State of Grace

Leaving. Leaving is something Grace really doesn't want to do. Her clothes are strewn messily across her hotel room like it’s a closet, her suitcase is already half full with Jacob’s chocolate and candy and everything seems like so much effort. Like too much effort. It’s like everything is banding together and making this all harder. Last night she had fallen asleep dreaming of arranging her nicely folded clothes in her suitcase, zipping it up and making her way down to the lobby with her Mom to get a taxi to the airport.

But that is so not the way her morning is going.

The clothes aren't cooperating and folding themselves. The suitcase is hogging space and to top it all of and make it harder, Sid is lying on her bed, stretched out with no shirt on and his hand behind his head to facilitate him being able to watch Grace do no more than pace the room, look at clothes and think of picking them up but then simply walk past and repeat it again with another pile.

She’s at the end of the bed now, standing in front of her suitcase, half looking at it and trying to figure out how to make room, and half just watching Sid, trying to take as many mental snapshots as possible to be filed away in her head.

The muscles on his arms are strongly defined with the way his arm is bending and because he’s been lying down his hair is perfectly messy again and really, how in the world is Grace supposed to start piecing her things together to leave when he is sitting there like that? With that stupidly adorable kicked-puppy look that he’s been wearing ever since he arrived this morning.

It was 5am when he had knocked on the hotel room door this morning, thankfully not loud enough to wake Sarah. Grace had been surprised, still half asleep, and the happiest she’d ever been to see anybody in her life, all at once. She took him by the arm and led him through to her room and shut the door behind them.

Sid had sat on the bed and tugged her in between his legs, pulling out a folded sheet from the pocket of his SC87 hoodie. “I come bearing gifts,” he’d said, opening it out for Grace.

It was a calendar of their schedule for the remainder of the season, with the current days date circled. Its intended purpose was to try and help them to navigate their way through and at least throw a pin at the map of what time would suit Grace and be the best time both hockey and farm wise for the next visit to happen, but they hadn't quite gotten that far. A small argument that was really more of some cheeky flirting broke out after five minutes and the planning had been forgotten in aid of kisses as Sid’s chosen form of retribution for Grace teasing that if they don’t beat the Flyers on December 10th, she might not visit for a few more months.

The planner still lies on the bed beside Sid, crinkled slightly from where Grace had fallen back and rolled on it when the kisses had grown some heat.

Forgoing the failing mission to pack, Grace walks around the bed to where Sid lies, sitting on the slither of mattress between him and the edge. She would really rather just shove all her clothes in at the absolute last minute, or leave them here all together –except the hockey jersey’s of course- in aid of prolonging the act of leaving as long as she can. She knows that in fifteen minutes, in the room across the hall, her Mother’s 7:30am alarm will go off and she will want to be packed up, checked out and at the airport by 8.

Sarah had been smart and chosen to pack last night in preparation, warning Grace that it would save time. But Grace knew it wasn’t just about saving time, it was about saving her mother’s sanity.

Yesterday, as their last official day in the Steel City, they had slept in and then gone out to breakfast together before going their separate ways for the rest of the day. Grace went to meet Sid, and Sarah spent most of her time in an internet café Skyping with Logan. Before the trip, two nights was the longest amount of time Grace’s parents had ever been apart, and when she had gotten back to the room, Grace could tell that her Mother was missing her father a lot. The packing seemed to distract her though, at least for the time being, given that it was a step closer to getting to see Logan again.

For Grace, the problem is the opposite -packing means getting one step further away from Sid, away from the city and closer to leaving. None of which she wants to do.

“Hey,” Sid says, interrupting her thoughts and reaching up to hold her cheek. His thumb traces over the slight pout of her lips, getting half way before it’s transformed into a small smile at the touch of his skin to hers. “Don’t be sad, okay? You’ll be back. Soon.” He thins his eyes. “Soon, right?”

Shit, by the sound of the low scratch in his voice, he needs this more than she does.

“Right,” she nods, because what else is there she can do? Promises, even weak ones like these that have no tangible time or date; they are all they have left. Or will have left, once Grace is on that plane, heading a world away. “Provided that you kick the Flyers ass,” she adds just to lighten the mood. Sid’s smile is flawless and she would really rather spend their last few private and stolen moments looking at it.

“Whatever. You’ll be back regardless,” Sid scoffs, his grin filling out. “You will miss me too much.”

“Oh, yeah? And what makes you think that, Crosby?” It’s said for the purpose of humour of course, since every possible thing about Grace shows how much she cares for him, almost emitting and leaking her feelings all over the place in the doe-eyed way she looks at him, the melted puddle of herself that she reverts to under his touch and the size and watt of the smile that plays on her lips when he makes her laugh.

Sid knows all of it already, so he doesn't even dignify it with a response initially, just eases himself up to a half sitting position and kisses her.

