. 

They’d already only gone on big days and had never bothered to enroll the kids in any programs, had stymied Jackie’s parents’ best efforts to do it anyways. Now, Hayden hasn’t been in months and she feels not a single iota of grief over it. At work, she feels both trapped and protected by the masculinity of it all, the requirements for entry that she’d never recognized as a barrier before but now is no longer sure she could pass at all if someone were to look too closely.

In comparison, the Good Little Mormon Boy feels like an aspect of masculinity she can wholly throw off and never has to pick up again. Their entry requirements are gone from the constant list running in her head, leaving blissful quiet. It feels like space that she can fill with whatever she wants. 

And she can’t say any of this out loud.

JJ and Shane both glare at Andropov, but her first line of defense doesn’t end up coming from either of them.

Berkes is flipping Andy off. “Take it back, jackass, Ace goes fucking stupid for his wife. He’s got no time to cheat on her on the road because they’re already on the phone together.” 

“Whipped,” Steddy agrees. “What do they call it? Wife guy?”

Berky nods, pointing at Steddy for emphasis. “Wife guy.”

Andropov raises his hands, looking amused. “Didn’t mean to touch a nerve.” 

Comeau waves a hand dismissively. “Nah, man, the kid’s right, you’re fucking blind if you can’t see it.”

“Get the old man some glasses!” Schneider heckles. With that, the conversation dissolves back into the general burble of chatter, resolved without Hayden, Shane, or JJ saying a single word.

It's a strange feeling, how the locker room with its nudity and posturing and strict unspoken rules can make her feel so many conflicting things on top of one another. She feels, most of the time now, off-balance and out of place. She feels like her skin is a size too small, and everybody's scrutinizing how gingerly she moves in it. It'll push and push and push at her, like she's trying to hold two opposing magnets together—until something snaps and the magnets flip to click together. No rhyme, no reason. The same pieces that repelled each other now become stronger together.

She welcomes the respite, holds on tightly to the moments where her body feels like hers and she's in tune with the Hayden Pike that everyone knows. She's not him, but sometimes, rarely, briefly, the locker room will stop making her feel like she's piloting his body around and she'll instead feel him as one part of her whole self, in cohesion with the rest.

She welcomes the respite, but—it's disorienting when her reaction to the locker room flips on a dime. Despite how infrequent and fleeting these moments usually are, they make her question her understanding of herself all over again. It’s more draining than the mask, sometimes. 

Maybe she’ll grow her hair out a bit this season, she muses on her way out. Or try out a different name—she doesn’t think she’s ever had a problem with her current one, but…maybe it doesn’t have to feel bad before it feels better. 

The possibilities feel endless as she walks out under the dark sky, cloudless and warm in the way October nights can get, one last hurrah before the chill finishes unpacking. Hayden can’t see any stars past the lights of the parking lot, but she’s never been a big stargazer anyways. She can, however, hear the faint notes of a drinking song from the bar across the street, and smiles when she recognizes it as being a Metros victory chant. She strides briskly across the parking lot—only to stop short when a figure pushes up from leaning against her car, detaching themselves from the shadows.

She accepts the kiss on her temple, wrapping her arm around Jackie’s waist as she processes her wife’s (her wife’s (!))  presence. “Hey, stranger,” Hayden manages. “Whatcha doing here?”

“Copped a ride from Viv Comeau on the way here,” Jackie says blithely. She holds up the keys she’s pilfered from Hayden’s pocket. “Figured I could drive you home for old time’s sake. Stop for burgers.”

Hayden smiles. “Is that place even still around?”

“It was by campus, remember? The market for cheap open-late grease will never die.”

Hayden has to close her eyes against the near-painful wave of contentment that washes over her. She presses her temple into Jackie’s, running a gentle hand over Jackie’s ready-to-pop stomach. “You’re the best. I needed this.”

“I love you,” Jackie reminds her. “That doesn’t change.”

------

[January 2007]

“Jackieeeeee!”

Jackie laughs, accepting the tight hug her roommate and best friend wraps her up in, not even bothering to keep their midriffs angled away like she’s been doing all day. “The semester starts next week, Daissa. Not like you’re wasting away without me.”

Daissa pulls back to look at her, arching an eyebrow dramatically. “You’ve been blowing me off all break for wedding planning, I have been deprived. This bridal shower better be the event of the year, J. Four weeks is too long without my bestie.” She flings her head back exaggeratedly, making the shells at the ends of her braids click, and brings her hand up to her forehead like she’s about to faint.

Jackie giggles, leaning back into Daissa’s side. She does have a point—Jackie had missed her as well. It doesn’t make Jackie feel great about what she’s about to do.

She swallows. “Hey D, listen. I need a favor.” She rifles her brain for some of the Haitian Creole Daissa’s taught her. “Koure m. Please. Souple.”

Daissa sobers. “I got you, J. What’s up?”

Jackie shakes her head and pulls them down the hall out of the entryway, Daissa looking bewildered. Jackie leads them into her childhood bedroom and closes the door. 

She leans against her desk while Daissa takes her chair, swiveling it slightly back and forth while she watches Jackie. 

Jackie…stands there. She’s realizing she hasn’t actually said these words out loud to anyone. She’d just shown Hayden the test, and the OB-GYN staff hadn’t really needed to be told. She’s finding it a little difficult to get the words out. Her chest feels tight.

Daissa nudges her with her foot. “Jackie. Ki sa ou genyen?” What’s wrong?

“I’m pregnant.” 

“Fuck,” is Daissa’s succinct response. It startles a laugh out of Jackie.

Daissa tilts her head. “I maybe wondered. Didn’t want to say anything, you know? Shitty to be wrong about that.” 

“If anyone was gonna figure it out, it’d be you,” Jackie admits, smiling. Daissa flicks her hair over her shoulder with playful swagger.

“I already agreed to help, J, but definitely keep buttering me up.” Her eyes sharpen. “Wait, nobody knows? You need help running interference today, is that it?”

“Please,” Jackie sighs. “Nobody who would tell my parents can know, which means nobody at this stupid party can know.”

Daissa nods. “I’ll do what I can.” She grins. “Drop a couple lines about how you’re always in bed by 9 like a good girl, no boyfriends or fiancés allowed. And I’ll keep anyone from getting to close.” She holds her hands up like a boxer, throwing a couple punches in the air.

Jackie giggles at the show, goes to reply when the door opens and she just about jumps out of her skin.

“Jackie, you have guests, you can’t be—oh.” Her mom stops at the sight of Daissa, and Jackie watches her brain stutter a bit before she smiles politely. “Hi. Dessa, right?”

“Hi, Mrs. Connors. It’s Daissa, actually,” she corrects, smiling thinly at Jackie’s mom. “But I get that a lot.”

“Right. Where is that from, again?” Jackie fidgets a little, her mom still smiling placidly.

“It’s Haitian,” Daissa replies, rote. “My family moved here when I was young.”

“Yes, of course. How nice that they were able to give you more opportunities!” Her mom enthuses. Jackie winces, and Daissa’s smile turns fixed. Her mom continues, “What are you studying, again? Is there a cosmetology program there?”

“Pre-med, Mom,” Jackie chides, flushing. Sorry, she mouths to Daissa, who gives her a tight smile.

Her mom draws back a little. “There’s no need for the tone, Jackie, I was just asking.”

A friend from high school—Jackie can’t remember her name for the life of her—passes behind Jackie’s mom, who’s immediately all smiles. 

“Hi, Evelyn!” the woman trills. “Lovely party!”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” her mom replies. “Make sure you get some punch, I know you love my recipe!”

Her mom is still smiling as she turns back, leaning on the door and tilting her head. “You look beautiful, honey. I knew the dress was a good choice. Don’t keep your guests waiting, please.” She bustles out, leaving the door open.

“Sorry about her,” Jackie says again. It feels inadequate. Daissa regards her for a moment, then shakes her head.

“They all gonna be like that?” Her tone says she knows the answer, but Jackie nods anyways. Daissa blows out a breath. “Okay. I keep them off of you, you keep them off of me. San wete san mete. Deal?” 

No more, no less, Jackie translates. Tit for tat, back me up so I can back you up. She nods firmly. “Deal.”

Daissa holds out a hand, and they shake with faux gravitas. As they make their way back to the living room, she turns her attention to Jackie’s dress, raising an eyebrow. “I was already gonna make a joke about your mom picking this out, but now it just feels mean. You look like a cross between a southern belle and a nun.”

Jackie rolls her eyes, plucking irritatedly at the fabric. “I know. I wanted a tropical theme, you know, a little summer to warm us up? But my mom said it wasn’t classy enough. And they’re footing the bill, so high tea it is.” She leans in, lowering her voice. “At least I talked her down from the one with actual ruffles.”

Daissa shudders performatively, then stops dead as she looks around the living room, jaw dropping slightly.

Nearly every woman there is wearing a dress nigh-indistinguishable from Jackie’s, in a narrow range of soft pastels. 

There are, in fact, ruffles. 

Jackie snickers at Daissa’s exaggerated horror. 

Daissa glares at her. “J, I almost wore bright teal to this thing!” 

Jackie laughs harder. Daissa looks down at her respectable fawn-colored jumpsuit. “Maybe I should’ve, though. Would’ve kept attention off you for sure.” 

“Hey,” Jackie says. Daissa looks at her. “Mèsi anpil. Thank you.” 

Daissa gives her a quick squeeze as they start to mingle. “They’re not gonna know what hit ‘em.”

------

After, Jackie helps her mom clean up, determined that she’ll win at their silent standoff for once in her life. 

She picks up trash in bitten-tongue silence for ten more minutes before her mom huffs. 

“It’s bad enough that you’re not getting married in the temple because Hayden can’t get a temple recommend, could you at least try to act excited about this?” 

Jackie watches her lip curl in distaste, and curls hers right back. “Don’t say Hayden’s name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s a dirty word! He’s my fiancé, not some bum!” 

Her mom presses her lips together and doesn’t say anything. Jackie feels incensed.

“And don’t pretend like you really care about whether we get married in the temple or not. They won’t let you take a million pictures or have this giant reception that you want if we do! You’re just worried about what people will say!”

Her mom inhales as if to respond, then visibly changes tacks and softens. She comes in close and cups Jackie’s chin. “Jackie, sweetheart, I put a lot of work into planning all this so that your marriage and wedding will be special even without a real sealing ceremony. Are you telling me that isn’t what you want anymore?” She sounds heartbroken.

Jackie deflates, looking to the side. “No, I want it, Mom. I’m sorry.”

Her mom pats her cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart.” She turns to start pulling down the streamers and balloons. “I’m just trying to protect you, Jacqueline. Yes, people are going to talk. This way, they can’t talk about the temple thing without talking about how gorgeous your wedding actually was. It’ll be too sensational for them to focus on anything else.”

It kind of makes sense, in a convoluted way. She carefully doesn’t react to her mom’s pointed last sentence—her mom won’t ask her outright, so as long as Jackie plays dumb, she’s safe. 

She imagines the look on her mom’s face if Jackie told her Hayden bombed his recommend interview on purpose. In her mind’s eye, it cycles rapidly between instinctive shock and horrified relief—relief, because Jackie had been sat next to her mom waiting outside the sealing room for all three of her siblings’ weddings and she knows how much her mom is relishing a chance to have a wedding with more of the bells and whistles. 

Horror, because her mom would forever have to live with the knowledge that Hayden is the reason she got that chance. Jackie has to bite down a smile as she thinks about it.

She does not imagine telling her mom that Hayden tanked it to try and limit the risk Jackie’s pregnancy poses to her safety and reputation. That would not get her comedic facial expressions, it would get the front door slammed behind her. Kind of at cross-purposes with the whole limiting risk thing. 

She kind of wants to, just a little bit. It’s frustrating, sometimes, that all the ways her parents suck at being good Mormons are the opposite of all the ways Jackie sucks at being a good Mormon. She wants to shake them, ask them why can’t they just let all of these rules go and actually be happy. Happy like she is, happy like all her non-LDS friends are, happy like no one in the church seems to be.

She doesn’t, because they’re still her parents and she loves them. She’s just—really, really fucking glad that she found someone like Hayden who gets it. Someone she can talk to, someone who’s on her team. Someone who lets her break the rules and find what really makes her happy.

------

[October 2018]

“I was thinking about Hayley.”

Jackie groans from from her nest of pillows. She hadn’t been anywhere near sleep, the baby putting pressure on seemingly every sensitive spot they can find, but she thinks she’s earned the right to be a little dramatic anyways.

She flops a hand out across the wall she’s built, smacking Hayden in the chest. “Who’s Hayley? ‘S not a baby name, right? Thought we narrowed it down to Amber or Coral.”

Hayden grabs her hand and brings it up to her mouth. “Not a baby name. Doesn’t fit the theme.”

“Th’n what is it?” she mumbles. 

“Me?” 

Jackie cracks an eye open and peers over the pillows. “You?”

Hayden looks away. “I was thinking—” she breaks off with a groan. “Fuck, this is so fucking stupid.” 

Jackie’s more awake now, brain firing at higher capacity. “You want me to call you Hayley?”

Hayden—Hayley?—throws an arm over her eyes. “Maybe. I don’t know. I think it might—help? I’ve been trying it out in the mirror, but it’s weird to do it on my own.”

Jackie untangles her hand from Hayden’s—Hayley’s—to grab the one draped over her face and squeeze it. “I can do that. Hayley.”

Hayley lowers her arm, looks over at Jackie with an uncertain smile. “Kinda weird, right? But thank you, I think it’ll feel better than Hayden.”

Jackie gives her hand one last squeeze before retreating back into her cocoon. “Love you, Hayley.”

“Love you too, Jacks.”

Jackie hears her breathing even out, lets her own follow, but her mind is spinning too fast to sleep, with or without what feels like a hundred kilos compressing her spine.

She feels bad for thinking it, but this gender stuff sounds hard. She’s still wrapping her head around it—is 100% behind the part where she supports her partner and they face life together, but she’s tripping up at what it means for her. Or Hay—Hayley. She appreciates that the new name is similar to the old one, makes it easier to catch a slip. Maybe that’s selfish. The person sleeping next to her doesn’t exactly feel like a Hayley to Jackie, but maybe it’ll come with time.

It’s just—Hayley has the same body and same style and same voice and same everything she did before. And though they haven’t capitalized on it lately between the gender stuff and the pregnancy stuff, Jackie’s attraction to her still feels the same as well.

She has no idea whether that’ll stay true if Hayley starts changing. She doesn’t even know what she’s hoping for—for the attraction to stay the same, for it to evolve alongside Hayley, something else entirely.

She’s terrified that it’ll just…go away. That her body will shrug and say sorry, we don’t do women. It’s not in the manual. And she’ll just have to—deal. Lose that part of their relationship, that part of herself, just like that. She’d feel horrible. She does feel horrible, every time her brain trips over calling Hayley her wife. She doesn’t know how to be a person with a wife.

Being a woman has always meant having a husband, and accordingly—though secondary—being a woman means being attracted to men. Which Jackie is. She thinks, though she feels vaguely guilty for it, that this whole thing wouldn’t be an issue if she could just realize that she was never actually attracted to men and Hayley being Hayley is actually incredibly lucky for her latent lesbian self. No dice—Jackie’s sexuality remains stubborn in its inclusion of men. 

Trying to figure out if women can be added instead of substituted has yet to yield results other than an error message. 

In a weird, very circular-logic way, Jackie really isn’t too worried about the whole being a woman means being attracted to men thing applying to Hayley—maybe because she already knows Hayley is attracted to women? She’s pretty sure that doesn’t change now that Hayley is Hayley. Hayley’s understanding of her gender is changing, which affects Jackie’s understanding of her sexuality, but Jackie’s understanding of her gender is the same, so Hayley’s understanding of her sexuality shouldn’t need to change. She thinks. God, this shit makes her head spin.

Plus, if Hayley is only attracted to men because she’s a woman, then she and Jackie would have to be in the same boat, right? So they could at least split amicably. 

The thought fills her with a visceral dislike that she doesn’t look at too closely.

Jackie is also not really ready to confront the idea that if Hayley can conceivably be both a woman and attracted to women, than the same could also be true of her. She’s barely making sense to herself at this point, anyways. Not the time for soul-searching.

If she just—she shifts slightly and sighs in relief as the pressure recedes. She’d resigned herself to another night of contemplating the ceiling, but her body’s apparently picked up some tricks after three pregnancies. A little shift, a little trust, and everything falls into place.

------

[November 2018]

Hayley paces the hospital hallway. She’d told Jackie she was gonna run to the bathroom, which should give her a couple more minutes before she has to duck back in. She feels shitty for leaving her wife and newborn baby alone, but she’d needed a moment away before the proud papa-s and here, dad-s and what a doting husband-s from well-meaning hospital staff had gotten far enough under her skin that she’d reacted visibly. Hayley closes her eyes, thinking of how she’d almost balked at being handed Amber because of the accompanying let’s go see Daddy. She’d almost flinched away from her daughter. 

It kills her. Out of all the labels she’s ever worn in her life, chosen or otherwise, dad is easily the one she’s been the proudest of—husband a close second. Pro athlete, hockey player, teammate, son, brother—if people knew her as anything, she’s wanted them to know her as a dad. She gets more joy from raising her kids than she’s ever gotten on the ice, both Cups included, and she wants everyone to be able to see that on her. Dad is the vessel for that sentiment, where that meaning is stored and conveyed to others. It’s the closest she’s been able to get to a physical, tangible representation of her heart.

It kills her. It kills her, every time she hears it now and pain shoots through her instead of a thrill. She’s overwhelmed, occasionally, with an incandescent, impotent fury that this has been taken from her. That the universe is so cruel as to make her choose between these parts of herself.

It kills her that so much still feels wrong in ways she can’t put into words. It kills her how she ping-pongs between wishing she had been comfortable as a man and wishing she had always been a woman. It kills her when things she hopes will help just make her more aware that femininity—even parts she isn’t even sure she wants—is not supposed to be hers. 

It kills her, every time they play the switch game, that mom still sends a nauseous mix of fear and longing through her. She wants it. She doesn’t want to want it, she wants to have it. She’s terrified of what having it would do to her defenses.

The bank of elevators dings behind her. She turns around, hoping that somehow Shane has teleported back from the game she’d nearly threatened the coaches and then the GM into letting her scratch for. She’s gonna get shit for it, but she doesn’t give a fuck, not this time. It’s November, and they were facing Buffalo. They’ll live. 

She hadn’t even needed to bring up how they treated her when Jackie was in labor with the twins. That would’ve tipped her from nearly threatened into definitely threatened, but she truly could not care less right now.

Instead of a supernaturally-assisted Shane, Jackie’s parents step out, along with a nurse who departs swiftly in the other direction. 

Hayley pulls up a smile, hoping it reads as I’m your polite Mormon son-in-law instead of I’m a deadbeat dad who’s cheating on your daughter, which is what they always seem to read on her. Or, worse, I’m a transgender woman who’s corrupting your youngest daughter and your grandchildren into a life of sin. The chances of that are negligible, but it sends a bolt of pure fear through her chest. She wills her smile not to wobble. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Connors. Jackie’s room is this way.”

Evelyn gives her a quick smile, and Henry claps her on the shoulder. “Henry and Evelyn, please, son, it’s been over a decade.” Evelyn sniffs, but doesn’t correct her husband. “How are you, Hayden? Feel like you’re getting the hang of this merry-go-round, yet?”

She tries not to tense under his hand. “Third time’s the charm.” The implication that she hasn’t loved and cherished being there for Jackie during all three pregnancies leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

“How’s Jackie?” Evelyn asks. “No complications from her age?”

She’s 29, Hayley wants to say. Just because you had all your kids before your brain finished cooking. Risks from advanced maternal age don’t even start until 35, she’d looked it up. 

She wants to bite back at the implied jab about how spaced out their kids are. She wants to ask if Henry remembers how old Jackie is without Evelyn prompting him. She wants to goad them until they prove her wrong and show that there is actually genuine care under all the layers of their weighty, dogmatic expectations. She wants them to prove her right so Jackie stops caring about trying to meet those expectations.

She smiles, and says, “No, she and Amber are both doing great. Tired, but happy.”

“Amber, huh?” Henry says. “Jackie’s keeping the gem theme going, I like it.” He chuckles. “Lucky that you didn’t have to break it, I can’t think of another boy’s name that fits. But you are well and truly outnumbered, son.” 

Fury rises, burning its way up Hayley’s throat. She wants, out of trivial pride, to recite the decently-long list of potential names they’d had before settling on Jasper. She wants to remind them again that the gem theme had been her idea, despite how even this seems more fraught and revealing than it ever has before. She wants to spit that the gender makeup of her household doesn’t fucking matter, thanks, but since they’re curious, it’s actually just Jasper who’s outnumbered. She wants them to stop calling her son.

She forces a chuckle. “I accepted my fate when Jasper was born,” she jokes, parroting what she’s heard Henry say about his own kids before. She can’t think of anything else, anything she might’ve said before, when the jokes bothered her but didn’t stick in her chest like this. It works—Henry lets out a loud guffaw, clapping her on the shoulder again and saying good man as they file into Jackie’s room. 

Jackie’s eyes, tired but alert, crease in concern as they meet Hayley’s. Later, Hayley mouths. She does her best to bank the anger still simmering in her before she reaches out to take a sleeping Amber from Jackie. That, more than anything, is what sends cooling through her veins, unable to be mad while holding her baby. She closes her eyes and buries her nose in Amber’s head for a second, taking all the comfort she can get.

She turns around, smile refreshed and pleasant on her face. “Amber, come meet your grandparents.”

Chapter End Notes

Haitian Creole is from a vocabulary website, hopefully it's not too bad!

Koure m: back me up
Souple: please

should be clear but let me make it explicitly so: jackie is not really in danger if her parents know she's pregnant because her parents don't care so much about being good mormons as they do LOOKING like good mormons. they don't give too much of a shit what she does as long as she is subtle enough for them to keep plausible deniability. if she were acting in a way that caused judgment from their community, she'd be in a lot more trouble.

this chapter sets up a part of the gender journey that we're really excited for :))

Chapter 4: Signature

Chapter Summary

A lot of starting. A lot of starts

Chapter Notes

ok so a comment vivet left on the doc says to shout out treeroots. I do not know what that means but uh.. shout out! If you were curious, our document is now at 40,000 words and we have like 4 more major plot points to get through. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments, it was my job to respond to the comments on chapter 2 and I am hoping to do that soon, sorry! Love you guys!!!

HAPPY FUCKING PRIDE MONTH EVERYBODY -vivet

[March 2008]

Jackie sinks to a chair on the edge of the reception hall, trying to subtly slip her shoes off and rub her feet beneath her skirt. She wouldn’t be the only woman here to take a moment of relief from her heels, but she’s the only one with visibly swollen ankles she’s trying to hide.

God, she hates these shoes. She’d been cajoled into them by her mother, a concession in return for Jackie keeping complete control over her dress. They’d been bad when her mother presented them to her, and somehow, neither the baby weight compressing her spine nor several hours on her feet have improved the experience. 

Despite the sheer, miraculous luck she’s had with how subtle her bump is and the generous empire waistline of her dress, Jackie knows that at least some of their guests have figured her out. Her siblings for sure, which means that one of them—Michael or Tori—will probably tell their parents. 

She’s trying not to let this fact freak her out. The wedding is paid for, the semester is paid for, and she’s officially completely moved out of her parents’ house. Currently, she’s splitting her time between the dorms and the condo she’d made Hayden split the rent on, even if she’d only been able to argue her way up to 65-35. 

They can berate her, they can get her community to shun her, but they can’t touch her. She’s home free.

Hopefully, the arrival of their grandchildren smooths things over.

Jackie surveys the elegant reception that had followed an elegant wedding. She sees Hayden—her husband—looking resplendent in a well-tailored tux, charming the hell out of her cousins with insider Mets info. She sees Hayden’s younger sisters, absolute sweethearts that they are, talking animatedly to Daissa while Daissa nods along. Family, friends, teammates, classmates—they look like a movie set, perfectly spaced to fill the hall, everyone happy and poised to visually complement their neighbors. The grand finale. The triumphant final swell. The end of the epilogue montage, the guy gets the girl, one chaste kiss and then credits. 

She’s mad, somehow, that getting to marry Hayden did in fact make the rest of it worth it, because it feels like rolling over. That she never actually accomplished anything other than reinforcing the idea that this is the way things go, no exceptions. In the end, she’d put her head down and followed the path laid out for her. She hadn’t been strong enough to forge her own.

She really hates these shoes, she thinks. 

She might hate a lot about this wedding. A small tendril of vindictive satisfaction does climb up at that, that her mother was so insistent on having her way, so insistent that Jackie wanted this, and Jackie had hated it just like she had predicted. She has no plans to rock the boat by telling her mother this, but she takes private, scorched-earth requital in the idea that even if Jackie can’t have her wedding be the happiest day of her life, she can at least know that she can hold true to the person she wants to be. Marriage hasn’t turned her into a copy of her mother, her sisters, every aunt or cousin or friend that swore up and down she’d get it once she’s married herself.

She may have sacrificed getting her own way, but she can be damn well sure they won’t get theirs, either. They hadn’t been able to make her like it—they hadn’t even been what made her do it.

She’d done it for Hayden, and for their babies. Maybe they’re right, maybe she always would’ve ended up at this grand reception hall, half-educated and dependent on her husband, but she’d had her choice in how and she’d taken it. None of her role models seem to have the support, the trust, the love that Hayden gives her as easy as breathing.

Jackie wants to be near him, she realizes, more than she wants to rest her feet. She stands up to make her way over to her husband (her husband), groaning softly as she does.

If she could change just one thing about this whole godawful experience, she thinks she’d pick these fucking shoes before anything else.

------

[November 2018]

Shane sits down next to where Hayley’s flopped herself in the grass, basking in the rare warmth. She looks content, almost half-asleep, so Shane figures that if she reacts badly, he can at least get a running start on her. 

“So, I was thinking that Lily could come over for dinner during Christmas break,” he says without preamble. “Maybe the 24th, if that’s okay? He’ll have to fly home on the 26th.”

Hayley shifts, not opening her eyes. “Sure, sounds good.”

Shane blinks. He opens his mouth but stalls out, not expecting the lack of reaction.

Hayley shoots up, making him startle. “Oh, fuck! This is you introducing us to Lily! We get to meet him!”

There it is. Okay, step one down. Now for step two—and he’s lost his edge on her reaction time, too. Wonderful. 

“Remember how I said he’s famous too?” Shane takes a deep breath and blows it out. “He’s in the MLH.”

Hayley furrows her brow. “Like, he works for a team? Does he work for the fucking Raiders?”

Shane lets out a weak chuckle. “Used to, ah, he works for the Centaurs now.”

“What, is he Ilya Rozanov?” She laughs at her own joke.

Shane, caught off-guard by someone guessing even in jest, stares at her in damning silence.

Hayley’s laugh peters off. “Shane.”

Shane says nothing.

“Shane.”

Shane lifts a shoulder, looking away. “I never hated him. He got under my skin, and then he just—stayed there.”

Hayley makes a face of habitual disgust, before it smoothes out into something thoughtful.

She sits like that, unmoving, for long enough that it makes Shane shift uncomfortably. “I never  let him win. I swear.”

This snaps Hayley out of her reverie, and she screws up her face, huffing. “Obviously. I play with you, Shane. You played harder against Boston than you did anyone else. I could never tell if it was because of Rozanov or Lil—” she breaks off, her eyes widening. “Ohh, fuck, I get it. I see it. Okay.”

She shakes herself, like she’s resetting her brain. “Okay. Just—promise me that he’s always Lily and never Rozanov with you.” Hayley frowns. “Does that even make sense?”

Shane bristles a little. He likes who Ilya is on the ice, likes every part of him. But Hayley has already been taking this remarkably well, so he lets it go. “Yeah, I get it. He is. I promise.” He can feel a smile grow, taking over his face.

Hayley shrugs. “That’s all I need to know.”

She flops back down, settling in, and Shane looks up at the sky, feeling the sun on his face. That had gone…really well, actually. He’s almost glad Hayley snooped through his phone last year, because it feels like anything he has to tell her now will never meet the freakout standard that whole debacle had set for both of them. This was easy, honestly.

Hayley’s eyes snap open again. “Did Ilya Rozanov know I was trans before my wife.”

Oh, fuck. Shane squints at her expression, trying to see if she’s actually mad. She probably has a right to be, but—somehow, he doesn’t think she is.

He takes a chance and shrugs nonchalantly. “You did tell me I could tell my partner.”

“Shane.” She sounds stern, but he can see mirth dancing in her eyes and the grin she’s trying to tamp down.

“He had good advice, you have to admit.”

“Shane.”

He presses his lips together against his own grin. “It was your choice not to tell Jackie, Hay. I was just following what you wanted.”

“Oh, that’s it.” Hayley launches herself at him with a roar, and he yelps as she wrestles him down, both of them laughing uncontrollably. Yeah, they’re gonna be fine. 

Not before he wins this, though.

------

Hayley may have forgotten—like most people do, though she usually prides herself on not being one of them—that just because Shane doesn’t fight, it doesn’t mean he can’t. She, of all people, who knows about the years of MMA fighting Yuna had put him through, should know better.

She’s ignoring that right now, focusing on making sure her nose doesn’t start bleeding again on the way to the pharmacy. She’ll thank Shane for not actually breaking her nose by not getting blood on his car’s upholstery. 

Shane glances at her and winces. “Sorry,” he mutters for what must be the hundredth time.

“S’okay,” Hayley says. It comes out congested. “Shouldn’t have gotten my face in the way of your elbow.”

Shane does not laugh like she’d hoped. “Jackie’s gonna be so mad,” he groans. “She gets a  pamper day after giving birth to a baby and I go and break her wife.”

Hayley ignores the thrill that still goes through her at wife. It’s gonna start feeling normal eventually, right? It has to.

Maybe if she stops hearing husband twice as often. 

“Jackie will be fine. She’ll be more mad at me for not restocking the first aid kits. Hayd—” she clears her throat. Shane, thankfully, doesn’t acknowledge her slipping up on her own name. “Hayley, we have four kids and you play the most violent professional sport in North America. We need the damn first aid kits stocked. She had to stop saying the world,” she informs Shane, “because I kept saying rugby was worse. Now I go for American football. Not as popular in Canada, so it doesn’t really work on her.”

Shane squints at her. “You sure you don’t have a concussion?”

“Mostly.”

Shane casts a doubtful look her way, and she flips him off. “Just sleep deprived, asshole. Newborn, remember?”

They get to the Weston’s and Shane, despite refusing to let her leave his sight up until now, immediately wanders off. Hayley stalls out in front of the first aid supplies.

The scuffle keeps turning over in her mind. Just—something about it makes her feel off. Itchy.

She thinks it may be that she’s never met a woman who solves her problems by play-wrestling. Little kids, maybe, but not grown women. Hayley, on the other hand, had done it instinctively. With two older brothers and decades of honed hockey talent, it comes to her naturally in a way that she feels like femininity never will.

The impulse to grapple Shane had been easy to follow. In the heat of the moment, she had almost felt like she had before, uncomplicated and unselfconscious. Guys being dudes, it had felt like. The thought makes her want to retch. 

Why can’t any of this be easy?

She jumps slightly at a light tap on her arm. Two preteen girls are standing next to her, eyes big.

“Um—” one of them starts. “Sorry to bother you, but—”

“Are you on the Metros?” her friend rushes out. “Number 35?”

Hayley nods, a little dumbly. She doesn’t get recognized a lot, usually only if she’s standing next to Shane, in which case she also gets ignored.

The girls light up. “That’s so cool!” the second one gushes. “You’re our favorite player!”

“Pike, right?” the first one asks. She bites her lip. “Sorry we don’t know your first name.”

This is bizarre. “That’s okay, everyone on the team calls me Pike, anyways,” Hayley says. She leans in. “If you call me that, it’ll be like we’re teammates.”

Their eyes go huge again, and the first one bounces in place, reminding Hayley of Ruby. 

She grins. “You got a pen and paper?”

They both scramble, and between them, scrounge up a glittery pink pen and a piece of paper that was almost certainly homework at one point. 

Hayley takes the pen, trying not to hold it like it’s as delicate as it feels to her. She puts it to paper, then stops. 

Her script is pretty loopy. She could…

The paper gets handed back with a barely legible Hayley Pike written on it, and the girls thank her profusely, not noticing anything amiss. She holds up the pen. “Can I keep this? My daughters would love it.”

They nod, still focused on their prize. “It’s the GlitterBaby brand if you want to get them more!” the second girl says as they walk away. 

Hayley lets out a breath and grabs the first aid stuff she needs, making her way to the front. 

It hadn’t been much, and it was maybe a stupid risk, but it makes her feel like she’s loosened the band around her lungs. It’ll tighten again eventually, it always does, but it’s enough for now.

She meets Shane at the front, where he’s got a plastic bag slung around his wrist. She narrows her eyes. He looks shifty.

Quicker than he can snatch it away, she darts a hand out and pulls the bag open to reveal its contents. 

Condoms and an absolutely enormous bottle of lube. She cackles, throwing her head back as Shane slaps her hand away, bright red.

“Oh, you are benefitting from Rozanov’s slut years, aren’t you? Get it, Hollzy.”

“I should have broken your nose,” Shane grumbles. 

Hayley slings an arm around his shoulder as they walk out into the bright afternoon, jostling him without protest. “You love me too much.”

Shane doesn’t deny it, and she smiles, feeling brighter than the sun.

------

[May 2008]

Hayden paces the length of the airport lounge, the apologetic looks and lack of eye contact from his teammates doing little to help his fury. Only Theriault looks unrepentant.

It’s one more game, Pike.

First playoff chances in over a decade.

Don’t let your team down.

Don’t make us question your commitment.

Well, they’d thoroughly fucking embarrassed themselves, limping through the first round and Philly sweeping them in four for the second. His presence clearly made all the fucking difference. No way they could spare him tonight.

He wishes he had just told them to fuck off this afternoon and flown back to Montreal on his own. 

Hayden opens his phone to check Jackie’s messages again. It’s masochistic, futile, but he finds himself hoping that the contents of her texts have somehow changed. Or that he’s gotten an update in the thirty seconds since he’d last looked. 

♥️Jackie♥️: Getting more of the false contractions. Doc said they’d ramp up in the last month but this is brutal lol

Hayden Pike LOML: That sucks baby

Hayden Pike LOML: You at the condo or the dorm?

♥️Jackie♥️: Condo, wanted to watch your game on the TV. Why?

Hayden Pike LOML: Check the closet there should be heating pads in there

♥️Jackie♥️: Oh my god Hayden there’s like twenty

Hayden Pike LOML: Five! And they all do different things!

♥️Jackie♥️: Like what?

Hayden Pike LOML: …

♥️Jackie♥️: Lol

Hayden Pike LOML: You’re the one who can read the boxes rn

♥️Jackie♥️: The English translations on these are terrible, I don’t know if you could ever read these.

♥️Jackie♥️: I can see why you thought they were different but the French is pretty much the same lol

Hayden Pike LOML: Damn

Hayden Pike LOML: Well you’ll be well supported anyways

♥️Jackie♥️: I might call Daissa actually

♥️Jackie♥️: This feels different and I want to be safe

Hayden Pike LOML: Ok good call

Hayden Pike LOML: I can try and scratch if you want

♥️Jackie♥️: Maybe.

♥️Jackie♥️: I don’t want to make a big deal out of nothing but

♥️Jackie♥️: It might be worth asking.

-------

♥️Jackie♥️: Ok please scratch I’m definitely in labor. D is driving me to hosptla

♥️Jackie♥️: Hospital

Hayden Pike LOML: Oh fuck okay

Hayden Pike LOML: This is premature even for twins

Hayden Pike LOML: Isn’t it?

♥️Jackie♥️: Yes.

♥️Jackie♥️: Please say you’ll be here.

Call duration with ♥️Jackie♥️: 1 hour, 43 minutes.

♥️Jackie♥️: Okay my mom has promised to give you updates but try to focus on the game for now yeah? Don’t need all four of us in the hospital because you went and got a concussion

Hayden Pike LOML: Not funny

♥️Jackie♥️: Sorry. Just wish you were here

Hayden Pike LOML: Me too. We’re flying out tonight, I’m coming straight to the hospital okay?

♥️Jackie♥️: I think I’m gonna have to do the C-section so idk if you’ll even be able to see me or the babies right away

Hayden Pike LOML: Don’t care.

Hayden Pike LOML: Fuck I gotta go baby

Hayden Pike LOML: I love you so much

♥️Jackie♥️: I love you too

♥️Jackie♥️: Play good

Hayden Pike LOML: For you. And our daughters.

