5+1 PaTater

[phnx]

Title: 5 pieces of evidence that Kent and Tater aren't dating, and 1 piece of evidence that they are
Author: phnx & roguemariel
Fandom: Check, Please!
Pairings/Character: Patater, Kent Parson, Kit Purrson, Jack Zimmermann, Eric Bittle, Alexei "Tater" Mashkov, Jeff “Swoops” Troy, OCs from the Aces
Rating: T



Kent

-1- Congratulations--It’s a Boy!

“Guys, leave it alone,” Kent snapped. “As if being the captain of a bunch of monkeys like you—okay, I didn’t mean that, the Aces are the best team in the world—as if, I say, that weren’t exhausting enough, now I have to put up with your constant nagging?”

“We’re worried about you, Parse,” wheadled Jeff. “There you are, locked all alone in your tower—we want you to be free.”

“That ‘tower’ is a penthouse suite in Vegas, and the locks are on the inside,” Kent replied, unimpressed.

“I was referring to the emotional locks,” said Jeff.

Kent rolled his eyes, but his team of well-meaning idiots were all nodding along earnestly with all the nonsense Jeff was spewing.

“Okay, fine—no, I’m still not letting you set me up, wipe those looks off your faces right now. Listen, I didn’t want to have to tell you this, because it’s really important to us that this keep quiet, but… I’m actually already married.”

Kent expected shock. Dismay, probably, that he'd kept something from his team, his closest friends, for so long.

The actual reaction was disbelief with a side of disappointment that his attempt at lying was so bad.

"Parse, come on!"

"We deserve better than that, Captain!"

"I think you would have mentioned that before if that were even slightly true," said Jeff, rolling his eyes. This statement was followed by a wave of nodding heads and yells of "what he said!"

"No I wouldn't have," Kent said honestly. "I definitely would not have."

Jeff studied his face closely, frowning. "Why? We'd like to meet her!"

Kent swallowed past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "Because. Because he's not a 'her.'"

Kent stared at the floor. Now there would be the shock he'd expected before, combined with disgust, hatred, and—

"Oh. Well, we'd like to meet him!" said Jeff, barely blinking at the confession.

"Oh, come on, that's your story now?"

"Hey, I know this great guy—"

"I think you and my cousin would make a great couple! He thinks you're really cute!"

Kent shook his head in his hands.

-2- No, You Can’t Meet Him--He’s, uh, Russian!

If Kent had expected a reprieve from his teammates after his confession—and he had—he was sorrowfully disappointed. If anything, the nagging levels had increased.

He had lasted on the team for years before breaking down and coming out to his team about his sexuality and his husband. This time, he only lasted a week.

"—And we were thinking that since all the WAGs will be there, it'd be great if you'd invite your husband, too," said Jeff. "You know, the husband who definitely, really exists."

And Kent just couldn't take it anymore.

"Just because I'm not bringing him to any of your dinners, that doesn't mean he's not real, oh my god!" he snapped.

"Okay," said Jeff agreeably. "Why can't he come, then?"

"Because, uh… Because he's Russian!"

This statement earned Kent a really unfair number of judgey looks.

"I see," said Jeff slowly. "And that is relevant how?"

"Because he's shy about his English in front of strangers!" said Kent, a little desperately. "He prefers small groups, usually!"

"Right… Well, why doesn't he come along to a lunch with a few of us sometime? You know, me… you… one of our Russian teammates?"

"... Oh yeah," said Kent. "Uh… Look at the time! I have somewhere to be. Bye!"

-3- He Used to Play for the Superleague!

The next confession was barely three days later. Kent was growing weaker.

"So we're not allowed to meet this guy. You know, your boyfriend who is totally real. Fine. Tell us something about him! So that we know he’s not a total asshole."

"Husband," said Kent cooly. "Husband, not boyfriend."

"Right, yeah. 'Husband.' What's he like? What's his job? Any hobbies?"

"No way. If I tell you his job, you'll just search until you find him."

His Aces gave him such sad faces that he felt his resolve break. Weak, weak, weak!

"Fine… I won't tell you his current job, but he used to be a player in the KHL. Or maybe it was still the Superleague back then… I'm not sure. But there was a lot of tension with his team owner or whatever… Like they were really controlling—they even stole his passport so that he couldn't leave Russia without their permission. Wild stuff."

