before the fall
If you think our boy Daichi's already been going through it, you're not ready for what we've got in store for him... This is very much the calm before the storm, but it introduces some characters that will wind up playing a bit more of a role as his migraines start to affect his work instead of just his personal life.
cw: vomiting, migraines, needles
written, naturally, with @lickstynine
When he’d been younger, in his rookie season and the one that followed, the most exciting part of Daichi’s job had been the away trips. Not necessarily the long days of travel, but being in a new place every week, with new bars, new drinks, new girls? He’d never felt so grown up. He’d been thrilled by every new stadium, and finding the best restaurants, and seeing the sights, and spending all of his brand-new money like water. His friends were the same, young and hungry with something to prove, and it had seemed perfectly normal to them. Fans loved them. Girls loved them. Doors opened wherever they looked, and they were treated like princes in places that mere months before they could never have stepped foot in.
For the longest time, he wasn’t able to understand the bitterness and reluctance with which the more senior players approached those weeks. Most people dreamed of being able to travel as regularly as they did. Most people dreamed of being able to play sports for a living. It seemed ungrateful to him, the amount of complaining that the older guys did. But these days, even the team branded chartered plane was starting to lose its shine.
He’d been lucky since his first migraine attack. None of his worse days had fallen when he was away. Usually, they’d timed themselves so that he could sit at the back of the meeting room and pretend to make notes while they watched tape, and then grab an Uber home if he felt unsafe to drive. Or, if he was really lucky, the pain would come on at home when all he had planned was time set aside for recovery, and he could crawl into bed and tell himself that he really was just doing his job. On the handful of times he’d been hit just before their morning skate, he’d skated like shit. But everyone had off days, and it hadn’t been often enough for anyone to challenge him. Those days were the worst though. By the time he managed to get home he was always almost delirious with pain, too uncomfortable to sleep. He would spend the rest of the afternoon and evening curled up on his bathroom floor with silent tears leaking from his eyes, and call in sick the next morning before dragging himself to his room.
But that streak had to end, and as luck would have it, it ended on a Friday night in Florida during a heat wave. The team had flown down to Tampa that morning, disembarking into the 85% humidity air just after lunch. When Daichi’s vision had blurred as he hoisted his bag onto his shoulder, he put it down to the unbearable heat. The dull throb in the base of his skull that he noticed as they got off the bus at their hotel, he’d blamed on dehydration from the flight. He didn’t bother to unpack when he got to his room, making a beeline for the bathroom and downing three glasses of water.
His roommate had arrived by the time he stepped back out into the main room. Caleb Hudsen, the first string goalie, was sprawled out on the bed, scrolling lazily through his phone. He looked up with a shit-eating grin as Daichi entered.
“About time that ban on rooming together was lifted,” he said, gesturing between them.
Daichi laughed. They had been rookies together, and about halfway through their first season they had been told in no uncertain terms that they would never be allowed to room together again. Now, almost five years later, it seemed they could be trusted to act as adults.
“Maybe they’ve forgotten,” he said, fishing the Sam Kean book out of his bag and stretching out on his own bed. “Surely that’s old news by now.”
“Bro, they’ll never forget,” Caleb chuckled. “That night will go down in history.”
“Half the guys off that roster have moved on or retired,” Daichi pointed out. “Things move on faster than you’d think. Besides, they’ve got enough to worry about with Crosby and how often that kid gets his face in the papers.”
They lapsed into silence after that, the way it’s easy to with an old friend. Caleb was completely engrossed in texting a girl - or probably multiple girls. Daichi could tell from the way he kept smirking at his phone. Daichi, on the other hand, was finding it harder to focus. The text kept blurring away from him, a strange pang behind his eyes that forced him to look up and away.
He must've been jetlagged. Surely that was why he felt so bad, especially having gotten up for such an early flight. A good nap would sort him right out. It had to. Setting the book aside with a weary sigh, Daichi folded his arms behind his head and settled back on the bed. He was just dozing off, when Caleb spoke up.
“I'm grabbing dinner with the boys, you coming?”
Daichi blinked. He'd entirely forgotten that he needed to eat - unusual, he was usually ravenous if he didn't get his five square meals a day.
“I think I'll get room service,” he muttered eventually. “Don't be out too late.”
“Okay Dad,” Caleb sniggered, flipping him the bird as he sauntered out the door.
“Fuck off,” Daichi mumbled, rolling over and pulling his pillow over his face. Even then, the room felt too bright, red glowing through his eyelids. He lay still for a few minutes then rolled onto his back, slinging an arm across his eyes. A resigned dread sank in his stomach when, instead of the discomfort fading, a stabbing pain began to emerge.
He couldn't be getting a headache. Not now. Not when they were halfway across the country and had a game to play. He groped around for his bag, dragging it closer and rifling the outside pocket until he found his pills. He popped them out into his palm, three Tylenol and a melatonin, and threw them back dry, not wanting to open his eyes. Maybe if he could sleep right now he'd be fine. Maybe it was just his body telling him to rest.
He should've known better.