And then, nothing. Not from Jackie, not from Evelyn, not from anyone. He’d even messaged Daissa on Facebook, but she’d had work and wouldn’t have been able to tell him anything anyways, since she’s not listed as Jackie’s family. He’d promised to update her as soon as he can, since if Evelyn’s not updating him, he sincerely doubts she’s updating Daissa. 

Fuck this whole night. He should’ve gone fucking AWOL.

He collapses into a chair, tossing his phone on top of his bag. They’re flying on a private goddamn plane, shouldn’t they be able to board by now?

“Pikey—” Carleton starts.

Hayden whips around to glare at his former billet host. “What.”

Carleton holds his hands up. “Put the teeth away. You and I are going straight to the Departures level when we land, Brown’s gonna grab our bags. Ava will drop you off at the hospital.”

Brown gives a little two-finger salute.

Hayden blinks. “Departures?

Carleton grins. “Ava’s hack. Fewer people there this time of night, we’ll be out in half the time.”

Hayden deflates, at least 25% of the tension leaving his body. “Thanks, Will. Seriously.”

Carleton waves it off. “Don’t mention it. Was shit they didn’t let you scratch.”

Brown nods. Hayden sees some teammates rolling their eyes, Andropov not even trying to hide it, but most of them either nod or don’t give their opinion one way or another. Hayden will take it. In his anger, it had felt like not a one of them had been on his side, so this is kind of a surprise. 

The Metros don’t seem as close as any other team he’s played on. He hadn’t been prepared for what the professional in “professional athlete” would entail, too used to being able to goof and hang out and get into scrapes with his teammates off the ice. These are his coworkers, not his buddies. It’s very adult. And very lonely.

He’s grateful to Carleton for putting that aside to have his back. He also, privately, hopes that the rebuild Montreal’s rumored to have planned in the next couple years brings in someone he can be actual friends with. A lot of the guys seem to have one or two other players that they’re close with, so maybe he can get that too. Otherwise, it’s gonna be a long, lonely career.

-------

[December 2018]

Ilya falters for a split second as Shane strides into the Pike house like he lives there, having expected one last moment to brace himself, one last moment for Shane to fidget while they wait at the door. Instead, he’s left marveling once again at the difference between Public Shane and Private Shane. Ilya can adapt how he presents himself just fine, but he gets a little jealous of how clearly Shane can delineate between when his walls are up and when they’re down. There’s no middle ground—he’s either Shane Hollander, Captain Of The Montreal Metros or he’s planning out the rest of their lives in the middle of the night, bowling Ilya over with how the out Ilya had tried to give him just made Shane commit harder, spiting him with devotion.

He follows Shane’s lead, toeing his shoes off and lining them up as Shane calls we’re here! and receiving an in the kitchen! in response. He takes in the house, feeling ever so slightly out of place surrounded by the mixed aesthetic of stylish interior design and primary school art classroom. There are very few surfaces that are bare of pictures, or keepsakes, or lovingly-chosen decor.

He wants a house like this. He wants Shane in a house like this, with him. With light and laughter, never fully silent or dark. Wants friends that know them so well as to waltz past their front door.

Shane’s nerves seem to creep up again as they enter the kitchen, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “Ilya, these are my best friends, Jackie and Hayley Pike,” he says formally. “Hayley, Jackie, this is my partner. Ilya Rozanov.”

Twice, Ilya watches Hayley jump slightly at the first syllable of her name, only to relax when it’s not followed by the ending her body is bracing for. He’s never met her properly, but—somehow he doubts she knows she’s doing it. He’s unsure whether she even knows she’s uncomfortable or why. He knows for a fact that Shane has not noticed. Jackie—he does not know Jackie either, but he would wager that whatever she has noticed, she would follow her partner’s lead.

Hm.

Ilya does not have to follow his partner’s lead, or anyone’s. Ilya is in the unique position of a) having sized Hayley Pike’s mannerisms up as an opponent first rather than friend or partner, and b) being in possession of a carefully-cultivated reputation as someone unable to resist getting under the skin of said opponents. 

Ilya, out of all three people in the world who know about Hayley Pike, has an opportunity to…bait her into self-reflection, so to speak. She needs comfort and safety from Jackie and Shane, but she doesn’t expect that from Ilya. She expects him to needle her. 

He has a reputation to uphold, after all. Maybe he can use it for good.

He steps forward and matches Shane’s overly-formal demeanor. “Jackie Pike,” he says officiously, offering a hand. She shakes it, smiling despite herself. He turns to offer his hand to the other woman, sizing her up like he does on the ice just to fuck with her. “And Jackie Pike’s wife.”

He watches the word wife hit her, derailing her enough that she shakes his hand without complaint. Wow, she is lucky she is not this easy to read on the ice. Maybe it is a Metros superpower, to so easily let one’s softer side out at home.

Maybe it is what happens when home has always meant comfort. Ilya shakes this thought off in annoyance.

Hayley registers the covert dig in Ilya’s words, and her eyes sharpen irritatedly. “I have a name, Rozanov.”

Ilya shrugs blithely, feigning innocence in the way that never fails to infuriate people. “Of course, Hayley Pike, benchwarmer for Montreal.” He winces in exaggerated sympathy. “Is bigger honor to be partner to Jackie Pike, no?”

“I’m on the first line! With your—” she stops, flinging a betrayed look at where Jackie and Shane have both poorly disguised their chuckles. “Don’t encourage him!”

Shane, paradoxically put at ease by Ilya’s assholery like always, grins. “Sorry, Hay. It’s an objective fact that Jackie’s cooler, though.”

Jackie preens, flipping her hair over a shoulder before kissing Hayley’s pout in apology. “You’re the coolest in my heart, baby.”

Dinner goes well, a fact by which Shane is clearly relieved. Ilya will not admit under pain of death—meaning he will probably tell Shane tonight when they are soft and squishy together where no one can see—but he feels the relief as well. The urge to make a good impression on Shane’s family is soothed, as is—damn him—his soft spot for fellow queer players, people like them for whom the locker room is sometimes a battle field. He had been scared to miscalculate the ratio of charm to asshole, had not wanted his presence to tip too far into The Russian Menace and bring that battle field into Hayley’s home. 

His fears are unfounded, it seems. Hayley rolls her eyes and matches him in verbal sparring, but it’s playful, a competition for Shane’s attention more than anything. Shane obliges, switching sides as he sees fit. Jackie puts on an air of being above it all, only dropping it to let out the occasional whipcrack of a chirp, aiming at all three of them with equal frequency. Ilya’s left a little stunned by how easily she breaks his poker face every single time, startling him into a genuine laugh more than once.

Through it all, he manages to keep his use of Hayley’s name to just the once, instead laying it on thick with Mrs. and Mrs. Pike and excuse me ladies and the Ladies Pike, relying on charm and an accent to divert suspicion. He’s improvising, mostly, not sure yet if he wants to go further than these subtlest of hints, but he hopes that they provide Hayley with some insight anyways. The difference between her reactions to generic feminine terms and her reactions to the name she herself picked are like night and day. 

-------

Towards the end of the night, Jackie and Shane are somewhere else, Hayley’s not quite sure. All she knows is that she’s sitting on her couch with Ilya Rozanov and he’s topping off her glass of wine and that it’s nice. The whole evening had been nice. Shane will be over the moon. 

Ilya interrupts her musing with, “can I ask you something? About gender? I promise is not…invasive.” 

Oh, what the hell. “Sure,” Hayley says, taking a large gulp of wine. 

“Your name.” Shit. “I do not think you like.”

What? 

“What?” 

Ilya makes a face. He rearranges himself to be closer to her, sitting at an angle so he’s facing in her general direction without looking directly at her. It’s…exactly what Shane always does when he’s having a serious conversation. Hayley pushes the implications of them mirroring each other with such ease to the back of her mind as Ilya speaks again. 

“You picked that name because it is similar to your old one, yes? I think…is bad idea.”

“Fuck you too, Rozanov.” Hayley shifts, uncomfortable.

Ilya holds his hands out, placating. “Sorry. Sorry. I did not mean as insult. I meant only…” He runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated before he smoothes his face back out into a gentle expression, eerie and unlike the Rozanov she knows on the ice. “I have been hockey player for years, yes? Have been Rozanov, Roz, Rozy, Cap, to most people most of the time. And still whenever I hear Розанов in Russian accent, I expect my father to answer.”

Ilya inhales a little, as if surprised by the words coming out of his mouth. He splays his hands out in front of him and looks down at them. “And yet, when I dream about future, about taking Shane’s name completely, something in me tells me no. That name is mine now. Is one I am proud for now. I am proud to be tied to it, and I would be proud to tie to Shane. What ties you to your name?”

Hayley rears back. “Fuck you, asshole. I have plenty to be proud of. And it ties me to my family, which I happen to value.”

Ilya Rozanov looks regretful. “No, is not what—“ he breaks off into what sounds like a muttered Russian expletive. “I am not meaning to insult. Is just—you are starting something new. Could be chance to start new legacy.”

He pauses, then adds quickly, “You flinch every time someone says Hayley.”

“I do not—” she spits reflexively, before Rozanov’s impertinently raised eyebrow and pointed look at her clenched hands make a highlight reel of the evening play in her head. Rozanov had stuck to feminine terms with such ease, terms that still trip Jackie and Shane up on occasion. Each one had rippled over her skin like cool, soothing water. Her name—which Rozanov doesn’t seem to have used once, she realizes—had not.

“Fuck, I do.” 

Ilya offers her a sympathetic grimace. She’s still not used to this—to how different Ilya, Shane’s Boyfriend is from Rozanov, Professional Jackass. She thinks maybe Ilya isn’t so bad. 

Not that she plans on telling him that.

She flops back on the couch. “You said it wouldn’t be invasive.”

Ilya shrugs, looking now as if he’d been his usual carefree self the entire time. “Was maybe a little invasive.” 

And she’s—laughing. Giggling, even, at a joke Ilya Rozanov had made. She’d invited him over to her house, he’d eaten her food, drunk her wine, given her some truly audacious advice about her personal life. And now she’s laughing, and he’s laughing too, and she can see Jackie and Shane smiling in the doorway, bemused and fond, and all she can think is the echo of Ilya’s voice saying you are starting something new.

Chapter End Notes

hi hello vivet here the shout out is because user Treer00ts commented on ch. 4 of Vitreous that Ilya needed to be the one to tell our dear friend that she's trans, and it was so close to the plot point we had already come up with of Ilya being like "yeah you actually hate that Hayley is so close to your old name" that I wanted to shout them out for being just like Ilya: a perceptive king (gn)

this chapter and the next are probably my favorites, honestly. enjoy!!

PS go check out the outtake that we couldn't quite fit into this chapter! there will be more vignettes and outtakes posted there as the story progresses!

Chapter 5: Designate, Designating, Designation

Chapter Summary

In which a lot of names, titles, and labels are thrown around.

Chapter Notes

[May 2008]

Jackie opens her eyes to see Hayden slumped over her bedside, head pillowed on one arm and turned to face her, mouth open.

He’s drooling, she notes with amusement.

He’s also holding her hand.

His grip has clearly loosened with sleep, but her hand is still firmly engulfed in his, despite the fact that her hands are in her lap and he’s had to stretch awkwardly to keep hold. He’s also reached across so he can grab her left hand with his, and it sends a flutter through her to see their rings lined up. 

God, she’d been so scared last night. So mad. Mad at anything she could think of. The universe for putting their babies in danger, her mom for being overbearing, the league for taking Hayden away from her, Hayden for leaving, Hayden for knocking her up, herself for getting knocked up. 

She’ll probably still be mad at some of those things even when she’s not so tired, but all of it feels infinitely more bearable now that her husband is here. Whatever they do, they’ll do it together.

Jackie doesn’t feel one bit of guilt as she shakes him gently. Hayden may have just finished a grueling post-season followed by an international flight and a night in a chair, but she had emergency surgery and gave birth to twins. They can be exhausted together. 

He snuffles, rubbing his head against his arm a couple times before he sits up blearily. His eyes clear as they land on her, then just as quickly fill with tears. He launches himself at her, just barely catching himself before he barrels into her, looking down at her abdomen in fear.

Jackie tugs on the hand he still has hold of. “Gently,” she instructs.

Hayden collapses into her neck, hugging her as best he can while she’s lying down and without disturbing her stitches.

A wave of emotion threatens to overwhelm her as she feels him shake, gasping slightly against her. 

“I was so scared,” Jackie confesses, feeling her own eyes fill. “And you weren’t here.”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hayden chants. He shifts and presses his forehead into her shoulder. Jackie wiggles her right hand so she can get it around him, running it over his dirty hair. He hadn’t showered after the game, clearly. She presses a kiss to his temple anyways.

For a while they just hold each other, breathing through the emotions that hadn’t fully released until they could ride them out together.

Eventually, Hayden sits back down, scooting his chair as close as he can and leaning in so that their faces stay near each other. Jackie keeps her hand on whatever part of him she can reach, ending with her thumb stroking over his patchy, not-yet-shaved playoffs beard. Hayden leans into the touch.

“They let me see the girls through a window last night,” he says. “This morning, I guess. Said they’re doing really well all things considered.”

Jackie vaguely remembers being told something similar last night, but less certain. Most of the night is a blur, though. Relief threatens to make her eyes spill over again. 

Hayden thumbs under her eye, catching a tear before it can fall. “You did it, you’re okay. They’re okay.” His voice breaks on the last word.

She sighs, the last of her fear draining away. It was hard and it was scary, but they’d done it. She feels—confident, now, like if they can face this, they can face anything. 

She smiles as a memory asserts itself through the blur. “Did you see their hair?”

Hayden immediately snorts. “Not at first, but the nurse made sure to take off their hats and show me because she’s never seen that much hair on a newborn before, let alone a premie. I mean, she’s not wrong. It was a lot of hair.”

Jackie giggles. “And the color! The blonde could’ve come from your mom or mine, but where’d our little redhead come from?”

Hayden casts his eyes up like he’s thinking. “I think my grandma might’ve had red hair before it went grey? I always thought she dyed it, though.”

Jackie shakes her head in disbelief. “Wild.”

Hayden leans back, still looking like he’d been ran over by a truck, but more at ease. “I’m just glad they’re not identical, honestly. Which one is which? The nurse just called them Baby A and Baby B still.”

Jackie opens her mouth, then falters. Wracking her brain proves fruitless. “I…don’t think I named them yet.”

Hayden throws his head back and guffaws. She wants to smack him, but settles for pinching his wrist. 

“Maybe I wanted to wait so we could name them together,” she sniffs, turning her nose up. 

Hayden goes to retort but stills, looking caught off guard. “Oh,” he says, a little breathlessly. He scrubs his free hand over his eyes. “Fuck, that—I want that.”

She smiles helplessly, enamored by how much that had affected him. It had been a joke, except—it really wasn’t, now that she thinks about it. It hadn’t felt right to do it without her husband. 

Hayden takes a breath and shakes his shoulders out, his face shifting to a considering look. “Hear me out,” he says seriously.

She raises an eyebrow. “Okay…?”

“I think Ruby should be the blonde one and Jade should be the redhead.”

Jackie giggles. She’d been expecting him to say he wanted to pick different names, or something. This feels…not trivial, but definitely not what she’d thought he’d focus on. “Fine by me. Why does that matter?”

Hayden flushes. “Feels dumb if people think we named her Ruby because of her hair. I don’t know. I wouldn’t want them to tease her.”

Jackie softens instantly. “That’s sweet, Hayd. Let’s do that.”

Later, when they get to go down to the NICU to see them, Hayden pushing Jackie’s chair right up to the window, she tries it out. She points to the red-haired baby, the older one. “Jade.”

She moves her hand to point at the blonde baby. “Ruby.”

It feels right.

She says as much to Hayden, who just presses his lips to the crown of her head, lingering for a long moment. 

“I’m glad we’re doing this together,” he says into her hair. It sounds solemn. Jackie wraps a hand around the forearm he’s got across her chest, offering silent support.

Hayden takes a deep breath. “Even the guys who were on my side yesterday, it felt like none of them really understood. Like they didn’t get that I wanted to be here for me and for you, not one or the other. And the guys who were just annoyed…”

He shifts, pressing his forehead into her crown. "They want me to be one of the guys and they act like putting effort into my marriage goes against that. Like I betrayed them and lost them the game because I wasn’t focused.” He sniffles a bit and clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is tight, in a deeper register than he normally speaks. “Being around them when they're like that makes me feel like shit when I look in the mirror. I feel like the guy they think I should be is looking back."

Jackie squeezes his arm. She’s not sure how to help him, not familiar with the sports culture he’s part of. She knows he’s not like that, though. She can start there. 

“Fuck them,” she says fiercely. Hayden jumps a bit at the swear, and Jackie feels him grin against her hair. “Fuck them. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you are who you are. They don’t get a say.” 

Hayden presses another kiss to her hair. “They don’t get a say,” he agrees.

-------

[January 2019]

“Are you gonna stick with Hayley for now, do you think?” Shane makes grabby hands at Jackie, and she changes course to hand Amber to him instead of putting her in her playpen. Hayley tilts her head up and puckers her lips, grinning when Jackie rolls her eyes but obliges, dropping a kiss on her lips as she passes. Hayley watches her appreciatively. 

Shane makes a show of covering Amber’s eyes, wrinkling his nose. 

“Just because you can’t appreciate how hot my wife is doesn’t mean I can’t, Hollzy.”

Shane raises an eyebrow. “Is that a gay joke? Feels kinda hypocritical, don’t you think?”

“Nuh-uh, calling them out in the locker room doesn’t mean I can’t make them to you, I have best friend privileges—wait,” Hayley’s brain catches up with her mouth. “You’re saying I’m gay.”

Shane’s other eyebrow joins its partner in a cheekily incredulous look, a barely-concealed laugh in his voice. “Considering you just checked your wife out in front of me, yeah. I am.”

“But I don’t—” feel gay, is how that sentence would end had Hayley not swallowed the words. They sit uneasily in her stomach. What does that even mean, feeling gay? Gender shit aside, she feels the same as she always has. Loving her wife in a gay way seems like it should feel different than it did as a straight man. She wants it to feel different; wants to know, definitively, that she’s not attracted to women the way a man is attracted to women, because she’s not a man. 

She can and has run herself in circles on this, endlessly rotating the tangled mess in her head without ever finding an end to pull at, so she drops it before she can spiral at Shane. She sinks lower on the couch. 

“Whatever. You’re gay, I’m—gay, we can throw a parade. Invite Hunter and Roz.”

Shane makes a face automatically. “Do we have to?”

“Invite Roz? Absolutely we do not, thank god.” She dodges the smack Shane throws her way only because she knows it’s coming.

“Hunter, jackass.” Shane’s lip curls up in distaste just at saying the name. Hayley shakes her head, snickering.

“Still don’t understand how you have beef with the second nicest guy in the league but fell madly in love with Rozanov.” 

“Are we finally talking about Shane’s real rival?” Jackie drops down next to Hayley, placing the laundry basket she’d been carrying on the ground between them. Hayley reaches in and they both start folding. “Watching you two fight was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in a game. He’s like, hockey Captain America.”

Shane sits up straight in indignation, readjusting his hold on Amber so he can count off on his fingers. Amber’s eyes follow his hand with interest. 

“Okay, one, don’t say Ilya’s name like that, please.” He levels a look at Hayley and she nods, holding her hands up in acquiesence.

“Two, he’s not Captain America, he’s a loser and a dick. The only similarity is their age.”

Jackie laughs, looking delighted. “Go off, Shane. Is this the type of stuff you were yelling at him?”

“He’s weird!” Shane insists, grinning. Jackie and Hayley both raise skeptical eyebrows. “Okay, he’s fine as a person, whatever, but no one can have stats like that and not have something wrong with them. Why does he always choke halfway through the season? And that’s an improvement over his first few seasons, he used to be wildly up and down every damn game.”

“He’s been a beast since he came out,” Hayley reminds, just to needle him. “Almost like he could always play like this but being in the closet is stressful.”

Shane shrugs, bitchy and confident. “Skill issue.”

Hayley bursts out laughing, and she can hear Jackie do the same next to her. “Oh my god, Hollzy.”

He just shrugs again, smirking and bouncing Amber gently on his knee. “Just saying. I’m doing it. Ilya’s doing it. We’re both better than he is. Skill issue.”

“Wow.” Hayley puts on a look of mock offense. “What about me? Am I not in this group?”

Shane sucks his teeth.

“Shane!”

He holds his hands up best he can while keeping Amber upright. “You’re playing way better than you did last year, is all I’m saying. If we’re counting the closet as the time between when you figured it out and when you told people, then,” he winces exaggeratedly. “Yeah, you’re more like Hunter. Sorry.”

“Man, fuck you.” Hayley rolls her eyes.

“Swear jar,” Jackie and Shane chorus. Hayley huffs and tosses the shirt she’s just folded with a little too much aggression, knocking over their whole neat stack. Jackie and Shane laugh at her and she nobly resists the urge to flip them off as she fixes it.

“Oh, shit,” she hears Shane say. He’s looking at his watch when she glances back.

“What?” She asks, but has to turn back when her lapse in attention causes her stack to fall again, a couple shirts getting crumpled. She frowns, annoyed, and starts refolding the messy ones, trying to make the stack less precarious.

“I lost track of time, Irina Foundation is announcing the summer camps next week and we’re filming part of the video in a couple hours. Need to make sure I’m ready.”

His weight shifts off the couch behind her as he stands. “Okay, Amber, let’s get you back to Mom. Bye-bye, honey.”

Hayley doesn’t look up, engrossed in her task and already feeling Jackie shift to receive Amber.

She lands in Hayley’s lap instead. 

Now her head shoots up, stilling briefly in shock, but Shane’s already halfway to the door, calling over his shoulder. “Sorry to run, I’ll see you guys later! Say hi to the twins and Jasper for me!”

Hayley manages a faint bye and Jackie waves, also looking a bit caught off-guard. The door shuts and silence reigns. 

“I’m Mom,” Hayley says weakly. “He called me her mom.”

“He did,” Jackie confirms, tone careful. “Is that—not something you want?”

Hayley looks over, cold suddenly spreading through her chest. “Not if it bothers you. You’re their mom, I’m not taking that from you.”

Jackie instantly softens and she runs a thumb over Hayley’s cheek. “Sweetheart.”

Those damn pet names. Her chest is warm again, and she can feel it creep up to her face.

Jackie continues. “It might take some getting used to for both of us. But I think we can share the title, yeah? Just need to work out who’s Mom and who’s Mama, really.”

Hayley falls back on the couch, keeping a careful hand on Amber. “Fuck,” she says, more choked up than she’ll ever admit to in court. She buries her face in her daughter’s downy baby hair. Jackie rubs soothing hand over her shoulder and very generously does not call her on the curse. 

She’s mom. I’m mom. Hayley is a mom to four amazing kids. My wife and I are moms to four amazing kids. She and Jackie are moms together. Her kids could have two moms.

She says it to herself over and over, in first person and in third like Shane had done for her when she stumbled her way through coming out. It helps, a little. Her head is buzzing. She’s repeated the word mom to the point where it doesn’t sound real anymore, except for how it’s the only real thing in the universe.

Jackie had been right there when Shane was leaving and Shane had gone for Hayley when he thought mom. Hayley’s head swirls. She feels delirious. 

Being a wife, she’s started to become accustomed to, if she ignores the question of her sexuality. Being a mom? The kids seem to play the switch game more and more all the time, and even pretend it still throws her for a loop. Hearing it drop so easily from Shane’s mouth? Like he wasn’t even thinking about it? Like it was the natural title to apply to her?

If she could bottle this feeling, Hayley thinks, she could win a Cup on her own against a team of Ryan Prices without him landing a single hit on her. She feels like she wouldn’t even touch the ice. 

Jackie is looking at her, expression slightly worried. Hayley can’t turn the pure electricity running through her into words, so she casts about to change the subject and stop acting like she’s about to have a breakdown over a three-letter word. 

“I never answered his question,” she realizes. 

“What question?” Jackie studies her face, seems to relax at whatever she sees.

“If I’m gonna stick with Hayley for now or change it again.” She shrugs. “I honestly have no idea. Hayley’s not that bad. It’s better than Hayden. But…”

“But maybe Ilya wasn’t wrong?” Jackie looks at her knowingly. 

Hayley lays Amber on the couch gently, smiling when she kicks her little legs out. She starts stacking the folded laundry back in the basket. “Maybe through self-reflection and acknowledging my wants I’ve reached a point in my journey where I know that I’ve outgrown Hayley and it’s time to move on.” 

Jackie coughs out a “Bullshit.”

Hayley sighs, long suffering. “And maybe Roz got there first, because he’s apparently a self-actualized asshole.”

Jackie giggles. “He’s like a gay guru.”

“Ugh.” Hayley wrinkles her nose as she stands, propping the basket on her hip. “I think I’d rather have Scott Hunter.”

Jackie’s bright peals of laughter follow her all the way upstairs.

-------

[February 2019]

Jane: Name ideas for Hayley: Marie, Laura, Natalie, Renee, Renata, Melodie

Jane: What do you think?

Lily: hollander this is dire

Lily: wait

Lily: shanechka!! these are just members of canadian national team from last year!!

Jane: So? They’re good names!

Lily: Мой малыш no they are not

Lily: not for pike

Jane: How so?

Lily: you are FRIENDS with marie philip poulin

Lily: is not weird to have two friends with same name? is not weird to name one friend after other friend??

Jane: Huh, I didn’t think about it like that. I just thought, you know, it’s clearly a good name for a hockey player. She’s a cool role model.

Jane: I asked my parents if I could change my name to Paul Kariya as a kid.

Lily: of course you did

Lily: unfortunately pike is not nerdy little kid, so she maybe needs different strategy

Jane: Fine. What about Brooke?

Lily: you are killing me

Lily: you are picking bad on purpose yes?

Jane: Literally what’s wrong with Brooke.

Lily: brooke pike? two nasty american hard K sounds in the row? you would do this to best friend?

Lily: cruel cruel man

Jane: I’m pretty sure Russian has that sound too.

Lily: mm no is different

Jane: Sure.

Jane: Hang on, I’m not American!

Lily: pah north american english speakers, same same

Jane: You were surrounded by American accents, BOSTON ACCENTS, for years! You can’t tell the difference between them and us?? We sound nothing alike!

Lily: doubting emoji

Jane: You can’t just type out the name of an emoji.

Lily: can, did

Jane: What’s the point?? It’s slower and it’s not like you don’t use them plenty already.

Lily: it made you laugh yes?

Jane: …

Jane: Maybe.

Lily: then mission finished

Jane: It’s “mission accomplished.”

Lily: mine sounds better

Jane: It kinda does, actually.

Jane: But seriously Ilya we’re going over to their place to brainstorm this weekend! Help me come up with ideas if you’re gonna shoot all mine down!

Lily: is okay shane. i will do our talking for us yes?

Jane: You’re such an asshole.

Lily: me??? i am canada’s hockey golden boy

Lily: you have me confused with hot mlh bad boy shane hollander

Lily: him, he is gigantic asshole

Lily: you know him?

Jane: He can’t be all bad. I heard he’s like, totally in love or something, gets all mushy about some girl named ‘Lily’

Lily: blushing emoji heart emoji 

-------

[February 2019]

“Okay!” Jackie claps her hands together from where she’s standing in front of the large sheet of banner paper she’d stuck to the wall. “I’ve gathered you all here to brainstorm names for my lovely wife, because she can’t come up with a new one even though she hates Hayley more by the day.”

She sees Hayley open her mouth to protest, and points at her threateningly with her marker. “No comments from the woman who told me ‘Hayley’s still good for now I promise’ after she cringed hard enough to stop walking at the sound of it, thank you.”

Hayley shuts her mouth.

Ilya, somehow taking up more space on her couch than one person should physically be capable of with his arms spread to their full wingspan on the back and his legs at a manspread angle that looks like it requires stretching beforehand, chimes in. “Eh, Shane will probably not be much help either. His suggestions were…”

He lifts a hand into the air and gives it a delicate little flick that nonetheless conveys great judgment and amusement. 

Shane, who has managed to make his broad shoulders look small tucked under Ilya’s arm despite how he’s sitting sideways with his legs out to take up the rest of the couch that his boyfriend hadn’t already colonized, elbows said boyfriend hard in the gut without looking. 

Hayley, for her part, is sitting on the back of an armchair with her feet on the cushion—honestly, she picked these out, one would think she’d use them as intended—and her hands clasped, elbows propped on her knees so she can lean forward. Her expression is focused, like the paper is a goalie she’s barreling down on. 

Over a decade in and Jackie still isn’t sure how the presence of any amount of hockey players greater than one makes her usually-spacious living room feel cramped. Their bodies and energy levels just obey different rules than the rest of the world. Probably something to do with how not one of them seems to have ever used furniture before.

Ilya takes the elbow like a champ, grinning and leaning in to Shane like it had been a loving caress instead of something bordering on penalty-worthy. “No, tell them, Shanya, they will see.”

Shane sighs but rattles off a list of names that sounds…familiar.

Hayley gets there before Jackie does, letting out a sharp bark of laughter. “Hollzy, no. Don’t you know Poulin?”

The Canadian Olympics roster, that’s where she had heard those names together. Jackie doesn’t bother hiding her amusement as Ilya looks victorious. 

“This is what I said, word by word!” he crows. Shane grumbles something that sounds like word for word even as he belies his disgruntled expression by pressing himself, somehow, further into his boyfriend. Ilya points at Hayley, declaring, “Pike, you are maybe not so bad at this yet.”

Hayley flips him off, grinning. “And what are your suggestions, smartass?”

“Iliyana,” Ilya replies promptly. He winks. “Is good strong Russian name.”

Jackie eyes them all with exasperated amusement. “You two are probably not gonna be as helpful as I’d hoped.”

She turns to the paper, dividing it into three sections and labeling them good, okay, and no. Under no, she writes:

• Current hockey players
• Especially ones we know
• Good strong Russian names
• Especially Iliyana

She turns back, ignoring Ilya’s exaggerated pout and Shane’s smaller, clumsily hidden real one, though she can feel the corner of her mouth twitch. “Serious suggestions, people?”

“Celeste.”

“Sofia.”

“Zoey.”

“Tanya.”

“Ivy.”

The ideas start flowing, and Jackie tips them into categories based on how Hayley’s face changes as she hears or says a name. 

They get a lot of nos, a good handful of okays, and only an occasional considering head tilt that pushes a name into good. 

“Kristin.”

“Nadia.”

“Brooke.”

Jackie stops short at that one, wrinkling her nose. “Ew. Brooke Pike? No, I’m vetoing that one.”

“I am not a Brooke,” Hayley agrees.

Ilya cracks up, and Shane glares up at him. “Go to hell.”

Jackie surveys the list. There are a couple that could work, but none of it feels like they’ve hit gold. She’s not sure if it’ll be exactly the same, but for all of their kids, there’d been a feeling of deep satisfaction when considering the name they’d eventually chosen. She remembers feeling like Ruby and Jade’s names had glowed, beaming out from her list. Jasper and Amber had been the same, eye-catching and shimmering in a way that the rest weren’t.

Wait. 

“What about gem names?” she says, silencing the bickering as she faces the room.

Hayley’s mouth parts slightly. 

“Gem names,” she breathes. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Ilya looks slightly confused. Shane looks up at him and, a little obviously, asks, “to match your kids? I like it.”

The expression on Ilya’s face smooths out, and he nods thoughtfully. “Will feel more real, to have connection like that.”

Jackie scrutinizes the space she has left and grabs another sheet of paper, taping it right over the first. She writes GEM NAMES at the top, but leaves off the categories as unimportant for now. When she and Hayley had been coming up with baby names, they had just thrown them all on the paper, not worrying about how they felt until later. It’s not, apparently, that much different to name a wife. 

The classics—those that they hadn’t already used for their children—get put up quickly. Diamond, Sapphire, Coral, Emerald, Pearl. Jackie privately marks most of them off her list, too fussy for her easygoing wife. 

Ilya throws in Jewel and Crystal, which aren’t bad. Hayley seems to like them, which—Jackie’s pretty sure she remembers Hayley mentioning a childhood crush on Jewel the singer, but it’s still better than a current hockey player that Shane actually knows. 

She adds a couple variations on names that she remembers from previous research: Esme, Giada, Coraline—the last just as quickly stricken by Hayley, claiming that she will not share a name with a “creepy-ass kids’ book.”

Shane snorts at this, not looking up from whatever list he’s perusing on his phone. “You play a violent contact sport for a living but you’re scared of a book for children?”

“No, she is right,” Ilya defends. He holds his hands up like what? at the surprised looks Jackie and Hayley give him. “Practiced my English with kids’ books. I am not sure author of that one was not Russian. Westerners do not write stories like this.” 

“Hey, this is cool,” Shane interjects. “Apparently ‘Greta’ and ‘Margaret’ and any variation of them come from words that mean pearl. So, like, Gretchen, Margo, Rita, they all kinda come from a gem.” 

Jackie likes them well enough, but Hayley makes a skeptical face. “Gretchen’s alright, but the rest are a no.”

Shane frowns, but accepts it. “Okay the other possibilities on this list are Opal, Beryl, and Amethyst.” 

“Ooh, I kinda like Beryl,” Hayley replies, perking up.

Shane looks bewildered, which Jackie privately concurs with. She can’t make heads or tails of her wife’s criteria, but it’s not her name. 

“Beryl Pike,” Ilya tests out. “Sounds nice.”

Hayley narrows her eyes. “Never mind, Roz is making fun of me. He probably thinks it sounds like a grandma’s name.”

Ilya looks affronted. “I am not. I cannot tell which names are grandma names.” He raises a provoking eyebrow at Hayley. “And if you do not like me, you should commit harder when you think I am criticizing. Not give up like—” he makes a whoosh like he’s deflating, raising his hand and letting it flop back down in an illustrative motion.

“Just because you live on spite, Roz, doesn’t mean—”

“Morganite,” Shane interrupts. “Morgan.”

Silence reigns, and Shane colors, looking around the room. “It’s a type of beryl,” he adds. “It doesn’t exactly fit the theme, because it was named after a person, so it’s like naming yourself after a gem that was named after a person, but it’s really pretty. But if you didn’t like the pearl ones—”

“Shanyusha,” Ilya cuts in gently. He nods his head at Hayley. 

Hayley, who is sitting stock still, mouth open and eyes unfocused. Jackie watches her mouth Morgan to herself, then Morgan Pike. Her lips form around the words like they’re familiar, like they fit easily in her mouth. 

“Morgan,” Jackie tries out loud. Her wife looks up at her, eyes big. “This is my wife, Morgan.”

“Morgan Pike, 35 for the Metros,” Ilya contributes. “She is okay skater, good wing,” he looks between his partner and Jackie’s, both of whom sit unmoving, almost enraptured. “Excellent AC.”

Shane immediately nods at that. “Incredible AC. Morgan’s my best friend. Honestly, Morgan’s probably my closest friend on the team by a mile.”

“Morgan and I have four kids together,” Jackie puts in. “I wouldn’t want to build a life with anybody but her.” 

The woman in question absorbs it all silently. She sits, head down, ears trained on their words. Jackie watches each utterance of the name ripple over her, watches her scrub a quick hand under her eyes before she looks up. 

“My name is Morgan,” she says, and Jackie feels like her heart is shaking loose at the sight of her wife’s smile, big and bright like she hasn’t seen in forever. Ever, maybe, she thinks, cataloguing the new ways age has made it crinkle her eyes and scrunch at her nose. She can see every one of Morgan’s teeth, and a sharp rush of desire bolts through Jackie before she can push it down. Morgan’s smile embodies the word beam, shining out of her face like the sun has decided to concentrate in Jackie’s living room. 

“My name is Morgan,” she says again, the words bending around the sheer strength of her smile. 

Ilya waves, a sillier gesture than Jackie usually sees from him. “Hi, Morgan.”

He looks soft, tipping his head into Shane’s. 

Shane puts on a goofy version of his press voice. “Morgan, great to meet you. I’m Shane Hollander.”

Jackie walks up to her wife, cradling her chin and running a gentle finger over her brow. “Morgan,” she says, and it comes out almost forceful, with how much emotion is pushing through it. “My Morgan.”

Morgan tips forward, forehead landing on Jackie’s collarbone. “Yours,” she agrees, voice shaky. “Morgan. Yours.”

Chapter End Notes

Мой малыш: my baby

Paul Kariya is a Japanese-Canadian former NHL winger who would've played for Shane's entire childhood. He was known as a "speedy and intelligent offensive force with exceptional vision." Pretty perfect, right?

go look at morganite rn bc it's GORGEOUS. i'd put photos in here but the html is kicking my ass :(

to make up for it, have some quotes about morganite from gemstones.com:

"Spiritually, the peach morganite crystal represents healing, love, and inner peace."