Kent turned back to his gear bag pointedly, ignoring all successive questions. Unfortunately, he wasn't as successful at ignoring the very loud whispers around him.

“I mean, I guess that makes sense. The Captain is so into hockey—he’d totally be into hockey players, too, right?”

“Of course it doesn’t make sense! He’s clearly just pulling from the backstories of Russian hockey stars at this point! I’m pretty sure he got that last part straight out of an interview with Malkin!”

Kent twitched. What, people from a similar place couldn't have a similar experience with similar people? Rude!

-4- He Works as a Dog Trainer

"Come on, man, where does he really work? You can tell us!"

Kent saw all of the ears around him perk up just like the puppies did at the sound of a bell at his favourite dog school, and he found himself speaking before he could remind himself of what a terrible idea it was. "He trains dogs," Kent said, and he quickly ducked his head before they could catch sight of his fond smile.

His entire team stared at him incredulously.

"Dogs? Seriously?"

“Trains them for what?”

Kent shrugged, silently cursing himself for having spoken. How many ex-Russian hockey player dog trainers could there be out there? Still, it was too late for regrets. He might as well soldier on. “Well, he does all the normal training, too, but he specialises in theatre training.”

“...Theatre training. For dogs.”

“Yeah. Actually, even though he just works with dogs now, I actually met him when Kit was auditioning for a role in Antony and Cleopatra.” Kent smiled, not realising that he looked convincingly nostalgic. Of course, he always looked nostalgic at the mention of Kit, even when he had just been holding her minutes before. “She got the role, of course. My husband, he said that he’d never seen such a moving performance.”

“What role did she get?”

Jeff frowned in confusion. "Did Cleopatra have a pet cat?"

Kent sniffed. “She got the role of Cleocatra, of course.”

"Of course," said Jeff weakly.

(Later, when the Aces reconvened without their captain:

“Okay,” said Jeff. “Now he’s not even trying.”)


-5- Call [Him] Tater Tot?

It was only the next day that Kent found himself giving his teammates yet more information.

“Listen to yourself, Parse. All these things you’ve been telling us about this ‘husband’ of yours, and you’ve never even given us his name. Don’t you see why we’re a little doubtful?”

Kent opened his mouth to reply, but Jeff waved him off tiredly. “Yeah, yeah. You two are worried about your privacy. But you can trust the team, Parse, and even if you couldn’t, you could trust me. You know that, right? It never would have mattered that you’re into guys, or, uh, Russian hockey players, I guess. You didn’t have to come up with--”

“He goes by Tater Tot.”

“...Uh.”

“Or just Tater.”

“...Tater.”

“Yeah. It’s because his name kind of sounds like—well. It’s just a funny nickname, I guess.”

“Kent…”

“Yeah?”

“...Nothing,” Jeff sighed. “I’m happy for you, man.”

Kent couldn't understand why Jeff sounded so defeated.

Tater

-1- And Blond!

The Providence Falconers School for Well-Behaved Pets was not a location anyone had ever associated with silence. Nevertheless, Tater’s announcement had so stunned the humans in the building that its non-human residents seemed to sense the tension, and the cacophony of yowling, barking, and chirping faded as all eyes stared at Tater in disbelief.

“You want to run that by me again?” asked Thirdy slowly.

Tater sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in apparent irritation. “I’m have husband already. Please stop telling friends, brothers, sisters, cousins, whoever about me. I’m happy.”

The other Falconers exchanged dubious glances.

Marty knew how to play this game. “And what colour are his eyes?” he asked.

“Green. No, blue! Grey?”

Marty stared at Tater. He’d expected to catch Tater out with that line of questioning, but he hadn’t expected it to be so immediate.

Tater was wringing his hands nervously. “Always different, you know? Eyes always change colour. Most beautiful!”

“...Right. Does his hair ‘always change colour’ as well?”

Tater laughed. “No, no--hair is blond. Is like sunshine.”

“Sure, Tater. Sure.” Marty raised his eyebrows at Thirdy significantly, and Thirdy gave him a small nod. The game was on. Tater was never going to live down this absurd attempt at lying.

Too bad Jack and Bitty were out of state at a pie competition. No one could produce guilty confessions like Eric Bittle.

