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rsadelleSummary: Five times Claude didn't mention her crush on Danny, and one time she did.
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hanet, who wanted girl!Claude with a crush on Danny even before he was divorced. Title from Mandy Moore's "Crush."
Story on AO3
2008
Claude's trying to play it cool, but let's get real: she's not cool. She's a little weird looking, good at hockey, and in the fucking Flyers dressing room. There's no fucking way she's cool.
An elbow knocks into her side. "You're drooling."
"Fuck you," Claude says on automatic.
The guy with the elbow - wide grin, hair not quite as orange as hers, Scott Hartnell, she catalogs - laughs.
Claude flushes. "That's Daniel Briere," she says, fully aware that she sounds like a stupid, starstruck kid.
Hartnell laughs again, not unkindly. "We just call him Danny B. Come on, I'll introduce you."
That's how she meets Danny, and Hartsy for that matter. She's still just a kid and Danny's one of her heroes, someone she always looked up to when she was playing in his hometown and hearing his name on everyone's lips. She thinks he's cute, but right now she's going to be playing with him, and that's so much more important.
*
2009
There's something off about Danny. His play is slipping, and while he's mostly still the same guy in the locker room, it's just a little bit dimmer, like his edges are worn. Claude's pretty sure she's not the only one who's noticed it.
Danny's edges get more and more strained, until Claude almost wants to ask him what's wrong. In her experience, doing that just leads to guys, even the ones who've been her friends for a season or more, thinking she wants to mother them, which she definitely does not.
(If sometimes she fantasizes about Danny leaning on her, accepting her hugs as a thing that makes him feel better, well, it's still less embarrassing than the times she fantasizes about what he would be like in bed. She tries not to, but she's only human, and now she likes him, even above and beyond looking up to him and thinking he's cute.)
Claude doesn't ask, but someone else must, because the rumor that runs around the room and no one denies is that he and Sylvie are having problems, the kind of problems that can end a marriage.
Claude's not proud of the way her heart leaps when she hears that.
*
2010
Claude doesn't do anything but feel guiltily pleased when Danny's divorce is final. It's not that she doesn't like Sylvie, or that she thinks anything is ever going to happen, but it opens up possibilities, even if she's wholly aware they only exist in her mind.
She's friends with Danny by now, close enough that they can throw jokes in French at each other and wear matching smirks when anyone else tries to get them to explain, close enough that she can yell and slam into him with complete and utter abandon when one of them scores and they're on the ice together, close enough that his boys grin and come over to hug her when they show up in the locker room.
Still, it blindsides her when he nudges her at the end of practice one day, middle of the playoffs and really not the time to be making life-changing decisions, and says, "My house is pretty empty. Do you want to live with us next season?"
Claude's mind goes off the rails, and it takes her a minute before she can say, "Uh."
Danny taps her with his stick. "Think about it. It'd be good to have some company, and the boys love you." He grins wide and cheerful. "And I don't cook and I won't expect you to either."
*
2011
Claude can't read the newspaper articles about them, only sits through the news reports because the boys want to watch them and laugh themselves silly at how unrealistic it is for Danny and Claude to come home wearing their jerseys.
The thing is that no one really thinks there's anything there. Everyone, as far as she knows, assumes Claude's a lesbian, just because she hasn't ever had a long-term boyfriend. No one ever asks her. Even Danny's never asked her, never said anything about it, said, "If you bring anyone home," without specifying gender when he laid out the rules when she moved in.
But now Danny's cheerfully telling reporters about salespeople saying, "You're just like a couple," and referring to the kids as "our boys," and Claude's not sure she can take it because she wants that to be true. She wants there to be something there, even though there isn't.
When she moves out in May, she can't bring herself to go any farther than Cherry Hill, and she promises the boys over and over again that she'll come visit them all the time.
*
2012
The offer to play for Berlin comes through Brisson, who conference calls them both in to talk to them about it.
"Let us talk about it," Danny says, "and we'll call you back." They hang up with Brisson and Claude's phone rings with Danny's call. She doesn't know what there is to talk about; if he's going, she's going. It's hockey, and it's hockey with him. She doesn't put it that bluntly to him, but it doesn't take much talking before they're conferencing Brisson back and telling him to make it happen.
Being in Germany is strange. Claude doesn't speak the language, doesn't know anyone but Danny who spends just as much time trying to get to know the rest of their teammates and calling the boys as he does hanging out with her.
Claude flies Ryanne over to stay with her, and doesn't bother correcting anyone - from the almost explicit congratulations of her team to the veiled insinuations of the media to the approving looks she gets from Danny - who thinks Ryanne is her girlfriend. She just needs a friend, and Ryanne is taking the year off from college anyway. It works out.
"I see why you like him," Ryanne says over ice cream in a place where Claude hopes no one else speaks French. "I thought it was all," she waves her spoon, "hero worship or whatever, but he's nice."