"Another nickname for morganite is the 'Stone of Equality and Acceptance,' reflecting its further symbolism in fairness, just treatment, and overcoming adversity."

"Paired with beryl's symbolism in faithful love and respect, the pink morganite meaning is particularly powerful for those in long-term relationships. It represents the patience, compassion, and promise required to make love last."

"The gemstone, known as pink beryl, lived much of its life in relative obscurity, rarely receiving much attention from anyone. [...] With its newly acquired name, morganite finally began receiving the recognition it so richly deserved."

apart from a super broad outline for the whole arc, Morgan's name is actually one of the very first things we nailed down. at first, jane and i just liked the name--i found it on a list of gemstones and jane picked it off the shortlist i sent to her, which i was glad about because it was my favorite too. then i started reading about it, and was amazed at how its meaning seemed to capture our entire thesis statement. naturally--as you might have noticed--we had to pull the series title from a quote. the work titles followed: "vitreous" is a descriptor used for gem luster, and "hyaline," [third fic,] and "prismatic" are all used to describe precious stones as well. "vitreous" is the only one that directly applies to morganite, though!

this chapter is more or less the end of the first act. things get a little bumpy from here on out, but they also get a lot better. such is life!

Chapter 6: call me in a sweet design

Chapter Summary

change is a process.

Chapter Notes

CW for panic attack and dissociation in April 2019. if you'd like to skip it, it starts at:

"She leans her forehead against the closed door"

and ends at:

"'I'm sorry,' she says clumsily."
--
reminder, because it's relevant and hopefully isn't too confusing in this chapter: all contact names are how they appear in the person's phone! we have an omniscient view of any texts, where we can see both individual contact names, because that's how it is in the show--we see "jane" and "lily," instead of "jane/lily" and "me."
--
chapter title from Call Me by Blondie!

[March 2019]

It changes—so much more than Morgan expects it to change, honestly.

Like, the locker room’s still shit. And femininity still feels like something that lives in the bottom drawer of her dresser, only coming out when the house is empty and comprised of three skirts, one ill-fitting dress, two bottles of nail polish plus remover, and makeup that she rarely can bring herself to touch. 

An info packet on estrogen HRT, silently left behind by Shane one day and only just barely making it into the drawer instead of the trash, which had been her dread-filled gut reaction. She still hasn’t read a word past the first paragraph.

But wow had she underestimated how much less all that shit would bother her now. 

The clothes don’t fit right, is the thing. Morgan’s graduated from the grab-bag sizing found in thrift stores to online shopping, which is only marginally better in that regard. And, no matter how accurate or consistent a size chart is, it’s still not built for her. So the clothes don’t fucking fit, and her shoddy makeup skills highlight the sharp square to her features instead of softening them, and sometimes, it makes Morgan feel worse than if she put on a suit. 

The clothes don’t fit right. It’s not like having a name she likes makes them tailor themselves to her body. The locker room’s still hell. The team isn’t winning GLAAD awards because Morgan knows her name. 

But—

Somehow, more and more since that day in February, she notices things she likes about the way a skirt drapes or an eyeshadow brings out her eyes before she notices stubble or how the dress gaps awkwardly at her chest. Somehow when the leers, the turned backs, the disparaging whispers and loud-and-proud snide comments show up—somehow, now, they bounce off of her just that much quicker. She’s gained just enough breathing room to match them with calm shutdowns instead of letting them walk over her furious silence.

It’s fucking incredible. 

She finds herself just—fucking saying her name out loud when she’s alone, rolling the letters over her tongue and back, like it’s candy she’s trying to savor. Morgan. Morgan. Morgan, Morgan, Morgan. 

Shane, intentionally or not, Morgan’s not sure, has picked up the Metro babies’ habit of calling her Ace in the room, still sticking to Pike on the ice, saying her old name almost never. Something about the way Shane says it now makes her her chest feel full of fucking helium. He looks at her and says Ace and she hears Morgan. Like he can look at her in the locker room and still see Morgan, still knows her to be true even when she’s buried herself so deep into Hayden Pike, Assistant Captain For The Montreal Metros that she doubts her reality.

She kind of hates it.

As good as having a name that fits feels, that weightless helium-sense has a time and fucking place, and she would like for it to stay put, please. She needs to be grounded and solid on the ice, around the team. It’s—quite literally—dangerous otherwise. Yet more evidence that this doesn’t mix well with hockey, no matter how many women’s games Hollzy plans to drag her to. 

It’s just safer, if Morgan stays at home while she goes to work. Shane, with the Jane and Lily of it all, understands the importance of that. She has to trust that he won’t slip. 

-------

[April 2019]

“Autumn passed and Winter, and in the Spring, when the days grew warm and sunny, the Boy went out to play in the wood behind the house.” Morgan chanced a glance at Jasper, sitting in her lap while the twins lean in on either side of her. He’s drooping, snuggling more heavily into her, but he’s clearly fighting gamely to keep his eyes open for the last pages of his favorite book, so she keeps going. 

“And while he was playing, two rabbits crept out from the bracken and peeped at him. One of them was brown all over, but the other had strange markings under his fur, as though long ago he had been spotted, and the spots still showed through. And about his little soft nose and his round black eyes there was something familiar, so that the Boy thought to himself—”

“Why, he looks just like my old Bunny that was lost when I had scarlet fever!" Ruby interjects to read the dialogue, as is custom. It had started as a way to just make the twins sit their butts down and stop revving each other up before bedtime, but it’s become a beloved tradition of all three kids old enough to at least kind of read. Morgan’s just glad they figured out a turn-taking system that doesn’t end in a meltdown. From her. 

She nudges Ruby gently in praise, and reads out the last line of the book.

“But he never knew that it really was his own Bunny, come back to look at the child who had first helped him to be Real.”

Right on cue, Jasper lets out a jaw-cracking yawn, almost swaying from the force of it. Morgan huffs out a laugh.

“Alright buddy, time for bed. You two,” she motions to the twins. “Go brush your teeth, and you better still be brushing when I get there.”

Jade snaps up and gives her a mock salute, Ruby giggling and copying her sister. They scramble out of Jasper’s room to the sound of Morgan’s exasperated, “go, you little rascals.”

She secures her grip on Jasper, whose eyes are now mostly closed, and smoothly rolls up onto her knees, bringing his bed into reach without having to disturb him too greatly. She deposits him under the covers, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he snuffles, burrowing in to his pillow. 

“Good night, Jasper,” she whispers. “I love you.”

“Nigh’ loveyou m’m,” he mumbles.

Morgan smiles at how his speech slurs into nonsense at the end, almost certainly already dreaming. She runs one last hand over his messy curls and goes to check on the twins.

She detours into Amber’s room first, both to check on her and to make sure the twins really are brushing their teeth for long enough. Amber is sleeping soundly, letting out cute little snores every so often. Morgan kisses her fingertips and brushes them across Amber’s head. She shuts the door quietly behind herself.

As she ducks into the bathroom, she claps. “Alright my lovely eldest children, are we going to be the dentist’s favorite again this year?”

Ruby nods and Jade grins, showing off her mouth full of foam. Some of it dribbles out onto her chin. Morgan snorts. 

“Gross, dude. Go on, spit, I deem your teeth clean and purdy.”

There’s a minor shove fight for the sink that mostly ends with them just spitting at the same time on different sides. They rinse their mouths and bounce off to their room, leaving Morgan to roll her eyes—mostly fondly—and wash the rest of the toothpaste down the drain. 

She takes a moment to look at herself in the mirror, assessing how she feels about her appearance today. She’d foregone shaving this post-season, making the calculation that she’ll take the itchiness—both physical and emotional—over another year of the jagged, just-joking vitriol she’d faced last year. With how she’s been growing her hair out over the season, it’s actually not that bad. She’s got a respectable shag-mullet-wolf cut thing going, and while her neat beard certainly isn’t giving woman, the hair framing her face sharpens the whole look into something modern, edgy. Not woman, but less clean-cut man than the Boy Next Door vibes she’d always sported. She raps the counter twice and grins at her reflection. She could do a lot worse than this.

Surprisingly, when Morgan makes her way into their room, both of her lovable rascals are in their own beds, tucked in with one red head and one blonde against matching pillowcases. They’re chatting quietly. Morgan tilts her head against the doorframe, watching them with affection that swells her chest to bursting. 

Eventually, she knocks a knuckle against the wall and turns out the big light, leaving their lamps glowing softly. “Time for bed, guys. Fifteen minutes with the lamps on, max, and then it’s lights out for real, okay?”

Jade stifles a yawn, giving a sleepy thumbs up. Ruby nods, eyes half-lidded, and says, “Good night, Mom. Love you.”

Morgan blinks. Then blinks again. She says the first thing that she can think of, mind blanked out. “It’s too late to play the switch game, my friend. Time to sleep, remember?”

Ruby pouts, eyes fluttering open a little. “But I like calling you Mom.”

“Yeah,” Jade agrees. “Mama is really funny as Daddy but you’re so good at Mom. It’s like you’re not pretending at all.”

Ruby perks up. “My friend Eli has two dads! And his papa used to be his mom! Can we have two moms? Please?”

“Mom and Mama all the time!” Jade gasps excitedly. She turns the puppy eyes on Morgan full force, Ruby joining in. “Please please pleeeeease, can you be Mom for real and not just pretend?” Jade begs.

Oh, fuck. 

“Yeah,” Morgan hurries out before she can lose the battle with either tears or nerves. “Yeah, we can do that. I love you both so much.” Her voice cracks more than once, but her daughters don’t seem to notice as they cheer quietly. They both immediately snuggle down and turn off their lamps, as if getting what they wanted is reward enough to give up their last couple minutes before sleep. 

“Love you, Mom,” they chorus as Morgan pulls the door shut just as the first tear spills over. 

She leans her forehead against the closed door, trying to slow her rabbit heart. A stifled sob escapes and she backs away from the door, not wanting her daughters to hear her having a breakdown.

She doesn’t make it far, sliding down to sit against the opposite wall and covering her mouth with both hands. She drags in a ragged breath through them. 

She tilts her head back so it thunks against the wall, the ceiling swimming above her. She keeps her hands pressed to her mouth. The pressure is grounding as she tries to regulate a nervous system that’s currently trying its damndest to split apart and fly in every direction. 

Time slip-slides around her, so she’s not sure how long it’s been when the buzzing under her skin and in her ears recedes enough that she registers anything else. 

She notices the pressure on her leg, first, firm and grounding. Eventually, she recognizes it as a hand, even distinguishing the slow rub of a thumb over her shin from the rest of the sensation, distinct in how it catches softly at the hairs on the upsweep. 

Some time after that, a low voice filters through, muffled and unintelligible at first, though slowly growing clearer. 

“Not to rush you, sweetheart, but any sign of life would be nice right now, because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” the voice murmurs in a steady, soothing tone. “You’re doing great, Morgan, you’re okay, just breathe and focus on my voice. That’s it. If you can hear me, please, like, curl your toes or something. Doesn’t have to be anything big, just some sign before I fully freak out and call 911.”

It’s Jackie’s voice, Morgan realizes dimly. And probably Jackie’s hand. She curls her toes. The effort feels monumental. 

“Okay, that’s great, thank you Morgan.” Jackie’s voice is still warm and steady, but there’s a definite relieved tinge to it. “Can you curl the toes just on this foot?”

A hand taps one of her feet—she can’t tell which. She focuses, though, and manages to curl just the toes that had been tapped. Sensation starts to return. She feels the wall against her back and her head, the pressure of her hands against her mouth. 

“You’re doing so good, honey. Keep breathing, okay? Can you do just this foot now?”

Another tap, on her right foot. She’s pretty sure. Which would make the first one the left foot. The effort comes easier when she reaches for it, and she scrunches her toes in the slightly-scratchy carpet. She does it again, then alternates, right, left, right.

Hallway. Outside the kids’ rooms. Late, Jackie’s face only half-illuminated by their own open door at the end of the hall. The tightness that had wrapped around her chest, the tears that had burned at her eyes.

Mom. 

The sense-memory of it threatens to scatter her again, and she only just manages to hold on to her hard-won composure. She rolls her head over to look at Jackie. 

“How long was I…” Morgan trails off, the words mushy in her mouth. She’s not sure how that sentence was supposed to end. Freaking out. Not here. Losing it. 

“I don’t know,” Jackie answers. “It’s been about ten minutes with me here, but I don’t know how long you were sitting out here before I came looking for you.”

She looks terrified under a mask of calm, now that Morgan can get a good look at her.

“I’m sorry,” she says clumsily. “For worrying you.”

Jackie runs a hand over Morgan’s brow, cupping her cheek. She shakes her head. “Not important right now, okay? I’m just glad you’re back.”

Morgan rolls her head back. She feels, all of a sudden, exhaustion crashing over her. Her eyelids seem impossible to hold up. 

“Can we go to bed?” she asks. “I’m tired.”

Jackie nods, and together, they lever Morgan’s unusually-graceless body off the floor. She tries not to lean too heavily on her wife, but Jackie just plants her feet and tugs Morgan’s arm over her shoulders. They shuffle into their bedroom. Morgan collapses facedown on the bed as soon as they’re in range. 

Jackie climbs in on her side, tugging the covers out from under Morgan’s prone body and pulling them up over both of them.

Morgan could very easily drop off into sleep right now. It’d take more effort to prevent that, even.

But it feels wrong, to leave her wife with no explanation for what just happened, even if she bumbles her way through a truth she barely understands herself.

“They called me Mom,” Morgan informs her pillow. Her voice shakes on the last word, despite how she’d willed it not to. 

 Jackie scoots closer to her, squeezes the back of Morgan’s neck. “Can you say that again, baby? I didn’t catch it.”

Oh, not fair. Jackie only breaks out baby in moments like this, because it never fails to absolutely liquidate Morgan’s defenses. Right now, it makes her melt into the bedding, feeling small, contained. Safe. 

She takes a deep breath, turns her head towards Jackie. Keeps her eyes closed. 

Chickens out of the direct route. 

“The switch game,” she says instead. “Did you make that up to get them to start calling me mom?”

Jackie’s hand stills briefly on Morgan’s neck before she resumes the gentle rhythm of squeeze-and-release. 

“I didn’t really get that far ahead,” she says. “In the moment, I really did just want them to know, like, yeah be careful around a pregnant person, but I’m not gonna die just because they’re running around. They were so antsy that day, it was the first thing I could think of to make them realize that I could still do the energetic stuff in small doses.”

She pauses. Morgan opens her eyes, takes in the considering look on her wife’s face. 

“When they played it with you for the first time,” she continues. “Yeah, then I realized that it could maybe help them understand and process the idea. Like, the concept that mom and dad aren’t roles set in stone. So if or when you decided that was a conversation you wanted to have, then there’d already be groundwork in place. Because it’s gonna be a hard conversation, you know? I wanted to make it easier if I could.”

Morgan presses her face back into the pillow at that, a fresh wave of tears threatening to well up. She takes another deep, shuddering breath and once again gamely removes herself from her hiding spot. 

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Jackie’s eyes look almost pained. She tugs with the hand she still has on Morgan’s neck. 

“C’mere.” She directs her until Morgan’s got one arm and one leg sprawled across Jackie and her face tucked into Jackie’s shoulder. 

Jackie winds her arms around Morgan’s back, making her feel even more safe and contained than before. It’s indescribable, what it does to her beleaguered nervous system. 

“I don’t know if we need to worry about that anymore,” she says into the safety of the crook between Jackie’s shoulder and her neck. “The twins asked me if they can call me Mom for real.”

Jackie lets out a surprised noise. “They did?”

She nods, her lips catching on Jackie’s shirt. “I take it you didn’t put them up to that?”

“Mm-mm,” Jackie confirms, shaking her head. “Honestly, most of the development has been all them, I only ended up nudging them a couple times. They’ve been the ones to suggest the game or new ideas for it, like, 95% of the time.”

“Ruby mentioned something about one of her friends having, like, a trans dad or something. Super casual about it,” Morgan remembers. She blinks. “Huh. Maybe this conversation wasn’t ever gonna be as hard as we thought it would be.”

Jackie squishes Morgan into her, chuckling softly. “The kids really are alright. It’s us old fogeys who need to catch up, apparently.”

Morgan pinches her wife’s side, making her yelp. “Watch who you’re calling old. I’m youthful.”

“My controversially young wife,” Jackie sighs, earning herself a jab this time. She jabs back, digging a knuckle into the small of Morgan’s back. “Don’t dish it if you can’t take it!”

“Oh, I can take it,” Morgan leans up and leers, though it falls into a phony pout when Jackie just rolls her eyes. She snuggles back down into the cuddles she’s really craving. 

After a moment, she says, unsure, “Jade said—” she clears her throat. “Jade said that with you, it was really funny, but with me, it was like I wasn’t pretending at all. That I was just a good mom.”

Her throat grows tight again. God, is this ever gonna stop making her feel so wrung out?

Jackie gives a thoughtful hum. “Playing pretend has never really been your thing, yeah? But you’re different when you play the switch game. I didn’t want to mention it because I didn’t want to make you self-conscious, but being called mom just lights you up. Like, it makes me understand why they call it euphoria.” She runs a hand over Morgan’s hair. “I guess I’m not too surprised that the kids picked up on that too, even if they don’t know the right words to describe it.”

“I think they know better than I do, at this point,” Morgan mumbles. “I hope they do. I wanna be a good mom.”

Sleep is pulling her down, and she kinda loses track of what she’s saying, finally relinquishing herself to the waves of exhaustion. “Lo’ you,” she gets out.

She feels a firm kiss to her brow, and Jackie shifting to turn out her lamp, but anything further is lost to the night.

-------

[May 2019]

[Video description: a clip from a post game interview with Ilya from the Centaurs-Metros game 3 weeks ago. He is shirtless and there is a Centaurs logo on the wall behind him. He says into the microphone in front of him, “Pike is like morgue. Where talent goes to die.” The clip cuts into a montage of voiceover clips and tweets from Ilya. The voiceover clips are: “The Morgue—[cut]” “Who is Pike? I only know Morgue,” and “Morgue scored? Impressive.” The tweets are all from Ilya’s profile, with “Morgue” bolded to indicate the searched term. There are at least five. End video description.]

Hockey_Daily Uh-oh! Notorious chirper Ilya Rozanov has debuted a new nickname for Metros no. 35 Hayden Pike. Rozanov, frequently called the Russian Menace, delights in coming up with creative insults to get under his opponents’ skin! 

With the Centaurs just missing that wild card slot, no chance yet to see how Pike reacts on the ice. Stay tuned for next season!

What do we think of “The Morgue?” Vote below!

H. Pike (Metros): Your boyfriend’s an asshole

Hollzy: I’m well aware.

Hollzy: What did he do now?

H. Pike (Metros): You see his new nickname for me?

Hollzy: Lol

Hollzy: It’s kind of sweet if you think about it.

H. Pike (Metros): In what world is that sweet?? He said I’m where talent goes to die!

Unknown Number: hello my close and personal friend morgan, also known as morg

Unknown Number: you do not like my nickname? ((( is too bad, 15th best player on the metros, i do not think i need to care about her opinion

Morgan: Roz? Did Shane give you my number? I’m gonna kill him

Add contact: Rozanov?

Rozanov: no

Rozanov: jackie did )))

Rozanov: just have not used until now

“Jackie! Did you give Ilya Rozanov my number?”

“Yeah,” she calls. “I gave him both our numbers when we went to the Pride-Beauts game with him and Shane and he got us that meet and greet with the teams. Why?” Her voice comes closer as she speaks.

Right, they had gone to that back in March. It was, ostensibly, marketing for the Irina Foundation and the Game Changer camps, Shane giving an interview during one of the intermissions. A chance for Ilya and Shane to show off that they could hang out without killing each other, and, Morgan knows, a way for Shane to try and help her bridge the gap between her job and her identity. Well-meaning—a little naive. There aren’t any more out trans women in any of the women’s leagues than there are in the MLH.

Morgan had hid in the bathroom for most of the third period, overwhelmed with jealousy and shame. 

Then, when the CWHL had abruptly folded and a boycott of the NWHL—and all other pro hockey in North America, including her own damn team—started within a month of her attending her first and only game, it had felt about as clear of a sign as she could ask for. She’d instinctively tried to stuff herself back in the closet, and it wasn’t until she had a panic attack over her kids asking to call her mom that she’d snapped out of it.

Morgan jumps slightly as Jackie leans over her shoulder, startled out of the memory. She tilts the screen so Jackie can see the texts from Roz. 

Jackie’s brows furrow. “What’s he talking about?”

Morgan swipes back to Instagram and lets the video play. Jackie lets out an incredulous scoff at the first clip, but goes quiet at the others. She tips her head against Morgan’s. “Aw. That’s kind of sweet, actually.”

Morgan side eyes her wife in disbelief. “Shane said the same thing. How is that sweet!?”

Jackie looks at her, amused. “Morgan, it sounds like your name! He came up with a way to call you by your name in public! And one that only he can get away with, it’s kind of genius.”

She blinks. Morgue. Morgan. How did she not put that together? She swipes back to her messages, Jackie patting her on the shoulder as she goes back to whatever she was doing.

Morgan: Wait did you do that as a nickname for Morgan?

Rozanov: ah she has figured it out

Rozanov: or much smarter wife has told her

Morgan: Fuck off Rozy

Morgan: Thank you

Rozanov: )))

Morgan: Wait should I have you in my phone as Lily or something? Kinda weird for me to have Ilya Rozanov’s number

Rozanov: eh

Rozanov: shane and i did this because we actually have something to hide, were scared and young

Rozanov: now with charity announced and living in canada, am not so

Rozanov: paranoid, shane says is the word

Rozanov: can probably put me as rozanov

Morgan: Makes sense

Change contact name: Rozanov to: Rozy?

Rozy: me, though, i have you as morgan because is making much less sense for me to have tired old name of boring metros player in my contacts than it is for you finally having number of your favorite player and personal hero )))))

Rozy: instead i have my close personal friend morgan, who is normal and maybe even good at hockey even if her wife and kids are cooler than her always

Morgan: I’ll tell Shane you’re saying nice things about me

Rozy: nooo my reputation

Rozy: you know you are H. Pike (Metros) in his phone? 

Morgan: Seriously?

Rozy: yes! i tell him, she is your best friend, why is she in your phone like she is coworker you hate? is because you do not want old name there?

Rozy: ridiculous man says it is like that since you meet each other, he has every player in his phone like this

Rozy: except me )))

Morgan: I don’t know why I expected differently honestly, he has his parents in his phone by their full government names

Rozy: WHAT

Rozy: thank you for this information morg-ue

Rozy: must go tease him about this

Morgan: Asshole

-------

Hollzy: For the record, it does also help with not having to see/use the other name more than I have to.

Hollzy: But I can change it if you want me to.  

H. Pike (Metros): To what though

H. Pike (Metros): Plus I don’t really have to see it y'know?

Change contact name: H. Pike (Metros) to: Ma Frangine?

Ma Frangine: Don’t gotta mess with your system just for me

Hollzy: I’m sure I’ll think of something

-------

It’s a little risky, Shane knows. 

Scratch that—it’s a risk that, even a couple of years ago, he never could have taken. He’d’ve stared at Morgan’s old name every day before he did something so revealing. For both of them, too, because it’s sure as fuck not any straighter to call another guy (“guy”) his sister than it is to be the sister.

There’s no shortage of Québécois on the team that could catch a glimpse of his phone and gain some scary ammunition if they put it all together. He’s not looking to give them something so obviously and undeniably queer when wearing purple or refusing to grow a beard has proven enough to paint a target. Morgan’s not wrong, either, that it messes with his system.

This, at least, he reasons away easily. Morgan is an exception to the system like Ilya is an exception to the system. Or—with two members, now, he can even make them their own category: someone who is too special to him to risk having their real name in his phone.

Also, frankly, Shane is tired.

It’s not like he doesn’t have safer options—Ace is right there as a nickname that a) Morgan enjoys and b) no one will question, but…

Shane is tired. 

He’s tired of the Jane and Lily of it all, even as half his mind whirls on contingency plans to make sure any potential fallout comes back on him and not Morgan, even though he does the same for Ilya. Figuring out what he can and can’t say about the people that mean the most to him feels like a constant, exhausting effort—dropping the mask, he’s learned, feels really good. Rose had helped him do that, and he’s delighted in it any chance he’s gotten—the burgeoning public friendship with Ilya and subsequent charity work have been an outright thrill. 

If he thought he could do so without attaching Ilya’s name to some very dirty texts, he’d change his contact too, even if it messes with the system again. “I. Rozanov (Irina Foundation)” has a nice ring to it. 

For now, though, he just nudges Ilya where they’re curled up on Shane’s couch together and shows Ilya his phone with Morgan’s contact info pulled up. Ilya makes a questioning sound.

“My sister,” Shane translates.

Ilya smiles, slightly sad understanding clear in his eyes. “I like it. What does Morgan think?”

Shane sighs. “I didn’t tell her.”

“You think she would not like?” It’s gently knowing, as if Ilya is familiar with the delicate balancing act between his own wants and someone else’s fears. Shane decides not to pull too hard at that thread, and instead just lifts one shoulder before letting it drop.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, and she’d never ask for it on her own. She was all oh you don’t have to when I brought it up. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

Ilya’s smile grows into a smirk. “She deserved to know. Is very silly.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “I don’t know if I love you two ganging up on me.”

“Mm. Yes, you do.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Chapter End Notes

kids, amiright?
--
finally, answers on the switch game--hope they don't disappoint! we appreciated everyone's theories, because most people thought jackie must've done it on purpose, which was in fact the original plan! until Jane turned to me and said "what does it look like if she didn't mean for it to be for morgan at first" and i said "because we want to make sure that she's not handling this So Perfectly like a regurgitated gender studies textbook" and Jane said "exactly" and et voila. guys, in case it's not clear yet, most of this story is just us "yes and"ing each other into oblivion. it's so fun.
--
the contact names were a very fun writing device. morgan is not the most reliable narrator right now--she's omitting a lot of detail because she's protecting herself from thinking about it. her soft no on the contact name is part of this, and shane knows her well enough to see that, which is why he does it anyways. he can tell that it's important to her even if it makes her uncomfortable, and wants to push her out of her comfort zone when she needs it. shane is very good at doing this for others--2017 all stars and cottage--and not so good at having it done to him. hello, tuna meltdown and boxing day party.
--
hope you enjoyed!

edit: forgot to add that the collapse of the women’s leagues and subsequent boycott is real and did in fact take place in spring 2019! despite being the top women’s leagues of the time, the cwhl was amateur for a long time and the nwhl paid pennies. their collapse led to the creation of the professional women’s hockey player association and eventually the pwhl! cool history and a perfect opportunity for morgan to be going thru it my girl will not be catching a break

Chapter 7: the ol' ball game

Chapter Summary

a lot of heavy conversations. also, we meet Morgan's siblings!

Chapter Notes

CW for unintentional and deliberate deadnaming and some minor transphobia

Definitely make sure to read ch. 2 of Prismatic (Vignettes) for the conversation that Morgan and Ilya have! It's not strictly necessary for understanding the chapter, but it provides some additional context and we couldn't quite make it fit into the chapter proper. Read it before or after this, up to you!

[June 2019]

“Roz and Hollzy don’t think I should retire.”

Jackie does a double-take at the non sequitur. “Do you want to retire?”

“No.” A pause. “I don’t know.” 

She turns to face Morgan, who’s focusing resolutely on the flower bed she’s weeding, grown-out hair curling with sweat under her cap. 

Jackie turns back to her own flower bed, keeping her tone light. “When did you guys talk about that?”

“Roz came and found me at the Boston Pride game we went to. Said Shane invited us because he’s scared I’ll retire, or something. But Shane also gave me a bunch of info on like, hormones and shit, so I don’t really know what’s going on.” 

Jackie yanks at a particularly stubborn weed. It doesn’t budge. She huffs in frustration and grabs her little garden trowel to start loosening the dirt around it. To Morgan, she says, “I’m gonna say something, and I want you to sit with it for a bit, okay?”

She hears Morgan shift, and she sounds wary when she speaks. “Okay.”

“Shane and Ilya don’t really get a say in whether you retire.” 

Morgan inhales sharply as if to reply, but subsides. She’s silent long enough that Jackie chances looking back at her. She’s still facing mostly away from Jackie, but she’s sat back on her haunches and is staring off into middle distance across their backyard.

“I hadn’t even really thought about the possibility until Rozy brought it up,” Morgan says absently. “Or that it’s one or the other. Keep playing or—transition.” 

She shakes her head as if to clear it, then attacks the weeds in front of her with renewed vigor. “I don’t know how the fuck to feel about it. I literally hadn’t worried about it until Roz brought it up.”

With how she repeats herself, Jackie suspects that that’s not quite true, but she doesn’t call her on it. She does, however, ask, “Are you worrying about it now?”

The trowel in Morgan’s hand taps against the soil, a dull, whispery thud thud thud. “A little, yeah.”

“A little?”

Morgan takes her cap off and shakes her hair back before replacing it. She turns to face Jackie fully, sitting cross-legged in the grass. “Maybe a lot.”

Jackie notes the frustrated grimace on her face, the way she fidgets with her gardening gloves. A part of her also notes how the sunlight makes Morgan’s eyes look like crystal in the moment while her head is tipped back, how it drapes over Morgan’s broad shoulders like a blanket. She tells that part to shush. Now is not the time.

“What’s going through your head, mon ange?”

Morgan slowly tips her head side to side, considering. “I can’t do both. If the team doesn’t notice then the trainers will, or the medical staff, or the nutritionists. And—” she huffs out a humorless laugh. “No one’s first thought will be hormone replacement therapy. It’s gonna be doping. They’re gonna think there’s more fat on my chest because I’m on steroids and lying.”

Jackie grimaces in agreement. “Okay, so that’s out. Is that what’s bothering you? That you want that and it’s not possible?”

Morgan hesitates. “Not really?”

Jackie gestures for her to elaborate.

“Doing the hormone stuff—it’d change my body.” Morgan looks down at her hands.

She blinks. “I’m not an expert, but I did think that was kind of the point.”

“I’m an athlete, Jacks.”

Jackie inhales as understanding settles over her. “Oh. You’re scared by that.”

Morgan doesn’t answer except to lift one shoulder and let it drop. 

“Or—not scared,” Jackie corrects herself. “You’re looking at this hypothetical world where you skate and transition and saying, this would affect how I play and I don’t want that. That’s okay, Morgs. That’s a valid thing to want.”

Morgan does look up at that, mouth parting slightly before her gaze drops back to her lap. “Doesn’t feel like it,” she mutters. 

“Why not?” 

“I am scared.” She peels off her gloves and starts chipping at the nail polish underneath, a subtle peachy tan that Jackie had done for her the other day. “But every other time I’ve stepped out of what felt safe and did the terrifying thing, it ended up better for me. I don’t know why this feels so fucking different.”

Jackie considers several things she could say. Discards them all in favor of her own non sequitur. “I think I’m gonna join this softball rec league I found.”

Morgan’s brows furrow, but Jackie plows on. “They’re called the Rainbow Runners.” 

Morgan looks confused for another second before it hits her. “Oh. Oh.” Her brows run together again. “Why are you bringing it up now?”

“There’s probably hockey leagues like that out there too.” Jackie watches her wife’s face carefully. “Ones where you could slow down a bit, so you could adapt to the changes as they came. Wouldn’t be the pros, but it’s maybe a way to have both.”

She keeps studying her wife’s face, waiting for what she knows will—there. A subtle grimace, only present in a there-and-gone twist of Morgan’s lips. 

She tacks on casually, “Or, if the pros are where you’re enjoying yourself right now you can keep doing that. It’s not like you have to do it all now.”

Morgan stares at her. “I—huh?”

Jackie scoots forward until their knees are touching and takes Morgan’s hands. “You told me once that the ice is where you feel most connected to your body. No dysphoria, even surrounded by all the bro-yness. Is that still true?”

Morgan’s nod is immediate and sure. “Yeah, a hundred percent.”

“Is that part worth all the rest?” 

The nod is slower to come this time, but when it does, it’s still sure. “Yes.”

“Even the locker room?”

“Even the locker room.” 

Jackie shrugs. “Then stay.”

Morgan looks at her, almost disbelieving. “But—”

Jackie squeezes her hands and she quiets. “I don’t doubt that being scared is part of it,” Jackie says carefully. “But I think that if what you’re doing right now feels mostly good, feels worth the bad, then you don’t have to change that. You can just—be a woman the way you are.”

Morgan shakes her head, laughing under her breath. “That easy, huh?”

“If you want,” Jackie tells her. “It’s your show.”

“If I like the MLH, stay in the MLH,” Morgan muses. “What if I stop liking it?”

Jackie shrugs. “Then we have this conversation again. Maybe your answer changes.” 

A grin spreads across Morgan’s face, and Jackie’s helpless against her answering smile. Morgan tugs on their joined hands until they’re on their backs looking up at the sky, studded with perfectly-spaced fluffy clouds. Jackie folds an arm under her head for cushion. Morgan takes her cap off and rests it on her chest before doing the same. 

“I think I just let Roz get in my head, about the retirement,” Morgan says eventually. 

Jackie hums to show she’s listening. 

“He was, like, saying all this nice shit about me, like trying to hype me up about my playing, but—I don’t know, it was nice to hear, but it kinda made me spiral, too. I don’t think he meant it this way, but it made everything shoot out of my head except, like, oh god I’m letting my team down if I do this but also I don’t even know if I want to do this. Fucked with my head too much to really figure out how I felt.” 

Jackie hums again, this time more skeptical. “I love Shane, and we’re getting there with Ilya pretty quick, but I don’t think there’s anything in their brains but hockey. They may not be the most objective sources for advice.”

Morgan rolls her head to face Jackie, her grin languid. “I mean, I did just choose hockey over anything else. What does that say about me?”

Jackie mimes zipping her lips, giggling when Morgan mock-scowls. 

“Alright.” Morgan rolls her eyes and sits up. “I don’t have to take this from you.” 

“Four kids and a marriage contract says you do,” Jackie sing-songs. Morgan waves a dismissive hand behind herself as she gets back to work, but Jackie can see the grin still playing at the corners of her lips.

She doesn’t think either of them is really ready for Morgan to retire, but when she does—Jackie hopes there’s a lot of days like this. 

-------

[July 2019]

“Holy shit, Jacks, oh my god, fuck—” Morgan arches off the bed, and Jackie is startled by the pulse of interest she feels at how Morgan’s eyes roll back in her head. She doesn’t think she has anything left in her, she isn’t usually an encore person, but seeing Morgan so…free, so blissed out, no longer hyperaware of everything—yeah, it has a bit of an effect on her. 

Morgan slumps back, panting. As soon as she gets her breath back she immediately starts laughing, tugging until Jackie crawls up from her spot between Morgan’s legs. Morgan smacks a kiss that’s mostly teeth on Jackie’s lips with a loud mwah, looking dazed and exhilarant.

“When you said you wanted to try something, that is not what I expected, what the fuck? Where the hell did that come from?” Morgan’s still chuckling a little—giggling, almost. Jackie wants to eat her. Jesus.

She flushes at the question. “I asked Manuela for some—tips.”

“Manuela from softball?” Morgan’s tone gives nothing away and Jackie bites her lip, suddenly nervous. 

“I was discreet, I promise. And the team is really careful in general—”

“Hey,” Morgan interrupts, squeezing Jackie into her. “I trust you, you’re good. Why are you asking Manuela from softball for tips on our sex life? And can we send her a gift basket?”

Jackie snorts, nerves easily assuaged. “I think she’d love that, actually,” she informs Morgan. “She and her girlfriend are so fucking open about their sex life, both of them. So—” she shrugs. “Tips. Even though my cheeks were like, a million degrees.”

Morgan’s face crumples, and the nerves rise in Jackie again like bile. “I mean—” she starts.

“You asked your gay teammate for tips on sex.” Morgan’s eyelids flutter rapidly, and she breathes out a choked up laugh. “Fuck. You asked for tips on having sex with a woman? For me? And it was—applicable?”

Oh, right. She hadn’t mentioned that part. “Manuela’s girlfriend is trans,” she says. “So, yeah, applicable. And they gave me a pamphlet.”

“They gave you a pamphlet,” Morgan murmurs, sounding almost wondrous. She inhales sharply, and Jackie feels it hitch once, twice. The exhale is similarly thick. “They gave you a pamphlet because you asked them for tips on having gay sex.”

“Gay sex with trans women,” Jackie adds.

“Gay sex with trans women,” Morgan agrees. “Like me.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and Jackie watches her look up at the ceiling in a vain attempt to stop the tears from falling. 

Jackie shifts, sits up slightly so she can brush her thumbs across her wife’s cheeks and collect the moisture there. She feels so impossibly boundless, like the vast, undefinable presence of her love for Morgan that usually lives in her chest has spread, becoming the entirety of what she is. 

