The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

When I left the Russian dorm early in the morning, smelling of sex and vodka, wearing last night's clothes, and looking as disheveled as ever, Sidney Crosby was the last person I wanted to see. He gawked at me, glancing between me and the building I had just walked out of. Honestly, was he that surprised?

I raised my eyebrows at him when he didn't say anything for several minutes, before rolling my eyes and turning to head back to my hotel, but before I was out of his reach, he gripped my wrist, forcing me to turn back and look at him.

"May I help you with something?"

"What were you doing in there?" the Nova Scotian motioned toward the Russian's Olympic building.

"You're twenty-two-years-old, Sidney," I smirked, "hopefully it's not that difficult figure it out."

He kept a serious expression on his face, "I thought you said you were sober."

"There's no rule that you have to be drunk to have a one-night-stand. You should try it sometime."

"I did. I got a door slammed in my face," he stated. I rolled my eyes.

"That's because you can't keep your stupid mouth shut," I spat angrily, tearing my wrist from his grip. "And for your information, it stops being a one-night-stand once you start stalking the person."

"I'm not -" he began to defend, but I cut him off.

"Not stalking me? Honestly, darling, you go to my bar, date my friend, and follow me down the street and to my apartment. That sure sounds like stalking to me."

Telling by the look on his face, Sidney was not appreciating my words.

"You see, this is why things always end badly! You're such a sarcastic bitch. Is it impossible for you to take one thing seriously for once in your life?" he snapped.

"Fuck you, Sidney!" I exclaimed, my eyes ablaze. "We've met, what? Six? Seven times? How dare you pretend you know anything about me!"

He groaned, realizing what he had done, "Sorcha, I -"

"I'm so fucking tired of this - this... whatever the fuck this is, I'm sick of it! How about you just stay the fuck out of my life, mmkay?"

And with my harsh words hanging in the crisp, February air, I stormed off.

* * *

Why did they always end up arguing? Was it simply impossible for them to have a civil conversation with each other? Sidney knew the answer to the first one. They always argued because a) he judged too quickly and couldn't keep his uninformed opinions to himself and b) Sorcha was too sarcastic and too guarded to let people in. But did Sidney want in?

He guessed the second and third questions went hand-in-hand. If Sorcha let him in, much like he had on that snowy sidewalk in DC, would they ever be able to get along? Because if they couldn't hold a civil conversations with one another, they certainly couldn't hold a relationship.

Relationship - what?

Sidney shook his head, letting all of his previous thoughts drift from his head. He was with Isabelle. Isabelle loved him; he loved Isabelle. He was sure his mother was already planning their wedding together in her head. He and Isabelle were perfect together. But was perfection what he wanted?

Because the complicated and sarcastic and confusing and crass and infuriating girl running off down the sidewalk was electrifying. Too bad she wanted nothing to do with him.

* * *

When I arrived back at the hotel, Isabelle freaked out, yelling that she had called me a dozen times and was absolutely worried about me. I shrugged, telling her I was just out having some fun and reminding her that she wasn't my mother, and headed for my room, leaving her fuming in the entryway.

After I had been in my room for a while, I heard a soft knock on the door. Before I managed to say "come in", the door was open and in walked Isabelle. I cocked an eyebrow at her, looking her from over the top of one of my ridiculously thick Art History textbooks. She had a faint smile on her lips and her hands behind her back.

"I'm sorry, Sorchie, I know I shouldn't be so demanding," she began sweetly. I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. "I just really worry about you and I'm still getting used to the new, sober, responsible Sorcha Brogan."

There was the guilt-trip, even if it was only a mini one. There was the sweet smile.

"Whatever, Belle; I'm over it," I replied noncommittally. "Now, I have homework I need to get back to..."

"I have something to give you first!" I wasn't sure whether or not I should've been afraid of the grin on her delicate, rose-colored lips. She removed a shimmery bag with a giant bow from behind her back and handed it to me. I shot her a skeptical look as I pushed away the pink tissue paper, reaching inside and pulling out a red Team Canada jersey. I swear, if she got me a Crosby jersey...

I turned it around and sighed in relief when I saw the number 7 and Seabrook on the back. Thank God.

"I figured you would need something to wear to the Canada games," Isabelle said with a proud smile. I couldn't help up return an appreciative grin.

"Thanks, Belle."

I folded back up the jersey and went to toss the bag on the floor when she stopped me, "Wait! There's another surprise inside."

Okay...

I set the bag back down and when I glanced inside, my heart nearly stopped as I caught a glimpse of royal blue and a familiar coat of arms. I quickly yanked out the other jersey out of the bag, flipped it to the back and nearly shrieking when I saw Halak's name on the back. I dropped the Slovensko jersey onto the bed, sent a sincere grin to Isabelle, and engulfed her into a hug.