Status: drip feed updates slower than an IV.

Master of Timing

holdin' on.

He was bouncing his knee up and down as he sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair outside of where he was scheduled to have his MRI. The Pens had a game tonight in Detroit, so he was sent on his own and hoped the results would be back in time for him to get another couple of practises under his belt, where he could hopefully make a return in the new year. He knew they weren’t going to put him back out there straight away, not when they had games coming up against the Flyers, Bruins, Rangers & Islanders. Their defence gunned for him more than anyone else on a normal day, let alone after a return from a head injury.

Everyone did respect each other in the hockey world (except the media, those guys were ruthless), but a game’s a game and a job’s a job. He could already feel the bruises he’d be nursing through January.

“Sidney?” He looked up to see a nurse standing there with a file in her hands. “We’ll be ready for you in about 5, okay?”

“Yeah sure, thanks,” He said, clearing his throat, and trying to find a more comfortable position. His fingers had joined his leg and bounced against his thigh, where his cell was sitting. He woke up after a restless sleep to a few messages, but none from Lyndsey. It had been three days (not that he was counting or anything). He wasn’t really surprised, she didn’t seem all that interested in continuing their conversation the few nights before so he didn’t want to push it.

Or come across as unbelievably desperate.

But not knowing what was going on was getting on his last nerve. He had always been one of those people that had what others liked to called genius intuition, its one of reasons why he had done so well for someone so young. And for someone who is usually so in control of so many aspects of his life, he couldn’t make heads or tails of Lyndsey, and the anxiety was eating away at him.

It made him realise just how structured his last few relationships (yeah, he’d accepted that without either of them saying it, they were kind of more than just friends) had been; he had been the one to call all the shots, everything revolved around him and the season and then the off season, plus all the other dramas created by being part of the NHL. It really hadn’t been fair to either him or his exes but he thought that’s just the way it was. He wasn’t just the face of Pittsburgh, most of his colleagues regarded him as the face of their sport and he knew he wasn’t the most easiest of people to approach, let alone become friends with.

The fact that she was making it so hard for him made him nervous. It had been a long time since he had cared about someone he just met, and he had no idea how to approach this situation, because he didn’t cause it. He couldn’t just say sorry, blame it on some meeting that had run late, or some Captain-ly duty.

No, he just had to sit and wait. Maybe this is what all the “female drama” his friends complained of going through was all about. He had been distracted enough by going to training, he had even had a conditioning session on the ice and he had forgotten for a quick second just how good it felt to fly across the arena, a stick in his hands and a puck at his feet. Sure, it was just laps and a few stick handling drills, but he was home. It wasn’t until he left and actually got back through the front door to his empty house did the good feelings disappear.

Another nurse came through the door, and he looked up, but they weren’t after him. He resumed his bouncing, just wishing that the scan was over so he could go home, or to the training centre for a work out or out to see a movie or something. He didn’t like MRI’s, he hadn’t really had any good experiences, and the only good MRI scan was the one that cleared you to play.

What would he do if the scans came back showing he had brain damage? Super star skill and bankable net worth wouldn’t be enough to convince Johnston, or Mario, to let him keep playing. He was the reason the scrutiny against hits causing concussions was created in the first place, and yeah it was a good idea because obviously there is a whole generation of players who didn’t get the proper care because no one knew just how bad the injuries could be until it happened to him.

But he didn’t know who he was without hockey. It had been his whole reason for existing for as long as he could remember. Every Christmas; where he’d get a new hockey stick, every practise; from peewee to juniors, every day at the training centre, morning skates at Consul, the goals, representing Canada at Worlds and the Olympics, the feeling of cutting fresh ice under his skates as the pre-game music blasted.

In a few minutes, all of it could be gone.

“Sid, come through.”

He blinked, and swallowed back the panic that had risen in his throat to turn his attention to the door. The same nurse was standing there with a smile on her face, holding the door open behind her. He thought he smiled back at her, but he wasn’t sure. Because as soon as he stood up, he heard his phone clatter to the phone from where it slid down his thigh. And just as he bent forward to get it, the room started to spin. Out of control fast.

And when it didn’t go away, he blindly reached out for the chair, trying to get hold of something to focus his eyes. “Sidney, you okay?” His hand reached for nothing, and he knew he was kneeling on the lino floor of the hospital ward.

He could hear a voice next to him, but couldn’t focus his eyes, and he thought for a second he was going to puke. No, no, no, no, no. Not now, not when he was doing so well. He hadn’t had a dizzy spell since he left the hospital in Edmonton.

“I’m okay,” He said quietly, and he felt a hand hold him under his arm, leaning him back until he sat on the chair. They didn’t move away, and he closed his eyes and leant forward on his knees, his head hanging between his shoulders. “Fuck.” He could feel himself swaying. This was not good.

