Author: Blind Squirrel PM
"Deke": A Canadian Term meaning "To deceive someone". After a life altering event, Ivan is forced to move to Canada, leaving behind everything he knows and loves. Matthew and his twin Alfred hide in plain sight from a past that cuts deep.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Romance - Russia & Canada - Chapters: 14 - Words: 61,259 - Reviews: 126 - Favs: 92 - Follows: 45 - Updated: 07-13-11 - Published: 06-10-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7070522
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
DEKE by Sony_Mouse
AN: Based on the Hitachi Twins from Ouran High School (the idea anyways). Kinda wondered what it would be like if Matthew was trying to keep people confused about who he was, but at the same time badly wanting someone to recognize him.
To "Deke": an ice hockey technique which a player uses to get past an opponent or "fake out" an opposing player.
In Canada, the term deke has come to mean "To deceive someone"
That night, the cold moon gently illuminated all the little snowflakes on their journey from the sky to the silver locks of a sad, confused little boy.
"Grandpa, I don't want you to leave" The little boy's bottom lip trembled as tears threatened to escape from the corners of his eyes.
The large man gently placed his hand on his young grandson, trying to give him the confidence he did not feel.
"And I do not want to leave you my strong, brave Ivan. But the choice has been taken from me. And while I am gone you will need to be even braver to watch after your Papa and your sisters. Do you think you can do that?"
The little boy ignored the question, sniffling quietly as he struggled to keep from latching onto his grandfather and never letting him go.
"Why can't I go with you, why can't you write me, why… why won't you be coming back?" The little boy's voice waivered along with his resolve.
The older man looked torn, perhaps rethinking his plan of leaving, but he knew there was no other choice.
"Because my little brave Ivan, there may not be another chance for your old grandpa to leave, but I promise you… as much sadness as it brings me to go, I will find a way to bring you and everyone else with me to Canada. One day, we'll all be together again. The journey will be long, but remember… remember that even when our hearts are breaking, we must carry on. One foot in front of the other".
The little boy's eyes closed in pain, as tears poured forth. He stepped back and angrily slapped his grandfather's hand away.
"No! No! No! I don't want to go to Canada and leave mama behind and I don't want YOU to leave. I hate stupid Canada, and I hate YOU!"
Toronto, Ontario, Canada - 1998
'Fate has a funny way of making fools of us all', Ivan thought to himself as he stared up into the canopy above him.
The September air was slightly crisp, signaling the change of summer to fall. While the leaves had not yet started their descent to the ground, there was an aura of the impending seasonal change all around.
The sun struggled to creep through the thick foliage as Ivan continued to stare up at into the tress above him while positioned on the wooden bench below.
He wondered how the leaves must feel knowing their time was almost at an end. If they could feel themselves slowly dying and simply chose to let go, or did they hang on with every remaining ounce of strength until that very last telling moment before their withered, weak bodies fell gracefully to the earth.
Ivan sighed in commiseration for the poor leaves. He himself had felt like he had been dying for some months now. If he had his choice, he would have simply slipped away until no one noticed he existed anymore. And in many ways he felt that this was what he was doing now.
But his grandfather… his poor lonely grandfather, who had suffered so much for so long, had made him promise to try when he brought him here. He had made him promise to see if this new life in Canada could be worth sticking around for.
So far, Ivan was not convinced it was.
Grudgingly Ivan stretched out his long muscular legs and slowly began to stand up. He felt as if he should be somewhere, or off doing something but truthfully did not know what that could be. His college classes were over for the day, and it was only 1pm in the afternoon.
He could go home, but the house his grandfather had so painstakingly provided for him was filled to the brim with memories from home… from his Russia… from his family.
It would only make him feel worse.
But as his grandfather would say, "Just carry on… one step in front of the other."
So Ivan continued on down the path of the beautifully landscaped private college, He kept thinking that he should be admiring the lovely tree layout as well as the nicely manicured ponds.
