Note: My first serious foray into Hasek/Roy slash. Deals with a particular awards show that we all know AND love.

Awards Show

I stay up very late to watch the NHL Awards with my expensive satellite dish at home in Pardubice. I will see my petulant boyfriend, which makes me happy because I haven’t seen him in a long time. My children are sleeping over at friends’ houses and my wife is asleep, so I sit on the couch and happily bounce along to the music. I love awards shows.

“Aaaaaand welcome to the NHL Awards 2002!” the announcer says. The band plays some more interesting music, and finally they get around to handing out the awards.

“The nominees for the Hart Memorial Trophy are….Jarome Iginla from Calgary!” I boo at the TV. I have never liked Iginla since he scored on me. Twice. In one period. I was very mad.

“Patrick Roy from Colorado!” the announcer announces. I squee excitedly and clap my hands while I watch the montage of Patty. They do a close-up of his eyes and I pretend to faint before realizing no one is there to watch me.

Damn.

“And the winner isss…..Jose Theodore of Montreal!” the announcer says excitedly. What? This cannot be happening! My boyfriend deserves every award that he is nominated for! Except for when I’m nominated too, then I deserve it because I am the best goalie in the league. Er, was.

I watch contentedly as Nick wins the Norris Trophy—my good friend, he deserves it too. Especially since I could never win it.

Dum de dum de dum. This is pretty boring, and I am reminded of how I am only watching it for Patty.

“The William M. Jennings trophy was previously awarded to Patrick Roy,” the announcer says, sounding as if he is on the brink of an orgasm. He is far too excited for an awards show. Patty goes up the steps and—

Oh my goodness!

How can this be?

I don’t understand!

He’s GOTTEN A HAIRCUT!

Without consulting me!

I am absolutely SHOCKED! SHOCKED, I tell you!

“I am very pleased to accept dis award. I am happy dat my team helped me get it t’rough deir strong defensive play t’roughout da regular season. I would like to t’ank first an’ foremost, my team,” he pauses. Say me! Say me! Say me! I am the most important reason you won the trophy! I am! I am! “I would like to t’ank my family,” I’m not family, are I? Get on with it and mention me, Patty! “And my friends for helping me t’rough da hard times. T’ank you all,” he finished. But wait! He’s not done!

He blathers on in French for about a minute. Get to the point, haircut boy.

He looks right at the camera and winks. I sigh with happiness. I know that wink was meant for me—it had to be. There is no one else he would wink at.

He loves me. I know he loves me. His wife is there, sure, but it’s a marriage of convenience. Because he really is in love with me, and every minute of every day I am reminded of that. It’s in his eyes—every time he looks at me his eyes are like flaming piles of ice, cool blue and hot at the same time, burning with love.

I promise to stop with the clichés now, I just have bragging rights because Patty is the best boyfriend on earth and he belongs to me, me, he’s mine, all mine!

And his new haircut flatters him much more than his sloppy old one.

I sit and wait for him to call me, because he probably will after the show. He always calls me when something important happens. And yes, soon after the show ends my cell phone rings. I leap on it.

“Heeeellloooo, haircut boy,” I say without waiting for anyone else. There is a silence on the other end of the phone. Oh damn.

“Dom….this is Stevie. Yzerman?” he says suspiciously. Damn. Damn damn damn damn damn.

“Uhm, yes, halo Stevie! I knew it was you,” I chuckle nervously. “Why are you calling me?”

“Because I just wanted to tell you that in case you didn’t watch the awards, Nick won the Norris. I hope I didn’t wake you or anything,” he adds. Oh my God. I have never been so embarrassed.

“Nooooo,” I trill laughingly. “I watch awards and am very happy for Nick. I plan to call him early tomorrow morning your time and congratulate him! Yes!” I cover myself. Phew, that was very very close.

“I wouldn’t call him so early. He and his wife were planning on getting it on, excessively and all night long,” Stevie says frankly. “See, he was telling me the other day all about how he got a new waterbed and he says it’s very interesting. Since Lisa and I want another baby, we’re going to go over to his house and use his bed for a while,” Steve rambles. Oh. Well. Nothing like cutting to the chase, now is there?

“Oh. Well, then. Thank you for sharing,” I squeak. Honestly, it’s a good thing I left them when I did. They are very weird over there.

“Yeah, Dom, and also, I—” Argh! I cut in, doing the cchhhssss-ckhhhhsssss-hissss-beep! Beep! Beep! You’re fading out! thing that people do when they don’t want to listen to them anymore. I can always blame it on an overseas cellular connection. Hahahaha.

Almost instantly the phone rings again. This time I snatch it up, making sure to check the Caller I.D.

“Hello?” I say cautiously. I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear Patty’s voice.

“Allo, my wonderful foreign Domallama!” he says excitedly. Is he drunk? He’s never called me Domallama before. “What is new wit’ you? Are you ‘aving fun in Czech-land? Did you see me? On da TV? I was excellent, non?”

“Well, I watch awards show, then Stevie call and tell me more than I want to know about Nick’s sex life, then today I get shortchanged buying new pair of socks, and I washed some towels. And you got a haircut.”

“I deed indeed! I got myself a tres flattering ‘aircut, an’ guess what?” he raves. He sounds like a twelve-year-old girl. What is wrong with him? And he didn’t acknowledge anything else he said, which hurts me. I was upset getting shortchanged over those socks!

“What?”

“I winked at you! I winked at you!” he squeals. He is hurting my ears. It’s very late here and I don’t think he realizes that.

But then I realize what he said.

He did wink at me.

On national TV.

“Patty…you did!” I whisper. His voice drops an octave or too.

“I couldn’t mention you on TV, so I winked at you. I hoped you would see it and know that I was saying I love you in my ‘eart, even t’ough I couldn’t say it on TV.”

My heart is melting.

“So you haven’t forgotten about me?” I plead. “Even though I want to go home, you not forget me? You love me still? You never go off with Jose Theodore while I not there? You always love me?” I breathe out in a spurt.

“Yes,” he says softly, and I am reminded of how much I love him and why.