“Just take a few deep breaths. You’re okay.” He heard the person ask for a some doctor and that was it. He peeked at the floor, but his shoes were moving around in circles and he figured it was probably in his best interest to not throw up all over the floor, today of all days.

It took a couple of minutes and by then he could see the shoes of people standing around him. He wished that someone else from the team was with him. Then he wouldn’t have to talk. He could just count his breaths and work backwards from 10.

“I’m okay,” He repeated, trying to stand. He was stronger than the arm on his shoulder, and he put all his energy into getting on his feet, steadily. He took a couple of deep breaths before he opened his eyes, the fuzziness slowly clearing until he was face to face with a doctor, and two nurses. Their faces said it all; he just accepted the fact that right now, he was back at square one.

Shit.

*


’Just text him, ffs’ was what she woke up to. She had spent three hours after getting home work talking things over with Kate, filling her in on what had happened over the last week. She could feel herself starting to get sick, and blamed it on the fact that she had slept maybe four hours each night since he had called her.

Lyndsey and stress didn’t really go all that well together. The bags under her eyes and her lack of appetite a constant reminder that she needed to learn to let shit go.

’he hasn’t tried to talk to me though. and he was so insistent on trying to get hold of me after i… sent The Text’ she had replied. Her and Kate named it that, with capitals and everything. Kate, because she thought it was that monumental of a fuck up that it needed be a pro-noun.

Lyndsey because… well, she didn’t even know why. Kate was right.

’yeah because you said you were going to TEXT HIM. so do it.’

‘fuck, ill text him if you want me to.’


That made her frown. She rolled over in her bed, pushing a pillow further under her head. The headache Lyndsey had gone to sleep with hadn’t gone away, and she could hear her mom downstairs in the kitchen, probably making her food to wake her up with. That was a pointless exercise, but moms will be moms and she wasn’t going to try and make her understand she wasn’t hungry.

In all honestly, it felt nice having someone to take care of her. Even if it was her Mom’s job (although, not really. Lyndsey was 27, she could take care of herself, but it was still appreciated).

’No thanks, i can take care of it.’ “I think,” she added to herself. The fact that she needed to give herself a pep talk to text him told her that she probably was in way over her head anyway but she manned up, going to his messages.

’Hi. Sorry i didn’t get back to you the other day, I just… needed some time to clear my head. I hope you’re having a good day. I don’t have work tonight, maybe we can talk when you’re free?’

It was a start. Not necessarily a good one, but it was the best she had.

She put her cell down and gingerly climbed out of bed, feeling a little woozy. It had been a while since her last full meal, and everything was starting to catch up to her. She shuffled out of her room and towards the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Hey Mom,” She yawned, taking the mug of tea that was offered.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” The tea was hot against her tongue, so she blew gently on the liquid before directing her eyes up. She raised an eyebrow. “You seem a little off, lately.”

Well, if her mother had noticed her acting weird, then she obviously wasn’t hiding as well as she had thought. Her mom usually missed everything. “Yeah, I’m okay.” The blank look she got back made her roll her eyes. “Just leave it, Mom… honestly. Just… work stuff,” She bluffed, rubbing her Mom’s arm before leaving the kitchen and heading back to her room.

“Now just hang on a second.” She stopped and turned slowly. Her mom stood there with her arms crossed. “Come back in here and eat something.”

“Mom.”

“No, Lyndsey.” She used the tone that made her feel like a five year old. “I haven’t seen you eat anything for days. I’ve made you some oatmeal, come on.”

Her cell would have to wait.

*


“You sure you’re feeling better?” The same nurse asked. He had bluffed his way through feeling okay before, just so that they would run the MRI and because then he had a excuse to lay down. But now he was actually feeling better, the world not spinning on its own axis in his head.

He nodded, taking the water from her. “Honestly. I swear on the Cup.” It was a tasteless joke, but she rolled her eyes with a laugh anyway.

“Yeah, okay. You’re serious enough without adding Lord Stanley to it.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. She didn’t notice.

The doctor walked back in, his hands empty. That wasn’t a good sign. “Okay, I’ve looked at the scans briefly, but I’ll need to go over them with your medical team before I can give you the go ahead.” Sidney’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Is… what’s wrong with me?”

The doctor paused, putting one of his hands in his jacket pocket. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t look too bad,” He rushed, seeing the players’ stunned expression. “It just doesn’t look completely normal.”

Sidney swallowed and looked down at his lap. He didn’t want to cry, but it felt like the only rational feeling running through every fibre of his being. Not normal meant not better.

It meant no hockey.