But the truth was he would have traded it all in for the rundown ex-government owned college he'd be going to back home. It may not have been rich in money, but the people had been kind, and the scenery comfortable and familiar.
Then again… it wouldn't be the same now anyways.
While Ivan slowly meandered along the path, a young couple walked by hand-in-hand, obviously lost in the emotions of their new love. Ivan would have preferred to ignore them or to simply look away. But as usual his impressive stature and long overcoat made him stand out easily in the crowd.
The young couple stared up at him with concern, while the girlfriend actually moved to stand behind her man.
The act made Ivan scowl and the feelings of resentment towards his new "home" began to fester once more. Weren't Canadians supposed to be kind and polite and everything wonderful? He had yet to see any indications of that.
No one approached him by their own choice. People talked about him, stared at him, pointed at him. Their looks were filled with pity, and caution, and fear.
He hated them, almost as much as he hated himself right now.
For the most part the Canadians were still stuck in that cold war mentality, fearful of the foreigner who could barely speak their language. But Ivan didn't particularly feel like going out of his way to change their mind anyways.
Ivan didn't particularly feel like doing much these days. Or maybe it was the opposite and he simply felt too much, either way it left him feeling numb.
But for his grandfather's sake he would continue to attend school, for his grandfather's sake he would wake up in the mornings, for his grandfather's sake he would continue to eat his meals and for his grandfather he would carry on…
… one foot in front of the other.
Despite the feelings to the contrary, it had only been a couple of weeks since Ivan had began attending St-Michael's College.
St-Michael's was a Private upper class college whose sole purpose was to cater to the most talented of young Canadians, no matter the subject, as long as their parents could pay of course.
Back in Russia, Ivan had been a gifted student, with supposedly above average intelligence. His grades and accomplishments in the area of history and military tactical strategies alone had landed him a spot in the school.
His grandfather had wondered if maybe he would have preferred to look at a career in the Royal Military College of Canada instead, but Ivan had adamantly refused. Despite his love of history, his ability to name dates of complete insignificance to the average person, or the way his mind could truly comprehend complicated military strategies, the life of the military was just too close to what he'd left behind. Too close to what he was trying so hard to run away from.
So instead his grandfather had worked hard to get him into St-Michael's College instead. A few calls to some old USSR government friends who had long ago defected to Canada, and who now worked for the embassy had been enough to raise the funds needed to provide for the tuition. The Russian embassy was more than happy to help back the funds needed to help along a gifted student, a gifted RUSSIAN student that was.
Of course there was still the language barrier. Ivan had lived deep in Russia all his life and had not spoken a word of English before moving here two months ago. His intelligence had made the process quicker that it might have been for someone else, but he still lacked many conversational skills, and thus, social skills. By now he could comprehend most common phrases on paper, but still had trouble understanding most accents, and wasn't as confident when he spoke out loud.
For the moment, the school was willing to overlook this small problem in light of Ivan's gifts, but he would have to work quickly in remedying the problem lest the school lose their patience. Ivan was no good to them if he could not be paraded about like a toy soldier.
And it was with these thoughts in his mind Ivan currently stood trying to decipher a sign that showed directions around the campus. A single word had caught his eye, and he was trying to read the English letters and pronounce them in his heavy accent.
Ivan repeated the words a few more times as if trying to decide if he should be curious or indifferent. A cool breeze drifted by, ruffling wisps of his silver hair; bringing back memories that he really didn't want to think about right now. But as much as they hurt, they also called to him in a way that made his heart clench and ache.
In the end the curiosity won him over and Ivan spun on his left heel and swung his right leg around so that he was now facing the direction of the rink.
Maybe just a peek couldn't hurt, he thought to himself. What harm could smelling the ice in the air, or watching as rich, spoiled children, who'd never known hunger or pain, flail about on the ice.
Almost without knowing that he was doing it, Ivan's steps sped up; his head no longer looked forlornly on the ground as he kept an eye out for what he assumed would be a very familiar building. And as he turned the corner, the unmistakable shape of an indoor Ice Rink appeared before his eyes. It was grander than anything he'd ever stepped in before, but in the end it would hold the same flat, cold slippery surface needed in any rink.
