The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

When the Penguins played the Capitals on January 21st, part of Sidney wanted to look up in the stands and see Sorcha sitting next to Isabelle, but no matter how much he wanted it, the only person there was the slender blonde, dressed in his jersey, grinning ear to ear as she cheered him on. It should've been enough. Any man would be lucky to have a girl like her and he knew it.

And yet, for some reason, every time he held her or kissed her or spent time with her, he was left wanting more. It was frustrating, to tell you the truth, though not as frustrating waking in the middle of the night with a raging hard-on and knowing that it wasn't dreams of your pretty, slender, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, considerate, courteous, and compassionate girlfriend that caused it, rather her gorgeous, curvy, chocolate-brown-haired, cocoa-brown-eyed, uncouth, vibrant, brash, electrifying, tactless, effervescent, foul-mouthed, addicting friend.

Groaning, the twenty-two-year-old shook his head, trying to focus his attention on the swiftly approaching game instead of all the blood that was rushing to a very neglected appendage of his.

* * *

The end of January, beginning of February, was quite an interesting time in the DMV. There was snow on the ground, and lots of it. So much so that I hadn't been to work in days, let alone left my apartment for anything but groceries. The snow accumulation had to have been around fourteen or so inches, most of which had not been cleared off the streets, leaving people to struggle through the snow drifts as they tried to go about their lives as usual. Of course, in a place that rarely sees snow, especially at this caliber, going about as you normally would was pretty much impossible.

But I wasn't going to let any amount of snow keep me away from the Capitals vs. Penguins game on the seventh, especially since the Penguins went through hell just to get to the Verizon Center and get their asses kicked. Thankfully, I didn't live far from the metro stop in Dupont Circle, so the trek wasn't too unbearable. I wasn't entirely sure whether or not my brothers would make it, but I sure as hell hoped they did, going to a game without them would just be weird.

The Phone Booth was the emptiest I had seen in quite awhile, though that didn't stop the fans from being as loud as they possibly could. Thankfully, my brothers were able to come, though Finn was half-drunk when they arrived. Cory shot me an apologetic look as he sat down my twenty-one-year-old brother on my left. My twenty-four-year-old brother barely got out a "hello" before Finn demanded that my eldest brother get him a beer. Sighing, Cory, being the doting brother he was, nodded and left to comply with my brother's wishes.

"So Sorcha," Finn slurred, "how are you? Still being a wet blanket?"

I shot him an unamused look, but chose to generally ignore him. Six months ago, when my drinking was becoming borderline fatal, Finn was all for my sobriety and generally, he still was. Unless he had been drinking. I never realized how different my brother became when he drank, mostly because if he was drinking, I was drinking twice as much. When he was drunk, my sobriety was a joke to him, something to tease me about. And while I knew he was in his proper state-of-mind, it still hurt. I had always been closer to Finn, either because we're closer in age or are simply more carefree than Cory was, but lately, I have barely spoken to him because his drinking had become worse and honestly, I was beginning to worry. I didn't want him to end up like me.

"Here you go," Cory's voice broke through my thoughts. He pushed the beer toward Finn. As he took a seat on my right, I noticed he didn't have a beer. I shot him an appreciative smile and soon, the game began.

* * *

Sidney couldn't help but notice that Sorcha didn't have any beer in her hands as she watched the warm-ups from her seat behind the net. Nor did she have one once the game began. He hoped it meant she was still sober, even if Isabelle was thoroughly convinced she would never changed. The young captain wasn't so sure why he desperately wanted Sorcha to have stayed sober; perhaps he simply cared about her wellbeing, perhaps he didn't want to see his girlfriend shaken up from her friend in another coma, perhaps her sobriety would help him justify the way butterflies erupted in his stomach every time he thought about her.

Licking his lips, Sidney pushed all thoughts of her out of his head and focused on the game.

And focus he did. By the end of the second, the Penguins were up 4-2 against the Capitals, with Sidney having two goals himself.

* * *

I glared at the ice. I didn't like my team being behind two goals at the end of the second. I didn't like Kunitz running over Theodore in the first (though at least he didn't try to decapitate him like he had tried with Varly in Series 2). I didn't like the flutters in my stomach. And I didn't like how desperately I needed a beer.

Of course, I knew never to doubt the Capitals, who kicked it up into overdrive as soon as the third period began and halfway through the period, the game that had me screaming at the top of my lungs for the past fifty minutes was tied. Their comeback was only made sweeter by Ovechkin's hat trick!

The game went into overtime, leaving me on the edge of my seat, praying that the Caps scored, especially in overtime because I certainly did not want to see the game go to a shoot out (I really hate shoot outs). And my prayers were answered at 2:49 from Mr. Mike Knuble himself.

I leapt to my feet, cheering my head off for the boys who never ceased to amaze me. As I watched my boys celebrating the spectacular win, I caught a familiar set of hazel eyes and, for some reason, a faint smile crept onto my lips.