She lays back down, pulling Morgan with her and rearranging them until Morgan’s head is nestled on her chest, forehead pressing into Jackie’s sternum. Jackie folds her arms around Morgan’s head, shutting out the rest of the world. Morgan sniffles, hitching breaths gradually trailing off. 

They stay like that for a while, drifting out of touch with reality a bit. The only real things are the physical sensations, Jackie’s pretty sure. The warm bedding. The slight tackiness on her skin. The weight of her wife’s body pressing her into the mattress. 

The words trip out without Jackie really meaning them to. “Manuela’s hot.”

“Smoking,” Morgan agrees, muffled into Jackie’s cleavage. Her lips tickle against Jackie’s skin. 

Jackie bites her lip. At the silence, Morgan looks up, propping her chin on Jackie’s chest and digging it in a little, her stubble scratching. Jackie flicks her for it.

Morgan narrows her eyes. “Why is your face weird?”

“She’s the first woman other than you that I’ve been attracted to,” Jackie blurts. 

Morgan’s nose wrinkles. “Okay? Do you want me to be jealous? I can do jealous.”

Jackie makes a face. “Ew, no. No, I think I’m—relieved?”

“Relieved?” Morgan looks baffled.

Jackie breaks eye contact, looking up at the ceiling. She cards a hand through her wife’s sweaty hair as she talks. “Since you came out, I’ve been…nervous. Like, okay, I’m attracted to you and you’re a woman. So I’m attracted to at least one woman. But I was attracted to you before, too.”

Morgan inhales softly, and Jackie can hear that she gets it now. “You were worried that you were only attracted to me because your body still saw me as a man,” Morgan guesses, impossibly gentle. “That it would go away if I moved further? Or if you were only ever attracted to me and other men then it meant something?”

She blows out a breath, frustrated with herself. “Stupid, right?”

“No, Jacks, not stupid,” Morgan says, still so gentle. “Honestly, I get it.”

She chances looking down. Morgan’s eyes are on her, sad and understanding. She looks back up rapidly, finding—to her horror—that her own eyes are welling up.

“Is it really sex if it doesn’t make both parties cry?” Jackie mutters, wiping at her face and startling Morgan into a laugh. 

“Not good sex,” Morgan quips back. Jackie’s chuckle comes out wet, and she feels Morgan shift upwards. “Hey. Hey, you’re okay.”

She feels Morgan thumb the tears from her face, mirroring Jackie’s own actions. Her eyes drift closed of their own volition, and she leans into her wife’s touch. 

“I’m sorry,” she confesses.

“For what?” Morgan keeps stroking Jackie’s cheek in gentle passes. Jackie opens her eyes and gestures with her hands, you know what. “No, hey, for what? For being afraid? For not knowing how to do this very new thing perfectly right away?”

Jackie looks down, but Morgan ducks with her, keeping her gaze. “For…struggling to process how who I am here,” she taps her temple,  then gestures to the rest of her body as she continues, “doesn’t always line up with who I am here? Hate to break it to you, baby, but I do that every day. You’re not special.”

She laughs despite herself, and Morgan grins before looking serious again. 

“We’ve been married for eleven years, Jacks.” Her thumb brushes across Jackie’s brow. “It doesn’t bother me if you’re struggling with this, because I’m struggling with it, and we’re—a unit. A team. You can’t like, misgender me or make me dysphoric any more than I do to myself, okay? Because we’re extensions of each other. You have as much of a claim over my body as I do. That gives you the right to have complicated feelings about it.”

Jackie bites her lip against the unexpected heat that rushes through her at the idea of treating Morgan’s body as an extension of her own, or vice versa. Now is so not the time, and yet Morgan’s voice saying you have as much of a claim over my body as I do rolls back through her head. She shivers.

Morgan’s head cocks. “Huh.”

Jackie flushes. “Shut up. We’re naked. I’m cold.”

“Mhmm.” Morgan’s voice drops, a low purr that rumbles through Jackie. “So, if I said you could do whatever you wanted with me and I would like it because it’s you? That I love it when I can’t tell where one of us ends and the other begins? That watching you feel pleasure makes me feel pleasure too, even if nothing’s touching me? None of that would have an effect on you?”

It does. Jackie knows Morgan can see how much it does. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then opens them and flicks her wife gently on the knee. “There’s no way we can go again. Don’t start something you can’t finish. And excuse me for not wanting to derail a serious conversation,” she sniffs. 

Morgan leers. “Derail all you want. I can finish it.”

Jackie rolls her eyes. “C’mere and cuddle me, perv.”

Morgan leans over and snags their crumpled clothes from the floor, dumping it in a pile between them. Jackie grabs whatever her hands land on first, ending up in a sports bra, Morgan’s boxers, and her own fuzzy socks. Morgan is wearing sweatpants and Jackie’s tank top, normally loose on her but stretching appealingly across Morgan’s broader frame. She likes the sight of Morgan in her clothes, in her floral tank top. Damn, she is just discovering all sorts of things about herself today, isn’t she?

Morgan makes a face at her socks as she stretches over Jackie to turn off the lamp. “It is July.”

Jackie prods her until she turns around then spoons up behind her, slipping her hands under Morgan’s—her—shirt. She rests them there, open palms on Morgan’s warm stomach. “My feet get cold,” she yawns. “Shut up about the socks.” 

“No cold tolerance.” Morgan clicks her tongue. “Letting your country down.” 

Jackie just grumbles, nosing at the back of her wife’s neck. “Go to bed.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Thank you.”

“Mm?” Jackie feels more than sees Morgan’s head lift slightly, just enough for Jackie to know she’s mostly awake and listening. 

“For giving me all this grace. While I figure myself out.”

Morgan’s shoulders shake, the idea of a laugh. “Feel like that’s my line.”

Jackie smiles, burying it in Morgan’s neck. “We can take turns,” she suggests.

“Sounds good. I love you. Now take your own advice.”

“Yes, dear. Love you too.”

-------

[August 2019]

[Saturday]

Morgan bounces on her feet, shaking her hands out like she’s in a boxing ring. She does feel a bit like she’s eyeing one, instead of the facade of the absolutely fuck-off enormous vacation rental that, presumably, contains her siblings and their families within. She stalls a bit longer by admiring the house, patting herself and Chip on the back for their choice. Or—Chip’s choice, mostly. She and Jackie had happily footed 70% of the bill in return for doing absolutely none of the logistics. Would have footed the whole bill—she makes in a day what it costs to rent this place for a week—but Chip had insisted, working out some convoluted cascade where she splits the bill with him, he splits the logistics with Reese, Reese splits the cost of food with Danny, Danny splits the cooking with Alicia, and Alicia splits the group’s airfare with Morgan. So, she guesses they’re technically footing 70% of the rental and 30% of the airfare, but the math makes her head hurt. It doesn’t really matter, anyways. Everyone’s happy and all she’d had to do was sign on the dotted line. 

The house is stunning, wood and stone with warm light spilling out from the windows and the open front door—a product of their cooped-up kids being given free reign and racing off to find their cousins. She can hear laughter from inside.

Jackie sidles up to her, Amber out of her carseat and settled in the baby carrier. She’s eyeing Morgan’s restlessness with a mix of amusement and concern.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jackie says, tone light. She stays facing the house, which Morgan appreciates.

She sighs. I don’t know the next time we’ll all be together, she doesn’t say, because it always makes her feel vaguely sick to think about how the five of them have drifted apart. They’d been thick as thieves as kids, and now—she’s not sure the last time she’d seen them all together. Danny’s wedding, or Chip’s twins' baptism, four and three years ago respectively. Alicia hadn’t been able to come to one. Morgan can’t remember which, now. 

Instead, she says, “I don’t know how Shane and Ilya did it. Hiding from everybody. Or Hunter, but he might’ve been out to people he was close to, I guess.”

Jackie just bumps their shoulders together, like she knows Morgan isn’t done with her thought.

“I just—I don’t know, I need them to know me. It’s eating me up inside. I didn’t even last three months without telling anyone, I don’t know how they did it for years.”

“I think they might see it differently, hon.”

Morgan frowns. “How do you mean?”

Jackie sets the baby carrier down, rocking it gently with one foot as she leans back against the front of their rental car. “Would you want to tell my parents?”

“Fuck no,” Morgan says immediately, grimacing at the thought. Then she winces. “I mean—”

Jackie holds a hand up. “You’re good. Just humor me. Why?”

It doesn’t sound accusatory, more probing, like Jackie has an answer in mind. Morgan thinks it over, trying to put it into words. She leans next to Jackie and crosses her arms.

“If they react badly, it’ll have consequences for you and for the kids, and they could spread it around,” she says slowly. “That’s enough to make me feel—I don’t know, less like I’m lying and more like I’m being strategic. Doesn’t bother me as much.”

Jackie shifts her weight to her other leg and continues rocking Amber, looking at Morgan. “Yuna and David, you and me, even Ilya—all the people in Shane’s life, they’re—”

“They’re all involved with hockey,” Morgan finishes. She blows out a breath, frustrated with the world all of a sudden. “Any blowback could’ve fucked up their careers.”

“Strategic, not lying,” Jackie repeats. “So the question is what camp do your siblings fall in?”

Morgan considers this. Strategic, helps to hide, or lying, hurts to hide.

“Lying,” she decides. “I think they’ll be good about it, or at the very least not spread it around. We don’t see them often enough for them to make problems personally if they aren’t. And I care about them enough that it makes it suck to hide.”

Jackie smiles at her, confident when presented with a goal. “Let’s do it, then.”

She grins back. “Let’s do it.”

“Do what, Mom?”

Morgan jumps, whipping her head to where Jade and Ruby have appeared back in the open doorway, thankfully with none of their cousins in tow. They have, however, managed to acquire Nerf guns from somewhere. Probably Danny. Morgan bites back a curse.

Jackie answers, gesturing them over. “C’mere, you two, you’re old enough to carry your own bags.”

The twins pout, dragging their feet to where Morgan had managed to pile all their luggage before stalling out. 

When they’re close enough, Jackie leans down and tells them seriously, “Remember what we talked about? Mom’s still undercover with everybody but Uncle Shane and Uncle Ilya. We still gotta call her by her codename for now, okay?”

Jade and Ruby make matching yikes faces. “We didn’t say it in front of anybody!” Jade says quickly.

“Sorry, Dad,” Ruby adds, emphasizing the word to the point of sounding like an obvious lie to Morgan’s ears. She suppresses both an exasperated sigh and a smile. The kids have taken to all this with such ease, and she marvels at how their effortless acceptance has made it easier for her to process as well. And—it feels a bit silly, but Jackie’s superspy thing has helped her, too. Makes the mask feel…active, not passive. A choice. A wink between those in the know.

“It’s alright, just be careful,” she says. “We’re probably gonna bring your aunts and uncles in on the mission this week, anyways. Just wait for our signal before you mention it to anyone.” She winks. 

Ruby and Jade snap matching salutes before racing off again, bags and toy guns in tow. 

“Those are ending up ten feet inside the door, aren’t they,” Jackie says. She picks Amber up.

Morgan leans down to grab the rest of their bags. “Yup.”

-------

Alicia stretched out in the comfy, tastefully-mint-green adirondack chair, propping her feet on the matching stool so the fire can warm them. She takes an idle sip of her beer—some yummy local shandy—and lets her eyes wander over the circle, only partially paying attention to the conversation. At least half of her mind is on the caramel rolls she’d picked up on the way here from some bakery that’s supposed to be really good, and if they’ll still be that good tomorrow or if she should sneak one tonight. 

Her glance around shows her easy warmth and familiarity. Chip is sitting on his wife’s stool, Lynn’s feet in his lap, massaging them under her blanket. Reese is curled in her own chair on the other side to form a triangle. All three of them are laughing at the story Lynn is telling—something about a client showing up to a meeting about his insurance claim wearing one of the watches he’d claimed was stolen. Reese is laughing hysterically and Lynn can barely get the story out, describing the guy’s dumbstruck face through fits of giggles. Alicia smiles as Lynn mimics how he’d looked down at his hands, up at her face, then back down, causing Chip to bark out a laugh at the exaggerated expression of panic she pulls. 

On her other side, Danny and Kamakshi are curled together on one chair, both of them looking half asleep already. Danny is looking up at the sky with half-lidded eyes, probably tracing the constellations like the nerd of a science teacher he is. Kay is talking baby stuff with Jackie, her hand intertwined with Danny’s over her round belly. 

The kids are all in bed, which just leaves Hayden, directly across the circle from Alicia. He’s staring pensively into the fire. He looks content, beer dangling from one hand while the other fiddles absentmindedly with a baby monitor, but Alicia keeps her eyes on him for a moment. Hayden’s not always the most contemplative guy—she’s a bit curious about the look on his face. 

She’d noticed his hair when they’d arrived, but she admires it again now. It’s a pretty basic shag—clearly just grown out rather than cut deliberately—but it looks more like something she’d see at home in Portland or visiting Reese in Frisco than on her pro-hockey-player brother. It looks nice, framing Hayden’s face in a way that makes him look effortlessly cool and long enough to brush his shoulders at the back. He’s her big brother, Alicia would never call him boring, but she’s also quite impressed by this most basic of steps outside of the Good Mormon Boy playbook, so. She’s not exactly gonna call him adventurous, either.

Hayden’s clearly enjoying the length. All night, he’s messed with it, running his hands through it, fidgeting with the ends, twisting and untwisting a strand around his finger. Jackie, too, had had her hands buried in it when Hayden had been sitting on the floor in front of her in the living room. Both of them have had small, almost unconscious smiles on their faces while doing it. 

It’s one of—a few things about their body language that had piqued Alicia’s notice, now that she thinks about it. Something about the way they touch each other. It’s more fluid, maybe? Freer. They look happier, more settled, in a way where Alicia hadn’t noticed anything amiss until it changed, like changing a dim lightbulb and realizing oh, that’s what this is supposed to look like. 

Hayden catches her watching and raises an eyebrow. She raises one right back, making him grin, self-aware and a little rueful. He sits up, his languid stance going a little firmer, his shoulders set like she’s seen on the ice since they were kids. Jackie quiets, her attention transferring without Hayden saying a word, attuned to each other in that married-couple way. The rest of the group follows suit as they notice. Something in the air shifts.

“So, I have something to tell you guys,” Hayden starts. He picks at the label on his beer bottle. Jackie reaches over and squeezes his forearm, and Hayden immediately stops fidgeting to lace their fingers together instead. He looks settled by the minute gesture, and takes a deep breath.

“Oh god, you’re getting traded to the Cens,” Danny interrupts. Kay elbows him, even as Hayden and Jackie snort. He raises his hands. “Sorry, bad timing for a bad joke.”

“I couldn’t do that to Hollzy, leave him alone in Montreal while everyone he cares about is in Ottawa,” Hayden returns, making Jackie let out a sharp giggle, a look passing between them like there’s an inside joke there. 

“He’d probably get over it when he realizes you’re winger for Rozanov now,” Danny volleys back. 

Jackie lets out another sharp giggle, and Alicia watches an odd look pass over Hayden’s face. 

“Nah, Hollzy’d forgive me, they’re friends now,” he says, a beat too late. He shakes himself and sits up a little more, and Alicia chalks the moment up to Hayden psyching himself back up for whatever he’s about to say. 

“This could have pretty serious implications for my career, so I’m asking that even if you disagree with my choices, it stays between us,” he continues. “Like, not even Mom and Dad.”

Hayden looks at Chip and Lynn. “I trust your judgment on your kids, so you can tell them if you think they can handle it. Our kids know.”

Chip just watches Hayden, both wary and protective. Lynn nods. 

“It’s not—bad,” he says after a pause, throwing a side glance at their eldest brother, who continues to watch him steadily. “It’s really good for me. Hard, but good. Just—it might make people uncomfortable, and I understand that. We can leave if it ends up being too much.”

Jackie looks around the circle with a stony expression on her face, like she’s daring them to take Hayden up on it. Alicia sees her squeeze Hayden’s hand, sees him squeeze back instantly. 

“Heyday,” Reese says, the childhood nickname slipping out gently. “Spit it out. We’re here for you, we’ll support you.” 

She watches the nickname ripple over Hayden with a look of—grief, almost, there and gone like a shadow.

“I’m transgender,” he says quietly. Oh, fuck, she says? Maybe? Alicia tries desperately to recall the seminar on being respectful and inclusive to the LGBT+ community they’d gotten at work last year. There’d been a section on preferred pronouns, she’s certain of that much. She remembers that you’re supposed to ask instead of assuming. She thinks. She’s pretty sure. 

“Thank you for telling us,” Reese says, sitting forward to look at Hayden. “What do you want us to call you?”

Oh, good job, Reese. Reese who lives in Cali, Reese with the pink-haired roommate. Much better equipped for this than Alicia feels. 

“She and her instead of he and him,” Hayden says after a blink. He—she, Alicia reminds herself—looks a little surprised at how unfazed Reese is. Alicia gets it, but she’s glad it means she can just follow her little sister’s lead. “And…I want to be called Morgan. By people who know.”

Oh, that might take some getting used to. Something in Alicia balks a little bit, at the idea of such a fundamental change to one’s identity. But Reese just nods and smiles, says “thank you, Morgan,” so Alicia does her best to keep it off her face as she internally recalibrates. 

Morgan. Woman. Wife, Alicia realizes, the body language quirks rearranging themselves quickly in her mind. 

Sister. 

Alicia’s never had an older sister. 

It feels strange, applying that label to the person across from her, but Alicia finds that she likes it in theory. Can figure out how to get used to it—has the capacity to nourish it until it feels natural. 

This is Morgan, my older sister. 

“When did you figure it out?” Danny asks. “Morgan,” he tacks on after a beat. Like it had in Alicia’s mind, the name trips off of Danny’s tongue, something he has to put effort into saying rather than something familiar and habitual. It sounds—true, somehow, despite that. 

Morgan smiles at him for it, as do Reese and Jackie. “I put words to it about a year and a half ago,” she answers. “But I tried to push it down at first, both before and after that. I told Jackie last summer, and we told the kids a couple weeks ago.”

“Morgan,” Kay says. Morgan nods at her. “I’m sorry if it’s insensitive to ask this, but what does that mean for your career?”

Morgan smiles, looking bolstered even by the tentative acceptance she’s receiving. “Not insensitive at all, Kay. Um, for now I’m gonna keep playing, you know, keep this private. So that means I’m not—making any big changes to my appearance, either.” She lifts one shoulder awkwardly. “I know that’s probably gonna be weirder to deal with than if I looked more feminine, but I’m not ready to retire. So.”

Jackie squeezes her husb—wife’s hand again. The steely look on her face has relaxed some, Alicia notes, but not totally. Jackie looks ready to call it up at a moment’s notice.

“I have a student who uses, uh, they/them,” Danny offers. “They still have, like, long hair and they mostly hang out with the girls still, but all the kids have been pretty cool about it. I’m sure we can get the hang of it, Morgan.”

Morgan smiles at him gratefully before looking nervously to Alicia, who abruptly realizes she hasn’t said anything yet. “Sorry, sorry, I’ve been trying to wrap my head around all of this, but we’re good,” she says. She makes eye contact with her older sister. “Morgan is a cool name.”

Chip makes a noise in the back of his throat. It’s quiet, short, but everyone goes still. Even the wind seems to die as they wait for their eldest brother to pass judgment.

Chip is silent at first, eyes on Morgan. Alicia feels like she should be holding her breath.

“We don’t do this,” he says, quiet and intense. “Other people, maybe. But this is not for you.”

“Chip, I—” Morgan says, the sound dying in her throat when Chip shakes his head. 

“No, Hayden.”

“Rodney,” Danny snaps. His voice is low and warning. Alicia sucks in a breath, and she sees Reese swallow out of the corner of her eye. 

Chip stands up sharply at the use of his first name, knocking Lynn’s feet out of his lap. He stalks towards the sliding door and disappears inside.

After a moment, a door slams somewhere in the house. 

Morgan flinches. Alicia feels her own muscles tense in sympathy.

Lynn stands up, fumbling slightly with her blanket as she folds it. “I’m sorry, I’ll go talk to him, Hayd—um.” She bites her lip and looks around the circle awkwardly. “Good night, everyone. Sorry.”

A murmur of good nights goes up. Morgan just waves, looking slightly queasy. 

It’s quiet for a long moment. Alicia is frozen, waiting for a cue for how she should react from—somebody who knows how to react. Someone who has the right to react first. 

The baby monitor crackles, making everyone jump slightly. With it, the spell is broken, and everyone gathers themselves up, resetting chairs and snagging trash. She’s never seen anybody look as relieved by an out as Morgan and Jackie do right now. 

Alicia makes her escape before Danny douses the fire, wanting to avoid the noxious cloud of steam. Her mind is swirling as she climbs the steps and gets ready for bed, but it grows sluggish quickly. She feels heavy, worn out. And like she should do some googling.

In the morning, though.

-------

Jackie tries not to move around the room like she’s waiting for a bomb to go off. 

She doesn’t think Morgan is going to—explode, exactly. They’re both too tired. And that’s never been Morgan’s MO, on or off the ice. 

But Morgan with her siblings…Jackie has learned not to have any expectations. 

If Jackie were to distill her wife into discrete, labeled personality traits, the list would go something like this: goofy, protective, hardworking, good partner, good parent, self-sacrificing, stubborn, prone to holding a grudge unless she’s decided someone is in her inner circle—at which point she can’t stay mad even when she should.

Around her siblings, Morgan is still all of these things—dialled up to eleven, maybe. But these ingredients that make up her wife are still visible, if she looks for them. She has to look, though, because the lines get—blurry. Discrete categories lose their boundaries and fuse in unpredictable ways, combining with old hurts, familial duty, and unreplicable shared experiences; the chemical reactions they produce never quite the ones Jackie expects. 

For example: Jackie, bustling around and unpacking, doing her best to act like she’s not moving gingerly around the heavy weight of this evening’s uncomfortable ending. Morgan, in the center of the bed, between the two of them the one with a system for unpacking perfected by three months out of every twelve on the road, completely still.

She’s not panicking. Not doing the scary empty thing she’d done that night in the hallway, the thing that Jackie finds herself reliving any time Morgan so much as spaces out. Her eyes are tracking Jackie around the room, and her frame is relaxed, not listless. 

Something’s just…weird. Little things are off. The intensity in her eyes, too high for the late hour. The unusual speed with which she completed her bedtime routine. The controlled economy of her movements. The careful wrap of her hand around her ankle—not tight, but like it takes effort to keep it from becoming so. She’s clad only in briefs, which, granted, is her usual sleep attire in August, but Jackie had laid out Morgan’s favorite worn sweatpants and t-shirt, anticipating that she’d draw comfort from having a bit more armor tonight. Or at the very least that Morgan would want a shirt, given her increasing distaste for going shirtless if she doesn’t have to. Morgan hasn’t touched any of it. 

Jackie finishes her own nighttime routine and plants herself in front of Morgan, cross-legged in the middle of the bed. She hasn’t even turned down the covers. 

Jackie looks at her wife. 

Her wife looks back.

They sit. Up close, the intensity in Morgan’s eyes resolves into a roiling turmoil, a swirl of more emotions than Jackie can hope to name. She doesn’t know what to do. Where to start.

They sit.

“It’s not fucking fair,” Morgan says suddenly. Jackie raises an eyebrow, but Morgan is already barreling forward. “Because where does he get off? All—” her voice drops into an eerily accurate impression of her brother’s— “this is not for you. I am not twelve and he is not my goddamn mother.”

Jackie does her best to stifle how her lips twitch at the petulant tone, but they’re too close together and her wife knows her too well. Morgan’s eyes narrow for a moment before she huffs goodnaturedly. 

“Not making a great case for not being twelve, am I?”

Jackie mimes zipping her lips. Morgan flicks her on the shin. Then she sighs, long and deep, before unfolding herself to lay back against the pillows. Jackie pulls her feet into her lap and starts massaging the arches. Morgan sighs again, more content than the last. She flexes her feet in Jackie’s hold.

“He always fucking does this,” she mutters. “Doesn’t have the guts to say what’s really bothering him.”

Jackie had thought that Chip was pretty clear about what was bothering him, but Morgan knows her brother better—maybe Jackie is missing something. 

Maybe Morgan is just hoping there’s a deeper explanation for Chip’s reaction than the obvious one. 

Jackie squeezes her wife’s feet and climbs off the bed, grabbing the clothes she’d set out and raising an eyebrow in question. Morgan looks down, appearing to register her state of undress for the first time, and nods sheepishly. While she’s pulling them on, Jackie turns down the covers and hits the light, leaving the room soft and blurred at the edges in the faint glow of the bedside lamp. 

By the time they crawl into the bed, Morgan’s eyes are already drooping, the adrenaline fading fast. Jackie pulls her in and she flops down heavily, letting Jackie arrange her as she pleases. Jackie nuzzles into the soft collar of Morgan’s shirt, enjoying the clean scent of Morgan’s bodywash mixed with faint sweat. 

“It’s been a long day,” she says quietly. Morgan hums in agreement. “He didn’t react great, but he didn’t write you out of his will yet, either. We’ve got a week to work with that.” She squeezes Morgan and jostles her back and forth a bit. Morgan lets out a happy sigh. “We got this.”

“Gonna drag his ass into being the best ally ever,” Morgan mumbles. “Fucker.”

“That’s the spirit, baby.”

Chapter End Notes

sibling relationships, man

Here is the rental I based most of the descriptions on--I filtered by most expensive and this was THIRD. Take a shot every time they describe something as "rustic."

stick around for ch. 8 next week, cuz it's a DOOZY

Chapter 8: house of cards

Chapter Summary

hey, we're on vacation! relax!

Chapter Notes

CW for deadnaming and some unintentional misgendering

also, for ease of reference, here's the order of siblings and relative ages:
Chip: 1983
Danny: 1985
Morgan: 1988
Alicia: 1992
Reese: 1994

Chip's kids are younger than Morgan's and Danny's just now having kids because they're having kids at an age where they are stable and established in their lives, rather than at 19ish on a pro athlete's crazy salary.

[Sunday]

The caramel rolls Alicia picked up are delicious. The caramel rolls are the only ones not sending Morgan careful glances while they keep up conversation that’s just a little too polite. The caramel rolls are an excellent excuse not to make eye contact with anyone.

The caramel rolls would never sleep past 8am for the first time Morgan’s seen since high school, leaving a glaring hole next to Lynn that nobody acknowledges. The caramel rolls would not betray her like that. 

Chip doesn’t show until almost 11. 

He looks normal, if someone made a plaster cast of normal. His eyes sweep carefully over the half of the patio that Morgan’s not on. She scowls.

She inhales, ready to have this out for real, making Chip’s eyes lock on her. He looks from her to where Jasper and his younger two are making chalk art and back to her, fixing her with a look so derisive it pulls her up short. Buzzing starts prickling all over her skin.

Morgan shoves herself out of her chair, stalking down to the beach. Chip doesn’t stop her.

She hears him sit down and ask the kids what they’re making, Jasper answering animatedly. Morgan swipes a furious hand under her eyes. 

Alicia and Reese are splashing with the older kids while Jackie pulls Amber around in a shaded floatie, Lynn lounging in her own. Morgan grabs the hem of her shirt, then hesitates for a second. She shakes her head at herself and tugs it off, rushing her girls with a roar. The resulting wave absolutely drenches them and Reese, who glares at her and splashes back with much more force than she’d been aiming at the kids. 

The kids in question shriek with laughter. Morgan grins. Lets herself get caught up in the resulting war, lets Jade and Ruby sneak up behind her and dunk her while she fights with “all” her strength, pretending not to know who the culprit is when she pops back up. Lets all thoughts of brothers who won’t talk to her be pushed from her mind. 

-------

All day, she and Chip have a buffer between them. Morgan can’t decide whether it’s more driven by her or her brother. Possibly, it’s an unspoken agreement between the rest of the adults in the house. 

She relies on keeping the kids between them, mostly. It’s pretty easy—she can keep up with them even hopped up on junk food and the power boost of seeing their cousins, so she’s in high demand for their more active games. Chip simply sticks close to Lynn, and Morgan can hear him lawyering his way through any conversation that might even come close to bringing up last night. 

Not a single person besides Reese calls her Morgan in front of Chip or Lynn. 

Kay and Danny send her apologetic glances once or twice as they neatly excise any usage of name or pronouns, both looking a bit helpless on what to do. Alicia seemingly catches the name Hayden on its way out more than once, course-correcting awkwardly at the last minute. Jackie gets avoided as well—whether in her own right or because she’s hovering protectively at Morgan’s shoulder—and she’s so laser-focused on the air between Morgan and Chip that Morgan doesn’t think she even notices the discrepancy.

Reese notices.

Reese, obstinate youngest child that she is, nearly says something right then and there when she picks up on it, evident in how her face screws up indignantly and her entire posture changes like she’s settling in to rant. Morgan manages to catch her eye, shaking her head no until Reese deflates frustratedly. 

She does not drop it entirely, though, which is what Morgan had hoped. Instead, she almost overuses Morgan’s name, eyeing whoever’s in the room like she’s daring someone to call her on it. No one does. 

Morgan’s prepared for slight guilt from Danny, Kay, and Alicia, which she gets. She’s also prepared from moderate-to-severe discomfort from Lynn and Chip, which she decidedly does not get. 

The look that crosses Chip’s face whenever Reese unsubtly emphasizes name or pronouns is fear. Morgan almost rubs her eyes to make sure she’s seeing it right. Lynn, too, looks more worried than judgmental. 

Hm. 

Morgan doesn’t really know what to do with that. 

Mostly she ignores it. The day is pleasant enough if she does. They have a week.

-------

[Monday]

Monday morning finds Morgan in the basement gym—which, since the house is set into a hill, still has floor-to-ceiling windows making up an entire wall. She watches the sun rise over the lake as she tries to burn off another restless night. 

Cardio makes up most of her workout, an attempt to keep herself too out of breath to think. She misses running with Shane over the summers. He’s spent progressively more time at the cottage every year, leaving earlier and coming back later. Morgan only blames Rozy a little.

They probably go running together. 

She ups the treadmill for one last sprint, shoes slapping against the belt as she tries to outrun her head. 

Ilya’s voice echoes through her head, their conversation in the bathroom at the NWHL game. 

Shane is worried you want to retire. 

She’s over that, she talked it out with Jackie. She ups the speed some more.

Chip’s voice follows. 

This is not for you.

She hits the incline this time, relishing the fire in her calves for how it demands focus.

No, Hayden.

She slams the increase speed button, holding it down with much more force than necessary. Strictly speaking, this is well over how hard she should be going in the offseason, but she can’t really find it in her to care. Not as that cool, pure concentration finally settles over her brain, finally bringing all of her scattered parts into lockstep.

When Morgan finally slows down to a jog, she can smell coffee, so Danny’s probably up. A glance at her phone tells her it’s still only 6:30—she still has like two and a half hours before breakfast. 

Longer yoga cooldown it is. Shane would be proud. 

She wonders if Rozy does yoga with him. 

Morgan mops the sweat off her face with the hem of her shirt, then reconsiders its soaked state and strips it off entirely. It gets tossed in a corner and her favorite yoga routine gets queued up on her phone. 

This place even has yoga mats, because it’s insane. She kind of wants to retire here. Shane’s onto something with the overbuilt fortress-of-solitude thing.

 That only kills half an hour, and since she really should not be going this hard, she starts it over. It’ll be prudent to make sure she can move, anyways, if the activity level of the kids is anything like yesterday. 

It’s nice. Doesn’t keep her brain quite as empty as her workout had, but it engages both mind and body enough to be an effective focal point—without making every individual muscle fiber scream. Maybe she should’ve started with the yoga. 

Morgan considers the idea of fighting off her demons while she’s also trying to keep her balance, with the gentle monotone of the yoga instructor as a soundtrack. On the other hand, maybe not. 

She skips the meditation at the end this time and jogs upstairs to take a shower. It only makes her legs burn a little bit, so she marks the yoga as a resounding success. She keeps her eyes forward as she climbs, resolutely not checking to see who is or isn’t in the common areas yet. It burns more than anything else.

Jackie is in the shower when she gets up to their room. Morgan goes to flop down on the bed, then remembers her sweaty state and grimaces. She does some quick math on Jackie’s usual morning routine and estimates that she can’t be more than halfway through her shower, so if Morgan jumps in with her now, she still has, like, double the time she needs for her own post-workout rinse. She can luxuriate a little and still save some water. Nice.

Morgan goes to crowd her wife against the wall as she steps in—mostly because she wants to be close, only a little bit an attempt to distract her while Morgan turns the temperature to something that’s not lava. It doesn’t exactly work—Jackie’s nose wrinkles and she pushes Morgan gently back into the stream, but she also turns the water down to their compromise temperature so that it doesn’t sizzle off Morgan’s skin, because she’s the best. 

“Did you manage to play a whole period when I wasn’t looking? You smell like a pair of socks that’s been marinating at the bottom of your bag.”

Scratch that, she’s the worst. Morgan sticks her tongue out. “I’m way better about laundry than most of the team—” she sputters as Jackie pushes her head under the stream mercilessly, and with how her legs are kind of jello, it’s only a decade-plus of conditioning that keeps her on her feet. 

Jackie just giggles as Morgan’s yelping and pinwheeling, because as previously mentioned, she’s the worst. 

Gentle hands start working shampoo through her hair while she’s still blinking water out of her eyes, nails scratching pleasantly over her scalp. 

“You’re the best,” Morgan mumbles, relaxing into the sensation, happily contradicting herself again. Her wife contains multitudes. 

“It’s insane that this shower even has enough room for you to potentially fall on your ass,” her wife says back.

Morgan hums in agreement as she tips her head back into the stream—from one of two showerheads in this enormous shower, she notices. Wait, why aren’t they—she reaches out and cranks the other shower to Jackie’s preferred boil, pushing her (gently, thank you) over once it’s warm and turning her own down a little more. She signs in satisfaction at the cool water on her overheated skin.

Jackie pouts. “Maybe I wanted to be close more than I wanted hot water.”

She gestures at the scant inches between them. “We’re still close, it’s just like his-and-hers sinks.”

Jackie blinks at her and she blinks back, similarly caught off-guard. She groans, rolling her eyes at herself as she grabs Jackie’s body wash, suddenly needing something other than her own neutrally-scented products.

“Hers-and-hers sinks. Showers. Whatever.” she lathers herself up with pure efficiency and only a little frustration. “Man, it’s really starting to drive me insane how much everyday stuff just doesn’t work for us anymore because it’s tied to being straight or being a dude.”

Jackie nods emphatically. “Hanging out with the Rainbow Runners has, like, lifted this veil off my eyes. It’s fucking everywhere. Like, you even notice you just called me man?”

Morgan frowns. “But that’s just, like—”

“Treating the masculine as a neutral default?”

“Jesus.” she blows out a breath. “Fucking everywhere.”

“I’m telling you.”

-------

They spend the morning on the beach again, Morgan maintaining distance in a way that would be unnoticeable to anyone except those who know her the best.

Almost all of whom are currently on this trip with her, so it’s actually extremely noticeable. They’ve all gotten very good at ignoring the elephant Morgan feels like her very presence calls into existence. 

After lunch, Chip and Lynn break out the tie-dye kits they’ve brought for the kids, covering the outdoor table in a disposable tablecloth and letting them go nuts. She and Jackie offer to help supervise, but Jade and Ruby tell them very seriously that they want their shirts to be a surprise, so Morgan takes the excuse to head inside with minimal guilt.

They end up playing a card game with the rest of the adults. It’s a lot of fun, the tension not as thick if she and Chip aren’t in the same room. Still, Morgan can’t help the notion that it’d be lighter still if Chip were here and she were somewhere else. It eats at her, just a little.

Then, partway through a round, Danny asks, “So, Morgan, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you—you know, figure it out?”

Jackie snorts from across the table. Morgan kicks her in the shin. Jackie sticks her tongue out and plays a card that fucks the rest of Morgan’s hand, even though they’d had a loose alliance up until now. She scowls.

Danny raises an eyebrow at them, and Morgan flushes. Tries to think of something that doesn’t immediately out Shane. 

“I was doing some research to support a friend,” she settles on. “Learned some stuff that fit a little too well along the way.”

Reese grins. “Cute, but why did Jackie laugh, though?”

Morgan flounders, throwing a card down to stall and hopefully salvage some of her hand. She doesn’t know what to say. Every option feels like it makes it extremely obvious that the friend is Shane. Maybe she needs more friends.

“I laughed because the friend had to be the one to tell Morgan that this was more than allyship,” Jackie picks up smoothly. “She was never gonna figure it out on her own.”

“Hey!” Morgan draws back, offended. “That’s not—”

Oh, shit, wait, it kinda is. She hadn’t put anything together until Shane had planted the idea in her mind during their misunderstanding era. Shane, thankfully, hasn’t brought that up again and she has no plans to remind him.