When Caleb came clamoring back into the hotel room, the slamming door hit Daichi like a freight train, still echoing in his head as the foghorn followed.
“Dai-chi, I'm hooome!”
Caleb dropped down onto his bed with a dramatic flump, tossing a pillow at his roommate.
“Don't tell me you're asleep already. What are you, ninety?”
“Please shut up,” Daichi croaked. The vice around his head winched tighter. He let out a shaky breath.
“You missed a great meal,” Caleb told him, seemingly not hearing his plea. “We went to that seafood place - you know, the one we went to last time? - ‘cause it's crab season and it slapped. They don't make food in New York that good. You shoulda seen, the new kid’s never had crab and when he cracked it open, it sprayed all over Kirill and he was not pleased.”
“Oh God,” Daichi mumbled, pressing his hands into his eyes. “Hud, please stop, my head is killing me.”
“What, did you go too hard last night?” Caleb smirked. “Never fly hungover. You gotta stay shitfaced through the flight. Life pro tips.”
Daichi's shoulders rolled. He heaved himself up, gagging into his fist as he stumbled to the bathroom to be sick. As he opened the door, the bright lights flicked on automatically. He had to reach blindly for the toilet, stomach squeezing. Blood roared in his ears as he stumbled to his knees, leaning in what he hoped was the right direction until his hands thankfully hit porcelain. He didn't even hear Caleb’s “oh shit” behind him, too caught up in the violent retch that sent his breakfast careening into the bowl. Even as he thought it couldn't possibly get worse, the pain in his head exploded. Everything was colour and sound and smell and the floor was too hard and his clothes were too rough and the brush of his hair on the nape of his neck made him want to crawl out of his skin.
He heaved again, an ice pick driving through his skull, and Daichi let out a little involuntary whimper.
“The hell?” Caleb muttered behind him. “Are you sick? Is that why you didn’t want dinner? Why didn’t you say?”
Daichi let out a strained, distressed breath. “Pl’ss ssstop…”
Caleb let out a huff, still talking and theorising at a hundred miles an hour, and then a dripping wet flannel splatted down on the back of Daichi’s neck. He lurched forwards, gagging harshly, and it slipped down onto the floor. Caleb was still talking, his voice digging into Daichi’s head like a drill.
“.... on but I’m going to get Sam. You’re like, dying or some shit.”
Daichi tried to object, but by the time he made sense of what Caleb had said, the door of the hotel room had already slammed shut. The sound sent him reeling, and he hunched further towards the toilet.
He honestly might have blacked out, because the next thing he knew he was vomiting again and Sam was steadying his head to stop him from cracking it against the toilet seat.
“Did you eat something bad?” She spoke normally, but her voice blared in his ear like a foghorn. “I swear, I'm never letting you feed yourself again. This is fucking ridiculous. At this point, the team would be better off expensing you a private chef.”
Daichi let out a choked whimper, clutching his fingers into his hair. He couldn't find words, gasping in pain as his head throbbed again. Sam's demeanor quickly shifted. Her patience had been short at first - in the past six weeks, Daichi had called out of training three separate times claiming food poisoning - but any irritation dissipated in an instant as she realized this was something different. Speaking much softer now, she cupped her hand under his jaw, feeling his glands and trying to gauge his temperature.
“You're not feverish…” she muttered, frowning worriedly. “Come on, let's finish up here so you can lie down.”
“‘M sorry,” he mumbled, eyes bloodshot when he blinked up at her. “‘M sorry…”
“What's going on?” Sam asked, standing to get him a glass of water from the tap. Daichi watched her blearily, his melting brain noting that he’d never seen her dressed so casually. Only yoga pants and a tight black tank. She turned her head, shooting him a smile, and he forced a lopsided grin back. She was good at that. Making him smile. She crouched back down to hand it over, keeping one hand on the glass so he didn't drop it.
“Dunno.” He gave her a half hearted shrug, swilling a sip around his mouth and spitting into the toilet. “Headache. Doc saysss’s nothin’.”
“There's no way this is nothing,” Sam said sternly. Suddenly, a light clicked in her head. “How many times have you called out for a headache?”
Daichi squinted up at her, his mouth screwing up at the discomfort of thinking. “Uhhhh…no?”
“Daichi?”
“Three,” he mumbled, taking another tentative sip.
“When were you planning to tell me?” Sam demanded.
There was a small crease between her eyebrows. Daichi didn’t like it, and he knew his answer would make it worse. He stayed quiet.
“Daichi?”
“...I wasn't.”
She sighed. This happened sometimes - usually about little niggly injuries that people didn't want to let slow them down. They would swear blind they didn't have a problem, until one day they had A Problem. They always had an excuse - they didn’t know it was a problem, they thought it would resolve itself, they just wanted to get through the regular season - but that didn’t make her job of fixing them any easier.
“You know it's in your contract, right?”
“Doc knew,” he protested quietly. “Said my brain’s fine. Didn't wanna fuss.”
“Well, doc is clearly smoking crack,” Sam grumbled. “It's absolute horseshit that he hasn't sent you for testing.”
