Master of Timing

For the next couple of days, Sidney and Lyndsey chatted back and forth- only over phone calls. He got the feeling that she didn't want him to see her looking the way she did; when he mentioned it to her, she hastened the change the subject while simultaneously giving him a vague 'of course not'.

But, he wasn't going to argue. Instead he threw himself into training, trying to not give himself an anxiety attack over what he needed to do for the last eleven games of the season. They had Calgary then Arizona at home and if they managed to click well enough they would be able to clinch a playoff spot before the calendar switched over to March. And God, did he want to have a certain end to the season.

He's heard what the press had been saying: they'd been written off at the beginning of the season when he'd gotten injured, which was infuriating to no end- Sidney Crosby was not the only person on the Pittsburgh Penguins. They could win without him- which they proved, now sitting only 3 points out from the race. Everyone was aching in some way shape or form in the locker room but it didn't do much to dampen their spirits.

No one said it, but he could feel it. They could do this year. Hopefully.

"Hey."

The ball of tape hit him above the eyeball and bounced off his knee onto the floor. He picked it up without even thinking to throw it in the trash can. Beau was doing nothing to hide the cheeky grin that gave him away.

"Taking my eye out, eh?"

Number 19 shrugged, lifting his shoulder pads off and hanging them up on the hook behind him.

"You were drilling holes in the floor," he answered by way of an explanation. "A couple of us we're going to grab lunch, you in?"

"Sure," he replied easily, focussing on taking off his gear and getting to the showers. It had been a hard skate, Sullivan doing what he could do try and keep everyone on their toes, try and keep the energy up after a gruelling season, and Sidney could feel it. Niggling underneath a shoulder blade that he knew he'd spend some time rolling out before he took a nap.

He was the deciding vote between sushi and a burger joint, so he went with the fish. He suggested the restaurant he'd taken Lyndsey to during her visit and it wasn't long before seven rowdy hockey players were pushing two tables together and throwing out orders of California rolls, sashimi and spicy tuna. The edamame appeared before his eyes like magic.

"I don't know why they keep letting you two back here," he grumbled at Beau and Duper, who were each having a competition across from him who could eat their edamame the fastest. Pascal just grinned at him and threatened to throw the half eaten food at him.

"You're so grumpy today, Cap."

He took a deep breath and shrugged, fidgeting with his chopsticks so he wouldn't reach for his phone in his back pocket. He knew there wasn't anything more he could than what he'd already tried to do; Lyndsey made that point clear, frustrating as it was. He'd just have to grin and bear it.

"Hey," Pascal lowered his voice, leaning forward. "Try and take your mind off it, eh? She said that she was fine."

"I know." Even he could tell that he sounded like a petulant child. "I just..." he trailed off as the food arrived, everyone stacking up their plates as much as possible so that the next round could be brought to the table as soon as possible. He dipped his tuna into some soy sauce and paused with it half way to his mouth. Pascal was still waiting. "She's there, y'know? And I'm here, sitting around feeling useless."

"You are pretty terrible at sitting by and doing nothing," Pascal agreed. They cheered their sushi to one thing they both agreed on.

It wasn't so much that he knew he'd be able to take better care of her than what she was getting at home. That was a ridiculous thought- both Lyndsey and her Mom worked in medicine, and she was five minutes away from the people that treated her in the first place so if anything bad were to come up later they'd have a head start on it.

It didn't ease the unsettled feeling in his stomach. Going for a run then sitting in the steam of his shower didn't make him feel any better either. And it was stupid, right? They'd only officially been together for maybe three seconds. But he wanted her home with him, where he could run to his kitchen to get her something to eat, help her shower in his bathroom if she needed it, kiss her forehead and run his fingers through her hair as fell asleep on the pillow looking across from him in his bed. He knew he was thinking crazy but at the same time it felt so right he almost didn't know what to do with himself.

But his Mom might.

“Hi honey.”

"Hey Mom," he said quietly, muting ESPN but keeping one eye on the highlight reel in case Colorado's came up.

“What's the matter?”

"Nothing. Just called to see how you are.”

“Sidney. Don't lie to your mother.”

"I..." but his argument died in his throat. Of course she'd know. He hadn't lived under her roof for nearly fifteen years, but he still hadn't figured out how to hide from his Mom.