“So… what does that mean?” he wished someone from the team was here. “I can’t play, can I?” He looked up. “… Like, is that it? Hockey’s done?” His breath caught more than what he wanted it to and he was pretty sure he was beginning to feel the start of a panic attack. He’d never had one, but the blood pounding in his ears and his chest tightening was either that, or a heart attack.

And he was pretty sure his heart was still okay.

Apart from it, you know, being completely crushed. Everything he’d worked his whole life for, was about to evaporate.

“Sidney, I want you to understand something,” The doctor started, taking a seat next to him on the chair he was occupying. “I will go through this more with you when you’re with your team, but in basic terms - no, hockey’s not done.” Neither of them missed the rather large exhale. “You have had a serious head injury, and I know it doesn’t feel quite the same as the last concussion you had, but there is some left over issues that reoccur with these type of injuries. I need to look at the scans more to determine just what they are, and how it’s going to affect you and your career.”

Sidney nodded, his palms sweating as he wiped them on his jeans. He could play- maybe.

“However,” The doctor continued. “This all depends on you. The only unfortunate thing is that it’s not a conscious choice for when your brain decides to give the symptoms a rest.” They both shared a brief smile, but it was still upsetting news. “I have full faith that you’ll play again, it’s just a waiting game. Which sucks, I know.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, his hand formed in a tight fist, hitting against his thigh. “I feel like that’s all I’ve been doing.” He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

“Just head home for now. I’ll speak to your coaches in the next day or two, and we’ll make a plan to go from there.” Sidney shook his hand and stood up, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he entered back into the hallway. He saw her text when he picked up his phone, wallet and keys from the nurses station he had to leave them at, and paused mid step to see Lyndsey’s text.

’I’m just leaving the hospital now, can I call you when I’m home?’

He fished his keys out of his pocket and pressed the button for the elevator, the door opening with a dim ‘ping’. He waited for two staff to walk out before he entered, hitting the ‘G’ button.

“Hold the door!”

He looked up from his phone and stuck his hand in between the closing doors, a man with his son walking quickly towards him. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” He shrugged, pressing the button he needed again. He felt his cell buzz at the same time the kid tugged on his hand. He looked down.

“Are you Sidney Crosby?”

He smiled. “Yeah, I am. It’s nice to meet you.” He held his hand out and the boy shook it vigourously. It made him laugh. “What’s your name?”

“Simon. Simon Cooke. This is my Dad, Robbie.”

“How’s it goin?” Robbie asked, holding his hand out to shake as well.

“Eh, it goes.” Robbie nodded, ruffling Simon’s hair.

“We know all about that, don’t we buddy?” Sidney got a toothless grin when he looked down.

“Yeppers. I have diabetes,” Simon explained, holding up his shirt to show a small pod shaped object on his right side of his stomach. “This keeps me not sick! But I still can’t eat ice cream.”

Sidney gave him a thumbs up, the elevator doors opening. “I’m not allowed to eat ice cream either, so I know how much that sucks.” He stepped out, his keys jingling in his hands.

“Wait, can I get a photo Sidney?”

“Simon, use your manners.”

“Oops, please?” Sidney smiled back and nodded, crouching down to his level. “You’re my favourite hockey player. And you’re our personality of the month at school!”

“What’s that?” He asked, his dad reaching for his phone.

“Oh!” Simon clapped once excitedly. “We all chose someone who is famous and does cool stuff and everyone in my class picks something to do a report about, and I chose to do how you hurt your head because I go to the hospital a lot too, so I know all about the doctors and stuff, and then we get to have a dress up day about that person on Friday!” Sidney laughed. “Except Mom won’t let me wear my skates.”

“Well,” they posed, Robbie giving him a thumbs up. “She’s right. Walking around at school in your skates would ruin the blades.”

“Yeah,” Simon sighed. “And I can’t get free ones like you do.”

“Sorry,” Robbie interrupted. “He’s a ‘speak before he thinks’ kind of kid.”

“No it’s okay. Maybe if you practise real hard you can play hockey like me, too. Then you can have all the skates you want.” He held his hand down for a low five, the loud smack echoing through the foyer of the ground floor.

“Thanks, Sidney. I hope we see you back out there soon.” He shook Robbie’s hand.

“Me too. Have a good day.”

“Thanks Mister Crosby!”

“No worries, bud,” he laughed, turning towards his car. He could hear Simon exclaim ‘wow!’ behind him, maybe seeing the photo his Dad took, or just being excited in general. He pulled his phone back from his pocket. He breathed a sigh of relief.

’Sure’.
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Lyndsey, you better be the first comment or else i... well, I don't know what i'll do.

for everyone else however; have some mid january love from yours truly. hope it's not too cold (or hot! yeaaaah shout out to the aussies/fellow southern hemispherians) depending on where you are in the world.