Seeing Red

//Anna Trovato’s POV//
/**In Russian**/

“Please never leave me alone in that place again. There were hundreds of people!”

“A little over 3000, actually. You didn’t have fun?”

“I ended up following Dima Chesnokov around to get away from this guy who recognized me.” Pulling at the red fabric, I never had the intentions of donning a Capitals’ jersey, but Alex had all but forced me into it for the Caps Convention. Granted, I certainly blended in with the #28 on the back, but it was an off feeling. It reminded me of the prank the guys in Tampa had pulled, trying to be funny. “I don’t think it helped that Mike tweeted the picture he and I took together.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay for a few more days? I was getting used to having you around.” Scoffing, I shoved Alex teasingly before returning to packing my bag. It was a few days early, but I wanted to get a jump start on the recovery process Boucher would have me go through. He sighed before helping me out of the jersey, glancing at the clock carefully. “It leaves at 10, yeah?”

Nodding, the silence resumed as I watched him fold the jersey and slide it into my bag. I shook my head, unable to keep from smiling before laying back on the bed. “You just don’t want to have to get your mail. Your mother said she landed an hour ago, so she should be here by now. Have you tried calling her?”

Alex crawled onto the bed and collapsed next to me, an easy grin on his face. He took my hand in his, entwining our fingers with ease. “She’s been here for a few minutes. She texted me saying to come down when you were ready, so I’d like to introduce you to her now.”

I’d met Mama Semina and the youngest one several times during the Cup run, through Tatiana, but it was never direct. Agreeing, I pulled away from his grasp and slid off the bed. Standing up straight, Alex rolled off the bed in the same direction as I had taken before taking my hand once more and leading me out and down the stairs. The light-haired woman stood at the bottom of the staircase, a knowing smile on her face as our eyes met. Returning it lightly, she pulled me into a tight hug. “It’s a relief to see you again, Annushka.”

Only able to shrug, I wrapped my arms around the woman and returned the gesture. Peeking back at Alex, his mouth was open and his brow furrowed, obviously trying to make sense of the situation. “You know each other? Mama, how am I supposed to introduce Anna to you if you never told me that you two had met?”

“Oh, hush Alex, it’s alright. We met because of Tatiana, but it was very brief outside of watching your games. We can start over if you’d like?” The older woman withdrew before stepping over to prod her son, smirking. “You start with ‘Mama, I’d like you to meet Anna, my girlfriend. Anna, this is my mother‘. Who is ready for dinner? I’m sure you both are starving after being at the convention all day.”

who wants grandchildren. I was almost waiting for the comment. Several of my teammates had complained about their mothers embarrassing them that way in front of their current girlfriends, but it never came. “She’s not my girlfriend ,Mama.” and “He’s not my boyfriend.” were sputtered at the same time, only further sending the woman into hysterics.

“Call me when you land.” Nodding, I turned to give Mrs. Semina another hug before she headed for the car. Alex took my hand once more and pulled me closer to the nearly vacant boarding area for the flight. It wasn’t very crowded so there was an air of silence swept across the whole of Dulles airport. The lady at the entryway scanned our tickets and allowed us through speedily. Alex slid my bag into the overhead compartment and sat in the window seat, giving me the aisle seat, both at the very front. I flexed my fingers, itching for it all to be over with already. I couldn’t ask the man next to me to not go to practice to drive with me down to Tampa and I didn’t trust myself the entire way down, so he had offered to fly with me down, and then come back before morning. The Capitals had already started their preseason so he couldn’t afford to not be at practice.

The plane door was secured shut and the stewardesses had begun making rounds, tending to the few passengers and going over safety materials and other robotic notions. “I never told you this, but I like your hair. It looks good.”

“Thanks.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, allowing me to rest my head on his shoulder, as we were taxied out onto the runway. Gripping his hand, bits and pieces of the flight were dripping back into my head. Sasha Galimov had come to sit next to me to escape the ruffians acting up. “I’m glad you like it. I was blonde when I was little, but it darkened by the time I started school. It’s exciting to go back occasionally.”

He rubbed my shoulder as the stewardesses took their seats in their quarters, all of the lights turning off to leave us in the pitch black. Alex shut the window cover next to him before sitting back into the seat. “It’s barely over an hour, so sleep. You’ll feel better, and I will be right here the whole time.”

Stepping into the now Tampa Bay Times Forum, it felt good to be back. Everything about the arena was the same, but at the same time very different. Renovations had been done, new uniforms of course, tons of new staff, and a new season right around the corner. I think I made an emotional ordeal out of getting dressed because it took a few minutes longer than I remembered it doing.

Steve had mentioned that my uniform would be here a few days into October and that I’d have to use what I had in the meantime. Of course, Dana just grabbed the Loko bag that was already packed and set it in the familiar stall between him and Simon’s old one. Ryan Malone’s name was now on it, but it just joined the other vacant ones in the room. Pulling the white socks over my pads, I smoothed out the smaller red and larger blue stripes that went around it on both legs before pulling on the familiar red pants. My name and number were still embroidered on the bottom left one, the team’s crest above it, and I was almost tempted to tape over it.

Sliding into my shoulder pads, I checked to make sure they didn’t press in the wrong place. My leg was still tender when I tried to run or step the wrong way, but there was no problem with getting back into my pants. It was the same case with my ribs, but it was just more tenderness until the bones finished. They were almost ready, according to my fruitful internet searches, but only an x-ray would prove it.