"Lyndsey was in a car accident- she's fine, it was only minor," he rushed as he heard Trina's gasp. Probably not the best thing to start off with. "And... well, I'm stuck here and I want to do what I can to take care of her. Which is crazy because we're only new into our relationship but God, Mom. She face timed me and she has this bruise above her eye and a cut on her lip and she said she's got bruising on her ribs - not that she'll show me - and I can't stop thinking about it and how because she's not working she might not be able to come out to visit-"

He took a deep breath, not realising just how much he'd rambled. Not that any of it wasn't true, he just had no idea where it came from.

“Well, thank goodness she's okay. You haven't told her that you're worried about her coming for the summer, have you?”

Her tone made him pause, biting his lip. That was her 'probably not the best idea' voice. Not that she'd be wrong.

"I... might’ve.”

“Oh, Sid.”

"What? I can't tell her that I want to see her in the offseason?"

“Not when she's half broken, you shouldn't be.”

"She's not half broken," he muttered, rolling his eyes. He hit the off button on the remote once the commentators had moved onto football and he began trudging up the stairs. Since he'd sat down for more than five undistracted minutes, he was tired. Bed sounded like heaven.

“Not the point I'm trying to make, my love.”

"I didn't know what to say! I- she- Mom, she looked like someone had taken to her with a baseball bat, okay? I wasn't prepared to see her that hurt and it was the first thing that came out of my mouth. I know it was idiotic, alright? She made that point clear."

And now he was getting angry. He threw the covers back and shoved his sweats to the floor.

“Okay, honey. It's okay. I know you're trying to help her because you care about her.”

"I- yeah," he replied, clearing his throat. "Yeah Mom, I do. That's what scares me."

“Oh, Sidney. That's nothing to be scared of! From what you've told me, and how our sound when you talk about her- she's making my son very happy. I can't wait to meet her.”

"Exactly my point! Now I don't know when that's going to be!"

The silence on the other end made him take stock of his ... emotions. He rolled his eyes at himself.

"Long distance is hard," he admitted, staring at the ceiling. He didn't say it to himself much, but it was true. Harder than any relationship he'd ever been in, not that there were many.

“It's something new for you to adjust to. It will all work out, Sidney. It always does for you.”

"Thanks, Mom." He answered her just as quietly. They said their goodbyes and Sidney fumbled for the phone charger cord that had fallen off his side table and in between that and the bed. Once he plugged it in, he opened his phone to Lyndsey's name. He knew she'd be asleep, so he hit the text button instead.

I know I over stepped a little with the money thing and I wanted to say that I was sorry. I hope today was better than yesterday and that your ribs don't hurt as much. I miss you like crazy and can't wait to see you again- whenever that works for you. Let me know when you're up so I can hear your voice. X



“Lyndsey, sweetie…” Lorraine’s voice was quiet by her ear, and Lyndsey groaned as she woke up slowly, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. It had been four days. The phrase ‘it will get worse before it gets better’ had resonated through her body since she got home from the hospital. It hurt to move. It hurt to breath - not in a lungs collapsing kind of way, but still. She’d never been this hurt in her life.

"I have some soup for you," Lorraine offered, setting the large mug down on her bedside table so that she could help Lyndsey sit up and arrange the pillows behind her back. "And Claire's here."

"Thanks, Mom," Lyndsey sighed, taking the Advil gratefully and throwing back the pills, waving a hand in Claire's direction when she walked through the door. She wasted no time climbing up onto the free side of Lyndsey's bed, kicking her shoes off to the side.

"Call out if you need anything."

They both murmured an 'okay', and the the door was closed again, to help stop the dogs trying to come in and climb up all over their injured Mom. It pained Lyndsey to turn Benji away when he stood on his tiny back legs, purely because she couldn't bend down to pick him up.

"Do you need me to reach that?"

"Nah." Lyndsey reached for the mug easily, stirring the soup with the spoon. "It's my left side that's messed up."

"Weird," Claire commented, digging up the TV remote from under her. "I thought it was because of the seatbelt."

"Apparently I slammed into the door at an odd angle."

Lyndsey had seen the X-Rays and CT results herself- she'd made quite the impact with the driver side door, just before her head slammed into the window when her car hit the curb side on. She was glad she couldn't actually remember it happening, even though Sara said she'd been conscious for most of it.