This time the kiss is fast and breathless like they both need something from each other, crazed with hunger and not leisurely with time and pace like all the times before. It’s reflective of their situation more than anything.

“You can play coy,” he whispers as they break for air, “but I know you love me, Grace.”

As soon as the words are out, Sid wishes he’d never said them, never gotten cocky and tried to one-up her.

“Love, huh?” she asks.

“I didn't mean- I know that that’s a pretty big…….It was in good jest, like-”

Grace laughs and takes his face in her hands, waits until his brown eyes are softer and focused on her. Until he’s stopped trying to fumble out an excuse. When they get to that point, she puts her finger to his lips.

“Its okay, Sid,” she tells him. “I know how you meant it. Don’t sweat it.”

And just that simply, Sid does stop sweating it, because the calm from the fact that he and Grace can say anything around each other and not have to feel embarrassed means a lot to someone like him.

“You do though, right,” he says, mumbling it, so much so that Grace can’t definitively tell whether it’s a question or not.

Love is a big word that holds more meaning than Grace has ever known, and she’s not sure whether she can use it right now, but she does know that when you do use it you are more sure of it than you are your own name, and she’s not there, yet.

So again, she opts for the comical response, the one to ease the tension.

“Again, it’s dependent on the hockey,” she says with a smile.

Sid briefly presses a kiss to her forehead before he chuckles. “This is the Princess thing again, isn't it? I have to do something worthy to win your affections.”

“Well, it only seems fitting seeing as I did have to travel thousands and millions of miles through time zones to win yours.”

“I’m so glad you did, Grace,” he adds somberly, his eyes looking back into hers earnestly.

“I’m glad I did too.”

--

Grace is still glad when she gets on the first plane, stomach swirling with doubt and uneasiness. She takes her seat next to her mother, alongside the window.

Finding her eye mask in her carry-on bag, she slips it on over her eyes, rests her head back against the seat and relaxes back, hoping to get lost inside her own head. She’s not alone in there though; she’s got Sid with her, the memories of the trip playing out on the inside of her eyelids like a movie.

Her mother taps her thigh and Grace clicks her seat-belt together on her lap, fiddling with it for a few minutes, pushing the ends together blindly until they fit together and click, not wanting to open her eyes.

A smile spreads across her face as she plays out the memory of her farewell with Sid at the hotel room, having squashed any hope he had of accompanying her to the airport.

“I have to go home,” she’d told him, whispering the words against his neck, feeling betrayed as they left her mouth. Having to and wanting to being two very different things. “If you’re there, I might not get on the plane.”

Sid had tightened his locked arms around her in protest, holding on tighter. His face nuzzled at the cheek of hers and she’d had half the thought to give up all and just stay. But that’s not possible, not feasible. The farm needs her. Her father needs her. Especially after a few days by himself.

“I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

Then their time had run out, the sand from the hour glass all transferred from top to bottom. A kiss was how they left it, goodbye too hard a word to hear from the other so it was left unsaid.

Now, Grace smiles to herself as she re-watches the moment, holding on to it while it’s fresh and so recent that it feels real, not like a memory at all.

--

Sid is still glad the next day, slipping the photo frame Grace gave him into his bag for the flight to Boston. He takes it from where it has been living on top of his bedside table since she gave it to him. Smiling down at it, he takes a moment to race his fingers of Grace’s smile before filing it into the netting of the top flap of the suitcase.

Aboard the team charter, he sits next to Flower, as per usual. Geno and his card sharks sit further back, and sticking with tradition, Tanger is in the set of seats to his right. It’s still kind of weird to not see Max there since the seating plans had been so set and constant, but Sid has gotten used to it being Tanger now, though he swears that Flower still misses Max something fierce. From time to time when Tanger miraculously gets a lucky kill during their Call of Duty battles Flower will mutter ‘Tanger is a douche’ under his breath almost reflexively, but it doesn't have the same ring to it.

“Good break?” Flower asks him as they both open their PSP’s and fire them up. “Ready to beat the Bruins?”

Sid laughs, thinking about the text Grace sent him as he left the house this morning, saying that she will be staying up late to watch the match over the internet and is expecting a win.

“Yeah,” he tells Flower, abandoning his game console in his lap to take a packet of M&M’s that’s on offer. “More than ready.”

“How about me kicking your ass?” Tanger asks from next to them, waving his PSP. “Are you ready for that?”

Flower and Sid exchange looks that verbally translate to ‘That’s never going to happen. Not even in a million years’ and then Flower says, “Tanger is a Douche.”

Everybody in a close enough vicinity to hear it laughs, and everything feels remarkably comfortable and familiar, regular as usual.

Halfway through the flight, Sid flicks a look at his phone, bringing up the World Clock app on his Iphone. He still doesn’t get the hassle of fancy phones like these -until his flip phone broke it worked perfectly fine, thank you very much- but it is helpful that with the tap of his finger he can see what the time is where Grace is, and how much longer until their scheduled Skype date.