-2- Kent Parsnip

The game just got easier as it went on.

“Oh, I see--so, his name is Parsnip like you’re Tater?” Thirdy nudged Marty, winking obnoxiously.

Tater was grinding his teeth. “No, no, I say Parson. His name is Kent Parson, very normal name!”

“Sure, that’s what you said. Of course. Is he from England?”

“What? No! America.”

“Well, I mean, with a name like ‘Kent.’” Marty sniggered.

“It’s just a name. Normal name for Americans! Like blond doll!” Tater crossed his arms triumphantly.

Marty and Thirdy couldn’t believe their luck. “...Are you seriously comparing your ‘husband’ to a Ken doll?”

“No! You are so annoying! Just name!”

-3- Famous Hockey Player

Thirdy couldn’t believe this bullshit. “Oh, so now he’s famous, too?”

-4- He Lives in Vegas

“Wait, did he just say his husband lives in Vegas?” Thirdy looked genuinely confused. Why Vegas? “Does anyone even live in Vegas? I sort of just assumed people drive in to work the casinos from neighbouring suburbs.”

Marty shook his head. “Not just that, man--isn’t this dude supposed to be a pro hockey player? Does Vegas even have a pro hockey team?” And normally Tater was so on top of the goings-on in the NHL.

“If they did have a pro hockey team, it definitely wouldn’t be called the ‘Aces.’ I mean, come on. Sports teams are all called ‘Warriors’ and ‘Kings’ and stuff like that.”

“Though to be fair,” Marty said contemplatively. “What else could you call them? Basically all you think about when Vegas comes to mind is gambling. And the strip at night, I guess.”

“The Knights! No, the Golden Knights. That’s what they’d be called.”

Marty stared at Thirdy. “...That’s kind of terrible. I think I prefer the Aces, honestly.”

“Whatever, asshole. Anyway, this is just more evidence that poor Tater can’t keep his stories straight.”

“You know what would help him? Having an actual boyfriend.”

“Word.”

-5- He Likes Cats

“Here! Proof!”

“Tater, what is this?”

“Always you are not believe me, so here I give proof. My husband is real! Here is the Instagram!”

“Tater… This is the Instagram of someone named ‘Kit Purrson,’ and she appears to be feline.”

“Yes, Kit is pet cat. Really is her Instagram, but is Kent’s phone, you know?”

“Yeah, uh, totally.”

As Tater strode out of the room triumphantly, Thirdy turned to Marty and whispered, “Okay, I know before Tater told us all kinds of crazy bullshit about this ‘husband’ of his, but is it just me who finds this the least believable? And I’m not even talking about the Catstagram! A cat guy, really? Tater is like a walking advertisement for Dogs over Cats! Can you see him dating a cat lover?”

“No way,” agreed Marty. “This is the line. It’s time to blow the cover on this shit.”

+1

Marty and Thirdy were still in the process of developing a fail-safe plan to force Tater to admit to his heinous lies (the plan consisted primarily of telling Bitty and having him deal with it), when Tater handed them the final nail to the coffin of his self-respect. And then he handed them the hammer to go with it.

“Here! Aces come to play Bruins! I bring tickets for everyone!”

“...Wait, the Aces are a real hockey team?” Marty asked, somewhat rhetorically, as he stared at the ticket in his hand. It looked real, but… These seats were insane.

“Of course! And Kent sent tickets to group. Said we should go. It will be fun, yes?” Tater said. “Can you give rest to friends? I need to get house ready. Groceries. You know. Party after game, too! Win or lose -- but of course Aces will win! Aces have best players, are clearly best team.”

“Sure,” Marty said.

Tater clapped Marty on the shoulder and left as quickly as he had arrived.

“...What the fuck,” Marty whispered to himself.

* * *

“So Kent Parson is actually a player on the team,” Poots said. He was scrolling through the Aces NHL page. “Huh. I wasn’t expecting that. And he’s even blond!”

“Are we sure it doesn’t say Parsnip?” asked Thirdy. Poots shoved him, rolling his eyes.

“Tater’s apparently very dedicated to this,” Snowy said.

“You know, if it were anyone else, I would believe Tater -- he isn’t really the type to lie about dating a celebrity? But -- he doesn’t even know what color his ‘husband’s’ eyes are.”

