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Had a little mini-squeefest this afternoon, watching Pros ("Stakeout") and S&H ("Lady Blue") and MLAAD ("The Fugitive" and "Widgeon"). MLAAD's Johnny left me weak with squee, as he always does, and inspired the following flashfic, which won't make sense unless you've seen the episodes "A Day in the Life" and "Widgeon".
He spent the first sixteen years of his life being the second half of Siggy-and-Johnny, the quiet one, the dumb one, the one who skated on a team instead of getting up in front of a crowd. Johnny didn't care that Siggy was the one everyone loved, because she loved him. He was her twin. She didn't show off for him, because he already knew she was the best, and he didn't try to fade into the crowd when she was around, because Siggy would never stop noticing him.
Johnny got out of Gimli according to the plan, in slow and careful stages, the way lots of guys got out of lots of towns. He got out on his skates, practicing on the lake and the slough as soon as they froze, for hours and hours. He skipped school, he skated in the dark, he played hard in every single game and practice. Hockey was his only ticket out. He knew it and Siggy knew it.
Siggy, though, she had a hundred plans, a thousand, a new one every week. She told him all of them, in the mornings, when he was taping his stick or sharpening his skates, or at night, when he'd finally come inside and was warming his hands over the stove so that he could copy the answers from her homework. She was going to be an artist--a writer--a pilot--a long-haul trucker--a boxcar hobo--an actress--an Olympic diver--a scientist. She was going somewhere, all she had to do was choose the place. Johnny just waited for her to tell him where she'd chosen, knowing that, if he got lucky, he wouldn't be able to choose at all, that he'd go where he was taken.
When Johnny was sixteen he got lucky, and the Wheat Kings took him as far as Brandon--not far at all, really. Auntie Auntie and some of his cousins came out for his first big game, and afterward, Auntie Auntie told him that Siggy had disappeared, run away. They thought she'd gone to the city, maybe as far as Vancouver or Toronto, but nobody knew. He shouldn't worry, Auntie said, and Johnny told her he wouldn't.
Why should he worry? Siggy had finally picked a plan, was all, and she'd gone for it, just as soon as she knew that Johnny was safely on his way. That was how she was, always looking out for Johnny. They were twins, after all; she wouldn't have gone if she didn't already know he'd gotten out, too.
He got postcards from her, telling him how great things were wherever she was--one from Niagara Falls, another from Florida. He bought a map of North America, and drew little stars wherever Siggy passed. Sometimes she sent letters, still full of plans, still mulling over her thousand choices.
When Johnny was nineteen, he got chosen again, in the NHL draft. It was thousands of miles to Hartford, Connecticut, and Johnny was out of Gimli, Manitoba for good, free forever. He'd found his one way out, and it had worked. Fast as he could skate on the ice--Slipstream, they called him, Slip Johansson, he was so fast he slipped right past everybody--he couldn't move up the ladder any quicker than anybody else, and it took three years of juniors, with injuries and losses and bad nights among the good, to finally find his way out. Still, he'd done it.
Not like Siggy. She didn't need a ladder. He liked to imagine the night she'd slipped right out of Gimli, leaping down from her bedroom window, waving to the empty window of his room, like she always did when she snuck out, even though she knew he wasn't there. And then, in one wild bound, one mad dash, one daring leap onto an outbound bus, Siggy had been gone, flying free in a wide sky, wherever the wind and her wild dreams took her.
Johnny could only fly on ice, with heavy skates on his feet and a stick in his hands, but it was enough. Someday, with an NHL salary, he'd be as free as Siggy and they'd be together again, like twins should be. Not all the time, of course--She would be busy with her plans, he'd have a wife and kids--but they'd meet up, in New York or Vancouver or Tokyo or Rio, anywhere that sounded good, anywhere that wasn't anything like Gimli, and it'd be just like they'd never been apart at all. Johnny knew he'd catch up with Siggy. She'd never let him fall behind.
It was just another game, just another hit in the corner, but Johnny heard the crack and felt his knee give, and as he fell to the ice, he knew he was never going to catch Siggy now. The only way he could fly was on the ice, and he wouldn't get far on one leg. Lying there, with his hands pressed to his knee like he could hold the ligaments to the bones, tears washing his face like lake water, like the ocean he'd never stood in with Siggy at his side, he knew he was going back to Gimli, and he knew he'd never escape. Siggy would have to fly high for both of them, and he'd have to let her go. If she tried to turn back for him now, he'd only trap them both. He could hardly feel the pain in his knee, compared to the pain of falling back to the ground, all alone for the first time in his life, just Johnny Johansson.
