Bolshoi Medved means Big Bear, in Russian, if I translated correctly. This is the saddest thing I've ever written... I'm almost sorry I did, but I couldn't help myself. I'm going to make it up to Jiri in another Jiri/Max fic and the Jiri Fischer Story, I promise.

More A/N: READ THIS, IT'S ACTUALLY IMPORTANT. I do not want Max to die in real life. He's one of my favorite Wings. This is only fiction, repeat, F-I-C-T-I-O-N. If you were offended by it, I'm sorry. I hope it never comes true.
Rating: PG-13

Never knew I could feel like this
It's like I've never seen the sky before
Want to vanish inside your kiss
Every day I'm loving you more and more
Listen to my heart can you hear it sing
Come back to me and forgive everything
Seasons may change, winter to spring
But I love you till the end of time
Come what may, come what may, come what may
I will love you until my dying day
Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place
Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace
Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste
It all revolves around you
And there's no mountain too high
No river too wide, sing out this song
And I'll be there by your side
Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide
But I love you until the end of time
~David Foster and Simon Franglen, "Come What May"

April 27, 2003

"You gonna be okay, Fishy?"

I look up into Brendan Shanahan's concerned black eyes.

"Of course I am," I say, smiling. "It IS the playoffs. I HAVE to be okay."

"But you know, it's the anniversary...of Max's passing." Brendan shrugs his shoulders, looking rather awkward.

I sigh. "I know, Brendan... I'm going to his grave tonight, after the game."

"In the dark? Alone? I'll come too, then," he responds, quickly, ever the protective brother.

"Okay, we'll go together."

***

We win the game against the Blues, 4-0. Dominik is again strong, stopping thirty shots, and I score two goals, including the one that holds up as the game winner.

It's a good night for me.

What makes it even better is that my mama and papa are in from Horovice to see me.

"You did your parents proud, Fishy," says Steve, after the game.

I smile, nodding. "I know. They came all the way just to see me... I'm glad Scotty played me then."

Somene lets out an uncomfortable cough.

The room suddenly feels very large.

"Are you gonna be okay?" asks Hull, turning his blue eyes on me, exuding 'fatherly' concern. He IS, technically, old enough to be my father.

"I'm going to be okay," I say, slowly. "Brendan's taking me to see the grave."

Brett swallows hard. "I'd like to go too-"

"I don't think that's a good-" Brendan begins, cutting off Brett, but I interrupt him.

"It's fine, anyone who wants to come with me and Brendan can come too. We were all his teammates, his family." I say, softly.

And it has been decided. Everyone is going to see the grave where my beloved was buried.

***

"There it is." I point to the granite angel overlooking the grave, as we walk, single-file, among the tombstones.

Brett Hull visibly shudders. "I think I stepped on a grave. I can't believe-"

"Shut up," Brendan snaps, watching me carefully. "Don't be an ass, Hully."

I nod to Brett, letting him know that it's okay. "This is where he's buried."

Brendan sets down some roses on the flat granite stone. " 'Maxim Kuznetsov, March 24, 1977 - April 27, 2002. A beloved son, husband, father - and lover. You are sorely missed, but you sing with the Angels now'..." Brendan trails off, his eyes watering.

Igor steps forward, uncorking a bottle of Stolichnaya. "I know you liked this stuff, 'Bolshoi Medved'. Here you go." He pours the Stoli into a glass and salutes the granite angel that keeps watch over the gravesite. "To Maxie."

"To Maxie," I murmur.

Igor hands me a glass of Stoli. "Drink, for him."

"Spasiboh." I accept, the coolness of the liquid on my lips a relief.

He nods, glasses slipping down his nose. He pauses, push them back up with his index finger, and speaks. "This is good for you, no? To be here now?"

I nod, draining the glass. "It's all a part of the healing process."

I feel hands on my back, squeezing.

"He'd have been proud of you, Fishy," whispers Brendan, voice rough from crying. "He'd have been so proud."

I nod, touching the granite angel's rounded cheek. "She protects him," I murmur.

"Do you, ah, still talk to Max," asks Sergei, cautiously.

"Sometimes, but not as often as before," I murmur. "When the pain was more...acute... As it have faded with the passing of time... I don't talk to him as much... Maybe I should... But I think he knows I love him."

Sean Avery nods, grimly. "It doesn't even feel like he's gone," he says, softly. "I mean, I was looking under my couch and I found his wedding ring." Sean holds it out to me.

"You must give that to Tatya," I say, pushing his hand away. "It isn't mine. I can't take it."

"I remember when we introduced him to the Simpsons," Brendan begins to laugh, through his tears. "The one with the baseball players-"

"Homer at the Bat," interjects Boyd Devereaux, grinning. "He LOVED that episode!"

"He kept imitating Roger Clemens," adds Duchesne, with a smirk, as he begins to flap his arms and cluck like a chicken. "That was the funniest thing I've ever seen... A 6'5'' man hunched over, clucking like a goddammed chicken!"

They begin to bray, remembering some of the better moments.

I sort of hang back, smiling to myself.

"You okay, Fishy? We're not offending you or something, are we?" asks Hull, pausing in front of a grave. "Oh shit, I'm doing it again!" He bends over to apologise to the headstone. "I'm really sorry, Mrs. McNulty." He straightens up and looks at me, concern evident in his blue eyes.

I shake my head, smiling still. "I still remember that," I say, finally. "He really liked the one when Lisa got put on the boys' hockey team."

The others smile, relieved, I guess.

We head back for our cars.

I pause to take one last, lingering look at Max's grave before hurrying after them.

THE END

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