Je t'aime, tu sais?

Patrice fumbled around for the hand towel he had set on the counter and brought its soft, dark blue surface to his face.
Wiping the water from his eyes, he lifted his head to watch himself clear the remaining liquid from his face. With the newfound quiet of the silenced sink, he heard Jamie sigh and rustle in his bed through the open bathroom door.
You must've been one lonely dude, he thought to himself, smiling in the mirror, not even able to remember what his life was like before he met her.
He ditched the towel on the bathroom counter and stiffly made his way back onto the carpeted floor of his bedroom, heading straight for his girl to deliver a kiss he felt might burst through his chest if he waited a moment longer. His elbow cracked as he lowered himself over her and gently kissed her temple not once, but twice, and then delicately bumped her cheek with his nose.
She smiled, still half asleep, and blindly reached for him with her tired hand.
"Go back to sleep, mon amour," he purred in French, tucking her hand back under the down comforter and making sure the rest of her was completely covered. He kissed her again, sure to swipe any stray hairs he may have pulled over her face with his five o'clock shadow back behind her ear and made his way to the kitchen, shutting his bedroom door behind him.
The room to the guest door was closed with a sleeping Emily behind it, and Patrice raised his hands over his head in a long stretch, yawning audibly, and staring out the portrait window out the back of his kitchen.
The lazy sun slowly made its way through the sleeping Boston buildings, giving the city a glowing yellow color that wasn't quiet daylight yet.
He yawned again as he scratched his belly absentmindedly, still trying to recover from last night's festivities.
He was startled be a noise--a body sliding off of his leather couch--and then as he heard the familiar jingle of a dog's collar his mind was flooded with memories of last night, Hangover-style.
It came back to him in waves.
He remembered Marchy carrying the 80 pound bull dog down the stairs, howling in laughter as the two of them had used Soupy's old apartment key to stealthly break into he and Meghan's apartment and steal their teammate's beloved dog.
"Oh fuck," he mumbled, looking down as Zoro took a seat at his feet, looking up at him expectantly.
"Oh FUCK," he hissed, his hands finding his hair. Zoro made a soft whining noise and tilted his head, confused. His tongue flopped out and within a matter of milliseconds he looked content again.
Patrice stepped over him as his heart raced, hoping to find Soupy asleep on the couch. He looked over the back of his leather couch and his stomach dropped.
No Soupy.
"Where's your dad?" He asked Zoro, turning around and leaning back on the couch, regretting everything that happened all at once yesterday, making mental promises to himself that the good did not outweigh the bad of last night, and this was his punishment for letting lose.
He sat on the back of the couch and folded an arm across his chest, propping up his other's elbow so he could hold his hand in his head and give a self-loathing sigh.
Firstly, how could he be such an asshole? Like, he knew Zoro was Soupy's and Meghan wasn't really that into him, and Soupy had told him that Zoro was 100% his and that she would never take him back to Toronto--they had agreed upon that in the fighting that preceded the ultimate breakup--but still. What kind of asshole creeps around an apartment and lifts an 80 pound bull dog?
A fucking asshole, that's who, he decided.
An asshole who doesn't think about the consequences of his actions.
Secondly, this had to have been after Looch, Britt, Quaider, and Dougie had split, because they were definitely in his audi. So, where the fuck was Soupy?
Then he remembered the was only one other place he could be.
Emily.
"Oh jesus christ," Patrice spat, dramatically throwing his hands down at his thighs.
Zoro gave a whine and pawed at the guest door.
"Fucking hell," Patrice whispered, bending forward, his elbows on his knees. He bit one of his fingers.
He was such an asshole. Hey everybody! Jamie's sister's in town! Let's all get drunk like real assholes, steal a dog, and then one of you can sleep with her!
He knew Soupy wasn't a bad guy, and honestly had thought about setting them up on a date in a month or so when Soupy was in a better place and Emily was more settled--of course with Jamie's permission, too--but... fuck.