Big thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brooklinegirl for her speedy beta-read!
He spent the first sixteen years of his life being the second half of Siggy-and-Johnny, the quiet one, the dumb one, the one who skated on a team instead of getting up in front of a crowd. Johnny didn't care that Siggy was the one everyone loved, because she loved him. He was her twin. She didn't show off for him, because he already knew she was the best, and he didn't try to fade into the crowd when she was around, because Siggy would never stop noticing him.
Johnny got out of Gimli according to the plan, in slow and careful stages, the way lots of guys got out of lots of towns. He got out on his skates, practicing on the lake and the slough as soon as they froze, for hours and hours. He skipped school, he skated in the dark, he played hard in every single game and practice. Hockey was his only ticket out. He knew it and Siggy knew it.
Siggy, though, she had a hundred plans, a thousand, a new one every week. She told him all of them, in the mornings, when he was taping his stick or sharpening his skates, or at night, when he'd finally come inside and was warming his hands over the stove so that he could copy the answers from her homework. She was going to be an artist--a writer--a pilot--a long-haul trucker--a boxcar hobo--an actress--an Olympic diver--a scientist. She was going somewhere, all she had to do was choose the place. Johnny just waited for her to tell him where she'd chosen, knowing that, if he got lucky, he wouldn't be able to choose at all, that he'd go where he was taken.
When Johnny was sixteen he got lucky, and the Wheat Kings took him as far as Brandon--not far at all, really. Auntie Auntie and some of his cousins came out for his first big game, and afterward, Auntie Auntie told him that Siggy had disappeared, run away. They thought she'd gone to the city, maybe as far as Vancouver or Toronto, but nobody knew. He shouldn't worry, Auntie said, and Johnny told her he wouldn't.
Why should he worry? Siggy had finally picked a plan, was all, and she'd gone for it, just as soon as she knew that Johnny was safely on his way. That was how she was, always looking out for Johnny. They were twins, after all; she wouldn't have gone if she didn't already know he'd gotten out, too.
He got postcards from her, telling him how great things were wherever she was--one from Niagara Falls, another from Florida. He bought a map of North America, and drew little stars wherever Siggy passed. Sometimes she sent letters, still full of plans, still mulling over her thousand choices.
When Johnny was nineteen, he got chosen again, in the NHL draft. It was thousands of miles to Hartford, Connecticut, and Johnny was out of Gimli, Manitoba for good, free forever. He'd found his one way out, and it had worked. Fast as he could skate on the ice--Slipstream, they called him, Slip Johansson, he was so fast he slipped right past everybody--he couldn't move up the ladder any quicker than anybody else, and it took three years of juniors, with injuries and losses and bad nights among the good, to finally find his way out. Still, he'd done it.
Not like Siggy. She didn't need a ladder. He liked to imagine the night she'd slipped right out of Gimli, leaping down from her bedroom window, waving to the empty window of his room, like she always did when she snuck out, even though she knew he wasn't there. And then, in one wild bound, one mad dash, one daring leap onto an outbound bus, Siggy had been gone, flying free in a wide sky, wherever the wind and her wild dreams took her.
Johnny could only fly on ice, with heavy skates on his feet and a stick in his hands, but it was enough. Someday, with an NHL salary, he'd be as free as Siggy and they'd be together again, like twins should be. Not all the time, of course--She would be busy with her plans, he'd have a wife and kids--but they'd meet up, in New York or Vancouver or Tokyo or Rio, anywhere that sounded good, anywhere that wasn't anything like Gimli, and it'd be just like they'd never been apart at all. Johnny knew he'd catch up with Siggy. She'd never let him fall behind.
It was just another game, just another hit in the corner, but Johnny heard the crack and felt his knee give, and as he fell to the ice, he knew he was never going to catch Siggy now. The only way he could fly was on the ice, and he wouldn't get far on one leg. Lying there, with his hands pressed to his knee like he could hold the ligaments to the bones, tears washing his face like lake water, like the ocean he'd never stood in with Siggy at his side, he knew he was going back to Gimli, and he knew he'd never escape. Siggy would have to fly high for both of them, and he'd have to let her go. If she tried to turn back for him now, he'd only trap them both. He could hardly feel the pain in his knee, compared to the pain of falling back to the ground, all alone for the first time in his life, just Johnny Johansson.
Big thanks to
brooklinegirl for her speedy beta-read!