As Ivan walked through the double doors used to maintain the proper temperature in the rink, he noticed a schedule on the wall. The majority of the time slots were used up in the mornings and late afternoons. This made sense, as it was meant to work around the student's schedule. He couldn't make out all of the words, but knew enough that there was Figure Skating, Free skating, something called Broom Ball, and of course… Hockey.
For the first time in a long time, a small smile threatened to inch its way up the corner of Ivan's mouth. It was minute, almost unnoticeable, but he felt it all the same.
Ivan moved into the main portion of the rink and took note that almost all the lights were turned off save a few near the other end. He could hear the carving sounds of blades as they sliced through the ice, and heard the oh-so familiar sound of a slap as a puck was catapulted towards the net.
Once he was able to look around the rink boards, Ivan was surprised to see only one hockey player on the rink. With all the noise and sounds of action, it had sounded like a few players were going at it.
Instead he was greeted with the sight of a young man on the rink dressed in the traditional black hockey skates, a pair of jeans that seemed an ill choice to work out in, and a red jersey proudly displaying a white Canadian Maple leaf on the front, and the words 'A.F. Jones' on the back. His hockey helmet hid most of his features from view, as did the quick pace he now used to speed around the ring.
To say Ivan was surprised was an understatement. This young man didn't just skate… he flew across the ice. Pucks were being simultaneously shot at the boards as well as at the net, then the player would quickly race to intercept his own goals. Not only that, but Ivan's tactician mind noticed that this was no ordinary messing around, the hockey player seemed to have an action plan, a well orchestrated drill that was above the average hockey player's grasp.
Simply put, this kid could play hockey.
Ivan was so lost in his calculations of the young man's moves that it took him nearly by surprise when the hockey player spun on his blade, raised his stick high and hit the puck directly at Ivan.
Despite the fact that the puck had not been hit at full force, it was in all likelihood only meant to scare him and whiz by the right side of his head, years of honed instincts forced Ivan to lift his unprotected hand and catch the wayward puck.
And with that action, silence filled the air.
If the Canadian had seemed surprised, it was nothing to how Ivan felt, well … surprise and pain. The human hand wasn't meant to catch a puck without a glove to soften the blow. Ivan's hand screamed in agony, as his eyes widened fractionally. His pride not allowing him to show how much the instinctual action had hurt him.
A.F. Jones looked as if he'd been ready to yell out a snappy insult, something along the lines of "Go Away" or "Mind your own business", but his eyes couldn't stop looking at the puck that Ivan now held in his upraised hand.
Slowly Ivan lifted his left hand in salutation, and forced a fake smile onto his face.
" Mister A.F. Jones… this… yours?" His heavy accent instantly revealing that he was not from around here.
The young man in question looked temporarily confused, and annoyed, before a light seem to go off in his head and he glanced back over his shoulder at the letters on his back.
"Alfred" corrected the quietly annoyed voice "… and yes". The young man then took off his helmet to reveal his sweat-soaked wavy blond hair.
Ivan couldn't help but notice how the soft hair framed the pale face and exercise induced red cheeks to perfection. He cursed himself for even making such a stupid observation, the same type of observation that had partially led to the horrible events that brought him here in the first place.
The young man's blue, no… almost violet eyes, narrowed in distrust as he looked back and forth between Ivan and the puck. Neither man seemed keen to speak, but none more so than the hockey player.
"Vell, Alfred… play?" Ivan asked holding up the puck still being clutched in his bruised hand.
Ivan had not entered the rink with the intention of playing, but how could he resist after witnessing that display, and the annoyance he felt from the other man did nothing but spur that old competitive feelings deep within his chest.
Alfred's pale lips turned into a set frown as he jammed his helmet back on and began to skate away.
Without thinking about it Ivan pitched the puck into the young man's back, causing him to stumble a few steps. Alfred turned to look back over his shoulder and a softly muttered, "You've got to be kidding me", could be heard.