"He's the nicest person I know," Claude says. She doesn't mean for it to come out as forlorn as it does, but Ryanne just pats her hand and lets Claude have half her ice cream.
*
2013
Danny shows up in Hearst for the golf tournament with a suitcase, his golf bag, and an ease to his shoulders that wasn't there when Claude last saw him. She maybe clings to him a little harder than necessary when she hugs him, but Danny hugs her back strong and comfortable.
Claude makes herself let go so she can drive him to the house. She let everyone else stay in the hotel, but she's being selfish about this, and wouldn't let him.
They're the only ones home, the rest of Claude's family out catching up with old friends, and Claude gets them both bottles of Gatorade in the kitchen after she shows Danny to the guest room.
"Montreal," she says, since he's not going to bring it up.
Danny shrugs. "Had to go somewhere. They had a good offer, and they were my team when I was a kid."
"Terrible media," Claude says, because there isn't really any other objection she can offer that isn't, "It's not with me."
"Well," Danny says, "Philadelphia."
Claude smiles briefly to concede the point, but it must not come across as very genuine because Danny puts his Gatorade on the counter and moves closer to her.
"Claude," he says, gentle like he thinks she can't handle it, like she isn't routinely thrown into the boards by two hundred-pound D-men, "we all knew this was coming."
"I know," Claude says. There's the burn of tears at the back of her eyes. Maybe she can't handle it. "I thought you were going to finish your career with me." She corrects it to, "With the Flyers," but Danny's eyes go soft like he knows that's not what she meant.
"Claude," he murmurs, so kind and understanding that she can't stand it.
Claude slams her Gatorade onto the counter. "I've had a crush on you," she says, "since I was sixteen years old." There's nothing for her to lose now.
"Claude," he says again, and she can't quite read his tone this time.
"I'm not some kid with a crush on one of her idols anymore," she says. "I know you, and I still-" She turns away, can't look at him anymore, can't finish the sentence.
"Claude," Danny says a third time. It's even softer than the first time, the single syllable of her name filled with more tenderness than she's ever heard him use with anyone. His fingers land on her chin and turn her toward him, and then he's kissing her, lips just as soft as his hand on her face and her name on his tongue.
"I've had a crush on you," he says after he kisses her for one blissful, eternal moment, "since you made me help you test out beds when you moved in and made me buy you a new one."
"Oh," Claude says.
Danny smiles at her, fond, even more so than he usually looks at her. "Yes, oh," he says. There's a slight edge of mocking to it, but he more than makes up for it by kissing her again.
Notes: For
hanet, who wanted girl!Claude with a crush on Danny even before he was divorced. Title from Mandy Moore's "Crush."Story on AO3
2008
Claude's trying to play it cool, but let's get real: she's not cool. She's a little weird looking, good at hockey, and in the fucking Flyers dressing room. There's no fucking way she's cool.
An elbow knocks into her side. "You're drooling."
"Fuck you," Claude says on automatic.
The guy with the elbow - wide grin, hair not quite as orange as hers, Scott Hartnell, she catalogs - laughs.
Claude flushes. "That's Daniel Briere," she says, fully aware that she sounds like a stupid, starstruck kid.
Hartnell laughs again, not unkindly. "We just call him Danny B. Come on, I'll introduce you."
That's how she meets Danny, and Hartsy for that matter. She's still just a kid and Danny's one of her heroes, someone she always looked up to when she was playing in his hometown and hearing his name on everyone's lips. She thinks he's cute, but right now she's going to be playing with him, and that's so much more important.
*
2009
There's something off about Danny. His play is slipping, and while he's mostly still the same guy in the locker room, it's just a little bit dimmer, like his edges are worn. Claude's pretty sure she's not the only one who's noticed it.
Danny's edges get more and more strained, until Claude almost wants to ask him what's wrong. In her experience, doing that just leads to guys, even the ones who've been her friends for a season or more, thinking she wants to mother them, which she definitely does not.
(If sometimes she fantasizes about Danny leaning on her, accepting her hugs as a thing that makes him feel better, well, it's still less embarrassing than the times she fantasizes about what he would be like in bed. She tries not to, but she's only human, and now she likes him, even above and beyond looking up to him and thinking he's cute.)
Claude doesn't ask, but someone else must, because the rumor that runs around the room and no one denies is that he and Sylvie are having problems, the kind of problems that can end a marriage.
Claude's not proud of the way her heart leaps when she hears that.
*
2010
Claude doesn't do anything but feel guiltily pleased when Danny's divorce is final. It's not that she doesn't like Sylvie, or that she thinks anything is ever going to happen, but it opens up possibilities, even if she's wholly aware they only exist in her mind.
She's friends with Danny by now, close enough that they can throw jokes in French at each other and wear matching smirks when anyone else tries to get them to explain, close enough that she can yell and slam into him with complete and utter abandon when one of them scores and they're on the ice together, close enough that his boys grin and come over to hug her when they show up in the locker room.