Danny takes one look at whatever sheepish look must be on her face and guffaws. “That tracks so hard, actually.” 

Even though he’s making fun of her, Danny’s words ping deep in Morgan’s chest, releasing something she hadn’t realized was tight. Danny thinks it tracks, because he knows her. Because he still sees her as the same person and they still have the same relationship. She’d been scared, she realizes, in an almost grieving way, because no matter how well her family took this news, she would be asking them to change how they saw her and put effort into relationships that have never required effort before. To have confirmation that this is something that can just slot into the view they already have of her is…the relief nearly makes her lightheaded.

Morgan manages to flip Danny off as this all races through her head, and Alicia laughs as she takes her turn. “Dan, she gets paid millions to get concussions, you can’t blame her for being slow on the uptake.”

Reese nudges Morgan as she looks at Alicia. “Nah, ‘Leesh, she went from being surrounded by a conservative religion to being surrounded by a conservative sport. We should probably just be glad she figured it out at all.”

Morgan has never felt so supported while also being so, so irritated. “You all suck and I don’t need your help,” she announces.

Several things happen in short succession. Play has come to Kay, and she had been in the process of laying down a card that Morgan desperately needs, making her perk up as she finishes speaking. Quick as lightning, Kay snatches the card back before it’s fully left her hand and throws a different one down. 

“Don’t need our help, do you?” she raises an eyebrow, smirking.

Morgan looks down at the card. Looks between it and her hand forlornly. Looks back at her sister-in-law, mouth open in utter betrayal. 

Her siblings and her wife are all howling with laughter, Alicia and Reese fully collapsing into each other. Despite herself, Morgan can feel a smile spread across her face as well.

“Fuck you all,” she says through her grin. 

“Nah, bro, she got you good,” Danny says, still laughing and reaching out to fistbump his wife. Kay falters at the word bro, fist hanging awkwardly an inch away from Danny’s as she glances at Morgan. Danny drops his hand, suddenly looking guilty. “Wait, I probably shouldn’t—I’m sorry, dude—Morgan. I’m sorry, Morgan.”

Morgan holds on to the good feeling from earlier and smiles at Danny. “All good. I hear it from the team all the time still, so it doesn’t really bother me.” It’s only a little bit a lie.

“Yeah, but we’re family, not your team,” Reese says. “It’s different. Or it should be, at least.”

That’s the effort she doesn’t want to ask them for. 

“Thanks,” she says awkwardly, gathering up everyone’s cards to deal out another round so she doesn’t have to make eye contact with anyone. 

The moment passes eventually and the rest of the afternoon and evening are light, a little bit looser and easier than yesterday. She and Chip aren’t exactly ever in a room together, per se, but taking today to hype herself up and maybe let Chip cool down a bit won’t hurt. They’ve still got time.

-------

[Tuesday]

On Tuesday, they all go into town to go mini-golfing and then to some lumberjack show where guys in flannels compete to climb poles, use a hand saw to saw up a log the fastest, and make the best sculpture using a chainsaw. It had looked kitschy, but it’s decent fun. 

The kids have a blast, and Reese convinces Morgan to let them call her by name, reasoning that it’s gender-neutral and that no one in the little tourist town is gonna recognize her well enough to put two and two together. It’s an honest-to-god thrill to hear it, shivers going down her spine every time.

Chip stays behind on a work call. 

Morgan can’t prove it, but Lynn’s pinched face as she relays this makes her suspect that the call hadn’t existed before this morning. 

-------

[Wednesday]

Wednesday, Morgan realizes that with the split reaction, they’d never actually told their kids if they could call her Mom this week. She feels a little silly for it now, but—she’d been prepared for  either all acceptance or all rejection. The idea of a schism hadn’t crossed her mind, so she’d blanked on what to do. You can call me Mom but not in front of Uncle Chip and Auntie Lynn or your cousins or in public seemed overly complicated, but doing nothing probably hadn’t been better. If the kids had picked up on the rest of their aunts and uncles slowly calling her Morgan and feminine terms more and more while Chip and Lynn ignored her, then they were probably confused as hell by now. 

She might be able to use this, actually. Chip and Lynn had been closest to normal around the kids, focusing on them to avoid everyone else. If she gets the kids to go crazy with calling her Mom, she might be able to force them to stop ignoring the issue. 

Is that using her kids? Maybe a little. Morgan figures it’s benefitting them too, so it’s probably fine. 

She suggests her plan to Jackie while they’re taking their turn cleaning up the kitchen after breakfast. 

Jackie hums. “You need an enforcer?” Want me to stick close?

Morgan thinks about it and shakes her head. “I want it to be really fucking clear who they’re calling Mom.” She turns it over in her head again. “But I could do with some goalie eyes.” Watch so we can get the kids out if it looks like it’s going to turn ugly. 

Her wife’s eyes go this steely sort of sad. “Then I’m getting Reese to stick with you.”

A noise of protest is out before Morgan can stop it. “I don’t need a goon.”

Jackie raises an eyebrow. “I think you’ve got one whether you want it or not. Have you not noticed her standing up for you all week?”

“I can take care of myself,” she tries. 

Jackie dries her hands and turns to face Morgan, propping her hip on the counter and folding her arms. “Out of your family, Reese has by far been the most supportive. Please, just let her help.”

“She doesn’t have a lot of competition, it’s not a very long list,” Morgan grumbles. She scrubs a hand down her face. “Fine. I will let my baby sister play guard dog against our older brother. That’ll go swimmingly.”

“That’s the spirit.”

-------

In the way only ever brought out by siblings, Morgan is the tiniest bit satisfied that Reese’s presence works a little too well, thereby proving Morgan right in her desire to go this alone. Chip and Lynn would have to be blind to miss the kids’ newfound desire to include her in everything, and they especially notice how the kids take a leaf out of Reese’s book and shoehorn the word Mom in wherever they can. Morgan knows they notice, because she watches them go still every time. And then she watches Reese’s hackles go up every time. And then she watches Chip notice Reese’s bristling and back down. And then she watches Reese—well, one gets the picture. Reese and Chip play Cold War over Morgan’s head, to the point where she finds herself trading long-suffering glances with Lynn, who has clearly cottoned on to the game and looks like she’d also just prefer an outright confrontation at this point. 

Morgan mentally apologizes to Lynn after the fifth or sixth time this process happens. Sorry that we stop being normal around each other and somehow turn into a hivemind that still can’t communicate, welcome to having a big family. 

And—okay. It’s perhaps not entirely accurate to say that Morgan would prefer an outright confrontation. Yeah, the whole thing had been her idea, but she’d also specifically come up with an idea that meant she didn’t have to be the one to start the whole thing. Reese’s presence is really putting a damper on that, but in a way that’s making Morgan feel just as warm and fuzzy as she is annoyed, so she kind of just shelves the whole mess.

If she ignores all the loaded subtext, the day is actually really nice. She remembers, in the hospital after Amber was born, having a mini-breakdown over being called Dad, still feeling so terrified of the word Mom that it made her nauseated. She remembers how the breakdown over actually getting called Mom for real was a king-sized candy bar compared to the first. 

None of her worst fears or wildest dreams compare to the reality.

It’s incredible, to feel seen as a mom by so many people, to have that be normal and—mostly—unquestioned. It’s incredible in a way that makes her realize that a part of her maybe always curled up in discomfort at being seen as a dad, even as she mostly felt pride. She’d chalked it up to insecurity, or disliking the assumptions that came with it, on occasion not even registering that she was feeling it. Now, with the benefit of comparison, it’s really fucking obvious. Wow, she had kind of been miserable a lot. It’s actually a little trippy to realize that that didn’t have to be her normal.

Reese even calls her Aunt Morgan to her nephews and niece at dinner, which is the closest Chip comes to breaking all day. His eyes flash dangerously before they settle on the kids in question, who don’t seem to have registered Reese’s words at all, and he very visibly reigns himself in. Morgan swallows a strange-tasting mixture of disappointment and relief. 

-------

She finds herself lying with her arms crossed on the couch in the main living room long after everyone has gone to bed, still wired for a fight that hadn’t happened. It feels like when the whole stadium is expecting blood to spill on the ice but instead the game is neat, predictable, everyone skating like video game characters and shaking hands after. There’s always a disjointed murmur after games like that, especially after a win, like no one’s sure if they should just be happy about the win or mad that it wasn’t as exciting as they’d hoped. Morgan can almost hear that murmur now if she strains her ears into the dark. 

Then she bolts up into a sitting position, because she does actually hear something. 

Chip is standing at the base of the stairs, clearly dressed for bed in a tank top and boxers. Morgan can’t see his face, exactly, but she watches his head turn to the kitchen, her, the kitchen again, and back up the stairs and she knows he’s debating whether his water and midnight snack are worth crossing her territory. He rolls his shoulders back and turns to head back up the stairs.

“No.” It’s out before Morgan can stop it. 

Chip pauses, half-turning just his head back towards her, leaving his hand on the railing and his feet poised to keep climbing. He doesn’t say anything, and Morgan can hear the challenge in it. Is that it? No?

She rolls to her feet in one smooth motion and walks towards the kitchen herself, not looking to see if Chip is following. She knows he is. 

The overhead lights are probably too much for this midnight standoff, but she flips on the oven light so she can at least see what she’s doing. As she moves back and forth across the kitchen, she sees Chip leaned in the doorway, arms crossed warily. The soft pool of light only cuts across his feet and shins, leaving the rest of him semi-shadowed. It feels right—any more light would make this too real, too stark, give them too many chances to hurt each other in a way that sticks. This isn’t a conversation they could’ve had in the daytime, Morgan realizes, with so many factors competing for their attention, making them talk past each other and say things they don’t mean. 

No, it has to be like this, stripped down to just them and kept calm by the desire not to wake their loved ones. Maybe they can actually listen to each other like this. 

She considers her options, then says fuck it and sits right down on the floor, placing the bowls of peanut butter, the cut up apples, and the glasses of water between her and Chip. She leans back against the cupboards and waits. 

They used to do this all the time as kids. Two or three of them, rarely all five, would find themselves keeping odd hours or waking up hungry or just plain unable to sleep and they’d unintentionally congregate in the kitchen, scrounging up whatever snack their tired brains could put together and chatting idly, everything made somehow both funnier and more serious by the ethereal quality of the late hour. Morgan can see the recognition in Chip’s eyes as he lowers himself to sit across from her and pulls one bowl and one glass towards him, snagging an apple slice from the cutting board.

“You know, we can sit at the table,” he says around a mouthful of apple and peanut butter, tone carefully casual. “We’re adults who make, like, stupid amounts of money.”

Morgan shakes her head in disbelief. The first words he’s said directly to her since the first night, and that’s what he’s focusing on? 

“Too old to sit on the floor anymore?” she throws back. “Or too frail from sitting behind a desk all day?”

Chip grabs another apple slice, and Morgan does the same. 

“Not all of us can be professional athletes,” he says after he swallows. She can hear the slight edge in it, and sighs.

It’s as good an opening as any.

“This really about hockey?” It’s one part skeptical—are you trying to cover up something else with concern for my career—and one part genuine—hey, are we getting somewhere, is hockey and all that it brings with it one of the things that’s holding you up with this because if it is we can talk about that. 

Chip finishes the apple slice in his hand and takes a long swallow of water. 

“No,” he says eventually. He doesn’t add anything else, and Morgan raises an eyebrow. She makes a little go on motion with her hand.

“I guess it’s a little bit about hockey,” he adds after a moment, looking pensive. Nothing more is forthcoming.

“Christ, Chip, you’re a fucking lawyer,” Morgan mumbles. “You’d think you could get to the goddamn point.” 

Chip just unfolds one leg from where he’d been sitting cross-legged, stretching it out across the floor as he continues to gnaw on whatever he’s thinking about. Morgan gives him a minute, then kicks him lightly on the ankle with her own outstretched foot. She does it again, a bit harder, when he doesn’t react. Chip simply stretches out his other leg and makes a show of settling back against the cabinets. She scowls and pulls the cutting board away from him in retaliation.

“You make me feel like a fucking teenager again,” Chip says suddenly.

Morgan stares at him in confusion. 

He runs a hand through his hair and gestures at Morgan, and her socked foot still resting next to his bare ankle, and to the cutting board she’s still got a hand on. 

“I can’t help it.” His voice is gruff. “All it takes is being around you guys, and it’s like I’m sixteen again, and I’m trying to keep shitheads at school from calling you or Danny soft while also trying to keep full adults from church from doing their best to terrify Reese and Alicia into being quiet little dolls. You know that's why I started thinking about being a lawyer? I couldn’t just, like, beat up Brother Morrison or Sister Butler because they wanted to humiliate ‘Leesh for wearing shorts in Arizona in the middle of summer. I had to argue them out of it. And I had to argue them out of it without them noticing that that’s what I was doing.”

Chip’s on a roll now, all the words she’s watched him swallow down this week when he looks at her spilling out in a rush. “Usually, it’s not so bad, feeling like a kid around you all, you know? Means I get to throw off some of that adult shit, laugh and goof off with you guys like we’re dumbass teenagers again and everything is simpler. But sometimes—Jesus, Morgan, sometimes it’s like all the bad shit has to come back too and I feel like I’m drowning in it all over again.”

Morgan feels her mouth part slightly, but she remains totally frozen otherwise, afraid to break whatever spell this is and make Chip take it back. He’d said her name.

“So you come to me,” Chip continues, “with this thing that could ruin everything you’ve built, that you’ve done just fine without for the last thirty-one years, yeah, I was pissed. I didn’t know what the fuck you were thinking. You probably don’t remember this, but there was a point when Danny was ten and you were six that he came home with a black eye that he wouldn’t explain for three fucking weeks. I finally sat on him until he told me, and you know what he said?” 

Morgan shakes her head mutely.

“He said—” Chip swallows. “He said, Chip, if I didn’t get ‘em first, they said they were gonna break Hayden’s arms. I whooped ‘em all so good that nobody’s ever gonna say something again. Apparently, you let some girl at school make you a flower crown and you wore it around all day. Ricky Butler and his meathead older brother took offense to that, and decided they were gonna teach you a lesson.”

“But Danny got to them first,” she murmurs.

“Danny got to them first,” Chip agrees. “Even though they were both older than me and like twice his size.”

He studies her for a moment. Morgan, uncomfortable, slides the apples back towards him. He grabs one and gives her a small smile in thanks. 

“We were all a little bit relieved when you showed an interest in hockey.” He pauses. “Well, Reese and ‘Leesh didn’t really care, because they were babies. But Mom and Dad, me and Danny, we could all see how the target on your back shrank by like 40% just because your name was on a peewee sports roster. And then you got good, got noticed, got tougher, and it practically disappeared. We were just—grateful.”

“Bet you wished I’d picked something better suited to Arizona,” is all Morgan can think to say.

Chip purses his lips contemplatively. “Mom and Dad might’ve, once or twice because of a bill or a calendar. But me? My only responsibility was to drive you around and cheer at your games.” He tips his head back against the counter. “I could just watch you be happy.”

“And you were so happy, Morgan.” He huffs, shakes his head. “Are so happy. That night, all I could think was he doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know how much hockey has protected him. Because if you did, and you’re still risking losing it because of—this?” He gestures at her. “When this is what made you so vulnerable in the first place?”

Morgan, feeling brave with two (count them) uses of her name, just says quietly, “she.”

“What?”

“She doesn’t even know.” She watches him closely. “And I do, by the way.”

Chip watches her back for a minute, then nods. “Okay. She does know. Tell me how this is supposed to work, then. Because I don’t think I fucking get it.”

“Keep my head down. Play pro until I don’t want to or I can’t. Retire, disappear because no one gives a fuck who I am if I’m not standing next to Shane, and do this for real. The kids will be older then, and we won’t rely on Jackie’s parents as much. Maybe it won’t be so fucking crazy.” She shrugs with a casualness she doesn’t feel. 

“How many people know?” Chip asks after a beat.

“Nine, not including the kids.” She takes a sip from her glass. “Ask what you really want.”

“How do you know none of them will let anything slip? Blow this whole house of cards up? Including your kids.”

Morgan holds eye contact with him. “We’ve got a system for the kids, and they haven’t slipped up in front of anybody, including you guys. One is Jackie and six are you guys. Should I be worried about any of those people outing me to the press?”

Chip shakes his head slowly. “And the last two?”

“One is Shane.” Morgan pauses just long enough to see Chip’s eyes flash. She sends a small—not too big, because it kind of makes them even—apology up to Shane for what she’s about to do. “And the other is Shane’s boyfriend.” 

Chip sits back. “Oh.”

She smiles, small and a little bit satisfied. “Yeah, so, not gonna tell.” She sobers and points at her brother. “You tell anyone outside our family about Shane, I don’t give a single fuck, I’m coming out too. I’ll burn the whole thing to the ground before I let him do that alone. Matter of fact, don’t say anything to our family, either. That’s his fucking business, alright?”

He almost looks insulted. “Jesus, Morgan, what kind of asshole do you take me for?”

She raises her eyebrows pointedly. Crunches on an apple slice.

Chip sends her a bitchy look back. “I think my attitude conveyed very clearly that I wanted to handle this within the family. That’s the opposite of outing.”

“Is that how you win cases, on bullshit technicalities?” Morgan fires back, feeling her lips twitch. “Handle this within the family, goddamn. New York made you a pretentious fuckin’ yuppie.”

“I’m just saying,” Chip shrugs. “You may have a legitimate claim that my reaction constituted ‘asshole behavior,’ but it doesn’t follow that the aforementioned ‘asshole behavior’ marks me as a risk factor for outing you or any other parties. To claim that is to drastically misrepresent my position.”

This annoying motherfucker. Morgan bites down a grin. She may have more Cups than she does diplomas, but she grew up with Chip and his inability to let anyone win an argument—she can speak the language. 

“That argument assumes that I could trust that your behavior had a rational basis and a clear position,” she says, matching his tone. “Trans- and/or homophobia being, of course, illogical and reactionary thought patterns—I had to assume that your behavior was an expression of those thought patterns in order to militate the risk they posed.”

This gets Chip to break, letting out a surprised laugh as he shakes his head. “Okay, fair. It’s mitigate, though. Not militate.” He’s still chuckling as he speaks.

“Fuck you,” Morgan says pleasantly. She flips him off for good measure. 

“Illogical and reactionary thought patterns,” Chip mutters to himself with a laugh. He raises an eyebrow at Morgan. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“Some article,” she shrugs. “Had to look it up and then had to get Jackie to explain the explanation, the whole thing made my damn brain hurt. Also, fuck you.” 

Chip just gives her an innocent who, me? smile and crunches on his own apple slice. 

Silence falls, and the elephant Morgan carries into every room presses its weight into her back. She inhales deeply, letting the air out in a controlled stream. “Okay. Real talk. Where are we on this?”

Chip leans back, retracting his feet to sit cross-legged again. He mulls the question over, taking the time to really consider it, which Morgan mostly appreciates but also a little bit hates. She feels like she can hear the Jaws theme song playing faintly in the thick silence. 

“I have to believe,” he starts. Does his own inhale/controlled exhale. “For my own sake, I have to believe you’ve considered the risks and know that this is worth them. I have to believe that you wouldn’t commit to this unless you were sure. I think this conversation has proven that.”

Morgan isn’t sure of jack shit, because if the last year of two-steps-forward-one-step-back has taught her anything, it’s that gender is a fucking mirror maze—if she waits until she’s sure of where the exit is before she moves, she’ll never go anywhere. 

She also knows that this is not necessarily something Chip will really appreciate the nuance in, especially right this minute. She can let that lie—for what he means, it’s close enough.

She nods, holding eye contact with her older brother. “I’m sure that this is what I want to do. What I need to do.” Phrased like that, it’s even true.

Chip returns the nod. “What do you need from me?”

Fuck, she wishes the question didn’t bowl her over the way it does. She’s not used to talking about this shit in such plain language. It’s weird. 

Still, a faint smile steals onto her face. “Be happy for me?”

It’s the only thing she ever really needs.

“Done,” Chip says instantly. He smiles back at her, impossibly gentle, eyes a bit shiny to match the tears she can feel trying to gather in her own eyes. 

There’s a deep, deep ache in Morgan’s chest, making her breath come out a little shaky around it. It feels, she thinks, like the release of a muscle when the team massage therapist has put their full weight into the knot, feels like when she keeps flinching as she tests her range of motion, her body conjuring weird little aftershocks of pain as she tries to remember how to move without expecting it. 

This muscle, or whatever it is, has been tight and painful and knotted in her chest for so long that Morgan doesn’t think she’s ever really even registered that it’s sending her signals, let alone that those signals are pain. It’s not that she’ll have to remember how to move it freely—this is the first opportunity she has to learn. 

As they clean up, as they say good night, as Morgan gets ready for bed and slips in beside a sleeping Jackie—she finds herself drawing in these deep, full breaths, each time looking for the restrictive band that’s always been around her lungs and exhilarated by how she can never seem to find it.

Chapter End Notes

lumberjack show is based on the Hayward, WI lumberjack show, caramel rolls are Tobie's in Hinckley, MN, and the midnight snack+chat thing was something my siblings and i did growing up, down to the apples and peanut butter. hey, write what you know!

this chapter was a really fun but a little painstaking to write, because sibling relationships are so interesting and unique and we really wanted to delve into what a realistic reaction would look like, and what the balancing act looks like between advocating for yourself and not dying on every hill. Or, for Chip, reconciling the fact that his care for Morgan is also something that can lead him to hurt her. It's complicated and painful and soso fucking fascinating to explore. Sibling relationships are, in social psychology, what's called "involuntary relationships" because they (generally speaking) have such a deep effect on a person as to be impossible to ever fully terminate, even if one is not in regular contact with a sibling. Learning this rewired something in my brain because it was so poetic and real and was such an interesting way to frame relationships. I wrote a paper about them for class but naturally, I also had to write it into gay fanfiction. bon appetit.

also, check out prismatic for some lighter sibs content! lil treat after how heavy this chapter got.

Chapter 9: i have what i have and you got what you got

Chapter Summary

p.2 of the cottage (lol)

Chapter Notes

we will be taking a break for a couple weeks to build up our backlog of chapters again. we may post some vignettes and whatnot in the meantime, but it'll be a little while before there's a new chapter here! check out jane's tumblr for extras, updates, or to talk to us--we love to yap.

[Thursday]

“Sh sh shh, Morgan needs to guess. Shut up!”

Morgan blinks at Reese, still feeling half-asleep. She’d stumbled out of bed and down to the kitchen to the sound of raucous, hysterical laughter, which has still not fully quieted despite Reese’s command. A glance at Jackie for help only gets her a smirk poorly hidden behind a coffee mug. 

“What am I guessing,” she asks warily. 

“Morgan,” Reese starts, adopting an overly formal tone. “I wanted to thank you for funding so much of this trip. This would have been out of everyone else’s price range without your help, but this place really made the trip special. It’s got such great amenities—”

“Just ask her, oh my god,” Alicia mutters.

“Such great amenities,” Reese says, louder. “Like this kitchen that our wonderful siblings have used to prepare us such delicious meals. More specifically, this cute retro stove that our beloved older brother is currently using to make us breakfast burritos, which will no doubt be incredible.”

Danny waves dutifully from where he’s scrambling eggs. Kay and Lynn stifle chuckles. Morgan makes a get to the point gesture at Reese.

“My question for you, my dear sister,” she says imperiously. “Is how much do you think that cute little retro stove costs? Ballpark estimate.”

Morgan squints at her, then shakes her head and pours herself a cup of coffee. Shenanigans can wait until she’s got a little caffeine. 

After a long sip—which she only slurps obnoxiously in Reese’s direction a little bit—she examines the stove in question. It’s got a modern range top, but otherwise looks like something out of the 1930s with rounded edges, shiny chrome, and porcelain accents. There’s a floral design painted on the porcelain backplate and on the warming cabinet above the range, and it’s got, in addition to the oven, a separate broiler and proving drawer. All three have ornate wooden handles.

The thing fits well with the rustic, homey vibe that the place is going for. The place is nice, clearly, but it’s got personal touches here and there that ground it a bit— souvenir magnets and postcards on the fridge, a couple handmade blankets, little painted rocks clearly done by kids in the garden. 

She looks back at the oven. It’s even got little claw feet, standing proudly like it’s about to start singing a song from Beauty and the Beast. Reese is watching her expectantly, as are the rest of the adults in the kitchen, though they’re trying to be subtler about it. Morgan racks her brain for how much their oven at home had cost plus anything Shane’s ever mentioned about kitchen reno, real estate freak that he is. They’re both pro athletes, their tastes are probably expensive enough to get her in range. She does the math in her head, adding a bump from the fact that Reese wouldn’t be acting like this unless the price was a little ridiculous.

“Four thousand dollars?” she guesses.

Danny turns to the stove, shoulders shaking slightly. Kay and Lynn both bring hands up to hide smiles. Alicia presses her lips together, eyes mirthful. Jackie laughs at her openly. 

Reese’s grin is evil. “Double.”

Morgan feels her jaw drop. She looks at the oven. Looks at the potholders hanging next to it, which have Live Simply embroidered on them in a curly script. Looks at the kitschy cabin decor beside the coffee machine: a section of a tree, the bark still on, with the burned-in design reading:

All you need for the cabin:

• Fire ✔
• Hot dogs ✔
• Marshmallows ✔
• Done ✔

This process sets everyone off again, and Morgan joins in, laughter incredulous. 

“If this is living simply, I’d hate to see what they think extravagance is,” Lynn gasps out. Reese shrieks with laughter. Morgan doubles over, clutching the counter for support. 

“Eight grand,” she manages. “For an oven.”

“An ugly oven,” Alicia corrects, wheezing. It renews the hysterics all over, Danny’s booming laugh so forceful that he has to step away from where he’s assembling breakfast burritos to compose himself. Kay is letting out little hiccups like she’s about to hyperventilate. Morgan makes eye contact with Jackie, making them both burst into giggles at the mirth reflected in the other’s eyes. 

“What’s so funny?”

The laughter dies into awkward smiles as everyone tries to pretend the mood didn’t shift. 

Chip stands in the door, hands in his pockets. He looks far more nervous than a man with five zeroes in his salary and multiple post-nominals usually does. 

It’s the first time he’s showed for breakfast all week.

Lynn gets up and pours him a mug of coffee, going to stand next to him in a silent show of support. Everyone else pretends they’re not glancing between Morgan and Chip. 

Nosy bastards, she thinks fondly.

“Hey, Chip,” she says aloud. There’s a collective intake of breath.

Chip rolls his shoulders back, looking like he’s steeling himself. “Yeah, Morgan?”

She grins. “How much do you think this oven costs?”

-------

“That’s it?” Reese bursts out. Everyone turns to her. She keeps her eyes locked on her oldest sister. Is Morgan going to forgive him so easily, after the shit he’s pulled? Because he used her name once?

Reese isn’t sure whether she feels hopeful or betrayed.

“Hey, no, we talked it out last night, Reese’s Pieces,” Morgan rushes to assure. “We’re good, okay? Thank you for your help yesterday.”

Reese nods silently, still trying to decide how she feels. She looks at their oldest brother.

Waits. 

Chip steps further into the room. His expression is open, and he looks at all of them before focusing back on Reese. 

“I reacted the way I did,” he starts. His voice is gentle, careful. “Because I was worried for Morgan. What this means for her and her career. I didn’t go about it in the best way, but I promise I didn’t want to hurt her. Just protect her—protect all of you.”

“We’re grown adults, Chip,” Alicia speaks up. “We can make our own choices.”

“And we know how to be safe while we do,” Reese adds. 

Chip runs a hand through his hair. “I know. I know. It’s a hard habit to break, okay?” He motions at her and Alicia, then at himself and Danny. “You two, even Morgan, had a way different experience growing up than we did. Because we didn’t let that shit touch you. It’s hard letting go of that.”

Danny nods. “He’s right about that. But, Chip,” he levels a look at their brother. “You ever pull that shit again, I will make sure you regret it.”

Chip shakes his head. “I’d hand you the shovel.”

Danny turns to Morgan. “Your show, Morgs. Are you two good for real? No bullshit.”

“We’re good,” she says firmly. Danny nods back, and Alicia follows suit. After a moment, Chip nods as well. 

They all look at Reese. She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and nods her agreement. We’re okay.

The mood tangibly relaxes, but there’s another beat or two of silence as they all readjust a bit. Reese taps her fingers against her mug, mind whirring idly about what this could change for their family. 

Eventually Chip breaks the silence with a casual, “Eight grand.”

Reese blinks. Then her mind catches up. 

The words echo from every corner of the kitchen at once. 

“No FUCKING way—”

-------

Jackie’s having the time of her life on this vacation now that she’s not stressed for Morgan all the time, scared that the next conversation she has with her brother will be the last.

Really, she is. 

If her darling wife and her darling wife’s siblings could just let this go.

“He had to have looked the price up without us noticing,” Morgan announces when they’re all down at the beach after lunch—apropos of absolutely nothing, as far as Jackie can tell. Alicia and Reese nod emphatically. 

“Or,” Alicia theorizes. “He got Lynn to tell him! He’s abusing spousal privilege!” Reese points at her, eyes lit up with the new theory.

“Maybe he overheard y’all yelling about it,” Danny calls, amused. He’s further down the beach, making a sandcastle with Jasper and Chip’s kids. Jackie is seriously tempted to join them. 

“Still cheating,” Jackie’s darling wife yells back.

How that’s cheating, Jackie’s not quite sure. 

“Morgan didn’t hear us, how the fuck would Chip?” Alicia adds.

Back when they were first dating, they had a running joke about Morgan picking up a swearing habit from her teammates that Jackie vaguely remembers as being the origin from which the swear jar developed. She’d been astounded to learn, through repeated exposure, that Morgan’s whole family swears—not as much as her hockey player wife, but certainly more than Jackie heard growing up. Even Morgan’s mom. Their branch president must’ve hated them.

“One of them is a dumbass with multiple concussions and the other has like five degrees, what do you think?” Danny returns, bringing Jackie out of her reverie. She opens her mouth, but Lynn beats her to the punch. 

“Watch your language around the kids, please,” she calls from where she and Chip are kayaking around the shallows with the twins. It’s long-suffering. Jackie sends her a sympathetic and grateful grimace, and she gets an exasperated, amused look back. Lynn gets it, as an only child. Jackie has siblings, but they’re so much older than her—close to each other, Michael and Tori even Irish twins—but not to her. Not like the even spread of the Pikes. Lynn has been her ally in the culture shock, her fellow ethnographer examining the unique dynamics of siblings. 

Also her ally in getting them to stop swearing for two damn seconds. 

“Sorry, Lynn,” Danny says, contrite.

Morgan, who’d had her mouth open to presumably swear back at him for the insult, instead mutters, “ suck-up.” 

Danny hears her anyways and flips her off, hiding it from the kids—and Lynn—with his other hand. Jackie snorts despite herself, making Morgan look at her in betrayal.

 “I like watching you around your siblings,” she explains. “You’re…freer. Younger.”

“Hah, she called you immature,” Alicia immediately ribs. Morgan sticks her tongue out at her sister, and Jackie refrains from pointing out how it proves Alicia right. 

“Oh, Morgan, I wanted to say earlier but it never felt like the right time.” Reese leans over her beach chair, stretching her arm out so she can toast Morgan with her margarita. “Welcome to the club.”

Morgan looks confused, but dutifully knocks their glasses together. “What club?”

“Queer Pikes club. Oh, and Jackie too.” 

Jackie blinks but accepts her own toast. Had she known that? She doesn’t think she knew that, but maybe it just fell to the back of her brain at some point. With Reese living the furthest from them, they don’t see her all that often. It’s entirely possible it just hasn’t been mentioned enough for Jackie to remember, or maybe everyone assumed she knew. 

“The WHAT?” Alicia screeches.

Or not. 

Morgan’s fully dropped her drink, but she pays it no mind as she stares at her little sister with a gobsmacked expression. Kay doesn’t look surprised, except maybe by the strength of the reactions around her. 

Reese also seems caught off-guard by her siblings’ shock. “Do you think I live with Brooke for the rent?” she asks, looking bewildered. 

“Brooke is your girlfriend?!” Morgan sputters.

At the same time, Alicia argues, “You live in LA! The cost of living sucks!”

“She has pink hair! My profile picture on Instagram is her kissing my cheek!” Reese sounds almost indignant, and Jackie has to stifle a smile. 

“Excuse me for not stereotyping,” Morgan says loftily. Alicia points at her in agreement.

“Instagram! Kissing!” Reese opens and closes her mouth, seemingly at a loss for words. “We sent you a Christmas card!”

“I thought that was supposed to be a joke,” Alicia admits. Reese throws her hands up in frustration, then looks to where Chip and Lynn are walking up, the twins having joined the sandcastle construction. 

“If I asked you who Brooke is, what would you say?” she calls, loud and exasperated. Jackie sees Morgan’s jaw drop a little.

“Your girlfriend?” Chip says, bemused. Lynn nods.

“Unless partner is better,” she adds. Reese waves her off.

“Either is fine, just proving a point. Danny!” she beckons.

“There’s no fucking way,” Morgan mutters. 

Danny stands and brushes off his trunks, making his way over. “What’s all the commotion?”

“These two,” Chip motions to Alicia and Morgan. “Didn’t know Reese’s Pieces had a girlfriend.”

“I don’t think they even knew she wasn’t straight,” Kay informs her husband through poorly stifled giggles. 

“How come they knew?!” Morgan demands.

“They asked!” 

Alicia makes an indignant noise. “How were we supposed to know there was anything to ask about?”

“Isn’t your profile picture the two of you kissing?” Danny asks. Kay cackles, and Morgan throws her head back in annoyance.

When she lifts it, her demeanor has shifted subtly in a way that has Jackie on edge. 

Morgan looks at Chip. “You knew about Reese and you still…did all that?” There’s a thread of controlled hurt running through her voice. 

“Why do you think I was so upset?” Reese says softly. Everyone else is still. 

“You work in a violent, conservative field where someone can hit people to fix things,” Chip says. “Reese lives in Los Angeles.”

Morgan just looks at him, eyes deep and inscrutable. He doesn’t seem to be able to say anything else. 

“And it’s a bit different, isn’t it?” Lynn says. “Being a lesbian and being…transgender.” She shifts awkwardly. 

Jackie hears Danny mutter, “aren’t you bisexual?” to Reese, who hisses back, “not the point, Dan. Also, no, if you’re gonna be like that, I’m pansexual, not bi.”

Morgan pushes up from her chair suddenly, immediately distracting Jackie from the sidebar about the ins and outs of sexuality. She watches Morgan scoop Amber up from the playpen they’d set up with toys and walk back to the house, shoulders rounded as she adjusts Amber’s sunhat. Reese motions for Jackie to go after her, and she sends a grateful look over her shoulder as she does. It turns cool as her eyes pass over Chip and Lynn. As she leaves, she can hear Reese say “what the fuck was that, Lynn?” and she walks a bit faster. Morgan would be upset if she knew people were fighting on her behalf—Jackie wants plausible deniability. She couldn’t have stopped it if she didn’t hear anything. 

She’s taken a backseat this week at Morgan’s request, following her wife’s lead in handling a delicate topic with people Morgan’s not usually delicate around. She’s done her best not to be overprotective, going on trust that Morgan’s being truthful when she says the bickering and chirping hasn’t exceeded normal levels for them. It’s hard for Jackie to tell, sometimes.

It feels good, knowing that Morgan has someone to defend her the way Jackie wants to. It might be better this way, even—Jackie still worries that if she opens her mouth when she’s mad, her mother’s voice will come out. She doesn’t want to do that to anyone, no matter how frustrated she is with Morgan’s family. Reese and the rest of the Pikes speak a language of conflict Jackie didn’t grow up with. 

She finds Morgan in the kitchen, feeding Amber and talking, pausing when Amber babbles as if they’re having a conversation. Jackie leans in the doorframe to listen. 

“No, we’ve tried that before, remember? Steddy’s edges weren’t sharp enough to handle it,” Morgan tells their daughter seriously. She feeds her another bite of mashed up strawberries. “Although, that might’ve been before you were born, baby girl. Can’t blame you for not knowing.”

Amber jabbers back, banging her hands on her high chair. Jackie grins.

Morgan chuckles. “Whoa, didn’t know you felt that strongly about it. Okay, fine, it could work, but you’ve gotta be the one to tell Coach.” She points at Amber with the spoon full of strawberries. “You hear me? I’m not putting my butt on the line for this, missy. This is all you.”

