Confessions from a Ranger's Roommate

She followed Black Haired who still hadn't introduced himself and Max back to eat food. A quick look out on the ice saw no one had scored yet. The Penguins top ranked offense hadn't broken Henrik so that was a relief.

Nibbling through half of her burger while the injured boys talked about hockey tactics far beyond her few months knowledge of the sport. She watched Ryan Callahan try for a nice wrister was but was denied by the French goalie with the name Fleury stitched onto his jersey. Over break, she really needed to sit down and memorize rosters. At least it wasn't anything Chemistry.

"I think that guy you were talking to is okay. Decent guy..." Black haired trailed off and she looked up, realizing she was being talked to. "I don't know what his friends are like."

Anger surged through her, defensive for her childhood "Whaddyu know about gangs?" She demanded. "Stupid small town boy." Sure, maybe she was known to being a little defensive about the people in her childhood, and he was clearly no racist, but he had no right to pass judgement.

Max cleared his voice. "Ma belle," he said, hoping to soften her with his nickname for her. "Where are you from?"

"Born in LA, less than a year in Long Beach, Van Nuys, San Francisco and now New York City. Take your picks of the big cities," she replied coolly. "And for your information, up until I was eight, my foster brothers and I were practically surrounded by gang members. Also for your information, Theo was involved in a failed plot to kidnap us kids from our abusive foster parents and keep us there. Despite being a black gang street." Realizing she had slipped, she whipped around in her seat but saw the Staals were busy talking to another couple. Secret still safe.

"I can't tell," Max said as Black Hair apologized and took the opportunity to talk to a French accented newcomer that seemed important. "Hey. Sid's a good guy. He meant nothing."

She made a noise through her nose and was glad when Derek Stephan knocked in a goal. Sorry Jordan, she thought to the Staal she hadn't met yet. But now Black Hair Boy left a sour taste in her mouth and she didn't mind terribly if the Penguins lost.

"Ma belle," Max tried again. "So you never told me your name."

Uh no. Here came a new nickname. "Teodora Ansary," she said and seized an opportunity. "Ansary's from my adopted parents that immigrated from Afghanistan. So I know Dari and Pashto along with English and Spanish."

"Oh!" He cried, voice slightly squeaky. Teodora swallowed down a laugh. "I'm from Quebec so only French and English...and Russian swear words."

"Nice, I know some Russian. Acting as if I knew no Spanish didn't work on the Spanish teacher, especially when I accidently put some Spanglish into homework assignments," Teodora admitted and he snorted. "So I was put in Russian at the community college."

"Sounds like you should go into languages," Max laughed at her.

She made a face. "Maybe not. I could get pulled into international politics and that's maybe not so good. When your adopted grandpa was one of the few non-corrupt higher uppers in the Afghan government before the USSR invaded, often one gets asked all sorts of favors from the newer politicians in Afghanistan."

"Really?" Max breathed. "Not good people?"

"Not too much," she sighed. "Being the very not much not Afghan, a white girl or formerly in foster care doesn't put off anyone. By the way, keep that on the DL," she said, jerking a thumb at the Staals and then pointing at the ice. "They already stress over my stupid hearing aid-which is nice of course."

They paused a moment to watch more of the game. Teodora watched the famous Russian player zoom across the ice-practically a breakaway like in basketball and made a beautiful shot past Lunqvist. Teodora had to clap at that one. That was just as nice as one of the Dream Team basketball players she had loved as a child. "Damn, that Malkin guy has some skill," she laughed.

Max paused from speaking rapid French to someone and introduced his father. His father smiled and shook her hand, only saying a simple hello. "Only speaks French," Max muttered in an apology but she waved it off.

Teodora glanced over to the ice and saw her roommate falling over with the Russian superstar when she felt her stomach twist. Michael had thrown off his glove and was rolling around, holding his side. Not needing to see the blood, she knew he was hurt badly and bolted out of the room. She shoved the door open and practically ran down Black Haired Boy. "Is the visitor's locker room open? My roommate's hurt." Without another word, she kept on running,

She made it to the locker room and swore when she realized it was locked.

"Sometimes it jams," Black Hair had followed her and opened the door for her. She rushed in and began to pull out anything and everything the medical staff could need. Staples, stitches, gauze and tape...

"Course she beat us," someone chuckled but she paid no attention. "We got it kid, thanks."

