Bathtub fic + time travel, Murray/Fleury
I have never heard of bathtub fic before, so I’m just assuming it’s a fic that… takes place in a bathtub? Leave me to my delusions if not.
One minute Matt is digging through his bag for his keys after practice, and the next thing he knows he’s in a bathroom with sea-foam green wallpaper, his pants and the edge of his shirt soaking wet because he’s in a tub, a full, occupied tub, and someone is cursing in French in an achingly familiar voice.
It’s Flower across from him—younger and skinnier and shocked, but still recognizably Flower.
The water sloshes over the side as Flower tries to scramble to his feet—which, Matt would too if their situations were reversed and a stranger had just dropped in on him in the bath—but Flower loses his balance and Matt’s heart lurches into his throat. He has a sudden vision of Flower cracking his head open against the porcelain and giving himself a(nother? another concussion? or just a—) concussion, and grabs for him before he can fall. His skin is warm against Matt’s hand as he drags him back down, and Matt lets go as soon as the thought registers.
Flower stares at him, eyes huge, and he’s so young, he can’t be more than a year or two past the draft. Matt was never that young, he doesn’t think. He can’t have been.
“Sorry,” he says, babbling as his nerves overtake him. He can usually feel a jump coming, but not this one, and all the water sloshing around is making him decidedly nauseous. “I’m sorry for scaring you, I don’t really have control over this. I promise I’ll get out of your hair soon. Just, please, can you stop moving for a minute? I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Flower asks, breathing hard, but at least he’s stopped trying to get out. He’s got his legs bent up in front of him, and Matt stays on his side of the tub and keeps his eyes on Flower’s face.
It’s a question with a lot of answers. He is—was? his mind whispers. Will be?—a teammate and a friend and a partner. They have history between them, in the shape of Flower’s fingers on Matt’s hips and the weight of the Cup as he passed it to him, and Flower is (is, is, always present tense) one of the most important people in Matt’s life.
And Matt is the guy who took Flower’s job and his team and his city. That’s who the fuck he is.
None of that is now, though. None of that is here, and it’s impossible to fit what they are (were, will be, have been) down into a single introduction. Still, Matt has to try, at least if he doesn’t want Flower calling the cops on him.
He’ll tell Flower they’re teammates, he decides. That’s most of the truth, and anyway, everything else is too complicated: a tangle of emotions and history that he can’t get into, not with this Flower. Not when he can’t even pick up the phone to call his Flower.
Still, when he opens his mouth, that’s not quite what comes out.
“I’m your backup,” he finds himself saying, wet sleeve clinging to his skin as he holds out a hand. “I’m Matt.”