Amber just giggles as she makes a grab for the spoon. Morgan pulls it back just in time to keep red goo from going everywhere. Jackie can’t hold in her chuckle, making Morgan turn around to grin at her. It turns into a full-blown laugh when Amber makes another grab for the spoon again while Morgan’s distracted, clipping it and spattering Morgan’s hand with strawberry juice. Morgan sticks her tongue out, even as Jackie grabs a paper towel for her and sits down. 

“How long were you standing there?” Morgan asks, handing the strawberries to Jackie as she wipes her hands off.

“Long enough to know that Amber has firm opinions on Stedlund’s edges,” Jackie tells her. She coos at Amber as she wiggles the spoon towards her. “Whether or not you were alive to see them, huh?”

Amber babbles back, dribbling strawberry down her bib. Morgan wipes her face off with a clean bit of the paper towel.

She’s avoiding eye contact, Jackie notices. 

“You notice that Reese’s girlfriend’s name is Brooke?” she says conversationally. 

This gets Morgan to look at her, blinking at the non sequitur. “Yeah?”

“So if they get married…” she leads. Morgan just keeps looking confused. “And Brooke changes her name…”

Realization spreads across Morgan’s face, and she laughs, loud and surprised. “Oh my god. There actually would be a Brooke Pike.” She wrinkles her nose. “Is it weird to say I hope she doesn’t? It really does sound bad.”

Jackie giggles. “No, I totally agree. We just won’t say anything to them.”

“Do queer couples usually change their names?” Morgan wonders. “I guess I don’t even know. How would they decide whose name they keep?”

“Uh…” Jackie looks up as she thinks. “My only dataset is any Runners who’re married. With them it’s like a 50/50 split on keeping their own names and hyphenating? So, no, not as much with taking one name.”

Morgan grabs the now-empty bowl back from Jackie and takes it to the sink. “Should we change our name to Pike-Connors? Connors-Pike?”

Jackie feels her face screw up in disgust. “No, thanks, I think I’d rather be a Pike. Your family’s way cooler than mine.”

Morgan tsks softly. “We’re letting the queer community down. Or maybe feminism.” 

She hums in disagreement. “I think taking my wife’s name is a huge win for feminism, actually. And the queer community. Way better than taking my husband’s name.”

Morgan giggles as she sits back down. She looks a lot lighter now, thankfully. “I don’t know if it counts given that I was your husband at the time.”

“Excuse you? It counts extra,” Jackie insists. She struggles to keep her grin down. “I married a woman and took her name without anyone knowing. I basically tricked the church into letting me get gay married.”

Morgan cracks up. “When you put it that way,” she gets out through her laughter.

Jackie doesn’t miss the way she preens at the implication that she had always been a woman, and smiles to herself. Morgan may not mind referring to her past self as a man, but Jackie’s also observed how she always looks a little satisfied if Jackie does the opposite, like it was a treat she wasn’t expecting. It’s no skin off Jackie’s back to do it more.

There’s a knock from behind them, making both Jackie and Morgan turn. Lynn is standing in the entrance to the kitchen, hand still raised from where she’d knocked on the wall to get their attention. The grin shrinks off of Morgan’s face. 

“Can I sit?” Lynn asks quietly. Jackie nods to the seat across from them. 

“I think I owe you both an apology,” she starts. “Morgan especially. I—I know that this is not new for Reese, or especially new for you, but it’s new for me. Us. And I don’t think we handled it very well. This vacation was supposed to be fun, you know, a time to relax, and I think Chip and I probably made that a lot harder for you guys. So.” 

She shrugs, trailing off a bit. Jackie raises an eyebrow, unhappy with how she’s yet to actually hear the words I’m sorry. 

Before she can say anything, though, Morgan speaks. 

“It’s okay, Lynn,” she says, smiling. “Thank you for saying that.”

…Okay then.

It’s possible—plausible even—that Jackie’s overly sensitive to this. Her family are pros at the non-apology apology thing. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that Jackie’s reading that into Lynn’s words when it’s actually completely genuine. 

She squeezes Morgan’s hand, cataloguing her expression as she turns. There’s no tension around Morgan’s mouth or in her brow—she’s not mad or uncomfortable. She’s not biting the inside of her cheek and her eyes wander comfortably over Jackie’s own face, so her acceptance of Lynn’s apology is genuine, not a lie for the sake of peace. But, there—Jackie sees the hint of hurt and vulnerability still present deep in Morgan’s eyes, deep enough that she’d guess Morgan, if she’s acknowledging that it’s there at all, wouldn’t want Jackie dredging it all the way up to the surface with an audience. So she nods and sits back, satisfied with her assessment. There’s at least some part of Morgan that knows Chip and Lynn have more work to do before total trust is restored. Jackie can be okay with that.

She smiles at Lynn, who visibly relaxes. 

“Let’s just relax for the rest of the week, yeah?” she says lightly. “It’s what we came here for.”

Lynn nods. She hesitates for a second, then holds her hand out tentatively. Morgan looks at Jackie, who inclines her head at her wife. Whatever you want, I’ll follow your lead.

They shake Lynn’s hand.

As they walk back outside, Amber babbling in Morgan’s hold, Morgan grabs Jackie’s hand with her free one and squeezes tight. Jackie squeezes back and doesn’t let go for a long time. 

Chapter End Notes

the stove is real and so is the "live simply"/ "all you need is x" decor surrounding it, they were in a--not overly expensive??--rental and i legit choked on my drink when we looked up the price. (just to drive home how nuts this is: a domestic oven will usually run about $500-$1500). nothing else in that cabin even came close to being that valuable and that includes their boat

Jane here! What really makes the oven thing fucked up is that we googled the price of it because we were complaining about how little space it had and how over-engineered it was! it wasn’t even a halfway decent oven!

also shoutout to anybody who clocked the pink haired roommate because morgan sure didn't

we will see you guys back here in a couple (hopefully) weeks!

Chapter 10: if you wanna keep your head (you gotta keep your head low)

Chapter Summary

Start of the season! Scott Hunter fixed homophobia! Everything's great!

Chapter Notes

CW for homophobic slurs, transphobia and misgendering, a little bit of discussion around vomit, and panic attacks

[September 2019]

Theater had always seemed like something only gay people were interested in, so obviously Morgan had never gotten within a ten-foot radius. But damn if she didn’t feel like she deserved a fucking Oscar every time she walked into that goddamn locker room. Throw in an Emmy for her performance at home, too. Every action she takes, she can hear this invisible studio audience groaning. They’ve given up on laughing at her. It’s pretty fuckin’ rude, actually. What’d she do to get stuck with such a bad invisible studio audience?

The jokes had only increased with strength and fortitude after Shane came out. She had kind of been hoping that they would have been shocked into silence, at least for the first day after the news, but they were clearly taking cues from a playbook she and Shane were no longer privy to.

They fired off jokes like they were getting paid by the word and not by the goal, everyone in the “against Shane” camp seemingly trying to turn Shane straight by sheer force of DUDE. Then add in the fact that Shane’s stopped calling out the jokes as much because he—accurately—diagnosed that he would no longer be taken seriously, leaving Morgan and sometimes JJ to walk that line of shutting down the egregious shit without inspiring a mutiny…

Morgan has a headache. 

Sitting in her car in the parking lot, she considers her performance carefully. How To: Close a Door Like a Normal Person. Removing Shoes for the Average Joe Josephine. 10 Classic Ways to Say “Honey, I’m Home!” and its accompaniment Setting Down Your Briefcase and Kissing Your Wife.

She sits in her car for a bit longer. Considers screaming, and thinks better of it because Jackie would notice if her voice was sore. Contemplates moving to Nebraska, but she put blood, sweat, and tears into her Canadian citizenship—reversing that would just be a nightmare. Then she’s pulling into her driveway, all of a sudden realizing she doesn’t remember the drive home at all. She poofed into existence in front of her house, and her car came with her. 

The kids would be in their rooms now, save Amber who would be with Jackie, cooking dinner. Jackie would obviously be in the kitchen cooking dinner. According to the script, anyways.

Morgan doesn’t know what’s on the meal plan for tonight. They made a plan every Sunday, but the writers must not have included that knowledge in this week’s episode, because it’s gone. Maybe they thought it would be more romantic for her to ask. It’s what husbands do, after all. 

They came home from their laborious 9-5, kissed their wives on the forehead (anything else would be improper) and inquired as to the delicious smell emanating from the pot on the stove. This is of course to convey that the Man of the House isn’t troubling his mind with the menial day-to-day tasks his wife does, but it also shows that he cares, that he loves her. He asked, he complimented. Morgan could do that.

She fucks up the second she walks in the door. 

The smell is probably delicious but all she can really fucking tell is that it makes her head pound even worse. It’s familiar, somewhere in her mind—she knows Jackie has cooked this before, knows she probably liked it, but the thought of eating whatever created that smell makes her nauseated and ashamed. 

But it wouldn’t be acting if it was really happening, so Morgan contorts her face in all the right places and slips out of her shoes to walk up behind her wife and kiss her on the forehead. The smell only gets stronger the closer she gets to the kitchen, but it wouldn’t be acting if everything were going smoothly. Amber screams in delight as soon as she sees Morgan. A good mother would never flinch away from her baby (a dad might) so she remains stoic and calm despite the awl it sends though her skull as she goes over to Jackie.

“How was your day, honey?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever called me that before,” Jackie laughs as she turns to go in for a hug. “It was good, precious. And your day? Shane mentioned he was planning on coming out, how did that go?”

“Precious makes me feel like you’re that little freak and I’m the ring. Dinner smells good! I’m sure Shane can tell you all about it this weekend. Are the kids up in their rooms?”

Jackie pauses. She looks at Morgan like she’s found a crack in the fourth wall. 

“I was actually just going to say that we’re gonna get take out because dinner smells awful. Someone distracted me from taking the pan off the stove and the vegetables got all burnt.” She sends a pointed look toward Amber, who seems unfazed by this accusation, cheerfully banging some magnets together. “You okay, pookie bear?”

Morgan swallows. Jackie’s ignoring the script, and it’s making Morgan’s throat feel tight. 

“Of course. Where are you thinking?” She tickles Amber, who shrieks gleefully again. Morgan manfully bravely doesn’t wince. “Or should we ask the culprit what she wants for dinner, huh? Make her decide.”

Jackie furrows her brow and scrutinizes Morgan. Morgan just looks back silently. She cannot cope with improvising right now. This exchange should be easy, familiar—Jackie’s dragging it out into becoming something it needn’t be.

She’s looking at Morgan now like she’s expecting her to come out and break with the script herself, but Morgan is a better actor than that. The director does not care for improvisation, so Morgan certainly isn’t going to risk it. She can stay silent until Jackie says her line. 

The silence prickles tight over her skin. Jackie’s not going to call her bluff, because she doesn’t have a bluff to call. 

“What’s going on, Morgan?”

Jackie called her bluff.

Morgan can’t hide the expression that goes across her face, she knows she can’t, because she watches Jackie’s eyes narrow in response like she’s got the shape of it now.

Fuck.

She slumps into a chair, propping her head in her hands and rubbing hard at her browbone, right where her headache is centralized. Her breath—damningly—hitches when Jackie’s hand lands on the back of her neck, gentle at first and then firmer, digging into the tension Morgan always seems to carry these days. It’s enough to make her shudder, a big full body wave, and—apparently—enough to make her tear up.

Fuck this. Morgan scrubs at her eyes roughly. She’s cried more in the past year and a half than she had in the decade prior. She’s sick of it.

“It went shitty,” she informs her wife, head still in her hands. Her voice is mostly steady, at least. “That’s how Shane coming out went.”

“I gathered.” Jackie’s voice is so so soft when she speaks, and Morgan rolls her shoulders against it, the gentleness paradoxically making her bristle. 

“It’s not fair to Hollzy,” she mutters. “He was their fucking guy, he could’ve treated us all like shit and they would’ve lapped it up and asked for more because he’s Shane Hollander. But he didn’t, because he’s Shane. I just—where do they get off? Switching up on him like that?”

Jackie sighs. Morgan continues, getting incensed all over again.

“I knew things weren’t, like, great, but I thought we were all on the same page! I thought we all understood that—that we’re a team. Hollzy and I have been putting in the goddamn work. Hollzy and I have been through the muck to the glory with them.”

“And they’re not extending him the same courtesy,” Jackie finishes softly.

Morgan deflates, energy leaving her just as suddenly as it came. “He didn’t even fucking do anything wrong. We held our tongues through so much of their bullshit, and they turn on him over this.”

She pillows her head on her arms. “I swear that some of them were waiting to shower until he was done, Jacks. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Deal with it,” she shrugs, head still down. It’s nice in here, with the light blocked out and the protective circle of her arms. It’s doing a lot for her headache. “Most of them weren’t being outright assholes, just a little awkward. I think all we can do is give them some time to get used to it.”

She feels Jackie run a hand through her hair. “Do you think they will?” Her tone is neutral, in a way that tells Morgan that her wife is not optimistic.

Fine, then. They’re her team, Morgan can be optimistic enough for the both of them. She puts her faith in her team—she has to, in order to do what they do. 

“Yeah, you know, this—” she sits up and gestures to herself. “took you and me some time to adjust to. We can adjust with some time.”

Morgan hopes she sounds more confident than she feels. Judging by the look on Jackie’s face, she really doesn’t, but Jackie doesn’t say anything more, just nods, and gets her phone out to order dinner. Morgan really, really appreciates it, because she kind of feels like if people keep looking at her right now she’s going to explode. She squeezes her wife’s shoulder and stumbles down the hall to their room to get a nap in, try and pull herself into some semblance of a real person and competent parent before dinner.

-------

[October 2019]

The third time Jackie comes home from work to find the kids playing quietly in the basement and the door to the bedroom firmly shut, she pinches the bridge of her nose, scowling at the placid barrier between her and her wife. 

She’d promised herself, back in September, that she’d let Morgan work through this, supporting her but not interfering unless asked to or it started to affect the kids. But Morgan has been incredibly diligent in making sure the kids are fed, watered, entertained, and on time, and even more diligent in not asking Jackie for a goddamn thing. And still, Jackie can sense her breaking apart inside, even as from the outside, she appears to have her life together better than ever.

Her mind conjures an image of Shane on their second Cup run, tightening his routines to the point of needing a full three weeks of decompressing after the season before he’d even responded to texts. On the other hand, maybe the tight control over one’s entire life is a symptom in and of itself. 

Jackie sighs and goes to fix dinner. She’s never gotten anywhere by forcing Morgan to talk before she’s ready.

-------

The fourth time Jackie comes home to her wife out of reach behind their bedroom door—the second time this week—she strongly considers going back on her stance. It’s just—Morgan’s still being so aggressively normal. She’s taken a leaf out of Shane’s book and honed her hockey against the stress until she’s a sight to behold, even as Jackie also watches the rest of the Mets start to fall apart around Morgan and Shane. And asides from the increasing frequency of nights she only appears for dinner, Morgan’s been a perfectly pleasant, attentive partner and parent—almost as if she’s playing a part with them, too, Jackie realizes, her heart sinking.

Playing the part of Hayden Pike, she thinks. It makes her a little sick to her stomach. 

Jackie understands playing that part around the team, in public, around her parents and Morgan’s. She could never begrudge Morgan for it, she wants her wife safe and will do anything to make that so. Doting on her “husband” and playing spies with the kids (okay kids, codename: Dad) is, frankly, the least of what she’s willing to do. 

Morgan was never supposed to play that part at home. 

Jackie leans her forehead on the door and takes a deep breath before knocking gently.

“Hey, I’m gonna start dinner. I could use some company if you’re up for it,” she calls. When she hears an affirmative grunt, she takes another deep breath and backs away from the door, smiling when her wife appears—hair mussed but eyes alert, indicating that she’d been tossing and turning but not sleeping. Whether that’s a good sign or a bad sign, Jackie’s not sure. But she’s out and seems a little more present as they chat, peeling potatoes at the table while Jackie bustles around. Jackie will take it.

-------

The fifth time, Jackie glowers at the door for a split second but doesn’t break her stride, marching right up and pushing it open with more force than strictly necessary. Morgan sits up, blinking at her in confusion. She’s not even under the covers.

“What’s going on?” Jackie asks without preamble. She’s done beating around the bush.

“I’ve just been a little tired with the start of the season,” her wife replies. “Sorry, I can figure it out so I’m not leaving you on your own every other day.”

Morgan, apparently, is not done beating around the bush. 

“That’s not the problem,” Jackie says impatiently. Probably a little too acerbic, but she finds that she’s rapidly losing her grip on her ability to modulate her tone and posture. “You leave me alone for roadies all the time, I can handle it. My problem is that this isn’t how you act when you’re tired, and I’m worried about you.” 

“I make up my share while I’m home,” Morgan says, looking both stung and guilty. “Even these past few weeks, I haven’t needed you to pick up my slack, have I?”

Never has Jackie wanted to strangle someone more than she wants to strangle the love of her life in this moment. 

“That’s not my problem,” she enunciates slowly. “You know you’re acting differently, you just acknowledged it. I want to know why, because I want to help you.”

Morgan shifts, rolling her shoulders back. “I told you,” she says stiffly. “The team’s adjusting.”

“Still?” Jackie challenges.

“Yeah, still,” her wife fires back. “It’s a steep learning curve, you know that. You and me had to unlearn a lot of the bullshit we grew up hearing too, and Jacks, you’re a lot more emotionally intelligent than a hockey player. They need time.”

“Time? Morgan, they’re running you and Shane ragged, compensating for their time. This isn’t sustainable.” Please, Jackie thinks at her wife. Please, I can help you if you let me.

Morgan shifts again. “There are a lot of eyes on me and Hollzy right now. We really can’t afford to rock the boat too far, Jacks, c’mon.”

Is Jackie going crazy? Is that what this feeling is? “There are always eyes on you two!” she says, a little hysterically. “They never made you go straight to bed at 3 in the afternoon before!”

“They were never inside the room before, were they?” Morgan snaps back. “Sue me for wanting a little privacy after feeling like a zoo ani—”

“Oh, bullshit, you’re not being private, you’re hiding!” Jackie practically yells. The room rings with it as they fall silent for a moment, both a little stunned at the volume. Jackie squares her shoulders. “You’ve gone back to only wearing black, grey, and dark blue, I had to talk you out of cutting your hair shorter, and you’ve stopped correcting the kids if they accidentally call you Dad at home. You’re shoving yourself back in the closet, Morgan, and if you let yourself treat this part of you like something to be ashamed of, it’s gonna be a self-fulfilling prophecy. You’re making yourself miserable.”

Morgan’s face goes cold. “Yeah? Maybe we’d both be happier if this had never happened.”

Jackie’s heart snarls and crushes in on itself as she tries to figure out if Morgan means coming out to her, or pursuing any kind of transition, or—she tries to push these thoughts out of her mind as soon as they form—their whole marriage. Or being trans at all. 

Regardless, she knows the answer.

“No,” she insists, and though its vehemence pulls them both up short again, this time, she sees Morgan cock her head at the extra note of jagged vulnerability.

All the fight goes out of her at once.

“Ah, shit, Jacks.” She hangs her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—” her eyes dart around the room like she’s physically searching for the words. When she doesn’t find them, she runs a hand through her—thankfully still grown out—hair, gripping the ends tightly.

Jackie finally goes and sits next to her wife on the bed, gently disentangling her hand from her hair and holding it between Jackie’s own. 

“I know, Morgan,” she tells her wife. “I know you didn’t. But do you understand why I’m worried, now?”

Morgan shrugs. After a minute, she nods. She doesn’t look up at Jackie.

Jackie cups her face, drawing her up until she can look into her wife’s eyes, so that Morgan can see all the fear and love and care and concern wrapped up into one in her eyes, hoping that her wife can also see the distinct lack of judgment, irritation, or contempt. 

“Whatever you meant or didn’t mean by it, I can tell you one thing,” she says. “Watching you be happy makes me happy. I want to do it for as long as I can, I want to help achieve it, and I want to see just how happy it’s possible for you to be—no, hey, c’mere.”

She draws a shuddering Morgan into her, guiding Morgan to shelter her face in the crook of her neck. Morgan clutches at her waist, fabric wrinkling in her grip. 

“I don’t need you to put on a brave face or act like you’re happy so that I’ll be happy,” Jackie says into her wife’s hair. “I just—that’s it, let it out, sweetheart.”

Morgan takes one more long, hitching breath before subsiding again, nodding minutely at Jackie’s check-in squeeze to the back of her neck. 

“I just think,” she starts slowly. “That watching you this summer, it was like every time I’ve seen you at your happiest combined and multiplied. Like—like you found the last piece you needed to ascend to this whole new scale of happiness. And I don’t want you to—to lose that.”

This makes Morgan stifle another sob, tensing in Jackie’s arms against the spasm it tries to send through her body. Jackie rubs a hand firmly up and down Morgan’s bicep in hopes that it’ll help her stay relaxed.

“I don’t—I don’t…” she inhales and tries again. “I don’t know if I can do that during the season. It’s fucking scary, Jacks, and I’m not even the main target. I know doing all this shit is making me miserable, I can feel it. But at least it’s safe.”

Jackie feels her newly re-formed heart threaten to shatter all over again. 

“Okay. Okay, I hear you, honey.” Then, because she hopes Morgan will make a habit of being this open: “thank you for telling me. We’re gonna figure it out, okay? We do that together.”

“Always,” Morgan says into her shoulder, voice fragile but steady.

-------

[October 2019]

Shane leans over to Morgan’s stall and mutters, “I like your hair.”

She grins back, briefly, before schooling her face. “Thanks. Trying to find a middle ground between,” she sends a pointed glance around the locker room, “and, y’know, not feeling like shit all the time.”

“Well,” Shane jokes, pulling his compression shirt on. “Half-up-half-down does seem like a good ‘middle ground’ hair style.”

Morgan snorts and rolls her eyes. “Boooo, tomato. That was terrible.”

Shane casts his own look around the room. Miraculously, no eyes appear to be on them right now, but still, anxiety sends cold electricity pulsing through him at even thinking about Ilya here, now. He pushes through it—he’s answered fucking sexts in this room, he can talk subtly without getting a stake put through his heart. Or his boyfriend’s.

He lowers his voice and leans in. “He spent so much time with my dad this summer, it’s like his humor has been completely replaced with that of a 60-year-old Canadian dad. It’s starting to infect me.”

A look of pure glee passes over Morgan’s face. “That’s fucking hilarious. Ro—uh, you-know-who makes dad jokes? I’m never letting that go.”

Now, Shane wants the record to reflect that he is actually being loyal to his team here, okay? No matter how it may seem. He’s helping as he reminds Morgan: “You’re not gonna be able to get under his skin on the ice. He can spin anything to his advantage and then you end up in the bin.”

(Any smugness he feels at his man’s unflappable prowess should be kept firmly off the record, thanks.)

Morgan flips him off. “I fucking know that. I’m talking about the next time y’all come over to babysit. I’m siccing the kids and their goddamn joke books on him for a change.”

“Y’all,” Shane teases, drawling out the word. “You’re from fuckin’ Arizona, not the Deep South.”

“Christ, Hollander.” Morgan pops him in the back of the head. “Leave me alone, dickhead.”

Before, Shane probably would’ve batted his eyes and said something borderline flirty, which was always good for a laugh from the guys and made him feel like he was getting away with something right under their noses. Now, it’d land somewhere between awkward side glances (at best) and outright disgust (at worst). So he just drops his eyes to his pads, adjusting them with more focus than strictly necessary.

The resulting silence between him and Morgan, where they’d both expected Shane to make the joke, doesn’t really feel any less awkward than if he’d made it for the whole room to hear. 

Shane yanks his practice jersey on, cursing when it gets stuck on something right where he can’t reach. He feels a hand jerk it down—from the side Morgan’s not on.

“Thanks,” he tells Berky, who’s already looking back down at his own gear. 

Berky grunts a wordless affirmative and continues to avoid eye contact, but it’s the closest anyone’s gotten to touching Shane in weeks, so he’ll take it. He’d seen Comeau deliberately sidestep his gearbag the other day rather than risk contact, and it had almost felt worse than if he’d kicked it vindictively. He hadn’t even looked like he registered what he was doing. It was just natural.

So yeah, he’ll take a bare-bones helping hand. Jesus damn, he cannot let Ilya face this from his team. Ilya thinks the Cens would be better about this than the Metros (low bar) or the Raiders (very slightly higher bar), but Shane can’t bear the risk, the not-knowing. Not when the stakes are so much higher for Ilya. Not when too many people could put the pieces together, even as slow as hockey players can be. If Shane Hollander likes dick…and Ilya Rozanov likes dick…honestly, it’d make less sense if they weren’t fucking. That’s not math he really wants people doing.

He looks over at Morgan. On the other hand, hiding sucks, but he doesn’t think it’s ever eaten at him quite like it can Morgan or Ilya. He sees the toll it takes on his best friend every day, her face gaunt and her movements ever-so-slightly stilted. He doesn’t particularly want that for Ilya, either. Maybe he can find—a middle ground, so to speak. 

Drapeau’s voice filters through his reverie. “...and then I told him, silly faggot, dicks are for chicks.” He even imitates the Trix commercial cadence, making a short ripple of laughter spread across the room. 

Shane feels his eyebrows go up. More than one head turns unsubtly to catch his reaction, but he’s too busy trying not to crack a grin at Morgan’s unimpressed mutterings to worry much about what they’re looking for and if they’ll find it.

“Are we in fucking middle school? I haven’t heard that one in ages, and it was stupid then,” she says, just loud enough for the people next to them to hear. “Oh, he even did the voice, Jesus Christ.” 

It’s enough to make Jams and Myers turn away to stifle their own grins, and again—Shane’ll fucking take it. That’s three whole teammates—five, counting JJ and Morgan—that maybe don’t entirely hate his guts. Shane’s very dedicated and very stats-driven. He’ll get his numbers up. He’s planning to retire with exactly one more Cup than his boyfriend, and Ilya’s on track to get the Cens at least one, meaning Shane needs at least three. If he gets his team behind him, he’s got it in the bag.

-------

[November 2019]

Jackie stops short in her entryway, making Shane and Ilya fall silent behind her. Her eyes scan over three pairs of kid-sized Converse and one baby-sized pair, lined up clumsily but certainly with more care than the usual flinging and scuffing of her walls. It’s something she only sees when the kids sense tension and are trying, bless them, to help by being well-behaved.

Something is wrong. 

As if on cue, her mom’s ringtone—one of the few that rings through—emerges insistently from her purse. She swears, torn between laying eyes on her kids and wife and answering her mom. 

Shane brushes past her. “I’ll check on the kids, you can take that, okay?”

Ilya squeezes her shoulder as he follows. “I will check on Morgan.”

Thank god for her friends, honestly. 

She pulls out her buzzing phone and holds it for a second, taking a deep breath before hitting accept.

“Hey, Mom! Is everything alright? Did something happen with the kids today?”

“Your kids were angels, Jackie, as always.” The affable tone makes Jackie’s hair stand on end. Her mom, tone still perfectly pleasant, continues, “Your husband, on the other hand.”

Fuck, she knew it. Dread trickles over her, and her grip goes white-knuckled around her phone.

Doing her best to keep her voice level and match politeness, Jackie says, “I just got home, I haven’t talked to anyone yet. Did the kids get picked up alright?” She kicks off her shoes with an aggressive casualness

“Oh, Jacqueline, we told you something like this would happen,” her mom laments. 

“Mom, I’m gonna need you to start make sense here soon,” Jackie warns. Her hold over her composure is rapidly diminishing. 

Evelyn sighs. “He’s confusing your kids, honey. His behavior is catching up with him and your kids are getting caught in the crossfire.”

“Details,” Jackie grits out. “Please.”

“I’m getting there, Jackie,” her mom huffs. “So, first of all, I didn’t realize until today how long his hair has gotten! I mean, he had to put it up in a ponytail and it looked…well. He looked very nice before, is all I’ll say.”

Jackie has a feeling that it’s very much not all she’ll say. She pinches the bridge of her nose tight, trying to stave off the inevitable headache.

Her mom, oblivious to Jackie’s growing anger, continues on. “And his shirt, my god. It’s no wonder Jasper thought he was you.”

Jackie’s blood goes cold. Distantly, her ears start ringing. “Jasper what?”

“He called Hayden Mom,” Evelyn scoffs. “Ridiculous.”

Oh, god.

“And, tch, poor Jade, she slapped a hand right over his mouth like he’d cursed. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if Hayden threatens them like he threatened us. They looked scared to death of his reaction.”

Threatened them??

“Threatened you?” Jackie is going to scream.

“Oh, did I forget to mention that part? Yes, Jacqueline, your husband threatened to call the police on us. He made a scene.”

Actually, Jackie can’t do this right now, she decides. 

“Hey Mom, I gotta go, the kids are calling me. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Jackie, wait—”

“Bye, I’ll call you back!”

Her phone rings again as soon as she hangs up. She hits the power button to stop it from buzzing and lets her mom go to voicemail. 

The police? What the fuck, Morgan?

Okay. First order of business: are the kids okay.

Yes, as a matter of fact—all four are piled on Shane, with Jasper and Amber on his lap and Jade and Ruby curled into his sides. Shane gives her a reassuring nod as she scans over them once, twice, three times to be sure. They’re maybe a little subdued, but otherwise seem content to rewatch The Incredibles for the nth time. Although, judging by the action, they’re already well past where they’d be if Shane had started it for them, so they must’ve started it when they got home. Which brings her to her second order of business:

Where the fuck is her wife?

Their en-suite bathroom, as it turns out, sitting against the wall across from the toilet while Ilya smoothes sweaty hair back from her forehead with one big hand. He’s talking, but Jackie can’t make out words, only the low, soothing tone. The sharp smell of vomit lingers in the air.

Morgan grimaces when she sees Jackie. Oh, good. Jackie was worried that her furious turmoil wouldn’t be obvious enough. 

“Hi.” It comes out clipped. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Morgan says, which is not an answer.

Jackie works her jaw, trying to get it to unclench enough to speak. She flexes her hands, trying to vent some of the tension ratcheting up and down her body. 

Ilya shifts, leaning into Jackie’s line of sight and breaking her eye contact with Morgan. She watches his gaze scan from her hands up to her face.

“Hey.” His voice is gentle, like he’s talking to a spooked horse. “Hey, Jackie, Morgan did not mean to upset you, yes? She’s sick. Not her fault.”

Okay, now she feels like a grizzly bear he’s trying to talk down. It’s kind of pissing her off more. Does he even know what’s going on, or is he just as in the dark as Jackie?

She cranes her head a bit to look around Ilya and get eyes on Morgan again. She’s confused and terrified on Morgan’s behalf, a little bit mad at her, a lot mad at her mom, and very worried about the fact that this stressed Morgan out enough to make her puke. The facts are starting to take shape in her mind, and she’s—really hoping she’s jumping to conclusions.

Ilya leans into her line of sight again, a smile inexplicably on his face. “Maybe we leave Morgan to be sick? Yell at me outside, I get in more fights than The Morgue does, I can take it.” He chuckles at his own joke. 

Jackie can’t quite help the scowl that flits across her face. She loves the guy, but she’s not really in the mood for whatever this is—this distraction routine. She appreciates the offer of space to vent, but mostly, Ilya’s just in her way.

“Ilya, could you go check on Shane and the kids, please?” 

Ilya swallows and looks to Morgan, as if he needs her permission to leave the two of them alone. Jackie presses her lips together. 

“Maybe you can get started on ordering dinner?” she tries. “There’s a pizza place that has some healthy options that Shane likes, you can grab my wallet out of my purse.” 

Ilya waves his phone. “Shane texted me, he already took care of it. I can help here, yes?”

Take a fucking hint, Ilya, please. Is it a language thing? He’s never had this much of a problem with nuance before. He’s usually annoyingly perceptive. 

No one will give Jackie a straight answer, her four-year-old son may have inadvertently outed Morgan to Jackie’s incredibly conservative parents, Morgan’s probably puking because of a panic attack the likes of which she’s only seen once before, and no one will give her a straight answer. Jackie doesn’t know what the fuck to do, she’s not equipped for this, and Ilya acting like he’s defusing a bomb makes her feel even more volatile . 

She turns on her heel and walks back into their bedroom, pressing her hands hard into her forehead, then reaching one back to tug on her hair when that doesn’t do enough to stave off the horrible buzzing under her skin. She has to put conscious effort into keeping her breathing steady. If she can just—

Her phone rings again. The screen lights up to 40+ texts from both of her parents and another call from her mother, and that’s it, actually, Jackie thinks a bit hysterically, she’s done, she can’t, the buzzing under her skin crescendoing and clustering around her eardrums and clashing with the buzz of the phone and she can’t fucking think—

There’s a loud thump, and it takes Jackie a couple seconds to realize that her phone is no longer in her hand. 

She’s panting slightly. Ilya’s peering worriedly around the bathroom door. 

All of a sudden, the wind goes out of her. She’s had her tantrum, vented the worst of it, and there’s a strange clarity that comes with it. For all the frustration and fear and anger she still feels, she doesn’t particularly want to direct it anyone in this house. She looks around for her phone and finds it against the far wall, wincing slightly when she sees a dent in the drywall above it. That’s definitely a problem for later, though. First things first— 

She motions Ilya out into the bedroom.

“Did Shane say if the kids told him anything?” She pauses, then adds, “I’m sorry for getting angry. Thank you for your help.”

Ilya waves this off. He bites his lip, looking sheepish. “Ah—I did not actually text him, I was going to do it if it worked to make you feel better. I will do now.”

Jackie goes to pick up her own phone, cringing when she sees the cracked screen. It still turns on, but it doesn’t respond very well to her touch. She could’ve used at least one thing going her way today. At least if she ends up needing an excuse for not answering she’ll have one. 

“He says he didn’t want to ask before you talked to them,” Ilya reports back. “And…typing…okay, he says they aren’t saying much but they are asking if Morgan is okay.”

Jackie nods. About what she had expected.

Ilya looks back down at his phone and adds, “he says he told them yes and that he’s really hoping it’s true.”

Jackie closes her eyes briefly. Okay, interrogation can definitely wait.

When she walks back into the bathroom, Morgan has migrated to sit on the edge of the tub, hands clasped and elbows on her knees. Jackie sits cross-legged on the floor in front of her, taking Morgan’s wrists in hand so she can press a firm kiss to her wife’s intertwined fingers. She lingers there, closing her eyes and feeling her body start to relax for the first time since she walked in the door. 

She looks up at Morgan. “Are you okay?”

Morgan’s eyes fill. She shakes her head silently. No tears fall, but Jackie can see her eyelashes starting to clump together, so it’s only a matter of time. For a moment Jackie is frozen—loath to move in any direction for fear of being the thing that tips the scales and makes her wife cry.

Then, her body moves on instinct, and she gets up on her knees to gather Morgan into her, clutching at and pressing on Morgan’s head and lower back like she can absorb all the pain and fear into her own body if they get close enough, or maybe just absorb her wife into herself completely. They stay like that for another long moment, long enough that Jackie’s knees start to ache, but she just uses it to ground herself, sinking into the here and now and we’re okay until her brain starts believing it. If the most pressing physical sensation currently demanding Jackie’s attention is her knees reminding her she’s the tiniest bit too old to be kneeling on bathroom tile, then certainly no other problem is immediate enough for her to be stressing about it right here and now. Their kids are mostly okay, Morgan is mostly okay, and her mom can take a hike until Jackie’s ready to talk, not the other way around. 

That said—her knees really do hurt now, so she shifts up to sit next to her wife instead. Morgan immediately slumps back into her, and Jackie rests her chin on Morgan’s crown, pleasantly surprised when she recognizes her own floral shampoo. Morgan only uses it when she needs a pick-me-up and is reasonably sure she’ll be able to shower again before anybody picks up on it. Lately, reasonably sure has seemed a lot closer to NASA-launching-a-rocket sure. 

Jackie feels inordinately happy to learn Morgan had used it this morning, and can only hope that it’s bringing comfort to Morgan now rather than putting her off from ever doing it again. Jackie’s been patiently fighting her wife’s demons every time something spooks Morgan back towards the safety of masculinity, but at this point, she categorically agrees with Morgan’s complaint that the universe is out to get her more than her own head is. It feels as though every time Morgan gains a sliver of progress in her comfort and confidence another roadblock gets thrown in her way. Case in point—Jackie can almost feel Morgan grumbling internally that she’d tempted fate with the feminine clothes, hair, and products and that this was karma. She has this way of blaming herself without noticing she’s doing it, and it breaks Jackie’s heart and pisses her off in equal measure. 

“Tell me to fuck off if this isn’t the time to say this,” she starts. Morgan snorts softly into her shirt. “But something like this probably would’ve happened sooner or later.”

She feels Morgan stiffen against her and rushes to explain. “I just—there’s only so much you can do, you know? Like hockey, I guess. Pads, helmets, mouth guards…everyone still gets their bell rung eventually.” She jostles Morgan against her side a bit. Considers her words. Works her jaw back and forth. Sighs, frustrated when the right words don’t come. “Just…you’re not alone on the ice. Okay?”