“Obviously we’re going, but we should be prepared for when Tater realizes we know he’s fucking with us.”

“Totally.”

* * *

When Marty pulled into the apartment parking lot to pick up the second of his carpool list, he couldn’t quite the sight before him quickly enough to form a response.

Snowy did not have this problem. “Poots. What the fuck is that.”

“...Nothing?”

Marty cleared his throat. “...Does that say…?”

“Nothing!”

“Tater is going to murder you, and I’m not going to stop him,” said Snowy.

“I said it’s nothing!”

* * *

Tater was the last to arrive at the area, and he met his friends at their seats. He was running late due to a misbehaving cat. For some reason, the tabby was just not taking to her role in The Lord of the Strings, and had successfully run away with one of the strings of yarn.

On second thought, maybe she was taking to the role too well.

The game hadn’t started yet, thank goodness—he wasn’t too late. Kent would never let him hear the end of it. (He knew. Tater was still hearing about the time he had been late to meet him for Kit’s hockey photoshoot—though that may have had more to do with Kit than hockey.)

As he settled into his seat, he looked at Poots, who was sitting next to him and holding something up as the Aces skated onto the rink. “Poots? What is poster?”

* * *

Kent had never quite gotten around to telling his team that Tater would be in the stands today. He was still hoping there would be some emergency so that he wouldn’t have to make any introductions. It’s not that he was embarrassed by Tater or his team—actually, scratch that, he was extremely embarrassed by both Tater and his team, much as he loved the idiots—but he wasn’t ready for his two worlds, which he’d kept separate and private for so long, to collide.

Kent looked over at where his husband and his friends were supposed to sit and froze. Jeff, following his captain’s gaze, started laughing.

“Does that say ‘parsnip’?”

Kent glared at his friend, and then back at the sign which clearly read ‘Yo Marry Me Kent Parsnip!’ “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Now is the time for hockey, asshole. Focus. We have a game to win.”

* * *

The Aces as a group were very relieved when the reporters finally left.

Groans of “finally” were echoing around the locker room, but Kent was already distracted by his phone.

“So,” Jeff smirked at his captain, nudging him a little to get his attention. “I bet you’re glad they didn’t mention the sign from before the game, huh?”

“Oh, I saw that! ‘Marry Me Kent Parsnip’ -- can we get that on a shirt?” said someone who was definitely getting traded soon. He shoved Kent, grinning.

Kent glared at the group en masse and muttered something.

Jeff stopped laughing. “Wait, what?”

Kent sighed. “I said, my husband’s friends are assholes.”

“Wait. He was here? That was him?”

“Obviously.”

“...” The team stared at him. This was, for all that Kent had insisted he had a husband, a bit of a surprise to them.

“He’s real?” whispered one of the rookies. He sounded like he’d just had his belief in Santa reaffirmed.

“Wait, if he’s here, and he came to the game, does that mean we get to meet him?”

Jeff crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m still not buying it. If you’re already married to him, why did he bring a sign proposing to you?”

“Oh for—” Kent bit his lip in exasperation. “I told you, his friends brought the sign! Why is nothing I say enough to convince you that I’m telling the truth?”

Jeff softened slightly. “Parse,” he sighed. “Of course we want to believe you, but can you even hear yourself? Your stories make no sense!”

Kent scowled at nothing for a moment, and then he determinedly tapped out a message on his phone. “You know what, fine. I’ll bring you to meet him. Whatever.” And then he dropped his phone on top of his discarded clothes and stomped his way to the showers.

Jeff frowned down at Kent’s phone. Just before the screen went dark, he saw that Kent did indeed seem to have a messaging app open. Jeff didn’t catch the text Kent had sent, but the response was “!!! ))))))).” He found this a little concerning.

* * *

“Tater,” said Thirdy pointedly. “You’re sure you want us to come over and meet your husband? You know, Kent Parson, the famous hockey player?”

“Yes, yes, I say already. Kent brings his team, too, so we will be very big party!” Tater frowned suddenly as a new thought occurred to him. “Maybe not all fit…”

“You’re expecting maybe fifty? Between your backyard and the living room, you should be able to squeeze everyone in,” said Snowy comfortingly. “You want us to bring anything?”