Grabbing my jersey, one of two that I had left from Loko with, I yanked it over my head quickly and attached the fight strap and tucked it in all the way around. Only a few days of this and I’d have Lightning equipment to wear and all of this can become another skeleton in the closet. Tying my laces up, I didn’t bother with a helmet, only a bun, and put on my gloves. Stepping down the tunnel, I grabbed one of my sticks and walked up to the ice.

I missed Alex. It was my choice to leave DC and come here and we all know it was for the best anyways. Vinny sat on the boards, fully dressed, with Yzerman behind him and Boucher on the ice already. The moment I skated onto the ice, Vincent was by my side and skated with me to our coach. When I stopped, my captain squeezed the life out of me in a hug and I had to beg to breathe. Boucher only did the same, this time calling me stupid and scaring them and that if I ever did anything stupid like that again, they’d have my head. “The red suits you, kinda. Different, but it looks good. I have to say, I did not enjoy getting up so early to watch your games.”

“We appreciated it.” Vinny laughed when Guy threw some pucks out for a few light drills. “They would get up early to watch them and be so tired when practice came, we’d have late practice and got to sleep in.”

Rolling my eyes, I began a slow lap around the ice and sped up with each one. None of the moment hurt my upper body, but whenever I turned too tightly, my leg throbbed. I could do it, but there was discomfort. I was close to being as fast as I used to be, but that would come with comfort on my leg and time. Confidence, really, was all key.

Skating up to the lined pucks, three were shot and all went in. Shrugging and looking back to Vinny and Boucher, they smiled. “Still feel comfortable with shooting and everything? How about checking?”

“Shooting is fine. I don’t have any pain in my ribs and was going for an x-ray after this to clear me there. My leg hurts some, but I think I should be fine.” I glanced over to Yzerman who only smiled shortly before getting up and going down the tunnel. “We saw a trainer up in DC before leaving and he said that the muscle healed correctly, I’d just have to keep up exercising so I don’t lose more than I already have. Basically, I can play until I feel pain, then I need to stop and go back to a doctor and make sure it’s all still going according to plan.”

/**Previously**/ /**Italics in Russian**/

“I think I like you with blonde.” Shoving Ovi lightly as the therapist looked at my leg, he continued to make small marks on his clipboard. “So tell me why you wanted me to come again? I was sure you would have brought Sasha instead.”

“Use your English. He’s still at the rink and is picking up dinner after and I need to talk to you about something. Yzerman wants me to sign a year contract with the club. What do you think?”

“I’m going to go test these measurements, Miss Anna, but it shouldn’t take too long.” Nodding at the doctor, he grabbed his notes and left silently. We weren’t worried about discretion; it was a part of their job and their tongues were told not to scream when they found something out.

“When do they honestly expect you to play?”

“Depending on what the doctors say now and when I get down there, maybe after the All-Star break? I want to play sooner, but I need a professional opinion to back up me wanting to play now, rather than later.” Laying back on the table, it was a hurricane of decisions. I’d have to be in Tampa in less than a week. “Don’t tell Alex, but I want to come back in October.”

“No.”

“Why not? I don’t feel that bad, it’s gotten easier to walk. Hell, I don’t even need crutches anymore!” His brow furrowed as he looked to a chart on the wall, nothing to chip in. “While you guys are at practice, I jog to the gym and use either the treadmill or cyclical bike, and then jog back. When I tell you that I feel better, I mean it, okay?”

I didn’t even hear him come back in, but as soon as we went quiet, he began speaking. How polite. “Anna, I am floored at these results. Your leg is looking marvelous, so I really don’t think there is anything else I can do for you. It’s looking great, so whatever you are doing is the perfect remedy. You will want to follow up with your athletic trainer and doctor down in Tampa to make sure everything continues on this same track, maybe once a week?”

“Can she play?” The therapist looked at Ovi, but it wasn’t one of shock. I’m sure he was asked the same questions by hundreds of athletes all the time. He glanced back at my leg, to the charts, to my face, and back to Ovechkin.

“Whatever she had done kept her body up during the healing process. If she keeps it up, I don’t see why she can’t play in November, maybe October. I would prefer if she talked with her trainers and got their opinion, but the muscles and nerves are in immaculate condition. She might have to build her speed back up slowly, but it’s very possible.”

“Here’s was we drew up preliminarily. We couldn’t get a hold of your agent, so everything is, of course, negotiable. No-trade clause, one-way, starting out on long-term IR, #57 as always. $5.7million plus performance and playoff bonuses, one year. May I ask, what is it with you hockey players and your numbers?” Yzerman laughed heartily as we went over the contract. I wasn’t even guaranteed to play and I was handed a contract some would kill for.

“I don’t care too much about the no-trade clause. It’s restricting the team and we could use the movement in light of something changing.” He nodded and added in the changes on the computer (“You know we won’t trade you unless you request it, right?” was thrown in there). “What’s best for the club is important. I’d like to not be placed on LT-IR, but just the normal IR list. I feel comfortable with playing soon.”

“One of these days, we are going to lock you up for the long run. Are you sure, Anna?” He finished typing and began printing it out before turning to me. Accepting the documents and signing everything to the T, I handed it back to him. “I kind of can’t stand not playing.”