Morgan’s silent for a moment. Then she murmurs: “Jacks. I love you but I am absolutely not following metaphors right now, even hockey ones. What?”

She huffs. “Sorry for trying to speak your language,” she says, buying herself another moment to actually order her thoughts. 

“Hey, hockey player, okay, not hockey professor,” Morgan ribs back. “I got too many concussions for this, try Shane.”

“Shane only has one fewer concussions than you.”

“Yeah, but he’s the one who speaks hockey as a first language. You want someone who understands the world through hockey first, he’s your guy. Me, I need plain English, please.”

Jackie chuckles softly. “I think what I’m trying to say,” she starts. “is that you tried to do everything the safest way, and this still happened. And you were miserable the entire time anyways. So—fuck it, you know? What if you try the opposite? Be happy first and deal with the risks as they come?”

Morgan’s silent for another long moment, longer than the last. Jackie resists the urge to fidget. 

“Okay,” she says eventually. Her voice is scraped-rock rough. “Fuck, okay.”

Chapter End Notes

hi guys we're baaaaaack

chapter title is from Hadestown (the song Chant) in honor of the proshoot release and also Morgan's personal hell

drapeau's line is something my dad actually heard in school growing up, based on the trix cereal tagline "silly rabbit! trix are for kids!" in case you've never heard that before! apparently funniest joke on the playground in the 80s-90s.

n e ways we've missed posting more than we thought we would so we're hella excited to be back!! have 6560 words to celebrate! love yall!

Jane here- herbal essences rose hips shampoo/conditioner that comes in the pink bottles

Chapter 11: fish in a birdcage

Chapter Summary

in the great traditions of our forefathers rachel reid and jacob tierney, we describe everything that happens at an away game except the game itself.

oh, and we're in arizona. let's meet morgan's parents, shall we?

Chapter Notes

heyyyyy jane got absolutely blasted with the ao3 curse this week lmao. her boss (that she liked) got let go a couple weeks ago and then her boss's boss (that she did NOT like) got let go this week, and that's surprisingly (/s) not made anything better! her most direct report is now a woman she's never met in person and who walks that incredible managerial line of simultaneously micromanaging while also giving absolutely no specific direction or feedback. truly how do they do that. it's lucky jane has, like, ethics and shit, bc she could fuck them over heavy with how much oversight she has on any given day.

oh, and she burned the shit out of herself while we were helping a friend strip paint off a door because she was using a heat gun and a putty scraper and went to wipe the scraper off on her leg. heat resistant gloves made her forget that metal is an incredible conductor for juuuust long enough i guess? i took her to urgent care and at one point the doctor looks from jane (wearing shorts) to me (wearing pants) and back to jane and goes, "Do you think...more layers would help?" i've been getting a lot of mileage out of telling her the doctor prescribed pants. she's been getting a lot of mileage out of reminding me how fucking hot it is in our friend's garage, so, you know, balance!

jane's all good, promise! we're mostly amused at how Everything Happens At Once

[November 2019]

FRESH FISH

Rainbow Trout changed your name from Hardhead to Muskie.

Muskie: What?

Muskie: Oh

Alligator Gar: Aw, I kind of miss hardhead, it was so accurate

Alligator Gar: Isn’t there a dumber fish to name her after?

Muskie: Fuck you

Desert Sucker: Nobody even fishes for hardheads. Honestly, muskie probably fits the theme better.

Rainbow Trout: thank you bear grylls

Rainbow Trout: that’s definitely what i was thinking about

Alligator Gar: And people are just out here fishing for desert suckers all the time?

Desert Sucker: I mean, they were impossible to avoid in AZ. Catch three for every one trout or salmon. In Vermont it’s a lot of carp instead.

Desert Sucker: Not that any of you city slickers would know that!

Chinook: I fish. Also, I like Muskie as well.

Rainbow Trout: the council has decided sorry leesh

Muskie: Do I get a say?

Desert Sucker: No

Alligator Gar: No

Chinook: No.

Rainbow Trout: ^^^^

Rainbow Trout: WAIT can we add brooke pleeeeease

Rainbow Trout: she and i can be rainbow trout and brook trout it’ll be so cuteee

Muskie: I mean, definitely put her in the big chat, but it’s not like Jackie Kay and Lynn are in here.

Alligator Gar: Exhibit number one million for why it’s not our fault we didn’t know?? Why isn’t she already in the big chat?

Alligator Gar: Wait, what about Brian? He should be in the big chat too!

Rainbow Trout: i forgot :((

[Replying to Alligator Gar]

Muskie: I will make an entire powerpoint saying I was wrong and begging for forgiveness if you’re still dating Brian by the end of the month.

Rainbow Trout: she hasn’t been about to make it to anything but last thanksgiving in the yearish we’ve been living together and so i literally just forgot she should be in the chat bc i’m a terrible girlfriend D’:

Alligator Gar: You were dating at THANKSGIVING?

[Replying to Muskie]

Alligator Gar: God forbid a woman date casually, wtf

Chinook: She’s not saying you can’t date casually. She’s saying he maybe shouldn’t be in the big chat given that you literally told us you don’t even really like him.

Desert Sucker: I thought his name was Brayden, to be honest. 

Alligator Gar: Ugh

[Replying to Alligator Gar]

Rainbow Trout: yeah we were dating at thanksgiving, that was me introducing her to mom and dad lol

Alligator Gar: I just thought she didn’t have anywhere else to go! And since none of us could make it there was room!

Rainbow Trout: i mean

Rainbow Trout: she didn’t have anywhere else to go

Muskie: …

Desert Sucker: …

Chinook: …

Rainbow Trout: because her parents kicked her out at 16

Alligator Gar: Just kill me

Desert Sucker: Oh, in a weird way that reminds me, what’s the situation with Christmas?

Desert Sucker: Morgan are you guys still hosting east coast Christmas??

Muskie: Oh FUCK my life

Chinook: Morgan, have you not come out to Mom and Dad yet?

Muskie: Oh, so now you’re all for coming out?

Chinook: I didn’t say that, I was just asking. But it’s their year to come out here, so it’s kind of crucial for Danny’s family and mine to know how to refer to you. But whatever you pick, we’ll support you.

Rainbow Trout: aw he’s learning

Desert Sucker: West coast Christmas doesn’t get an opinion

Rainbow Trout: well fine leesh let’s go! *sad ant with bindle*

Chinook: I don’t understand your texts sometimes.

Rainbow Trout: *a lot of the time

Muskie: Wait stay I want the council to weigh in on this

Muskie: Ok so Jackie’s parents kind of think I’m a crossdresser and they’re not talking to her right now

Desert Sucker: Whoa

Rainbow Trout: wtf??

Chinook: Are you guys safe?

Muskie: It’s fine they’re too afraid of being associated with scandal to cause a scandal

Alligator Gar: Figures

Muskie: Anyways I kind of figure it can’t go worse than that you know? And this feels mean to say but…if Mom and Dad react badly they’re five hours away by plane

Muskie: So

Muskie: Fuck it

Muskie: I guess?

Rainbow Trout: WOO FUCK IT

Alligator Gar: Are you gonna do it at Christmas??

Muskie: No, we have a game against the Jackals coming up. Figured I’d do it then

Rainbow Trout: when? i can come down for moral support if you want

Muskie: I should be okay, thanks RP

Muskie: We play the Queens on the same trip though, can we hang out then? Can I meet Brooke?

Muskie: It’s the first week of Dec

Rainbow Trout: that sounds great!!

Rainbow Trout: just don’t do some shovel talk bullshit

Alligator Gar: Yeah, you’re not our older brother anymore

Chinook: Cutting it kind of close to Christmas.

Muskie: If they have a problem they can just cancel their flight and go to west coast Christmas, I guess

Muskie: Reese would be a bigger thorn in their side about this than I would anyways

Rainbow Trout: i’m glad you have the self awareness to recognize that but let’s work on it ok?

Muskie: Eh that’s what you’re for

Rainbow Trout: 🖕

Morgan doesn’t feel weird about Alicia missing her old nickname. She doesn’t, because why would she? She hears worse in the locker room. She’s been targeted with worse by other teams. Quite literally the only thing hardhead had to do with her was that it started with “H” and could be used to make a hockey players are dumb joke. Morgan is completely, entirely, 100% normal and weird feelings-free.

She’s glad Reese changed the name. Grateful, even. She’d have second-guessed herself a lot if she tried to do it. 

-------

[December 2019]

Playing Arizona always kinda makes Morgan feel like static. Like she’s gone looking for an emotion, expecting one to be there, and getting an error message in return. Shane cares so much about playing Ottawa—did even before his boyfriend played there and also made them suck less—but for Morgan, returning to her hometown just always felt like another away game. 

Until now, at least. 

Now she’s stewing, trying to think of reasons not to come out to her parents. Maybe they would be upset that the Metros had won last night and wouldn’t want to see her. Maybe one of the siblings had already told them but had neglected to mention it to her.

The ranch-style house isn’t her childhood home. They had sold that after she moved out to have a more modern place that didn’t need to accommodate all seven of them. There are more pictures here, though, as if to remind Mom and Dad about the kids that flew the coop, to make up for how little they came home.

Pictures of her as a little boy, chasing her brothers, or family portraits of her forced into a button-up and tie that Chip and Danny both agreed were strangling. The picture’s faces blur as she scans them for any kind of hint that could have helped her connect the dots before she got so far into the life she has now. 

Lizzi had sent Jackie a picture of their parents’ mantel, where Jackie and Morgan’s family photo had been carefully replaced with one from the same photoshoot—just without Morgan in it. She can’t stop her mind from wondering what this place would look like without as many of her.

As her parents come down to say hi and her mom hugs her, her dad acts as he does with Chip and Danny but not Reese and Alicia. She gets the manly clap on the shoulder with a Hayden, my boy! that sounds so jovial she can barely suppress her flinch. She does, though, so no reaction to be noticed and help force the words out of her mouth.

They sit for dinner—a casserole of rice and ground beef and cream of mushroom soup that she had grown up calling stroganoff but which would probably make Rozy flip a table—and dessert, which is lime Jell-O with pineapple in it and whipped cream on top. It tastes like childhood, and it might make her sick.

Her dad chatters about how much he’s enjoyed coaching the local high school’s girls swim and dive team these past few years, how they’d had an incredible season this year that had just wrapped up. Shane does admirably in keeping up with time trials and DQs and short-course vs. long-course and college swimming is a whole different ballgame, really. He definitely knows nothing about swimming and definitely is letting all this go in one ear and out the other, but he’s such a verifiable sports guy that he can carry on the conversation—for both himself and Morgan.

“So, Chip said you had news for us, Hayden?” her mom finally asks over dessert.

Fuck.

“You guys having another one already?” her dad jokes. “Going for a whole volleyball team?”

Less fuck? And why was that the sport he would go for?

So they don’t know. That’s good, gives her time to think. Not much. The clock is ticking down on an acceptable silence. On them not worrying. Shit. Shit, the speech she practiced in the bathroom on the plane is gone. She can’t just blurt it out. Why can’t she remember a single word? She can’t just blurt it out. And there goes the buzzer—out of time.

“Are you okay, bud? Kind of quiet.” Her dad sounds concerned. Shane’s foot bumps hers under the table, a silent you can do this.

Morgan takes a deep breath. “I wanted you guys to know—” swallows, tries again. “I figured out…”

Grimaces to herself. “I figured out that…” she turns to Shane. “This is harder than I thought.”

Shane just looks at her. Support, yeah, but Morgan thinks she can also feel him thinking what am I gonna do, come out to your boomer Mormon parents for you? Good luck.

“Do you guys know what transgender means?” There. Ease into it.

She gets two absent stares and two quizzical frowns. 

“Like…” her mom hesitates with an expression that sends Morgan’s stomach into the stratosphere. “Caitlyn Jenner?”

Well.

Hey, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Morgan supposes.

“Yes, she’s transgender. She’s like, that’s me? I’m like that. Like her. We are…”

Fuck easing into it, ripping off the band-aid had worked with Jackie. Eventually. More or less.

“I’m transgender.”

They stare. Long. Morgan should be a pro at coming out, she’s done it like five other times. Why are they just staring? Shane had hugged her, Jackie left but she came back, her siblings had at least said something, and the Connors could go jump off a cliff. Plus, apart from with her siblings, this is actually the most articulate she’s been, because she’s a goddamn expert by this point. She did it well and they’re just staring. Still. Fucking—what the fuck is their deal? What the fuck is Morgan supposed to do with this?

-------

Rodney, to be perfectly honest, didn’t really expect to be the one to find her.

They’d all been frozen for a beat longer after she’d exploded into motion and disappeared from the table. Then when the door had slammed, they’d all leapt up at once. Shane had offered to check the backyard and Helena had gone right towards the patio and garage. The only reason Rodney had split off is because he knows his wife is more qualified to handle this kind of thing, this heart-to-heart stuff. And Shane—nice boy, but he’d looked almost angry, and Rodney’s not really looking to face down Angry Hockey Player at his age. So he’d split off, gone left, and had planned to find them in ten minutes or so to offer a joke or a stoic hug.

He wasn’t supposed to find her, leaning over the back of a dusty bench and encircled by some ugly bushes he’s been meaning to tear out for years.

She’s breathing hard, and his first thought is—shamefully—that she doesn’t really look all that different. Caitlyn Jenner seemed as if she appeared on that magazine having shapeshifted into long hair and makeup and an hourglass figure overnight, as far as Rodney had paid attention.

A mask, maybe. A face put on for her old traditional parents.

Damn, he’s going to fuck this one up. He’s sure of it.

But he can’t do nothing.

Rodney sits, looking forward so he’s not facing her, and tries to breathe louder and slower than she is in the hopes she’ll be able to match it. He doesn’t know what to say, still, but also knows nothing is coming to save him now.

“The girls are really starting to get comfortable with me,” he goes with. “Their last coach was kind of a dick, apparently. The parents give me the credit, you know, for this season, but it’s really because they want it. The girls. They finally believe me that they’ll do better if they’re having fun, because we did a lot more of that, uh, team-bonding stuff this year and so many of them absolutely crushed their PRs.”

He chuckles to himself. “Did not predict that they’d start involving me in this stuff, but it wasn’t like I was gonna shut them down when they looked so excited. But we, ah, had this Disney theme night, right? And they put me in a princess costume. Now, they don’t make old-man-sized princess costumes, so I could only get parts of it on, but I’m pretty sure I would’ve looked ridiculous either way. Oh, your mom had a field day with the camera! And you know me, had to grumble my way through, so don’t tell Mom, but—-” he lowers his voice as if imparting a secret. “I had fun too. Maybe next year I’ll incentivize them to find a costume that fits, though.”

She’s started breathing at a reasonable rate now, but she’s still hunched over the bench, shoulders rounded and head down. Rodney thinks this may be the most he’s said in one go to one of his sons not son. Daughter? Shit. This is why it should be Helena. But since his maybe-daughter hasn’t left yet, he figures he might be doing okay.

“And then we had pink-out, you know, for breast cancer? We did a fundraiser. They dyed my hair pink!” He chortles. “They got your mom to do it too, and oh man, did we make a pair. Anyways, one of my swimmers wears makeup every day, and the rest of the team got her to put some on me before the meet, right? They told me it was just gonna be one of those pink ribbons on my cheek, but she ends up makin’ my eyes all glittery, and I think she glued more eyelashes to my eyelashes.”

Rodney chuckles to himself, then sighs, deep and gusty. “I never realized how much time women spend on the whole makeup routine, you know? I don’t think your mom was ever like that, or your sisters, for that matter. Now, your sisters and their hair, on the other hand—”

The sudden movement of her sitting down and letting out a guttural sob startles him into silence. Aw, shit—good going, Rod. He’s not the parent the kids go to crying, so he’s well and truly screwed the pooch here. Hell, he can’t even remember the last time he’d seen any of his boys cry. 

His boys and his…middle child. His three eldest. He really hopes he can ask, eventually, because he’s got no damn clue what to call her now. 

Rodney pats his kid’s shoulder as she continues to let out those painful-sounding sobs. “Shit, hon, I’ll always love you, okay? I’m sorry I screwed this up. I’m just not the talker, I guess. Shoulda let your mom find you, huh?”

He switches to rubbing her shoulder, firm pressure in little circles, like he’d done to all his kids when they were still little enough to cuddle with Dad. “I really didn’t mean to make you cry. Mom’s gonna give me a talking to, huh? I can hear her now, running ‘round that corner yelling RODNEY, YOU GOON, first time talkin’ to the girl and you make her cry. What is wrong with you??”

Instead of making her laugh, like he’d hoped, she sobs harder, the tempo speeding up until it sounds like she’s barely breathing in between. Oh, now real fear and guilt settle curled together in his chest, right at home. After a decade of trying not to wonder if he and Helena are the reason their kids had scattered to the wind without so much as a glance back, Rodney looks at the one who’d gone the fastest and furthest and tries not to feel like he’d just doomed their relationship for good.

He’d hoped, once upon a time, that raising his kids in the church like he had been raised in the church and his daddy had been raised in the church and his daddy had been raised in the church—he’d hoped it would give them a community they valued and that valued them. Maybe, somewhere in a place Rodney doesn’t like to linger on, he’d hoped it would make them want to stay close to home, too. 

An impressive failure on all counts.

She’s wiping her eyes, now, though, and her breathing has slowed to a better rate. He keeps rubbing her shoulder. He can wait, his questions can wait. Rodney will sit here with his kid.

He waves Shane off when he rounds the corner, making the game-time decision to wait until she seems more comfortable to invite an audience. He hopes he’s right—that he’s not trapping her with the last person she wants to talk to.

She looks up then, eyes red but clear. The eye contact feels like a win, a big win.

“Don’t apologize, Dad.” She gives a small smile, but it doesn’t sound like the words come easy. “I’m not mad.”

Okay, not mad seems like kind of the bare minimum Rodney should be shooting for, but considering he’d been certain he was actively contributing to the decay of their relationship…well, he’ll take it, won’t he? He’ll take it and keep working ‘til it’s better. Rodney moves in to hug her, trying to find a pace that’s normal and telegraphed, a middle ground between so slow as to be off-putting and the full-on football tackle he wants. He’s not sure he wants to do the math on the last time they hugged properly.

She clears her throat. “This is kind of the best it’s gone. Maybe tied with Shane.”

Rodney turns to her. “No shit?”

“Yeah, I mean,” she chuckles, a little rueful. “I couldn’t even say the words to Shane and I still tried to take it back. But, uh, Jackie fully, like, left, got up and walked right out the door. That was a weird night. And the others, you know how we can be. It was me and Chip butting heads and everybody else reacting to that. But he’s fine now, we’re good.”

“He wasn’t at first?”

She hesitates. Opens her mouth a couple times only to close it. “Let’s go back in so Mom doesn’t freak out, okay? And then I don’t have to repeat myself.”

She hugs him again, quick and darting in, and he tries not to read hope into how she looks unhappy as she lets go. Her shoulders can’t be more than a couple degrees lower going in than they had been as she left, but, hell, progress is progress.

The table has been cleared of dishes. Dammit, Helena—he can’t begrudge her the urge to do something with her hands, but it’s his turn to do the dishes and she’s out here makin’ all this extra work for herself. He can’t get the woman to slow down. They’re retired, for god’s sake.

He glances from her to the table and raises an eyebrow. She purses her lips and folds her hands in her lap. Well, Rod, no one ever accused you of bein’ relaxed and leisurely. 

He tips his head in concession. As long as you let me do dinner and dishes tomorrow.

She smiles, small and knowing. No promises.

She and Shane have posted up in the living room, apparently, waiting. He sits on the sofa next to his wife while their kid takes the armchair not occupied by Shane.

She—Rodney really can’t keep thinking of her like this in his head, it doesn’t feel right. Maybe one question won’t hurt. “Hey, bud, you got—Caitlyn Jenner changed her name, yeah? Call me Caitlyn?”

He winces. Nice one, old boy. 

She blinks. “Morgan?”

Helena raises an eyebrow. “You askin’ or tellin’?”

“I—telling.” She sounds marginally more confident. “My name is Morgan. I’m a trans wo—I’m transgender.”

Helena’s face is carefully neutral, and her grip on Rodney’s hand is vice-tight. She feels it too, then, the fear that they’ll screw this up. The knowledge that if they do, Montreal will be in fact the closest Morgan ever lives to them again. He can’t bear that.

“It’s after a gem,” Shane adds, only a little awkward. “To match the kids?”

Okay, he likes that, actually. Him and Helena, they’d never done the matching set thing and had had an excellent chuckle when Chip and Morgan both had, but they had put thought into their kids’ names, wanting them to sound good together. It’s nice to hear that Morgan had put that same care in. It soothes away the faint wash of grief he’d felt, that the name he’d given her could no longer harbor her.

“And the kids call me Mom, that was pretty easy since Jackie always liked Mama better anyways,” Morgan says, rambling a bit. “And, yeah, the people who know call me she. Unless we’re in public. Don’t, uh, don’t spread this around, okay?”

Rodney nods, but Helena’s brow furrows. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean?” There’s a nervous edge to his daughter’s—he feels like he can be pretty sure of that, now—voice. Rodney sees Shane tense slightly out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, honey, this just seems…big? Important to you,” Helena says. “But you’re—Morgan, it hardly seems like you’re changing anything.”

Morgan’s shoulders hunch. “It’s not that big.”

“I think what your mom is trying to say, Morgan,” Rodney speaks up. He does like how that feels in his mouth, he thinks. It’s a good name, and one that fits her well. “Is that you don’t have to sugarcoat it for us oldies. Hell, we might be at advantage since we don’t know jack. I mean, you could tell us that wearing a flamingo on your head instead of a helmet is part of this and we’d believe you, you know?”

She doesn’t laugh at this one, either. Jaysus, he’s really batting a thousand today, isn’t he?

“Ah, shit,” Helena sighs. “Hockey.”

Morgan looks hard across the room, stonefaced and not making eye contact with anyone. “Yeah. Hockey.”

“A lot of the stuff—the bigger stuff—that Morgan could do isn’t exactly compatible with hockey,” Shane offers, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I think she’s found some great ways to make them both work, though.”

His daughter runs a hand through her hair and blows out a breath. “If you call one drawer of clothes I barely wear great, yeah. Christ, Dad, you’ve worn more makeup than I ever have.”

Helena turns to him, looking amused. “You told her about the—”

“Yeah, I thought it might cheer her up,” he mutters back. “Worked great, as you can see.”

The room is silent for a long moment. Rodney tries to figure out what the fuck he can do to get the horrible, helpless longing off his daughter’s face. 

“You know,” Helena starts. “we were going to bring it up at Christmas, but…”

She turns to him, a silent question in her eyes. He nods, smoothly picks up the thread. “With you n’ Chip n’ Danny all within a couple hours of each other now, and bein’ the ones with families and all that, well, we were thinking that this still might be too much house for us.”

Morgan looks to him at that, head tilted. “What are you saying?”

“What if we moved closer?” Helena asks. “If we find a good spot on the border in Vermont or New York, we could be within a couple hours of all three of you. Seems like a good place to be in retirement, and we can always snowbird if we want, visit the girls.”

“We just figure, you know,” Rodney says. “Reese and Alicia, they got your cousins and Uncle Ron and Aunt Barb on the west coast, and ‘Leesh isn’t even in Seattle half the time, she’s bouncin’ across the globe doing her fancy photojournalist thing. But on the east coast, Louie moved—”

“To fuckin’ Texas,” Helena mutters, sneering at her brother’s choices. “The fuck is he gonna do in Texas? Raise cows? Shoulda just bought a Mustang like the rest of us.”

Rodney pats her hand in agreement. “And Aunt Vic has her hands full takin’ care of Gramps, so we gotta be there for our grandbabies—aw, shit, honey, please don’t cry again.”

Shane looks as panicked as Rodney feels. Helena gets up but hovers over Morgan, hands fluttering like they do when she’s unsure. Unsure if she’s allowed to touch, if Rodney has to guess. After a moment, she goes for it, hugging Morgan gently and drawing her in. Morgan returns the hug full-strength, though, burying her face in her mom’s stomach briefly before Helena adjusts so Morgan’s on her shoulder, breath hitching even as she tries to suppress it.

“The Connors—said they were going to take—take the kids,” she gets out. “Fuck, fuck.”

Helena runs a hand over her hair, rubbing circles on her back not unlike Rodney had done. That had seemed to work okay for him, so he can only pray it works better for Helena.

“Okay, fuck, I’m okay,” she says after a moment. Helena doesn’t pull back until Morgan does first. “Sorry. It’s just…Jackie’s parents help—helped—her so much during the season, and they, uh, said some pretty nasty stuff to me and now she’s not talking to them. And she won’t talk about it to me, either, but I know she’s been struggling with it all, lately. So if you guys are serious—” she breaks off again, words choked.

“If you’re serious, yeah, it would be a huge fuckin’ help.”

Of course they’re serious. Doesn’t she see, don’t any of them see that he and Helena’d both drop anything and run if their kids asked? God, Rodney thinks, they must’ve fucked up more than the requisite amount if their kids don’t see that.

He thinks grimly of the pain in Morgan’s voice talking about her wife’s parents. On the other hand…

Well. Rodney’s not plannin’ to run into them anytime soon, is all. Which is probably a good thing. 

“Well, that’s settled, then,” Helena says, satisfied. “We’ll stay awhile after Christmas to look at some places. Give Jackie a break, too.”

If Morgan’s eyes look shiny again, well, Rod won’t mention it.

-------

“Are you guys all like that? Just kinda drop something big you’ve been thinking about with no prior warning?”

“Fuck off, Hollzy,” Morgan replies, automatic. “Jackie told me that Rozy told her you came up with the charity thing in the middle of the night and woke him up to talk about it. I almost feel bad for the guy.”

Shane settles in the patio chair next to her, propping his feet up on the same one she’s got her feet on. He looks behind them at the closed sliding door. “I’m gonna be so honest, Morgs, I think that you feeling any ounce of sympathy for my boyfriend is a bigger victory than anything else I can say, here.”

Morgan kicks at his feet with absolutely no force. Shane kicks back with what he probably thinks is no force—an only child’s idea of playfighting. 

The sunsets are nice, in Arizona. She misses the sunsets, maybe. She’ll miss the view from her parents’ backyard when they move, miss the excuse to sit and appreciate one.

She’s been trying to make a list of what else she’ll miss for—judging by the progress of the sun towards the horizon—about an hour, now, and has come up pretty short.

If she thinks too hard about it, she’s been trying to make that list for almost fourteen and a half years—her entire pro career plus one. 

Sunsets. The house she grew up in had a better view, too. 

She tips her head back, the blue deepening to a rich color that swallows up the green tendrils emanating from the sun itself. They’d shot across most of the sky when she’d first wandered out here, but now they’re overtaken by blues and purples and a red ring right around the sun, still valiantly fighting against the encroaching night. 

Some part of her had known, Morgan thinks, that Arizona wouldn’t ever be home to her again the second she signed her ELC. A part that grew, slowly filling her in like she had just been an outline before—grew when she met Jackie, when she proposed, when Jackie told her she was pregnant. When they got married, when the twins were born, when she’d met Shane. When they’d bought their house with room for more kids, when she’d re-upped with the Metros, when they won their first Cup. When they won their second Cup, right after the first. 

She’d known it when she looked in that hotel mirror the first time. 

When she said it out loud for the first time. The second. When she changed her name. When she’d come out to her siblings—and now her parents—her strongest ties to the the first self she’d ever been, and the home of it. Bit by bit, she’d filled herself in, stained herself with all sorts of colors and memories until—well. Until that first self and the home of it seemed pale and stripped by comparison. An outline—unrecognizable to the self she is now. Even if she squints.

Morgan hadn’t felt anything when Danny had moved away, the last of their siblings to leave, following Kamakshi back to her home in Vermont. She’d gotten an offer for her dream job, close to her family, and Danny had said well, they need teachers everywhere. Like it had been easy, even though she’d known, all five of them had known how he’d planned to be the one to grow old there, had known that he’d tried to understand why the rest of them had needed to leave but never really did. It’s like one switch had flipped in his understanding of himself and it had been enough to make him change his whole being. His foundations.

Maybe Morgan’s projecting a bit. 

But she hadn’t felt anything, other than feeling happy that he’d be close to her. When he’d told them, she’d kind of expected it to fuck her up a bit. Morgan had had such complicated feelings about Arizona before she even left, well before she ever acknowledged they were there. It made sense, then, where she landed. Same for Chip, for Alicia, for Reese. Their distance informed by how easily the word home came to mind. But Danny had loved Arizona, and she’d always felt relieved that one of them had loved it enough to stay, because it made it better that the rest of them hadn’t. Now he’s—just barely—the second furthest from it. 

Okay, so maybe she had felt something. But he’d moved in 2015, before she started thinking about gender shit, which she privately marks as the beginning of her ability to, like, introspect and recognize shit about herself. So at the time, she’d been straightforwardly and uncomplicatedly happy.

Now her real last ties are leaving. Just like that, like Arizona had been a little side quest. Like everyone can change their life on a dime with no guarantee it’ll work out.

Is it that easy? For everyone else? For her?

Chapter End Notes

I (jane) would like to thank my swim coach for wearing a pink tutu and heart shaped glasses, my asl teacher for dyeing his hair pink, my homeroom elementary school teacher for wearing full spandex, my uncle for dressing in drag, my grandfathers for going to protests and reaching out to gay family members after they had been kicked out, and my dad for almost everything. and all other straight cis men in my life who taught me that masculinity is what you do, not who you are; it’s what you make of it that makes you who you are

I (vivet) would like to uuuuh second that. and say sorry that we keep bringing up caitlyn jenner, she sucks but she's one of the most famous trans women in the world and one who's going to be well-known and somewhat respected in conservative spaces :/ anyways pls tell me if the text nicknames are confusing and we'll add a guide!

edit: ok so very first comment said the names are not as clear to someone who hasn't been staring at them for the better part of two weeks. whoda thunk. should've just added a guide in the first place but here ya go!

Muskie: Morgan
Rainbow Trout: Reese
Alligator Gar: Alicia
Desert Sucker: Danny
Chinook: Chip

they're all aliterative bc jane and i both have stupid alliterative puns for our closest contacts and we had a blast coming up with these. they're fish themed bc of an inside joke that no one actually remembers anymore, especially since it's gone through several iterations and evolved quite a bit since whatever spawned it. love is stored in the bit and all that

Chapter 12: don we now our gay apparel

Chapter Summary

everyone's breaking point draws nearer. somehow, in spite of it, we keep going.

also, it's christmas.

Chapter Notes

cw for:
dysphoria
mild dissociation
unintentional misgendering
light transphobia--chip's brand where he means well but also thinks he knows better and isn't thinking critically about his own assumptions.

[December 2019]

It was a dark and stormy night when a mysterious dame (Jade’s obstreperous troll of a homeroom teacher) flew into Ms. Jacqueline Pike’s office (sent her a sugary-sweet yet infuriatingly vague email). Mysteries abound, the dame wouldn’t tell her a single thing of use—except one sly mention of some informants she’d worked with in the past, so quick it’d take a crack detective to pick up on it. Luckily, Ms. Pike happens to be quite familiar with one of those—why, she sees her every time she looks in the mirror.

Jackie narrows her eyes. In front of her, her eldest daughters squirm. 

“This doesn’t have to be an interrogation,” she says. Above her (kitchen) table, a single bare lightbulb (Ikea ceiling light) buzzes. 

She’s without her partner on this one, the bad cop to her good cop, the black to her white, the yin to her yang. The second Ms. Pike of Pike&Pike Detective Agency was deep undercover. 

The informants are atypically quiet. Still, Jackie hopes for a quick confession.

God, she cannot wait for Morgan’s stupid road trip to end. Half a week and they’re home free for a short Christmas break. It feels like forever. 

“It’s not Jade’s fault,” Ruby mumbles. Her sister immediately smacks her and hisses for her to shut up.

“Jade, find a nicer way to express yourself, please,” Jackie says tiredly, cutting off Ruby’s indignant retort.

“Please shut up.”

Seriously, kid? The audacity is funny, Jackie has to admit. 

“I’m trying to help you!” Ruby snaps. 

“Well I don’t want you to!” It’s heated—then Jade’s voice breaks. “I hate sixth grade!”

She’s out of her chair before Jackie can blink. Down the hall, a door slams. 

Ruby’s lip trembles.

“Oh, sweetheart, c’mere.” 

Ruby practically launches herself into Jackie, who rocks her gently, murmuring nonsense into her daughter’s hair while she trembles. She’s lucky, in that she’s mostly managed to have any serious conversations with Morgan there as backup. Doing it alone is always weird.

“You don’t have to talk unless you’re ready, okay? We can just sit here as long as you need,” Jackie says. “But also, if you wanna talk, I can probably help, baby.”

Ruby squirms a little in her hold. Jackie, experienced with this, squeezes her tighter until she sighs and goes boneless.

“Can Jade and I be in the same homeroom again?” she asks, despondent. “I don’t like this anymore.”

Oh, baby. Jackie feels her heart break a little bit. “I don’t think that’s up to us anymore, Ruby, I’m sorry.”

Ruby’s face, somehow, falls further. She burrows into Jackie.

“You know what we can do, though?” She jostles Ruby, rocking her back and forth until she breaks and smiles, just a bit. It’s faint, but Jackie feels it like air in her lungs. “We can see what clubs there are. Maybe you guys can pick one to do together, so you have more time with each other at school.”

Ruby mulls this over and she nods. “Okay, Mama.”

“Okay, good.” Jackie squeezes her again. “Can you tell me what happened today?”

“Well, I wasn’t there because it was in homeroom and we only have Écriture together,” Ruby says, disdainful of her writing class in a way that has Jackie pressing her lips together to hide a smile. “But Jake said that Ilana told him that Jade yelled at Taylor G. and tried to hit her.”

What?? “Tried to hit her?” Jackie asks, bewildered. “Why?”

“‘Cuz Taylor G. is racist,” Ruby answers—nonchalant, like they’re talking about the weather. 

“I—what?”

“She told me I was lying about knowing Uncle Shane last week. And Jake said that Ilana said that Taylor G. told Jade that her dad said Uncle Shane can’t even see the puck and that’s why they lost yesterday. Then she did the thing with her eyes, where you like, pull them back? To make fun of Asian people?”

Jackie takes a second to parse that. Then she frowns and pulls up the email from Jade’s teacher again. This time, she mentally translates it to English to be doubly sure of what it says.

Hey Jackie!

Just wanted to check in real quick. Jade got into a small verbal altercation with another student today, and I want to be sure you’re getting the full story!

While Jade claims she was provoked, please remind her that Nouvelle-Querbes’s zero-tolerance policy encourages students to find better ways to resolve disputes. And while her big imagination is a great asset in class, there’s a time and place to use it. 

Jade and the other student exchanged heated words before Jade raised her hands, making the other student flinch. This is when I intervened and separated them so they could cool down. 

It seems that Jade is carrying a lot of stress right now. I understand that your husband travels frequently for work—Nouvelle-Querbes has excellent options for before and after-school activities. Let me know if you’d like me to send over the list!

Can’t wait to see Jade tomorrow!

Best,

Angela Murphy

6th grade | École primaire Nouvelle-Querbes

Empowering students to be their best selves

Okay. So.

At best, she’s implying that she also believes that Jade is lying about knowing Shane. At worst, she’s implying that she doesn’t believe this other girl is racist. Also—

“Full story, my ass,” Jackie mutters. Then she grimaces. “Sorry, Rubes, I owe the swear jar one.”

“I’ll let it go if I can swear once,” Ruby counters. “And Jade too if she wants it.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Jackie says, amused. “Deal.”

“Taylor G. fucking sucks.”

Jackie can’t argue with that. 

She squeezes Ruby one last time before letting her go. “Let’s go find your sister, okay? And then we’ll order pizza or something and watch Mom’s game.”

“We’re not in trouble?” Ruby narrows her eyes. 

“No, not this time.” Jackie smiles. “Here’s what we’ll do, though. Taylor G. was wrong to say those things, and you guys had the right to call her out, but we’ll talk about the most effective ways to actually get her to stop, okay? Because getting mad all the time isn’t fun, yeah?”

“Neither is getting in trouble with a teacher,” Ruby agrees. “It’s not fair that Mrs. Murphy told Jade off too! She’s so mean, Mama, she never listens to us. She hates us.”

“She probably could’ve handled that better,” Jackie allows. “My guess is that she didn’t want class to be disrupted by an argument—which is fair, yeah?”

“I guess.” Ruby looks off to the side.