"Have you heard from him?"

Lyndsey took her time staring into the mug in front of her, ignoring the way Claire dropped the remote once she's found the channel she'd wanted to have droning on in the background. She'd told her best friend about Sidney's offer- if it could even be called that- and they both hadn't brought it up since. She didn't want to take his money, she had enough savings and it wasn't like she lived on her own or was going to be out of work for long. But it made a pretty big dent in her plans for the coming months. A flip of a coin, pick between the playoffs or the summer kind of coin.

"Dude, cmon. He wants to help."

"I can't take his money, Claire! It's not... I'm not, like, a kept woman."

"Oh, my God." Claire huffed, tucking her feet underneath her to turn and face her friend straight on. "You are a complete idiot."

"Fuck you, I am not."

"He's a gazillionaire! That just wanted to buy a loaf of bread and some milk for you! How does that make you a kept woman?"

Lyndsey huffed, setting her soup to the side so that she didn't spill it in rage. The more she thought about their conversation, the angrier she felt. And then the more stupid she felt. One one hand, she hated that he thought he had to provide anything for her in the first place. Yes the plane tickets and weekend away and dinner had all been nice, but she would've found a way to pay for it herself. And then on the other hand, she felt like an idiot. He could easily afford to make things easier for her for a couple of weeks and wouldn't ever think twice about getting it back or having Lyndsey owe him anything.

She didn't know what to do.

"I just feel weird about taking his money, okay? It's-" She cut herself off, fiddling with her blanket. "It would be different if he was here."

"So, because he lives in Pittsburgh and literally can't do anything to physically be here to help you, you don't want anything from him at all," Claire deadpanned, in the most sarcastic tone Lyndsey had ever heard her use. It made her swallow down the mean retort sitting on her tongue.

"Of course I want things from him," She answered instead, sounding small and sad and every bit torn up inside. She wished that she could click her fingers and he'd be standing in front of her in all his denim jean, grey henley wearing glory, bending down to kiss her forehead and gently ask "How's my girl?". It hurt her like a physical ache, deep down in her chest. She'd never missed anyone the way she missed him and being stuck in her house unable to do anything to take her mind off it drove her crazy.

"Sounds like love," Claire murmured, brushing her fingers through Lyndsey's hair. She didn't realised she'd said the last bit out loud.

"It's not love, Claire. I barely know him."

"Oh, that's such bullshit. I know for a fact you'd know him better than anyone in Edmonton- except maybe whoever has made the Olympic team and played with him."

It got her to smile at Claire's poor attempt of a joke. But it fell away quickly.

Not that she was an expert at being in love or anything, but she thought that maybe they'd have to spend a little more time together and actually get used to each other to develop those kinds of feelings. When she mentioned it to Claire, the other woman stopped her braid, sitting back with a frown.

"What?" Lyndsey asked.

Claire opened her mouth, then closed it again, biting her lip and looking at something over Lyndsey's shoulder before she answered. "I just..." she sighed, reaching for Lyndsey's hand. "You guys talk nearly everyday, right? And not- not just about him, I know he asks about you and what you're doing and your life. Lynds, I really feel like you two mean way more to each other than you realise. Shit, even me and Cary didn't talk everyday when we were together, and he lived three minutes away." She raised her eyebrow and gave Lyndsey a pointed stare, waiting for her speech to settle in.

She did have a point- Lyndsey spoke to Sidney everyday, whether it be a long winded phone call or just a few texts to check in with each other. Not that she had much to go on, but the way she was left feeling once she’d spoken to him was different to any other guy she’d ever met. She felt safe with him, regardless of the time and space between them.

But all of that could come crashing down. She was right to be defensive - what if they only worked as well as they did because they weren’t in each other’s pockets all the time? What if there came a time and place that they were together for longer than… two weeks, and they couldn’t handle it? Nothing would break her heart more. And if there was anything Lyndsey was good it, it was doing her best to not set herself up for disappointment.

“I don’t know, Claire,” She murmured, and something about the sad tone of her voice made her best friend drop it, turning back to focus on the TV so that Lyndsey could finish her soup.

The meds that Aaron had prescribed her had to be taken with food - and the night time ones were particularly drowsy so they usually knocked her out straight away. Not that she really felt like sleeping more, but she figured that if she was asleep for the most of the time her body was trying to heal, that was better.

