The first time Sid calls, Nate doesn't pick up. The phone screen coming to life lights up his hotel room in that eery-speck-of-light-in-the-dark-kind of way, that makes the noise of the vibrations even harder to ignore. He probably should've kept some lights on. The phone would've not been as intrusive then. Maybe, if he had, he could've gotten away with telling himself that he hadn't seen it. Had already been asleep.
It's not as easy though.
The screen goes dark, the phone goes silent and Nate's heart clenches in his chest. He wants to reach out. He wants to fumble in the dark and hold on so badly. Hear his voice, see his face, dissolve in Sid's warmth and let him rebuild him piece by piece. He doesn't think he deserves it though.
He was supposed to win the Olympics for Sid. And failed. He is supposed to win the Cup. If Sid can't have it, he's supposed to get it. Not for Sid, not like it was in Italy, not with this, because there's no winning the Cup for Nate that won't in one way or another hurt Sid. Just as it is the other way around. Still, Nate wants it and, yes selfishly, bathe in Sid's pride. He wants the congratulatory call after the final. He wants the warmth at home. Wants the hair-tousling. Wants the lips, the hands, the groans, as he cages Sid against the wall. He wants to go up on that wall again. Frankly, he wants to plaster the whole fucking wall in photographs of himself, so that the possessive beast inside of him can curl up calmly and know that overwhelmingly it's him who's in there with Sid.
Fuck, he's probably more self-absorbed than he thought. Or it's just what Sid does to him.
Sid.
Sid, who calls a second time and Nate really shouldn't pick up. They both have their own battles to fight.
"Hi." He says calmly, collected and easy, as he leans back against the headboard barely a moment later. The Vegas skyline stretches out next to him, behind ceiling to-floor seamless windows, and lights him up admittedly kind of nicely at least.
"Hi." Sid answers. Voice thick, dark curls in disarray, the grey shining through so perfectly that Nate wants to bury his fingers in them, nuzzle them and only breathe in Sid for the rest of his life. Nate wants to cry. He wants to sob and scream and mewl like a wounded animal and does none of it. Instead he bites his lips and takes a deep breath. "How's your nose?"
That startles him. "My nose...?" He can see himself blinking in the camera preview at the bottom of his screen and feels his heart fluttering with the chuckle that Sid can't hold back.
"Yeah, you know, that body part of yours that got bashed in? Didn't expect me to bring up old news, eh?" Nate swallows and doesn't know how or why it happens but he smiles. He turns his gaze to the ceiling, breathes out in amusement, shakes his head ever so lightly and looks back at the other then.
"It's still here." Nate answers and lifts his hand to tap against the side of his nose - gently. It still hurts, especially when touched.
"You're gonna get there, Nate." Sid's voice tips over into softer, lower territory and Nate bites his lips again. He watches the other move, obviously in his bed too, probably still there actually - it has to be crazy early in Switzerland - and swallows when Sid mirrors his posture sitting up against the headboard. "What's the verdict on the knee?"
"You know about that already?" Nate frowns a little, but then again it makes sense. While he's gotten checked out, hundreds of articles probably popped up everywhere.
"'course I do." Sid agrees. "I watched."
Nate stops. "You... Watched?"
"Yeah." Sid's voice is quiet. Warm. Gentle.
"You never watch playoffs."
"This one seemed important." Nate swallows and for a second doesn't know what to do.
"You're in Switzerland." He tries, as if pointing out all the absurdities of this situation might help him cope. Obviously Sid doesn't care about his plan.
"That's correct." - is all he gets.
"You've got your own tournament to play." Another try.
"I am playing said tournament." Another argument that Nate can't say anything against. Especially since he knows, of course he does, how dominant their team is playing. He checked the schedule, the results, has even seen some clips.
"It's fucked up." Nate finally concedes, looking for Sid's gaze. "Don't know how badly yet. More tests tomorrow morning and then we'll see." Sid nods along to his words, exuding sympathy. Never pity, just empathy.
"You know, I know we like to mirror each other sometimes, but you didn't need to go for the knee. Romantic but unnecessary." Against all odds that draws a small laugh out of Nate. It feels a little foreign in his throat right now.
"That one wasn't for you." Nate mumbles, lifts his free hand and rubs his palm over his face. His nose stings as he does. "What if I'm out, Sid?" His voice sounds surprisingly small, even to himself.
"Then you're out for as long as you have to be."
"The guys need me."
"They do. And they know you'll do anything to be there. But if you're out, you're out."
"But they need me. We're so close and next game..."
"I know." Sid cuts in, his voice clearer now, less morning rumble. "I know, baby." So much softer. "You needed me too back in Milan. But we've only got one body. And if they can't get there without you then it was never meant to be your Cup." Nate frowns, age-old competitiveness flaring up inside his chest. He wants to argue, wants to defend himself, his guys, their work, their run and only stops when he sees the way Sid has already lifted his eyebrows, smirking fondly while watching him.
"Fucker." Nate grumbles, watches the way Sid chuckles, so obviously aware of how he stoked the fire.