This could cause a lot of problems that could've easily been avoided if Patrice had just made the professional decision to not let it all hang out on a Friday evening. He'd been disciplined his whole life; this seemed to be further confirmation that he should never take a day off.
Patrice paced, his bare feet padding on the hardwood floor silently as he fixed his hands together behind his head. He wore his Ralph Lauren plaid pajama pants and no shirt.
Lord knows how his drunk asshole-ish self found those after apparently being a drunk asshole last night.
Soupy and Emily sleeping together would cause problems because of many reasons, he thought, making his way into the kitchen and throwing on a pot of coffee. Jamie never said it was ok to set Emily up with anyone--even though he never meant for it to happen last night! Also, Soupy was in a dark place so, like, sex with another women would be like, the last thing he needed.
Ok, don't panic Patrice, he instructed himself, leaning forward, his palms on the dark granite kitchen counter.
Mistakes happen.
Was he responsible for them?
Fuck yeah you are, he told himself. 'Cause you were a drunk asshole that stole somebody's dog.
Zoro whined again, pawing at the guest bedroom door.
"What?!" Patrice hissed, showing his dog his palms in a fit of helplessness.
Something vibrated on the countertop next to the coffee pot.
A phone.
He grabbed it. It was white.
His was black.
It displayed a text.
From Katrina.
"Fucking MARCHY?!" Patrice breathed in amazement, whirling around, looking for all of these people that were supposedly in his modestly sized, two-bedroom apartment but were no where in sight. "What the fuck..." he whispered, defeated.
Zoro barked, causing Patrice to jump and swear in French again.
Then, his stomach dropped.
There was only one other place Marchand could be, too.
Emily.
He politely but urgently scooched Zoro away from the door and flattened his ear against it.
Silence.
Pushing Zoro a little further back with his big toe, he gently eased open the door, lifting it in its frame a little to ease the squeaking noise he knew it'd make, and feeling as if he could throw up, bent forward to look inside.

Jamie opened her eyes and made the slightest noise of distaste.
"Babe," she moaned, rolling onto her back and stretching. He giggled as he swung a knee over her and pressed himself gently all over her.
"Wake up!" He smiled, kissing her cheek and underneath her chin.
She couldn't help but laugh, even sensing the splitting headache about to rock out behind the back of her right eye.
"Baby," she groaned, looping her arms around his bare back and nuzzling her face into his cheek.
"I want to show you something," he said, lifting his head and kissing her where her nose met her face and then lifting himself off of her.
"Seriously?" She asked, less enthused. She looked at his hand, waiting to help her part with the bed. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Here," he said, showing her his other hand, holding his navy blue bathrobe up for her. "Just quickly, then you can go back to bed; I promise, come on," he said, getting a little whiney and shaking his knees impatiently.
She laughed at him, stretching out again on her back and rubbing her eyes mumbling "fine, fine, fine, finneee."
She gave him her hand and he helped ease her out of the warmth of the comforters and into the cold air. She was in her underwear and an oversized Bruins shirt of his, per usual.
"Not that I don't like the view," Patrice joked, wrapping her up from behind in the robe as she tied it tightly in the front. She shot him a smirk and he took her hand and led her outside of his room.
They crossed the hall and then he led her in front of him, gently easing the guest bedroom door open for the second time this evening.
"Who's in here--" Jamie turned to ask in a whisper, but she was met with Patrice holding a finger to his lips. He nodded for her to step into the room and look around the corner.
She hesitantly did so, and as soon as she beheld the sight before her, she had to cover her mouth to keep in the sound she always made when witnessing something adorable.
Emily lay in the center of the bed, carefully tucked in with a Bruins throw blanket and turned on her side. She was so carefully tucked in that the blanket formed a complete outline of her entire body, as if a child--or maybe an extremely drunk pair of men--had taken the utmost care in the world to put her to sleep. She was curled up and holding onto the back of Brad, her knees delicately tucked behind his bony ones, their chiseled calves nested together, his hairy and scarred, hers wrapped tightly in a blanket.