“Mrs. Murphy is a person handling a lot of responsibilities, and part of being human is that you’re gonna mess up sometimes. That doesn’t make it right, but it does mean she probably doesn’t hate you guys personally, she just…wasn’t equipped to help you guys handle this.”

“She should be.”

“I agree,” Jackie says, smiling at her daughter’s righteous frustration. “But that’s what Mom and I are for, too. If you guys are having problems with a student or a teacher, we can help you guys work through that, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Go get Amber and Jasper, I’m gonna talk to Jade.”

“Love you Mama!” Ruby’s already bouncing off, cheerful as can be. Jackie shakes her head fondly and goes to find her second—by a matter of minutes—eldest daughter.

-------

[December 2019]

Morgan doesn’t have pants to go with this sweater.

Okay, no, to be fair, she has plenty of dress pants that as far as she can tell would pair very nicely with the deep red sweater Jackie had bought her.

She just—and she immediately feels ridiculous for even having the thought—doesn’t want to wear them.

Hear me out here, Jackie had said. But I’ve been wondering if part of the reason you don’t feel comfortable in a lot of your clothes is that you keep buying stuff you don’t…really like?

The emphasis on your had sent a funny flip through Morgan’s stomach. As if, in Jackie’s mind, the easiest method of delineation for the clothes that lived in Morgan’s bottom drawer was not feminine vs. masculine but rather hers vs. his.

Every time someone treats Morgan like the real, whole person and Hayden like a piece of hockey gear, Morgan’s insides turn inside out.

Morgan had thanked her wife, deciding to omit the fact that her gestures at getting herself an outfit for the party had mainly consisted of online window shopping for items of clothing that almost certainly required bras to go with them. And, consequently, tits.

Morgan’s watched a lot of TikToks about how to pick the perfect bra to go with an outfit, knowledge that she could theoretically apply. Has theoretically applied, in the aforementioned window shopping. If she did have the anatomy these shirts and dresses were designed for—

The thought gets scattered by an overwhelming wave of longing before Morgan can even finish it.

Jackie had been right, anyhow. She does like this sweater a lot more than anything she’s bought or looked at herself, which feels kinda weird. It’s not like she had set out to pick stuff she doesn’t like—she’d bought top-sellers and trendsetters, stuff that looked objectively good. Some of it she’d had to quietly acknowledge was too uncomfortable in how clearly displayed that it wasn’t made for her body, but some of it—yeah, okay, some of it she just straight up didn’t like. 

She’d kind of thought she’d…grow into it? Morgan huffs a laugh at herself. She’s a grown adult with an embarrassing number of zeroes in her salary. Surely she has the mental capacity to reflect on her tastes and intentionally curate them.

She’d felt wobbly and out of her depth, unfamiliar with women’s fashion and trying to default to experts in absentia of her own knowledge. But—as Jackie likes to remind her—she’s the expert in herself.

Barring Jackie, of course. The sweater really is lovely. The material is bulky enough that it skims across her boxy frame, and the sleeves and hem have a slight flare that looks subtly but undeniably feminine, even on Morgan. It’s soft, it’s a comfortable weight, and it’s a classier shade of Metros red that makes her beam with confidence when she holds it up to herself in the mirror. 

And still, she doesn’t have pants that she wants to wear with it.

She tosses it down on the bed and goes to shower. 

In the shower, however, her mind drifts to where it always does these days if she lets it: math.

If she’d started in September: softer skin and mood swings, including changes to libido.

If she’d started in the summer: the beginnings of body fat redistribution.

If she’d started anytime before that: thinner, softer body and facial hair. Oh, and breast tissue growth and loss of muscle mass, cutting her off from hockey forever.

No matter how Morgan does the math, the answer is the same. Within three to six months—less than one regular season—she loses everything she’s built.

The dark grey dress pants are her best option, she thinks as she picks up her razor to use it in all the wrong places. They’ll look nice with the sweater and feel, based on whatever subconscious vibes decide these things, better than blue, black, or khaki.

Morgan speeds through the rest of her shower. The longer she stands here, the longer she has to look at the—her—body. She almost wants to turn the lights off, but if she turns the lights off she might close her eyes and if she closes her eyes she won’t get out. When she plays, the body feels right. It does what she wants it to do, it responds, it’s in sync with her mind. Now—

She keeps her head resolutely tilted up. Her jaw feels tight, her throat feels tight. She imagines that the hands she runs over her body are numb so that they do not have to feel the shape of it, and she imagines that the stinging in her eyes is nothing but soap.

-------

“So, H—Morgan, are you going to retire at the end of the season?” 

Danny’s fork stills halfway to his mouth for a second before he can help it. Across the table, his sister looks briefly confused.

“Mom, why—oh.” Morgan puts her fork down slowly. “No, I’m actually…I’m not planning to retire anytime soon, actually.”

It’s their mom’s turn to look confused. Danny catches Chip’s shoulders relaxing minutely at Morgan’s answer, and he’d roll his eyes—if he didn’t know his had done the exact same. 

“But I thought you said this wasn’t compatible with hockey,” Helena says after a beat.

“Yeah, I,” Morgan’s voice is tight. “Picked hockey.”

“Which he’s allowed to do, Helena,” their dad says. Kay winces next to Danny.

“She,” he corrects reflexively—before he realizes he hadn’t been the only one to say it.

“It’s her life,” Chip adds, voice steady. “Morgan decides the timeline.”

Morgan slams her hands down with a sharp bang. The entire table goes silent, as does the kids’ table set up in the living room.

“And I bet you’d love if I played hockey forever and never made things difficult,” she snaps at Chip. Her tone is acerbic, but Danny can see how her face is flushed, can see the tic in her jaw that always meant she was biting the inside of her cheek to keep her chin from wobbling.

Danny feels very out of his depth. It’s not a feeling he’s used to having at Christmas dinner. 

Jackie lays a hand over Morgan’s and murmurs something to her, too low for the rest of the table. Morgan gives a tiny nod before visibly inhaling and letting it out slowly, eyes closed. The kids have already started chattering again.

“Sorry,” she offers to Chip after a long moment. “Just—can we move on?”

Kay immediately launches into a story about her dad’s latest adventures in trying to trap the raccoons in his yard, smoothly drawing Lynn and Helena in as they poke fun at their husbands for similar tendencies. Danny catches the grateful look Morgan and Jackie both throw Kay for her easy, unassuming charm, for how she loops everyone in while still keeping the spotlight off anyone in particular. He takes her right hand from where it had been resting on the table and presses a quick kiss to the center of the faded mehndi design from a friend’s wedding last week, feeling pretty grateful himself.

-------

“It’s a nice sweater.”

“Thanks.” Morgan doesn’t turn around when Chip speaks, having heard the sliding door open and shut before slow footsteps made their way to where she was standing at the edge of her cleared patio, out of view of the windows. He’s stopped a couple steps behind her. “Jackie picked it out.”

“The color suits you,” he says. Then, with an audible grin, “Almost looks like Admirals’ red, though.”

She can’t help her own grin. “Ah, fuck off.”

He comes up next to her. Like Morgan, he’s got a thick sweater but no coat, and their breath swirls visibly in the otherwise-still air. 

She’d come out here after dinner, after presents, when everyone had drifted into smaller groups, playing card games and testing new toys and generally filling her home with a cheerful ruckus. She loves it, and she also needed a break. Both can be true. She’s also not surprised Chip followed her out here.

For a while, they observe the thick blanket of snow, dusky blue but with the ambient glow that, paradoxically, makes it easier to see at night in the dead of winter than in summer. It’d creeped her out a little, when she first moved up here. She’d never been somewhere snowy long enough to really notice it before, how the light just seems to come from nowhere, reflected a million times until it was so low and omnipresent that it couldn’t be traced to a source. Eerie. Especially when there don’t even seem to be any light sources around. Jackie had taken her ice skating at midnight her very first winter here, on a little lake by her parents’ property that was as secluded as one could be in the outer ring of Montreal suburbs. It had been overcast, Morgan remembers, and Jackie claims to this day that Morgan had been jumping at shadows all night, which is just patently false. She had been a normal amount of aware of her surroundings. It’s not her fault that low light coming from everywhere and nowhere plus midnight plus woods is like, classic horror movie. It’s just pattern recognition.

It had been a good date, though. Jackie had run back to her parents’ house and grabbed a bunch of electric candles, bringing it from Halloween to Hallmark easy as. To this day when she recalls the memory the whole thing is saturated with that warm flickering glow, and the first image she sees is Jackie’s eyes sparkling in the candlelight. 

It’d been the first time in a long time that she’d skated for fun. Morgan credits it with inadvertently mitigating the breakdown she’s watched a lot of younger players face in their first couple years on a pro team, the inevitable I was the best in my Juniors league and now I’m a very small fish again and I don’t feel like I can do anything right panic. She’d already had the two things she now advises those players to do: do something that makes you remember why skating is fun, and do something on the ice you don’t normally do and can’t be expected to perform well at all. For her, that had been skating date plus getting absolutely creamed in the obstacle course they’d made with the candles. For Berky, it had been spending a day shadowing his figure skater sister. 

For Shane, of course—Morgan chuckles to herself, remembering the look of abject confusion on his face when she’d brought it up. She’d tried to gently probe about how he was handling the pressure, and Canada’s Boy Wonder had furrowed his brow and said relax? Aren’t, like, accuracy drills relaxing for everyone? It’d made her keep an eye on him at first, sure that they’d been in for a crashout of the century, but, no—Shane Hollander really did just relax best in the middle of a game.

“I’m proud of you.”

Morgan blinks, startled out of her reverie. “Huh?”

“You know.” Chip shrugs. “I’ve been reading more, about people’s experiences. The risks they face, everything they stand to lose. It just seems so hard, you know?”

A ringing noise distantly sounds in Morgan’s ears. She shoves her hands in her pockets. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, I guess you know. I don’t have to explain it to you. But I’ve been thinking about it since dinner.” 

Morgan tenses at that. Chip takes a deep breath and blows it out, watching it coalesce in front of them. The ringing gets a little bit louder.

“I wanted to say I’m proud of you,” he says slowly. “I know it can’t have been easy to make that choice. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing. I’m proud of you for making the smart choice.”

The ringing feels very close now. Morgan can’t do more than nod, but Chip doesn’t seem to notice.

“And I think it’ll work out pretty well, you know? You get a long, successful career, and when you’re done, you don’t answer to nobody, your time is your own, you can live whatever kind of lifestyle you—”

The ringing drowns out anything else he says.

-------

“OH, FUCK YOU, CHIP!”

“Okay,” Lynn says loudly. “Hey guys, let’s do hide-and-seek in the basement, okay?” 

Helena immediately scoops up Amber, Rodney just as quickly grabbing the hands of Bennie and Eleanor. Kay shuffles Jasper and Rhiannon along, and Daniel cajoles a reluctant Ruby and Jade into following. 

It’s times like these Jackie really appreciates her wife’s family. 

Jackie shuts the door to the basement behind her brother-in-law. She and Lynn share a loaded look. 

Do they listen or not? Go outside and mediate or wait for things to calm down? 

In the end, the choice is made simple by Morgan storming in through the sliding door, Chip looking frustrated behind her.

“It’s not a—a—a fucking lifestyle, Chip,” Morgan is saying. “Eating healthy is a lifestyle. Being outdoorsy is a lifestyle.”

Chip runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, that was a bad choice of words. But Morgan, I’m on your side, here!”

“No,” Morgan says, and it comes out ragged. Jackie feels frozen. Her wife takes a long, shaky breath and lets it out slowly. “I don’t think you are.”

That, Jackie did not expect. She slips to Morgan’s side and places a gentle hand on her back. Feels Morgan relax minutely into the contact. Feels her draw herself up again, shoulders squared, resolute now instead of tense and shaking. 

Chip looks…confused. And sad, to which Jackie ungraciously thinks, he deserves it. 

“I don’t understand,” he says, sharp again. Jackie tries not to bristle at his tone. 

“It’s not fair! None of it is fucking fair,” Morgan spits. “This isn’t—this isn’t some kind of hard-but-necessary decision like having to split up the kids’ homerooms, or quitting a job, or—or something. Do you get that?” 

“No, I don’t!” Chip gestures at her. “You’re getting the best of both worlds, here, y’know? It’s hard now, okay, but Morgan—your thirty-first birthday is this week. Hockey isn’t gonna be forever.”

Morgan blinks, the tension momentarily lifted. “Ouch, dude. ‘M not fucking washed yet.”

Chip makes another gesture, like, see? Morgan’s eyes harden again.

“To what end, Chip? When does it stop?” She throws her hands out. “When do I stop having to pick between parts of myself?”

Morgan’s gaze is steely now, ready for a faceoff, ready for a fight. (Finally, Jackie thinks before she can stifle it).

“I have felt some version of this my whole life, and it only feels worse as I get older,” she says slowly. “Hockey made that go away. It was the only thing that did, for a long time.”

Her voice picks up a little. “It was the only thing that kept me from choking on this feeling, and now—now I’m supposed to, what? Accept that it can choke me on the ice, too, now? Or treat hockey like a means to an end? Or give it up and hope that my lifestyle—” venom drips from the word, “—is enough to keep that feeling from coming back? It’s not that fucking easy.”

Chip looks remorseful, almost, but not exactly sorry. Jackie can tell he’s mostly confused, which is fair because she might not exactly be following Morgan’s train of thought here either. But she knows—deep in her core, without Morgan needing to say a word—she knows the truth of that last statement, and she knows that she will always be there for her wife and her wife will always be there for her. So, she knows what she needs to.

Chip’s voice has gone placating. “I didn’t mean to say that you have to play until you drop, or anything. Or that you should retire right this minute. I just—fuck, all meant was that it seems like you’re making smart choices, okay? Safe ones. I’m sorry.”

Morgan mutters something under her breath and Jackie inhales sharply against the pain lancing through her ribs, hoping she heard wrong.

“What?” Chip asks.

“I said it’s not safe if it kills me.”

The room goes dead—Jackie immediately winces at the turn of phrase—silent. Morgan lifts her head but doesn’t look anyone in the eye.

“It’s not safe if I can’t live this life anymore. It’s not safe if something happens while I’m still playing and people go after my kids about it.”

Now, she looks straight at her brother. “It’s not fucking safe, Chip. I’m making the choice a coward would make and it’s killing me anyways.”

Jackie’s hand clenches at Morgan’s shirt without her quite meaning to. She watches the words ripple over the room, Chip closing his eyes with a small tremor and Lynn brushing a hand over her mouth. 

“Fuck, Morgan.” The tremor is in Chip’s voice, too. “Don’t say that.”

Morgan shrugs. “It’s true.”

Jackie presses her lips together, trying to hold herself in one piece. 

Morgan, steady now while everyone else falls apart, continues, “I guess—I don’t know what the smart choice is, okay? I don’t even feel like I’m making the choice based on what’s smartest. I just reach for the one that feels the least shit, every goddamn day.” The expression that crosses her face is half smile, half grimace. “I don’t want to quit and I can’t keep going. Rock and a hard place. So, like, I know you’re trying to be helpful, validate my feelings and shit, but it doesn’t feel great to hear wow, Morgan, you’re so good at being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Wow, Morgan, isn’t it so comfortable? It’s not? But you’re so good at it!”

Jackie snorts despite herself, and Lynn huffs a laugh. Even Chip manages a small smile. Tension broken open for good this time, they all shake themselves into movement kind of at once. Jackie looks to Morgan and raises an eyebrow, to which Morgan nods, and as one they turn to head to the basement, Chip and Lynn behind them. This is a whole-family discussion, and there’s more seating down there, anyways.

They’ve barely made it to the bottom of the stairs when a whole horde of children races back up them, apparently cooped up from the ten whole minutes the door had been closed. 

“I didn’t know I got elephants for Christmas,” Morgan calls teasingly after them.

“Hiding spots downstairs all gone, Uncle Morgan!” Bennie replies as he passes them. Jackie blinks, and Morgan lets out a surprised laugh.

“That’s…new,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” Lynn says ruefully. “I swear we’ve been working on it—”

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s funny,” Morgan waves her off. “Just—”

“Not the way I would’ve expected them to flip that,” Jackie finishes, chuckling.

Morgan tips her head, humming. “Uncle Morgan, Auntie Hayden. I don’t hate ‘em, honestly.”

“They did get stuck on the other way around, for a while. I don’t understand how their brains work,” Chip muses. “How do you get from one to the other instead of getting it right?”

“You said Uncle Barb and Auntie Ron until you were six years old, Rodney Ray, so don’t even start!” Helena calls as they round the corner. Chip rolls his eyes as the rest of them crack up.

They get settled, Jackie tugging her wife in to lean against her. Morgan takes a deep breath and—stalls out. Jackie watches her swallow a couple times, clearly turning her words over in her head. It’s not silent here, not tense and anticipatory like it had been upstairs, but there’s still an air of graceful distance in the conversations, small talk with half a heart in it. 

“Thank you,” Morgan says eventually. Sure enough, the gentle burble quiets immediately, all the attention turning towards them. Jackie squeezes Morgan’s hand. She continues, “I just wanted to say that first. This is a lot and I don’t know what I’m fucking doing, so I don’t—I don’t hold it against anyone if it’s a lot. Because I’m still grateful for the support.”

She bites her lip, looking lost again. Jackie sighs.

“You all know I don’t—have the best relationship with my parents,” she says. “A couple months ago Jasper slipped up and called Morgan Mom in front of them and they…didn’t handle it well.”

“Morgan mentioned,” Helena says softly. “What happened, hon?”

She’s still looking at Jackie. Jackie tries not to let the pet name affect her visibly. “They said she was a bad influence. She was picking up the kids and they tried to keep her from taking them.” 

Morgan chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “I threatened to call Jackie, Shane, and the cops before they gave up and let me leave.”

“Shane?” Danny asks, bemused. “Why?”

“Oh, my parents love Shane.” Jackie only rolls her eyes a little bit. “They met him, like, once, but he charmed the pants off them.”

“It almost worked,” Morgan snorts. “No idea how I would’ve explained that one to Hollzy.”

“Easily,” Jackie disagrees. “He’d drop everything for you.”

Morgan runs a hand through her hair, shaking her overgrown bangs out of her face. “Yeah, well.”

“The point is,” Jackie says, drawing attention back away from Morgan so her wife can have feelings in peace. “That we could’ve been in a bad position really easily, and we’re very lucky that we weren’t. We’re trying to…I don’t know. Find a balance between knowing we can’t get lucky forever and not borrowing trouble.”

Morgan nods. 

“What can we do?” Chip persists. “I know I keep fucking it up, but I promise I want to help.” 

“Every time we talk you seem goddamn stressed, Morgs,” Danny agrees. “It’s not fun to watch.”

“I just want to feel normal,” Morgan bursts out. “Fuck. I don’t want this to be a thing. I want a part of my life where me being a—a woman is as noteworthy as the fuckin’ weather. That’s what you can do.”

She sinks into the couch a bit. Jackie squeezes her hand but doesn’t otherwise call attention to how Morgan’s voice had shaken on the word woman. Thankfully, nor does anyone else.

For the rest of the night, everyone does their best to give Morgan her wish. It’s still stilted in places, but Jackie can see how it hits her wife every time, her expression like her heart’s been knocked loose and is floating around in her chest. 

Later, after they’ve ushered the kids into pajamas and into the basement for the sleepover, after the adults have also retired for the night, Jackie finds herself nestled back against her wife, kept somewhat awake still by the sense that Morgan’s mulling something over. 

“I have to think about it all the time,” she eventually says quietly. “I am thinking about it all the time. God, it’s like—like an itch you can’t scratch. It doesn’t hurt, most of the time, but it’s always there. I want a place where it feels real, where none of the other bullshit can touch me.”

Jackie feels her own heart squeeze and crack. She pulls Morgan’s hand up and holds it against her lips. “We’ll get there. Someday, we’ll look back and we won’t even remember what this felt like. We’ll be so happy that it’ll feel impossible that it was ever this hard.”

“Promise?” It’s barely more than a whisper. 

“Promise.”

Chapter End Notes

whoof this chapter fought back. it was fun but slow and i'm glad we got it out on time lol.

remember wayyyy back in vitreous when there was one singular line about jackie enjoying mysteries/playing detective? yeah neither did jane and she wrote the first section. had to let jackie get a lil nerdy with it, have some fun amidst The Horrors

chip's kids are all named after songs--bennie and the jets by elton john, eleanor rigby by the beatles, and rhiannon by fleetwood mac. we had a blast coming up with them but oh my god it was hard to narrow down the best choices for "subtle but iykyk" vibes. I like the idea of chip using music as an escape from his responsibilities growing up and then meeting a fellow music nerd in lynn!

also bennie and eleanor are twins bc twins ALWAYS run in families i stg

Chapter 13: cut the cord

Chapter Summary

in which a good chunk of the events of Long Game get condensed into spring 2020.

Chapter Notes

cw for outing, violence, panic attacks

surprise, it's the last chapter! not sure yet when we'll be back with part three, but rest assured there will be a part three! this is not the end of anyone's story. we've known we wanted to go here for a long time, and honestly, i'm really excited for where we're going with the next part. *ilya voice* i would not leave you like that hollander

[February 2020]

Shane wakes up to his phone ringing.

He’s immediately up and alert, because only five people in the entire world ring through his nighttime DND settings, and even his mom wouldn’t be calling him with no warning at—jesus, 4am—for, like, normal reasons. 

It’s Ilya.

His heartbeat skyrockets.

He scrambles to answer, fumbling his phone and swearing before letting out a breathless, “hello?” as he finally hits the button. 

“I think, solnyshko, in the end, you will find this very funny.”

What?

“What? Ilya, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Does he have a full tank of gas, or would he need to fill up before he drives to Ottawa? What hospital is Ilya most likely to be at?

At least he’s at home. And on the ground. Shane has to grab the chain his ring lives on and squeeze it tight at the thought. 

“You remember, the other week, David is trying to explain me train story?”

“What? Ilya, you’re not making any sense.” Maybe one of his parents can check on Ilya, get to him before Shane does. They both wake up pretty early. 

There’s a rhythmic sound, and it takes Shane’s frantic brain a couple seconds to realize Ilya’s snapping like he always does when he’s trying to remember a specific term. 

“Trolley problem! Is trolley problem.”

“Christ, Ilya,” Shane groans, sinking into a crouch in his front entryway, one shoe on, suddenly needing to regulate his breathing before he does anything else. “You’re freaking me the fuck out.”

“Sorry, Shanya,” Ilya says gently. “I am maybe freaking out too. Fuck, this was easier in my head.” 

“Okay. Okay.” Shane tries to pull his scatter thoughts back into the center. “First things first: are you okay?”

“Yes.” It’s firm, no room for doubt. Then his tone gentles. “It’s you, Shane.”

“Me?”

“Someone has leaked many different texts between you and Jackie, where you are talking about either me or Morgan. Is very, like, vague? But maybe too vague. People know you are being sneaky on purpose and are trying to figure out why.” Ilya takes a deep breath after this, and even over the phone, Shane can hear how it comes out shaky. 

So, of course, the first thing that comes out of his mouth is a blank, “but my phone is encrypted.”

Ilya lets out a genuine laugh, and Shane gives himself a shake, trying to actually focus on the problem. But…

“No, because how did they get the texts? Jackie has an iPhone, the end-to-end encryption is great on those. If we know how they got them, it’ll be easier to—to—” Shane’s not sure how that sentence is supposed to end. Fuck, he should call Farah.  And his mom.

“Sweetheart,” Ilya says, and it’s gentle but tight. “I don’t know. Maybe Jackie hands her phone to one of the kids and they download a virus. Maybe her awful mother leaks somehow. Maybe Hunter is so bad with technology he somehow downloads virus on your phone.”

Shane laughs despite himself. “Shut up. Are you okay?”

“You have asked me this already, Hollander.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Shane fiddles with his chain again, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger, pressing hard enough that the indents last for a few seconds. “This affects you, too.”

Ilya’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his tone is…off. Careful, Shane thinks. “It does not have to.” 

Shane feels his brow furrow. “What does that mean?”

There’s a rustling down the line, like Ilya’s shifting. “Is still middle of the season. We had a plan. I looked, there is nothing specific to me in these texts. Yay. Lucky.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t—you could—”

An out, Shane thinks, horrible understanding washing over him. He’s giving me an out.

In the next second, he’s furious. 

He fights to keep his voice level as he speaks. “You read all the messages leaked, yeah?”

“Yes,” Ilya says, hesitant.

“Okay, good. I just want to make sure I have my facts straight. So, you read them. Is there a way to get out of this without someone getting their personal life dragged into the spotlight?” 

Point blank. No hedging. They’ve learned their lesson.

Ilya’s voice is very, very quiet. “No.”

Shane nods. About what he expected. “And would I be correct in guessing that us coming out would do a lot to distract from whatever people could dig up on Morgan and Jackie?”

Even quieter, somehow: “yes.”

“This is what you meant by trolley problem,” Shane realizes.

Ilya says nothing. 

Shane can see it unfold before him, like a play drawn on a whiteboard. It’s so simple. Why couldn’t he see it before?

Not the time for that. Step one: make sure he’s actually reading Ilya right. 

“I have two questions,” Shane starts. Ilya starts to make a noise, but Shane talks over him. “And you better answer me honestly, Ilyushka.”

Ilya’s tone sounds as if he’s physically straightened up. “I promise.”

“One: would Russia pose a bigger risk to you than I would find acceptable?” 

“Ugh, Hollander.”

“Answer the question, Rozanov.”

Ilya sighs, longsuffering. “No. I am good here. Yuna-approved and lawyer-approved visa status. With intent to get married, I am practically guaranteed fast track to citizenship. Russia cannot touch me.” The last words trail off, just a bit. 

“You let my mom help you with immigration stuff?” Shane’s impressed, and a bit jealous, even if he knows fuck-all about navigating red tape.

“I didn’t want to,” Ilya says awkwardly. He sniffs, and Shane can picture him brushing a hand across his nose. “But, ah, she kept asking, and then David said they’d both feel better if they knew I was…safe. So.”

Shane feels an overwhelming rush of gratitude and affection for his parents. “Good. Me too, you know.”

“Yes,” Ilya says, soft and a little wondrous. “You Hollanders are very good at that.”

“You make it easy,” Shane says back, just as soft. Then he shakes himself back to his plan. “Okay, second question: do you—no matter what I think, or what’s going on with Morgan—want to come out now?”

“Both of those things matter very much,” Ilya mutters. Shane’s unimpressed eyebrow raise must be audible over the phone, because Ilya gives a dramatic groan. “Okay, fine, yes, I would like a lot to come out now.” 

Then, with a grin clear in his voice, “Will be good for my playoff chances. I have lots of new chirping material to use.”

Shane tries not to squirm at that, reminds himself that they’d be doing this at the beginning of next season anyways. He grounds himself in the blunt truth that this is better than leaving Morgan to the wolves—even when thinking in terms of pure self-interest, because any intrusion into Morgan’s personal life would cast suspicion on him, as well. This way, he both controls the narrative and protects his friend.

He’s been silent too long, apparently, because Ilya speaks up again, tone doing that same gentle-but-tight thing. “We do not have to do this, Shanyusha.”

“Ilyusha,” Shane returns. His voice is steady. “We’re coming out.”

-------

“I’m sorry, you want to—what? Pull a Streisand effect on purpose?” Farah sounds—and looks—baffled. To be fair, she’s only had a month or so to adjust to the last big piece of PR work they made her aware of.

“It’s a good plan,” his mom muses. “Has a lot of potential to go off the rails, though.”

Shane sees Ilya put his phone down in his little box, and a second later Shane’s own phone buzzes.

Lily: what is strysind affect?

Jane: Streisand effect, she’s an actress who sued to get some photo of her house taken down, but the publicity of the case meant way more people saw the photo. If she’d just left it alone, nobody would’ve noticed.

Jane: So “Streisand effect” means when someone’s efforts to keep something private actually make it get a lot more attention.

Lily: ah yes this is what i wanted thank you farah

Lily: we act like we are soooo upset our privacy was breached and make big noise about our relationship, no one looks at quiet noise of Morgan

Jane: Exactly. 

Ilya leans forward on the screen. “If it goes off the rails, it will probably still go at us, yes? And we have advantage because—” he holds up crossed fingers. “Hopefully, no one realizes we are in control start to finish.”

“Yes,” Farah confirms, after a minute of thought and some rapid typing. “Any chaos or blowback would probably still center on the two of you. You’re sure that this is important enough to come out?”

Mom also looks curious at this.

“Yes,” Shane says firmly. “We were ready anyways, and the Pikes deserve their privacy. We’re already bigger public figures than they are.”

“I will not let Montreal’s fifteenth-best player take my spotlight,” Ilya jokes. Everyone has the decency not to mention that it’s weaker than usual. 

“I’m sure Hayden will be very grateful,” Mom says diplomatically. Shane watches his fiancé suppress the same wince that Shane himself shoves down. Respecting Morgan and Jackie’s privacy is easy, but it is kind of weird when it’s their family. Weird to hear his mom say that name, weird not to correct her as easily as he and Ilya had corrected each other when they were still adjusting their habits. 

“If you’re sure—” Farah pauses, getting confirmation from everyone else present. “Then I’ll start talking to Montreal and Ottawa while you guys work on the PR strategy. Let me know details as needed, I’ll kick whatever asses into gear as necessary.” 

Yuna nods firmly in agreement. “Let’s break the fucking internet, boys.”

Ilya lets out a sharp little laugh, shocked as always when Yuna swears. Shane, even as he cringes a bit at the cheesy line, realizes—with these people on his side, he feels untouchable.

-------

[March 2020]

It works. Better than expected.

Shane does his best to hold on to the confidence he’d had when they’d been planning, because on the ice, he is very much not untouchable. 

His team hasn’t abandoned him to play the game alone, yet. They’re also not going out of their way to answer for hits on him that other teams go out of their way to take. Shane can’t blame them—it’s not that different from how the Mets have always functioned. Every hit is, first and foremost, a chance to prove oneself. It’s not in their nature to take that away from each other. 

He takes stock of the locker room as he walks in for their home game against Seattle. Shane—for what kind of feels like the first time in his career—is taking full advantage of the fact that he’s Shane Fucking Hollander, with great encouragement from his parents and fiancé. 

He needs every bit of it. 

This week, the energy has mostly been bog-standard Captain Hollander, stalwart and fearless, stoic to the end. Last two weeks, he’d leaned hard into something more like Ilya’s vicious charisma, the high-risk-high-reward magnetism that—intoxicatingly—even Shane’s most recalcitrant teammates had struggled to look away from. The week before those, the first week, he’d actually managed to make the “I got my privacy violated, close ranks around me out of sympathy” angle work, mostly by virtue of the fact that he didn’t actually have to feel the vulnerability of that.

In two weeks, when they face Toronto and Ottawa on the same roadie, he’ll probably lean way in the opposite direction, be the villain for them to rally against while tensions are high. He’s not looking forward to it. But—he is looking forward to the wins he’s fairly sure it’ll net them. Even as they’ve followed his lead, he’s sensed the growing agitation, and knowing his team, a couple more weeks will have them primed to sharpen their teeth against—first, one of the nastiest teams in the league, and second, the team that Shane needs desperately to show that he’ll never go easy on. 

He’d felt so—out of control, the beginning of the season. It’d been his choice to come out, but he’d been so desperate to keep it from affecting how people saw him that he’d turned himself into nothing. It’s a little bit sickening—though unsurprising in hindsight—to realize that it’d been taken as cowed submission instead, and more sickening on top of that to realize how the only reason he feels like he has control now is that no one knows he does. They all think this is his genuine reaction to a scandal blowing up his personal life.

Including Morgan.

Shane looks away from her big, still-guilty eyes as he strides to his locker, pushing down his own guilt at the fact that, in absence of the truth, she’s come to the conclusion that it’s her fault he’s been “outed.” Whether that’s by proxy through Jackie or through some convoluted reasoning unique to Morgan’s own head, Shane truly has no idea, because it’s unfortunately convenient for the narrative he needs to spin if there’s distance between the two of them right now. So he lets Morgan believe he’s avoiding her while he works through being outed, and he lets the team believe Morgan’s also uncomfortable with learning Shane Hollander’s deepest innermost feelings and how they all have to do with Ilya Fucking Rozanov. 

To be fair, Shane himself is deeply uncomfortable with people knowing this, so it’s easy to act like he’s reacting to this from Morgan.

As long as he avoids her gaze while he does. 

Practice has kind of sucked, lately. He and Morgan have been struggling to find their usual chemistry—which, if Shane cares to be uncharitable, more or less puts them at the average synchronicity among the Metros’ forwards. To put it another way—him, Morgan, and Myers are still putting up points that, say, Seattle’s first and second lines combined would struggle to touch.

The Metros are just that damn good, baby. 

Shane’s been doing the math, quietly, in a part of his brain that he’s mentally separated from the rest out of superstition. Their Cup chances this year are—solid, is all he’s willing to even think, especially right here in the middle of a locker room he’s keeping together with duct tape. 

If, after the clusterfuck this season has been, after letting the world know that Shane Fucking Hollander is goddamn engaged to Ilya Fucking Rozanov—if Montreal wins a third Cup under Shane? 

No one would be able to touch him or Morgan ever again.

Shane has to undo and redo his laces all the way down twice just for having the thought. Overall, though—he feels pretty fucking good. He’s done the unthinkable, and they still might win. For all his worrying before, it’s hard to imagine what else could go wrong. 

He stands up, and relishes how the room still instinctively quiets, stands at attention when he so much as clears his throat. 

Shane grins. “Roll out.”

-------

[April 2020]

Shane’s confidence in his team’s aggression boiling over against Toronto is not misplaced, or premature.

He’d simply underestimated two things: one, the ability of Montreal’s coaching staff to make insane line changes at the last minute. And two, how fucking evil Toronto’s blank-check support could make Dallas motherfucking Kent.

He makes no pretense at playing the game. Over and over, he goes after anyone he can, especially if he apparently deems them too close to Shane in some way. Which, stupidly but unsurprisingly, includes JJ and Vargas, even though he and Vargas have never been close, as well as Morgan, Shane himself, Myers, and for reasons incomprehensible to reasonable people, Jameson. Truly the only thing Shane can think of is that Jams is shorter and wears his hair long. 

If he and Morgan were on the ice together, he’d be saying fuck the fight-your-own-battles attitude and fuck his own artificial distance, and he’d be making sure Kent knows not to fuck with Morgan just like he’d very quickly made sure Kent couldn’t fuck with Shane himself. 

It takes a player of a certain caliber to pull off unnoticed trips with the subtlety and grace Shane can.

But they’re not on the ice together, because of the aforementioned last-minute line fuckery, so he has to watch Morgan and her linemates get dogged on over and over, has to watch Kent’s stupid fucking grin as he wins whatever tough guy competition he’s got going in his head—it’s certainly not like they’re winning the game. 

Then, all of a sudden, halfway through the third, Shane watches Kent get tired of them not responding to his little games.

He doesn’t bother with starting a clean brawl. He doesn’t even bother with the puck. He skates directly at Morgan, and—with a terrifying look back at Shane—slashes her so viciously that her feet fly out from under her.

Shane is over the wall and sprinting before her head hits the ice, which it does with a nauseating crack. 

All it does is give him a better view of Kent driving first his knee and then his elbow high into Morgan’s back as hard as he can.

He’s aiming for her spine, Shane realizes. He hits his knees hard by the crown of Morgan’s head as one of his teammates and one of Kent’s wrestle Kent off, both looking bewildered and furious. Morgan manages to flip herself over before Shane can do anything, making an ugly noise as she does. The first aid training hey’d done for the camps floods Shane’s mind and he slams his forearms down on the sides of her head to stabilize her neck and spine. Cold trickles through him as she continues to writhe, and he watches fear overtake pain on her face.

“Hey, hey, Pike, it’s okay, you’re safe, it’s me. Pike. Pike. Morgan.” Shane lowers his voice for that, desperate enough to take the risk.

It works to still her, if only because Shane feels tension spread through her body instead.

“We’re safe, there’s no one close yet. But you need to stay still. Can you do that? Say yes or no out loud for me.” Shane’s on autopilot, some small distant part of him unbearably relieved that he remembers the steps for—for a spinal injury. 

A shudder wracks him at even thinking the words.

Morgan swallows once, twice. “Yes,” she manages to croak out. Her nose is broken from the collision with the ice, and from the sound of her voice, there’s blood running down the back of her throat. 

The medics make it to them.

Shane’s entire world is blurry.

They cancel the game. Shane thinks, somewhere far away from the rest of his body, that it’s the first time he’s not pissed about that happening. 

Somehow, he’s off the ice. He’s pretty sure he showered. He’s gotten on the bus and back off, he’s in his hotel room.

Morgan’s bag is still open on her bed. 

Shane doesn’t remember anything else for the rest of the night.