“No, no. I already invite Bitty. And Jack. Bitty brings many pies and other food, so it is fine, I think.”

Marty gave Thirdy a significant look. “Oh, Bitty is coming, is he? Perfect.”

Tater beamed in answer, and Thirdy and Marty exchanged a high-five. They wouldn’t have chosen this public of a forum for the big reveal of Tater’s Terribly Untrue Tale, but Tater had done this to himself.

* * *

The Falconers were all already at Tater’s house pretending to help him set up when two groups arrived simultaneously: the Aces, who had taken the time to change out of their game-day suits and into something casual before they all piled into a series of Ubers, and Jack and Bitty, who arrived with a minivan stuffed full of food.

The Falconers filed out to Tater’s driveway in time to hear “My word, Kent Parson, it has been too long!” and to see Bitty—their sweet, unassuming Bitty, who was supposed to help them reveal the error in Tater’s ways—crash into Kent Parson’s arms. Kent Parson seemed to have expected this, as he hugged Bitty back tightly despite his long-suffering expression.

“Bitty,” said Kent. “I don’t think I’ve run into you since the summer. Where’ve you been hiding yourself?”

“Oh, there’s just so much to do, keeping the business running. And keeping Jack in line.” Bitty shot a pointed look at Jack, who was carrying a tottering tower of pie boxes into this house. “And how is your Kit?” Bitty asked, turning back to Kent.

The Aces and the Falconers were watching this exchange with bewilderment.

“Wait, Bitty,” said Thirdy. “You know this guy?”

“He doesn’t sound very Russian,” said one of the crowd of hockey players, looking at Bitty dubiously. “And is his name seriously Bitty Tater?”

As Bitty laughingly answered, “Of course! Good lord, what a question,” Kent turned around to shove at his teammate and snap, “For fuck’s sake, this isn’t my husband. This is Eric Bittle.”

Up until this point, Tater had been helping Jack carry in all of Bitty’s catering as the Falconers and the Aces continued to stare at one another in disbelief. Now, he finally reappeared, smiling broadly.

“Kent! Bitty! So glad you come!” He hugged Bitty quickly and then settled himself beside Kent, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Kent,” he said, dropping a kiss onto Kent Parson the Captain of a Real Hockey Team’s blond head. “Now you introduce me to friends, yes?”

“This is my husband,” said Kent with satisfaction. “Guys, this is Alexei Mashkov, better known as Tater. Tater, these are my idiot teammates.”

Tater laughed as though that were some hilarious joke. “I’m so nice to meet you!” he said.

There was a frozen moment before the Aces seemed to shake off their shock, and then they pounced.

“Oh my god, you’re real! Look, guys, I can poke him!”

“Машков? От Суперлига?

“It’s so nice to meet you, man, seriously! Wow, I can’t believe you’re real!”

“If you hurt Parse, they’ll never find your body.”

Meanwhile, the Falconers were crowding in as well. They weren’t yet brave enough to speak directly to Kent Parson, so they directed their questions at Bitty and Jack while staring obnoxiously at the hockey players over Bitty’s shoulders.

“So, uh, Bitty, how did you meet Kent?”

Bitty’s nose wrinkled as he thought back. “Oh, well, I believe I met him this first time when he came to Samwell to visit Jack, but to be honest, I didn’t know him well before the wedding. Jack and Kent have been friends for many years, of course.”

“They… have?”

“Wait, did you go to the wedding, Bitty? Jack?”

“Of course they was at our wedding!” Tater interrupted, switching over from his conversation with the Aces. “Jack took best pictures,” Tater said proudly.

“...What.”

Kent sighed. “Don’t remind me. Bitty made like ten pies.”

Bitty looked shifty, but didn’t deny it.

“Best pies!”

“Babe, Bitty wasn’t the caterer.”

“Speaking of pie, who wants some!” Bitty stood up and walked quickly away. Jack, laughing, followed him.

“I just can’t believe you were telling the truth the entire time,” Snowy said.

“Right??” said Jeff. “All this time. And some of the things he said were just --”

“Yes! Exactly!”

Kent and Tater watched their friends yell together. “Well, at least they’re getting along?” he offered.

“Yes. Am very glad.” Tater said as he stepped towards the kitchen. “While they are busy, pie!”