Still, it blindsides her when he nudges her at the end of practice one day, middle of the playoffs and really not the time to be making life-changing decisions, and says, "My house is pretty empty. Do you want to live with us next season?"
Claude's mind goes off the rails, and it takes her a minute before she can say, "Uh."
Danny taps her with his stick. "Think about it. It'd be good to have some company, and the boys love you." He grins wide and cheerful. "And I don't cook and I won't expect you to either."
*
2011
Claude can't read the newspaper articles about them, only sits through the news reports because the boys want to watch them and laugh themselves silly at how unrealistic it is for Danny and Claude to come home wearing their jerseys.
The thing is that no one really thinks there's anything there. Everyone, as far as she knows, assumes Claude's a lesbian, just because she hasn't ever had a long-term boyfriend. No one ever asks her. Even Danny's never asked her, never said anything about it, said, "If you bring anyone home," without specifying gender when he laid out the rules when she moved in.
But now Danny's cheerfully telling reporters about salespeople saying, "You're just like a couple," and referring to the kids as "our boys," and Claude's not sure she can take it because she wants that to be true. She wants there to be something there, even though there isn't.
When she moves out in May, she can't bring herself to go any farther than Cherry Hill, and she promises the boys over and over again that she'll come visit them all the time.
*
2012
The offer to play for Berlin comes through Brisson, who conference calls them both in to talk to them about it.
"Let us talk about it," Danny says, "and we'll call you back." They hang up with Brisson and Claude's phone rings with Danny's call. She doesn't know what there is to talk about; if he's going, she's going. It's hockey, and it's hockey with him. She doesn't put it that bluntly to him, but it doesn't take much talking before they're conferencing Brisson back and telling him to make it happen.
Being in Germany is strange. Claude doesn't speak the language, doesn't know anyone but Danny who spends just as much time trying to get to know the rest of their teammates and calling the boys as he does hanging out with her.
Claude flies Ryanne over to stay with her, and doesn't bother correcting anyone - from the almost explicit congratulations of her team to the veiled insinuations of the media to the approving looks she gets from Danny - who thinks Ryanne is her girlfriend. She just needs a friend, and Ryanne is taking the year off from college anyway. It works out.
"I see why you like him," Ryanne says over ice cream in a place where Claude hopes no one else speaks French. "I thought it was all," she waves her spoon, "hero worship or whatever, but he's nice."
"He's the nicest person I know," Claude says. She doesn't mean for it to come out as forlorn as it does, but Ryanne just pats her hand and lets Claude have half her ice cream.
*
2013
Danny shows up in Hearst for the golf tournament with a suitcase, his golf bag, and an ease to his shoulders that wasn't there when Claude last saw him. She maybe clings to him a little harder than necessary when she hugs him, but Danny hugs her back strong and comfortable.
Claude makes herself let go so she can drive him to the house. She let everyone else stay in the hotel, but she's being selfish about this, and wouldn't let him.
They're the only ones home, the rest of Claude's family out catching up with old friends, and Claude gets them both bottles of Gatorade in the kitchen after she shows Danny to the guest room.
"Montreal," she says, since he's not going to bring it up.
Danny shrugs. "Had to go somewhere. They had a good offer, and they were my team when I was a kid."
"Terrible media," Claude says, because there isn't really any other objection she can offer that isn't, "It's not with me."
"Well," Danny says, "Philadelphia."
Claude smiles briefly to concede the point, but it must not come across as very genuine because Danny puts his Gatorade on the counter and moves closer to her.
"Claude," he says, gentle like he thinks she can't handle it, like she isn't routinely thrown into the boards by two hundred-pound D-men, "we all knew this was coming."
"I know," Claude says. There's the burn of tears at the back of her eyes. Maybe she can't handle it. "I thought you were going to finish your career with me." She corrects it to, "With the Flyers," but Danny's eyes go soft like he knows that's not what she meant.
"Claude," he murmurs, so kind and understanding that she can't stand it.
Claude slams her Gatorade onto the counter. "I've had a crush on you," she says, "since I was sixteen years old." There's nothing for her to lose now.
"Claude," he says again, and she can't quite read his tone this time.
"I'm not some kid with a crush on one of her idols anymore," she says. "I know you, and I still-" She turns away, can't look at him anymore, can't finish the sentence.
"Claude," Danny says a third time. It's even softer than the first time, the single syllable of her name filled with more tenderness than she's ever heard him use with anyone. His fingers land on her chin and turn her toward him, and then he's kissing her, lips just as soft as his hand on her face and her name on his tongue.
"I've had a crush on you," he says after he kisses her for one blissful, eternal moment, "since you made me help you test out beds when you moved in and made me buy you a new one."
"Oh," Claude says.
Danny smiles at her, fond, even more so than he usually looks at her. "Yes, oh," he says. There's a slight edge of mocking to it, but he more than makes up for it by kissing her again.