That Which Transcends Death

That which Transcends Death
Sergei/Evengii

Chapter 1

He stood impatiently, shifting from foot to foot uneasily, he always got that way the night before a game. Then again, he was alone in the ice rink, no equipment at hand except for his hockey stick and a puck. He had to practice his plays, he had to get them down. The coach had already told him point blank that he was the weakest player this year…and he had done so well the year before.

He skated out into the circle, dropping the puck to skate around it, moving as fast as he safely could as his eyes gleamed red thanks to the contacts that he wore. His mind was everywhere but on the game it seemed, and his teammates knew it. His red eyes grew hard, his mind focused on the game and nothing else.

Nothing but…

His parents died the day before Christmas, his adopted parents. His real parents were killed during a Peace March in Russia when he was four. It wasn’t like he wasn’t able to take care of himself, he was soon to be twenty two years old, more then old enough, but he had been close to them, and they died unexpectedly when they were trying to drive to one of his games that was in a small town on the outskirts of Montreal.

/It was all my fault…I should not have talked them into coming to zat stupid game./ He thought to himself, his grip becoming too hard on the hockey stick as he sped up, trying to outrun the thoughts that he didn’t want to think, thoughts that his Physiologist said were detrimental to his mental health.

His black hair flew around his face as he skated, his red eyes gleamed, he hadn’t cried for them, he had been too busy, to caught up in everything and now his game was off, and if he didn’t shape up, he’d be off the team, and if he was kicked off of the team that he wouldn’t be around the only family that he had left.

Sergei Xandrov. Not only were they best friends and had been since Evengeii’s parents adopted him, but they were both Russian…something that had made Evengeii’s assimilation into a different country a whole lot easier. He couldn’t be kicked off of the team, he be lost in the world that he had no real place in.

His place was Hockey, and he would get back on the right track.

If he could ever get his thoughts about how he murdered his parents off of his mind. He kept skating around the rink, knowing that if anyone who didn’t know him saw him, they would think that he was a complete crazy person, skating as fast as he was without any gear on, his coach would have a hernia.

He just wanted to sit down and calm down, have a drink with Sergei, talk about the fun times, the season was about to start again and they had come close to the nationals last year, and this year he and Sergei had promised one another that they were going to get there together.

It was a dream that both men shared.

The Russian dropped his hockey stick in order to be able to skate faster, skating was better then crying and it helped with the endurance that he would need on the ice, even if he was tempting a serious injury or even possible death with the speed and recklessness of which he was skating.

/It is a good thing zat Sergei is not hear to zee zhis./ The more rationale side of Evengii muttered only to be pushed aside, he didn’t want to think of Sergei, or of his parents.

He just wanted to skate.

They were never too far from each other. So when Sergei woke from his cat nap while watching one of those crazy soap opera’s his best friend and roommate loved, and then couldn’t find said friend in the house, he knew right where to go.

The ice. Their favorite place in the world, where troubles shattered off them as soon as they picked up speed.

Sergei Xandrov ran a hand over his face, feeling the stubble that had grown rugged on his strong jaw. He stood and stretched his body, muscle rippling as his spine cracked in rapid succession as he turned his body to the side and held it in place. “Damn Evengii.” He chastised the absent man, shaking his muted brown head.

He left the house, pulling his jean jacket on and snatching up Evengii’s, it was pretty cold out.

Then again, it was Canada.

Their local skating rink was several blocks down, and neither man had transportaion short of their own two legs or a pair of nice racing bikes to get them to where they needed to go. They shared a small house, more like a log cabin, but they had a lot of yard and they were located far back in the woods, away from the crazy main street.

He walked briskly, hands stuffed into his loose jean pockets, black polo shirt drawn tight across abs and pecs. Sergei was exceedingly male. One look at him and most people thought:

‘OH MY FUCKING GOD. HUGE. RUSSIAN. COMMIE.’