Teodora took steps back and let them hoist Michael up on the medical table. Moving pads and his jersey, she winched a little when she saw the gash. Many of them gasped at the gash but Teodora had seen gang members from Van Nuys shot in the head so this wasn't too bad.

He'll be okay, she thought in relief. "D'you want me here still?" She asked. Or maybe she was just in the way and she should go up to flirty Max. Teodora started to back off when she heard a soft Teo and saw Michael extending his hand out to her. Knowing he was a little scared, she walked over and squeezed his hand. Probably would need it if they put staples in.

"I don't think we'll have to do staples," the head trainer said and she saw Michael close his eyes in relief. Teodora could tell he was much paler. "We'll do some stitches...helpfully laid out by your roommate," he winked at her and she snorted. "Maybe we'll convert you over to our side after all."

"Whatever," she laughed, heart much lighter. Yeah, he would be fine. Might need to watch him to be extra sure, along with changing gauze. As he was numbled and eventually stitched up, she said, "So I just need to change gauze when needed?"

"May need to help him out...for sure help him when he's still a little goofy off the pain medication."

Michael squeezed her hand but managed to grunt out, "I swear if you and Alex, or maybe even Prust and Boyle get me to do something or tape me on your phones..."

Teodora cracked up. "Well! Now that you've given us that idea!"

The period must have ended because players filed out and Coach Tortorella was now poking his head in. "Oh good, the doctor's giving you guys a hand," he said and gave her a pat on the shoulder. He leaned in to examine the final touches of the stitches and scowled. "Jesus kid."

More staff started to file in so she softly said, "I'll go back with everyone else. Text me if you need help," she said, not wanting to be in the way. Teodora pulled out her phone to text Michael's brother to give his family an update when she bumped into someone very tall and very sweaty. Dios mio, she thought but was glad she only thought that because the Russian Superstar was now right in front of her.

"Roommate? Del Zotto? He okay?" Evgeni asked, huffing in and out air.

She nodded and swallowed once, steadying herself before using her conversational Russian skills. "Yes, he's okay. His heart is fine and he didn't need..." Teodora halted her Russian and decided to try other words. "He needed fifty..." She scowled and gave up, switching back to English. "Fifty stitches."

Nonetheless, Evgeni was very pleased with her conversational Russian skills. "Not bad!" He exclaimed happily. "You have a Moscow accent!"

Teodora laughed. "Moscow accent? Do I? Maybe, I think my teacher was from there," she said and glanced at him. He was a good guy, goofy and sheepish. He wasn't any sort of enforcer. "Look, I know it wasn't intentional-or your fault. His injury," she explained. "Your skate accidently got him, it happens."

Relief spread across his face. "No. Not on purpose," he sighed happily.

His coach called for him so she waved him away. Teodora went back into the locker room to check on her roommate. "How's it going?" She asked. "Do you just want us to fly back to New York now since he's obviously not playing?"

Coach nodded slowly. "Might as well. I think the kid just needs to lay down for a few days. I doubt you'll have any real medical emergency on your hands."

"No," she agreed. A bottle of pain pills along with a supply of gauze and tape were handed to her. "Alright. C'mere you," she said and hauled up her roommate. Teodora managed to get him to the airport and into a seat where he snored the whole flight and recruited Kurt to help haul him up to their apartment.

She gingerly lifted his shirt and ignored Kurt ew'ing at the stain of blood. "Such a girl," she teased lightly but switched the gauze out. "No. That poor Evgeni guy was all apologizing."

"Nah," Kurt agreed. "That wasn't intentional. Let's get you in bed Fifty Stitches Boy."

Gently, they lowered him into his bed. "Ku-urt! Did you see my game?" Michael asked with a goofy smile on his face. Kurt did his best not to laugh at his drugged up friend. "Teo," he said and suddenly sat up, smushing his mouth against the side of hers. "Guys wonder why I'm not dating you," he slurred.

"Easy tiger," she laughed and pushed him back in bed. "Bed now. Doctors and Coach's orders." Kurt laughed at the sad al-riight as the door was shut. "Well," she shared a weary laugh with Kurt. "That was an interesting day. By the way, you know roommate was goofy from the drugs."

"Nah," he laughed. "I won't tell him about that kiss...thing. He'd probably punch himself and we don't need another busted nose like Alex."

She snorted, glad her roommate was still in one piece...in a matter of speaking...

Notes