“He did. They didn't find anything.” Daichi sighed.
“Then we'll send you for more,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If it hurts too much to train, you need to see a specialist.”
“I can still train,” Daichi argued. “I just need days off here and there.”
“Sure,” she nodded. “If the specialist agrees. It’s your brain, we can’t fuck around here.”
Daichi nodded, hoping Sam couldn't sense the way fear had curdled in his stomach. After the initial doctor had told him nothing was wrong with his brain, he'd chosen to take that at face value and very deliberately avoided thinking further about what was wrong with him.
“If you're done in here though, you should go to bed,” Sam said firmly. “I'll sort your travel with the girls in admin, get you another night here before you fly home. No point rushing, the earliest I can get a doctor to see you will be next week.”
Through the hailstorm of agony rattling against his skull, Daichi just managed to process what she'd said. “Home? What about the game?”
“No games for you until you're feeling better,” Sam shrugged. “So there's no point keeping you out on the road. Once the pain’s not so bad, you should be good to travel.”
Daichi, despite how ill he felt, sat up straight, turning to face her even as he reeled. The color had drained from his face, hurt in his eyes like she had just kicked his puppy. “...none?”
“Obviously not. You're in no state to play,” Sam said, calm but stubborn.
“I’ll be fine tomorrow night,” Daichi insisted, but the soft slur of his words gave him away.
“No,” she repeated. “Maybe if we had two or three days, but not tomorrow. Considering how pukey you are, you won't even be properly rehydrated by then, much less in shape to play.”
“Fuck,” Daichi muttered, pressing a hand into his eye socket where the worst of the pain seemed to coalesce. “Fuck this. Can you at least give me something for the pain then?”
“Do you think it'll stay down?” Sam asked drily. He was still ghastly white, slumped back against the toilet as he grew too dizzy to stay upright.
“Uhhh…” He squeezed his eyes closed, biting back a frustrated sob. “Injection?”
Sam raised an eyebrow. Daichi put on a brave face when it was necessary, but she knew he wasn't too fond of needles. If he was asking for a shot, he must have been in unthinkable pain.
“Did you take anything before I got here?”
He started to shake his head, then thought better of it.
“Tylenol. ‘Nd melatonin. In m’bag.”
Sam nodded, crouching down to offer a hand. “Okay, come on. Once you're in bed, I'll go get your drugs.”
Daichi groaned, but Sam ignored his protests, hoisting one of his massive arms over her shoulder and beginning to stand. Despite the comical size difference, Daichi was shocked by how easily she seemed to haul his weight up. As hard as he tried, he knew his jellied legs weren't offering much help.
“Y”re strong,” he mumbled, dropping across her like a hefty ragdoll.
“Course I am,” Sam said, though her chest puffed up pridefully. “How else would I manhandle big idiots who don't take care of themselves?”
“Huh…”
Daichi folded down into the bed, curling up immediately into a ball. He wished he could steady his breathing, wondering if maybe that would ease the tight pain in his skull, but all he could manage was sharp, staccato gasps.
“Hang on,” Sam muttered, worry creasing her brow. She patted his shoulder before jogging off down the hall. It was disconcerting to see him that way, so wan and fragile, huddled up in his sheets. It wasn't like she'd never seen a migraine before - her mother had had them frequently while pregnant with her younger brother - but a sinking feeling nagged at the back of her mind nonetheless.
When Sam returned, she found Daichi in much the same state as before. Pale, trembling, face tight with pain. His broad, athletic frame had somehow become small, and he looked up at her with a desperation in his eyes. “‘d you get the drugs?”
“Yeah,” she whispered. Despite herself, she perched beside him on the bed and pressed a hand against his forehead. It was more intimate than she would usually allow herself to be with a player, but this wasn't a usual bump or strain. And she did offer them comfort when they needed, she reasoned. She couldn’t not, when he was so miserable and out of sorts. Daichi whimpered softly, leaning into her cool palm. “I called the desk for an ice pack. There are some good ones for headaches, but we'll have to make do with whatever they have. I'll go to a pharmacy first thing tomorrow.”
“‘kay,” he mumbled, still leaning into the soothing touch.
Sam reluctantly pulled away, picking up the syringe she'd brought. Attempting to put her worry away, she flashed him a mischievous smirk. “Alright, big man. Be tough for a second.”
He made a soft noise of acknowledgement, squeezing his eyes closed so he couldn't see the needle slide into his arm. Even so, he stiffened, only relaxing at the sound of her snapping her gloves off. He opened one eye just a sliver, seeing the vague silhouette of Sam putting the cap back onto the needle. He shivered.
“All done,” she nodded. “Caleb's booked into a separate room, so you'll get some peace and quiet now, okay? I'll check on you in the morning.”
Daichi blinked slowly. His hands loosened where he gripped the sheets and he let out a sleepy “mmmnn…”, more of an exhale than communication. Sam smiled, patting his shoulder.
“Get some rest. We’ll fix this. I’m sure of it.”