So, the next time she woke up Claire was gone. The TV was showing an ad for some cookware guaranteed to make sure ‘your stuff doesn’t stick!’, so she knew it was late. It took her a moment to recognise that it wasn’t the TV that had woken her up.

Her phone was buzzing from underneath her hip. She didn’t even remember putting it there.

Sidney’s face was on the screen - a photo she had taken of the two of them together, her favourite of the three; the one where she was looking at herself, but he was kissing her cheek. She rushed to swipe the answer button across.

“Hello?”

“Hi you.” His voice was soft and gentle and soothing and everything she didn’t even know that she needed to hear. Lyndsey reached around for the remote to turn off the noise in the background, the rooming plunging into darkness. Not that she needed it to lean back against her pillow, letting Sidney’s voice carry into her ear.

“What’re you doing up? It’s got to be late, there.” When she pulled the phone away to check, it was just after 1AM. Which meant it was 3AM in Pittsburgh.

“Yeah.” She heard noise in the background. Like a glass on his counter top. “I woke up with a pretty bad headache. I was- shit, did I wake you?”

“Oh, it’s fine-”

“Fuck, no. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, my head is pounding and it just… my first thought was to call you, I’m so sorry, I’ll let you go-”

“No!” The words were out of her mouth before she remembered to keep it quiet. “No, please. It’s okay, all I’m doing is sleeping. I don’t mind.”

“You should be resting.”

“So should you,” She pointed out, he had a game that night. He needed his sleep more than she did. “Don’t hang up,” She pleaded, clutching her comforter to her chest. “Please.”

There was more noise in the background, but she waited. For some stupid reason her heart was pounding in her chest, and now she was more awake than what she’d felt in days. His throat cleared through the line.

“Sorry, I was halfway through taking some pain killers before you answered.”

“Is it bad?”

He sighed. “Well, I’m feeling along the wall of my kitchen because I can’t stand to turn the lights on right now.”

He sounded angry. And bitter. It wasn’t a way she’d heard him talk before - the closest thing she could think of right then was the way he’d reacted after she’d found out the paperwork in his office about the dementia. She ached to be with him, even if it was only to be able to run her fingers through his hair, so that he could lie down next to her and she could do what ever she needed to do to make him feel better.

It was a kind of desperate need - something outside of herself, something she couldn’t help feeling. Even if she was battered and bruised, Lyndsey wanted to make him stop hurting, because the realistic fact that there was nothing she could do pained her. She hated it.

“Please be careful on the stairs,” She murmured. She took comfort in the small laugh that came back to her.

“Those stairs are the same one’s I tackled four months ago, and five years ago. I’m a pro at this by now.”

She could hear his footsteps on the stairs, the wood under his feet echoing his movements as he made his way back up to his bedroom. She closed her eyes, seeing exactly what he was seeing, remembering the way his house had smelled; the pictures of his family on the walls, the feeling of his sheets when she’d taken that first nap after the plane ride… and all the other moments she’d spent lying on them once he’d gotten home. Her mind went to her toothbrush - she wondered if it was still there, sitting next to his in the cup holder.

“I wish I was there to give you a head rub,” She whispered, closing her eyes and rolling carefully onto her back. It hurt slightly less than what it had before. He didn’t say anything, but she could still hear his gentle breathing, almost matching hers. “Or… not, I- that was kinda-”

“No, of course.” His voice was as quiet as hers, but she could hear his conviction. “God, I wish you were here for that, too. That would put me to sleep faster than the naproxen would.”

She swallowed at the name of the drug; that was heavy duty. His headaches must’ve been far worse than he’d ever let on. It had happened a couple of times - he’d called once when she was at work, and the tightness of his voice in the message he’d left her made her own throat go tight when she’d had a chance to listen to it at the end of her shift - but she hadn’t realised how bad the migraines had been. The fact that he was even able to talk to her and sound normal surprised her.

“Hey.” His voice brought her out of her thoughts, and she opened her eyes against the darkness of the room. “Stop overthinking it. I’ll be okay.”

“You don’t have to keep lying to me.”

“I’m not.”

“Naproxen is really strong stuff, Sidney.”

“Yeah I know, it knocks me on my ass usually.”

“Don’t joke about it.”