His arms lay out in front of him hanging off the edge of the bed, crossed. Her arm was tightly wrapped around his thick ribs, and her chin rested on the top of his broad shoulder.
That wasn't even the best part.
Soupy lay on the other side of Jamie, snuggled into her back like she was snuggled into Brad's. Soupy had his nose in her hair and his arm secured around her lean stomach and his knees nestled into the backs of hers.
Jamie turned to look at Patrice with eyes full of love and both her hands clasped over her mouth to keep her "aw"s at bay. Patrice folded his arms and gave her a smirk.
She turned back to examine the scene again.
An Emily sandwich.
And then, there was...
Seated on the floor, patiently awaiting his owner's arousal, was a giant dog with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, looking completely content.
Jamie turned back to Patrice and pointed at the bulldog, giving him a questioning look.
"Soupy's," he mouthed, pointing to Gregory.
The dog let out a wine and Greg's polka dot sock clad foot, hanging off the end of the double bed twitched and Jamie saw him swallow in sleep.
"C'mon," Patrice said below a whisper and gestured for them to leave. She took one more look around the room, absolutely beaming, elated at the new friendships that formed last night. How gentle everyone was with one another, even if they were hurting, even though they were fighting their own battles. They had had so much fun last night, each and every one of them; this was just what the doctor ordered.
For them all.
Brad got someone to make him feel loved, even if just as a friend. Greg got to feel like he could love someone again, even if innocently for a night. Emily got both. It even seemed like she got to lend some support to another lover who had been scorned, which hopefully opened up her eyes to a much more mature breed of men.
She had to understand that not all men would hurt her.
Maybe these boys could help.
The boys shoes sat piled on the floor, Brad even stripping himself of his socks. Both were fully clothed although they had lost their jackets to their respective bedsides. Adam's navy colored baseball hat sat on the lamp on the bedside table, along with a pink cup of water one of them probably filled up for Emily before they fell asleep.
"C'mon," Patrice breathed, grunting a bit as he lifted Zoro and shuffled out the door. "No, no, leave it open," he whispered, plopping Zoro on his leather couch and motioning for Jamie to meet him in the kitchen.
She obeyed, rewrapping herself in his giant bathrobe.
"Patrice they're so CUTE," she cooed, standing on her tip toes and holding his gruff face in her hands. He gave her a toothy smile, wide enough for her to see his crooked K-9.
"So adorable!" She giggled, rubbing her nose against his. He laughed, wrapping a strong arm around her and exchanging a kiss.
"Here," he said, lifting her up with ease and setting her on the countertop. He kept a heavy hand on her bare thigh as the robe slid open around her leg, while he pulled open the freezer door with the other. "They'll be wanting some of these," he said as he pulled out three yellow, half-frozen gatorades. "We'll set these on the bedside tables for them when they wake up."
"You're such an angel; do you know that?" Jamie asked, taking hold of his hand and pulling him between her legs. She wrapped them around his bare back, pushing his hips into hers with her heels pressed into the dimples she knew were there right above his butt on his lower back.
"No," he blushed, laughing a little.
"Patrice Bergeron," she giggled, lifting his scratchy chin with her finger, forcing her bashful boyfriend to look at her. "You've seen me naked into the double digits of times and you still can't look me in the eyes when I complement you?"
He blushed and chuckled, pulling his chin away from her finger and snapping his jaws at it, as if he were a puppy.
"Hey!" She laughed, bopping him on the nose as he laughed, looping his arms around her back and hugging himself into her robed chest.
She wrapped her arms around his head and moved her fingers through his hair as he sighed, contently.
After a few moments of content silence, she pulled him away from her chest and made him look at her again. She couldn't keep a straight face for too long though, as he blushed and grinned again, dropping his bashful head.
"Hey!" She laughed again, lifting his chin with her finger once more. She looked at him dead in the eyes.
"I love you, you know?"
She said in French.