"Play?" Ivan asked again, this time with an upraised brow and larger grin than before.
"Or… scared of Russian Hockey?" he asked in his broken English.
The Canadian's eyes opened wide in answer to this statement, and quicker than Ivan could follow, he was off and flying towards the door. Ivan almost thought he was going to lunge at him before he saw the young man jump onto the padded floor and reach into his bag near the rink door, throwing him a pair of skates that had been inside.
He then jumped back onto the ice and began to hit the pucks as hard as he could against the walls, a direct challenge to Ivan.
Ivan's grin soon grew into a full out smile as he began to unlace his shoes and replace them with the tight fitting skates. They weren't quite his size, but if he left them loose enough they should be ok for now.
He soon found a stick nearby and joined the smaller player on the ice. Ivan was rusty, he'd not played in some time, in fact he'd not done much in some time. But no one could ever forget the feel of the ice as you carved your blades into the surface. Only on skates could Ivan ever truly feel "light on his feet" with his size and stature. When he was on the ice, he too felt like he could "fly", fly like the Canadian he'd just watched play not moments before.
The one-on-one competition lasted who knows how long. But it was the figure skaters getting ready for their time on the rink that forced the two off the ice, neither man willing to admit defeat to the other.
Ivan thought he'd played well considering he had a very sore right hand, and had not played in so long. But as the Canadian had been well into his practice by the time Ivan had shown up, maybe the odds had evened out. Either way whatever friendly camaraderie he'd been expecting to experience once they got off the ice was soon proven to be a false hope.
Upon seeing the young girls, the Canadian seemed to realize the time and hurried to change into his normal shoes. He was in such a rush he nearly tripped over his own feet on his way out of the rink.
Surprised at the frantic actions of his competitor, Ivan called out to him while still wearing the borrowed skates.
"ALFRED! Yours?" he yelled loudly while pointing to the skates.
The Canadian stopped dead in his tracks, and raced back to where the Russian was now unlacing the skates.
While Alfred was by no means a small man, he couldn't help but look that way next to the good sized Russian. But despite this, there was no look of being intimidated from the smaller man, only one of annoyance at Ivan's pace.
As soon as the skates were placed in Alfred's hands, the Canadian mumbled a half hearted "Good Game" and turned to run off again, but Ivan held fast onto the blades, causing him to stumble backwards toward the bigger man.
"Ivan" he calmly pronounced for the Canadian's sake.
"What?" came the confused reply in the same soft spoken but annoyed voice.
Ivan smiled down at the other man in what he hoped looked sincere, and pointed to himself with his free hand.
"Ivan" he said again.
Alfred's soft blue and violet eyes looked temporarily guilty for not having asked in the first place, before the more familiar look of mistrust and uneasiness replaced it.
"Good game… Ivan" he nearly whispered, but with more sincerity than before. And this time he yanked the skates away for good measure and ran off to wherever it was he needed to be.
Those weren't Matthew's skates lest anyone wonder how Ivan could be sharing the same foot size.
LOOSELY, and I do mean loosely based off of St-Michaels College in Toronto. Only thing they share is location and a great hockey team. I'm kinda thinking this is a mix of St-Michaels and Upper Canada College.
I apologize to anyone who is Russian, who has lived in Russia, or who speaks Russian. I can only go off of my time living in East Germany, and my few Russian Friends I met there. I'm going to try and not make up anything that is far fetched and hopefully the story will cover for the few inaccuracies.
Wish I cold speak Russian… would make some upcoming scenes easier to write….
I should do a story with Germany….
I apologize to Canadians, most of the resentment is in Ivan's head, and they are not actually that bad in this story, plus considering the aura he's giving off… I'd be backing away too.
Broom ball is a popular University/College sport in Canada. It consists of fake broom like sticks, a big ball (kinda like Dodge ball) and NO skates, you wear normal shoes. It's a lot of fun.
Please forgive spelling and grammar errors, I'm not a pro writer, nor do I really intend to be. This is just for fun.