“I’m not!” He replied indignantly, she could hear him huffing. “I’m not trying to make it into a joke,” He said, much more seriously. And God, it was way too late - too early - to be talking about this at all. They both needed to go back to sleep. “Tell me a story.”

“What?” She laughed, adjusting her grip on the phone. It was starting to go hot in her hand.

“C’mon, it can be about anything. I wanna go sleep hearing your voice.”

“I…” Her voice fell away, overtaken by the sheer happiness he was able to make her feel just by saying something so simple. She swallowed, trying to take a steadying breath. “You can’t say stuff like that to me.”

“Why not?” He was starting to sound sleepy, and she wished nothing more that she was on the pillow next to him, or lying on his chest or literally anywhere with him than lying in her own freezing bed, stuck on one side for what felt like eternity. “It’s the truth.”

She laughed again, rolling her eyes. “I bet it is.”

He answered her with a groan, then what could only possibly be a yawn. Maybe she could get away with just a ‘goodnight’ instead, no matter how long she wanted to actually stay on the phone with him.

“I’m trying to be all sincere and you’re just making fun.”

“No, I’m not.” But her tiny giggle was giving her away. Damn him. Damn him for being so cute and endearing and slowly but surely tearing down every wall she’d built up around herself. So, she relented. Begrudgingly. “Fine,” She sighed, clearing her throat a little. “What kind of story.”

His soft chuckle warmed her down to her toes. Maybe Claire was right.

Maybe.

“Tell me about… your favourite birthday present.”

“No,” She answered immediately. Not because it had been horrible; quite the opposite. But because she didn’t need to wax poetic uncontrollably about the first hockey game she’d been to at one in the morning to her boyfriend who had happened to be the star of it. “Something else.”

“Fine, Christmas present.”

“Anything other than presents,” She countered. The ones she’d received that she’d truly valued had been small and probably wouldn’t have made much sense to anyone else, much less him. She didn’t want to have to explain anything.

“Alright,” He sighed and she heard him grumble. “Tell me about your favourite winters’ day.”

Lyndsey closed her eyes. Even though she was well and truly used to the harsh Canadian winters, she could still feel the bite of the cold wind against her cheeks that one day in late January her dad had taken her skating for the first time. She was maybe all of seven years old, and had gotten a pair of skates for Christmas, because everyone else in her class had gotten them during the summer, practising at rinks and on rollerblades, since everyone wanted to be the next Mario Lemieux. It had been years since Edmonton had won the cup, and even though Gretzky wasn’t playing for a Canadian team anymore, the whole country was on edge to get the Cup back where it belonged.

Her Dad being one of those people, decided that if hockey was in his blood, it must’ve been in his daughters too.

She was nervous, the first time he’d helped her stand up. There was a public pond that always froze during the winters a few streets from the house she grew up in. some kids were in fact playing a scrappy game of hockey just a few feet from where her Dad was standing in front of her, holding both her hands in his so that she didn’t fall.

Back when she thought he’d always be there to make sure she didn’t.

They must have spent nearly two hours there, moving back and forth in slow, lazy circles. He showed her how to move her feet, how it was a sliding motion, not to step on the ice; how to turn, come to a stop, to change direction. By the end, her legs were tired so she just held on to the back pocket of her Dad’s jeans while he towed her a little fast around, his speed causing just the slightest bit of wind to push her pigtails back off her shoulders, there teeth to go cold from giggling so much.

They’d barely made it back to the car before it had started to rain, but Lyndsey hadn’t cared that her head was a mess or that her feet hurt or that she couldn’t feel her fingers. She could skate. She had something that she could do with just her Dad.

Something she thought she’d be able to do forever.

She took a deep, quiet breath when her story came to a close. She hadn’t thought about that day in the nearly fifteen years her Dad had been out of her life, and she surprised herself by not actually getting upset over it. Maybe she was starting to… not forgive, but certainly forget. Move on.

“Sidney?” He had fallen silent, his breaths slow and even and unmistakably that of someone who was fast asleep. She smiled to herself. “G’night, baby,” She whispered, tapping the screen, her eyes adjusting to the black again. Her cheek was warm from where it had pressed against her skin.

His plan had worked, and even if Lyndsey wasn’t sure how much he’d heard, how much she’d actually wanted him to hear, she was glad that he’d gotten back to sleep.

Even if she couldn’t be there to help.