Now, two out of three of those were correct. Huge and Russian. Sergei was in no way a Communist, his parents had died getting him out of the USSR to save him from Communism. He was fairly open minded when it came to politics and religion and all sorts of other largely-debated subjects.

From his pocket he drew a chocolate bar he’d picked up on his way out; he’d just quit smoking, thanks to Even’s interception and was now devouring Cadbury chocolate like a woman a week before her period. As of then, it was the only way to keep his cravings at bay.

He’d been five months without a cigarette. It had sucked at first, but now he felt good.

He unwrapped the candy bar and bit a chunk out of it, running a hand through his hair and slicking it back in jagged brunette spikes that took no gel to hold in place. He came up on the arena soon, his long, powerful legs taking him in past the gates and soon into the low-lit rink and spotted his friend, racing around the ice like a devil-dog was snapping at his heels.

Still gnawing his chocolate, he descended the long flight of stairs and stood at the gate, watching his friend move faster and faster, until he stepped out once he was coming up and caught him, easily spinning the two of them around and slowing their speed immensely.

“Hey, hey, buddy! You’ll tear out your ankles.” He said smartly, but held onto his best friends arms and looked over his flushed and sweaty face: “Bad night again?” He said, less of a question and more of a statement.

“Could not sleep.” Evengii muttered, his breathing was labored from the vigorous workout that he had been putting himself through. “Coach said zat it iz me zat is holding ze team back.” He said angrily, and when his emotions came into play, his accent always became stronger, the mellower he was, the less of an accent that he had.

He always had a problem being around people and never liked criticism, and whenever he knew that the criticism was warranted he worked like the Devil to make it up. He now only loved three things, Hockey, Reading and Sergei…alright he had to admit to himself he cared for Maxist, his boyfriend, but no one knew that they were dating, and that included Sergei.

“I just…vanted to skate.” He said softly his he pressed the heel of his hand to one of his eyes. He had ocular albinism, which meant that his eyes had no pigment to them and that was the reason why he wore the weird contacts, well one of the reasons, the other was because he liked to keep people at bay and that was one of the ways that he did it. Though because he had that condition, he had horrible eyesight, in fact, he really should not have been playing hockey, at least that is what his doctors said, but he hardly listened. Other then the fact that the glare from the lights killed his eyes after the game he never felt any pain when he was on the ice. The contacts he was wearing were a special kind and allowed the man to ability to see enough so that he could play and play he did.

Though he still was not allowed to drive a car.

“I vas just zhinking about my…parents.” He said truthfully, “It vas foolish of me since ve have ze game tomorrow.” He said, tugging out of his friends arms. “Zank you for coming to get me. I am alright now.”

Liar.

He missed his parents horribly.

“Coach can shove it.” Sergei chimed good-naturedly, patting his friend on his shoulder: “You’re my partner on the ice. You goalie, me centre. I think that’s MY call to make if you’re screwing up our game. We go together like peanut butter and jelly. S and M!” If there was one thing the larger man had going for him, it was his ability to diffuse any negative situation with stupid jokes or a lopsided smile.

Olive eyes looked down at his friend as he pulled away, shaking his head and stepping up behind him to hug him again.

They were European. They could get away with public shows of affection that would otherwise dub them gay.

“Bullshit.” He coughed, holding Evengii tight against him as he spoke to the smaller man: “Remember our motto? You can bitch about all the problems you’ve got until game time. As soon as you step on that ice, it’s not just you, it’s the Team. You leave your problems behind, it’s Game Time.” Sergei ruffled black hair of the other man and stepped back, leaving his arm hooked around Evengii’s shoulders.

“It’s hard to lie to me, buddy. I’ve been with you for a long time. When you got a problem, you know I’m there.” He’d been there for everything. “I know you miss them, and you know I’d rather see you cry then break your neck skating.”
Sergei slowly walked his buddy off the ice and supported him, knowing about his eye troubles and how aggravated they got once he was off the ice: “Let’s get you home. Get you something to drink. Alright? Sound good? Wanna wrassle?” He growled mock-threateningly and laughed.

That was Sergei alright.