Work Text:
It was a small, stupid, useless thrill in the back of his head when he got word of the trade. Laurent tried determinedly, almost meanly, to squash it. He didn’t want to let himself hope—couldn’t, because then he’d expect. He knew it would only be unfair of him to expect: unfair to himself, but more to the point, unfair to his team.
So he tried, ruthlessly, to kill the thought, but—unsurprisingly, maybe, given its persistence over seven years of professional hockey so far—the thought resisted. Worse, now, since he’d been reminded of the thing he tried so hard never to let cross his mind; pushed it down, shrugged it away, ever since it had tainted him in the first place, had made him want…
It wasn’t longing, anymore, and it wasn’t hope. It was only—well, Laurent would challenge anyone, any goaltender, not to feel a twinge of jealousy when it came to the way that the Blue Jackets courted their goalies.
Don’t go there, Laurent reminded himself. Don’t let it become an expectation.
Stupid, he thought. Useless, because it wasn’t like they were getting Foligno, and then he shut that thought down, because it was about his most useless yet.
So: they’d landed Dubois. So: he was coming from a team known for its very public, very demonstrative appreciation of its goalies. It was also a team the guy was pretty clearly itching to get away from, one that had left a bad taste in his mouth. Dubois wouldn’t want to be reminded of it. He wouldn’t want to be prodded or prompted or asked. Hinted at. Asked of. Laurent could control himself.
The thought niggled, unmoved by his attempts to be rid of it, but Laurent was long used to that by now. He planted it behind the old, solid wall in his head and reminded himself, sharply, that he had no right. That he would happily take what his team wanted to give him. That maybe—and this thought was not just sharp but a little mean, too—maybe if he spent less time thinking about stupid, useless things like what if, and more time on his puck tracking and blocker work, then maybe he’d have already earned the things that niggled at him so badly, the things that he wanted to be able to expect. Maybe if he worked harder. Maybe, maybe, maybe.