Fic:: Brooks/Mike "A Career of Being Blue"

Title: A Career of Being Blue
Pairing: Brooks/Mike
Summary: Set when Brooks moves to California. (I know we talked about maybe a smaller market but it kind of works for the fic I am working on for Christmas? We can switch if needed!)
Author's Notes: Written for

mausi who asked for Mike and Brooks and who owns my SOUL and my little fandom that will. ;) Second of four request fics! Angsty. Which is a total balance out for the sap of the last Mikey and Brooks fic I wrote.

Brooks slipped his cell phone out of his pocket, glared at the empty screen and slipped it back in to catch what the guy next to him was saying. He hadn’t really been expecting a phone call, but it would have been nice. Three days since he moved to LA and he has gotten calls from most of his old teammates to check that he was settling in but not one from Mike. He guesses that the phone works both ways but his pride doesn’t let him follow that line of thinking.

He finds himself surprisingly into playing for a team that he wouldn’t have given a second thought to in the years previous. The blood is young and his new teammates give him a surge of energy when he is on the ice. It is just practice for now, but he hasn’t left a work out with so much buzz in his veins in recent memory and it is a bit of a relief.

He had mostly avoided invitations out but everyone had gone out that night and he wasn’t going to be the boring old guy. (Even if, in reality, that is exactly what he was.) He had bought the first round, which had included 4 Sprite’s for the people who weren’t able to drink but who would play the good Schnookies and drive the older players home. Initially he had prepared to be a DD but by the third beer he was relieved to find the alcohol a warm presence in his blood.

His pocket vibrated and his hands fumbled a little while he grabbed at it. The little screen told him it wasn’t who he wanted, but instead Boyd (who had called him three times in three days which was entirely more than Brooks had wanted). “Hello?”

“Laich,” Boyd answered back, his voice low. Brooks looked at the clock over the bar and mentally tracked what time it was.

“You are calling me at 2 in the morning Boy-o?” Brooks took a swig of his beer. “And here I thought you didn’t care.”

Boyd let out something half way between a laugh and a grunt. “I have spent most of my evening cleaning up your mess.” Brooks felt the furrow in between his eyes but before he could form a question Boyd went on.

“You having fun on the West coast Brooks?”

Brooks didn’t even have to lie, “Its nice enough.”

“That’s good,” Boyd’s voice got softer and then Brooks heard a click before Boyd continued louder. “Cause I would hate to think that you threw something good away for someplace that isn’t worth it.”

Brooks lifted his hand at one of the guy’s concerned looks and made a motion of going outside. His legs felt unsteady as he got up but he weaved his way to the little smokers haven outside of the door, which was completely empty.

“I threw away something good?” Brooks asked incredulously, shocked at how much emotion was bubbling up. “He practically pushed me out the door and hasn’t looked back.”

Boyd let out a long breath on the other end, “You guys have the market cornered on thick, don’t you?”

There was just enough alcohol in him for that sentence to take a while to reach his brain. He licked his lips and pressed his thumbs to his eyelid. “If he misses me, he knows my number.”

Boyd lets out a frustrated sound and hangs up, leaving Brooks to stare at the picture of Mike’s stupid face he has as his background. He flips the phone closed with more force than necessary and walks back in the bar.

Grant, the French Canadian goalie, arches an eyebrow at him but he shakes it off and forces a smile. He makes a motion at the bartender who rolls his eyes and starts to fill up a line of small glasses.

“Who wants a shot?”