"Yeah." Sid agrees, shrugs and leans back a little more. "I know it sucks." He adds quietly.
"You're winning though." Nate says and ruffles his hand through his hair, scratches his neck, tries to ignore the fact that part of him wishes he could win the cup AND play with Sid. "Saw you and the little one. Celly looks like he's constantly caught between awe and terror until he's on the ice, then, damn, Kid's locked in."
"He's..." Sid hesitates then smiles. "He doesn't want to fuck this up. And so far he's doing a great job."
"He's got big boots to fill."
"You know that I don't see it that way."
"I know you don't but the rest of the world does."
"The rest of the world can back off and let the kid do his best." There it is, the protectiveness that not too many people get to see in Sid. It's always been special to Nate. He'd felt it directed at himself, his first few years around, and sometimes still. Maybe that's part of the reason why Sid called him at God-knows-what-hour.
"Yeah, they can." Nate agrees softly. "Especially since you're winning." He repeats and looks down towards his knee. "And he's got you there. Best chances at success for his captaincy in my books."
"Nate, we're all here because we didn't win." Sid says calmly and Nate takes another deep breath. "We didn't make it to where you are at right now. That's something to be proud of on your end. That you did get there."
"Right now it doesn't feel like pride. Right now it feels like pain." Nate scrunches up his face. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I know I'm dramatic."
"You're not." Sid cuts in again, knowing him too well, already aware of where those thoughts might go if they'd let them run freely. "And if I wasn't in Switzerland with the kids, I probably would be on my way to Vegas now, somehow, incognito maybe." That draws another laugh out of Nate.
"Sid, you're about as subtle as a peacock on a good day. You. In Vegas. During the conference finals. No." Sid tries to look offended but fails miserably.
"Fair point." He surrenders. "I would be on my way to Denver instead. Wait for you at home. Take care of you before the fifth game." Nate swallows and suddenly it's hard to do so past the lumb in his throat. "It's okay, baby."
"Doesn't really feel okay right now." He croaks out and tilts his head back, exposing his throat to the camera, blinking away some emotions before he looks down again. "Just sucks."
"It does."
"Really, really, fucking miss you right now." And Nate knows it's unfair. There's nothing that Sid can do right now. Nothing to make this better, not really.
"I miss you too." And yet, this helps. "Whatever happens, Nate, however long your run goes, remember you'll be home once you're done. And I'll be there too. And the past will be the past, no matter what it held."
Nate nods. It's close to what he's been practising with his therapist for years: Living in the present, doing his best, working hard but never holding on to the past, to things that can't be changed anymore. It's hard for him, just as hard as it is for Sid, so the reminder means something.
"We were sloppy at times." He needs to put it out there, acknowledge that there's no real excuse.
"I know." Sid's honesty has always been refreshing. "But you also fucking lit them up in that first period and you had great moments all throughout. It's not lost yet. Sometimes battling your way back after trailing is the best prep for the finals that you can get."
"Yeah." Nate mumbles and watches Sid's face on the screen with the desperation of a man who yearns to be seen, to be held, to be fixed.
"I love you." Sid says like he can sense it. Calmly. Clearly. Gently.
And Nate melts a little. It's still surreal to hear it sometimes.
"I love you too." He answers. Fondly. Quietly.
Longingly.
"You'll get there." Sid says again and his voice is so full of conviction that Nate almost believes him. "And when you do, the nose, the knee, the bruises, none of it will matter. It'll all have been worth it."
"Yeah." Nate tries to sound more certain. He knows he needs to believe it before he can play it.
"And once we're back home, I'll fix you up. Promise. I'll actually take the best care of you." There is a mischievous spark in those eyes.
"Will you now?"
"Yeah, I mean you'll probably have to stay in bed for a couple of days, eh? Someone needs to make sure you follow those orders." Nate groans softly. "Blowing and riding you will actually require zero effort from your knee." He groans louder, sinks back a little and wrinkles his nose. He still can't help his own smile, when he hears Sid's laughter.
"Not sure about the riding, not for the first few days, seems pretty close to the knee..." Nate tries to save himself and watches as the spark in those eyes turns into a fire.
"Well, too bad, gotta ride your face then." Nate swallows, holds Sid's gaze as a hot shiver runs through his body. One that Sid knows is there, judging by the way he looks at him. So cocky, so sure of himself, so fucking hot. Nate bristles, then smiles.
"Just for you, I'll try to not catch another puck with my nose then."
"That would actually be ideal, thank you." Sid's eyes glimmer with playfulness, that side of him that other people usually don't get to see.
And then there's the endless warmth underneath.
Fuck, Nate loves him.
And fuck! Sid's right. It's not over yet.
"I'm gonna bring that Cup home, babe." Nate says, way more seriously all of a sudden. "So, we can put it next to your gold medal for a day."
"I know." Sid answers, just as serious. "Can't wait to put you up on my wall again."
I fear we have not discussed enough how large Kenzie is as opposed to the average goalie. The standard goalie build is Twig ™️ If you put him in the line up with all the other forwards and blacked out their heads, I fear the average fan would not be able to pick out the goalie, this man is STACKED
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