After she graduates from Samwell, Alicia moves to New York.
She’s got a modelling contract, she’s going to be in Vogue, she’s going to be
on Broadway – she’s going to be all these huge things according to her agent.
It’s not that she doesn’t want them, necessarily, it’s that…it’s that she’s
twenty-three and she’s from Chatham, Massachusetts and she somehow thought she
was going to be married well before she had a career. But, it’s fine. She’s got
an apartment in Manhattan and
everything is exciting and gorgeous and all the people she meets are dull and
gorgeous and after only a month, she’s tired of it.
She’s theoretically dating a Broadway producer at that
point. He has a higher opinion of himself and his tastes than anyone she’s ever
in her life met, but she doesn’t really want to turn him down because this is
how people get parts in things. But when he shows up with some tickets for a
new experimental performance of Swan Lake set to the Beatles, she draws the
“What if we did something a little more…fun,” she suggests.
“Like what?” the producer asks, clearly bewildered.
“Well I think the Pens are going to be in town playing the
Rangers on Saturday,” she says. “Can you get tickets to that?”
He clearly doesn’t know what the Pens or the Rangers are, but
he goes away and comes back with tickets. Alicia’s just so damn relieved to be
going to a perfectly normal hockey game that she can’t contain her excitement.
The seats the producer got them are good. They’re just
behind the boards, liable to get sprayed with ice if anyone makes a serious
turn too close by.
“Does – does the guy in jersey 11 have the same name as
you?” the producer asks, glowering at the ice while the players skate by.
Alicia doesn’t have to look to know who he’s talking about.
“That’s Bad Bob Zimmermann,” she says. She’s having fun
explaining hockey to him in a condescending tone, since it was how all of their
previous dates had been, just in reverse. “His name’s got two Ns at the end of
She doesn’t mention that part of the reason she’s laughing
is because back in Samwell, she and her roommates had gotten silly drunk one
night and started evaluating the prospects of each of the hockey players Alicia
had taped to her walls, and they’d decided that it was Bad Bob who she ought to
marry because then she wouldn’t have to change her last name.
“No, but I would,” she insisted at the time. “I’d have to
add an N.”
“And forever make copy editors cry,” her friend had replied.
The producer shakes his head in confusion at this whole
sport, when suddenly three hockey players slam into the boards right in front
of them. Alicia finds herself face to face with Bob Zimmermann himself and for
some reason he’s looking at her, his brow furrowed just slightly in confusion.
“I’m telling you, it was Alicia Zimmerman,” Bob says,
smacking away the towel someone’s trying to snap him with.
“I don’t know, man, that’s the most starry eyed I’ve ever
seen you over a girl,” the goalie says.
“Of course I was starry eyed, she’s the new face of
Valentino,” Bob says. This is going to be a problem. That’s not something he’s
supposed to know off the top of his head. He has to cover. His team can’t know
he’s been more or less fanboying over this girl for the better part of three
months. “And she was in that play we saw the last time we were in New York.”
The goalie considers. “Who was she?”
“She was the girl,” Bob says. “You know, the really good one
who could act.”
“Blonde?” the goalie asks. Bob nods. “Those blue eyes you
could see even across the theatre?”
“Yeah,” Bob agrees.
“Why are you still in here then?” the goalie demands. “She’s
probably still out there. Go ask her on a date.”
Bob shakes his head, but the goalie, Johnson, grabs him by
“Bob,” he says. “This is crucial. Go ask Alicia Zimmerman
out on a date.”
“Merde, okay,” Bob
says, recoiling from Johnson’s intensity. It’s not actually that bad an idea,
he thinks, as he walks back towards the stands. Alicia hadn’t looked overly
enthusiastic about the man she was sitting next to, so maybe he’s got a chance.
He happens to catch her and the guy in the suit just before
they leave the rink.
“Sorry, you’re Alicia Zimmerman right?” Bob asks.
Her smile could power all of New York it’s so bright.
“You’re Bad Bob,” she says, completely ignoring the man next
to her. He looks miffed, Bob thinks, but he’s also about half the size Bob is
so he’s not worried. “I mean, you’re Bob Zimmermann. With two Ns.”
Bob laughs and Alicia keeps smiling, and the Broadway
producer disappears in a snit.
Alicia never does get around to changing her last name.
“What’s Johnson’s birthday again?” Holster wonders out loud.
“January 1st,” Bitty replies. “He said it was something about being easy to remember.”
“Oh, we missed it over break,” Holster said.
“Don’t you worry, I sent him a birthday pie slice. His favorite, raspberry chocolate.”
The fifth time it happened, it was after Johnson had given Bitty dibs.
“So, why’d he give Bitty dibs if he didn’t even do anything?” Ransom complained.
“Oh, he said something about plot progression, but that boy is just so strange! I told him he should go see the trainer because he’s limping a little, the last game was so rough on him and I don’t think he’s been taking care of himself properly.” Bitty sighed.
The nth time it happened, it was at the graduation that Bitty almost missed because of his concussion.
“Oh, Johnson’s decorated his hat in that awful green,” he noted.
“Goalies are weird brah.”
“Can you believe that’s his favorite color? That boy mystifies me.”
“You know a weird amount of specific information about Johnson, brah,” said Shitty.
“Really? But it’s pretty common information.”
Before Johnson left that day, he came to see Bitty.
“Hey so, it’s been good playing with you this year,” he said.
“It was so nice playing with you, too!”
“And thanks, for fleshing me out,” Johnson continued. “I know canonically I’m just an extra but you’ve made it pretty clear that you’ve integrated me normally into the work and I appreciate that.”
“Oh, um that’s weird. But you’re welcome I guess?”
Johnson smiled and gave Bitty a big smacking kiss. Then left with a wink and a wave.
i???? still don’t know what i’m doing but this is fun so let’s go!! this is gonna be Johnson-centric w/multiple parts, heavy BittyJohnson, some Johnson/Parse, and some Johnson/pb&j (pb&jj?) because it turns out i like to mix my trash.
this part is nsfw (johnson/oc). there will be bittyjohnson later i promise. (read here on ao3 instead)
Later on, when Johnson tries to
pinpoint what went wrong, he finds that it all can be traced back to two big
The first had been falling in love with
The second had been underestimating
He’s not entirely sure how avoidable
his first mistake had been; there had been alarm bells ringing in his head from
the get-go, but he’d ignored them all. Once his emotions had gained traction,
had accumulated momentum, there was no going back.
As a result, he’d crashed and burned.
But then, his Feelings had warned him, hadn’t they?
The second mistake—well. Turns out love
is a much stronger force than Johnson had ever expected.
Hi my name is joe fox’trot metareference johnson and i have short brown hair like fox fur (that’s how i got my name) with light brown streaks and warm brown eyes like flat beer and a lot of people tell me i look like my big brother john johnson (AN: if u don’t know who he is get da hell out of here!) i’m also a hockey player, and i go to a very gay school called Samwell in Massachusetts where i’m in my first year (I’m eighteen). i’m a hockey bro (in case you couldn’t tell) and i wear mostly hats. i love dick’s sporting goods and i buy all my clothes from there. for example today i was wearing a hoodie. i was walking outside the Haus. a lot of lax bros stared at me. i put my middle finger up at them.