Chapter Text
Kip is so tired he can barely keep his eyes open. Of course, he’s still trying. And of course, Elena instantly notices. She always reads him like a book.
“You need to rest, and you need to eat. In that exact order,” she tells him briskly, throwing a pillow at him. A blissfully fluffy pillow.
Kip presses it to his chest and groans. “I know. But I’m worried.”
Ever since he found Scott writhing in pain on the floor of their home, Kip can’t stop thinking. Is this the way Scott’s professional career is going to end?
They tried to joke around back at the hospital in an attempt to cope with the scary situation, but Kip knows Scott would be crushed if he had to retire due to an injury.
He told Kip just a few weeks ago that he has plans to do at least a few more seasons before he announces a reasonable and dignified retreat. But well. It’s always “a few more seasons”, if Kip is being honest with himself.
Scott doesn’t want to stop. Of course he doesn’t. He loves what he’s doing. But it’s a fact that the injuries have been piling up lately, and this … this seems like the painful, bittersweet cherry on top.
Maybe Scott’s body is not as ready to play “a few more seasons” as Scott thought it is …
“Hey,” Elena nudges Kip’s shoulder, narrowing her eyes. “Stop thinking. Your man is going to be alright. These doctors know what they’re doing.”
“I know. I’m already a step ahead,” Kip confesses sheepishly. “Already thinking about the aftermath.”
“It’s too soon for that,” Elena says. “One step after the other, baby. Now please, put your pretty head on that pillow and get some sleep. When you wake up, I’ll get you some coffee and something sweet. For your poor nerves.”
Kip sighs. “Thanks, Elena,” he mutters, obeying. As soon as he lies on the fluffy pillow that smells faintly like lavender and allows his body to relax, he can feel sleep reaching for him and just closes his eyes in exhaustion.
When Scott opens his eyes, blinking up at a white ceiling, the searing pain in his leg is gone. Fortunately. Instead, there’s an aching pressure in his lower back. Not exactly painful. But also not exactly pleasant.
He’s also really, really tired. So he just closes his eyes again, listening to the constant beeping beside him. It’s probably his own heart. They’re monitoring his vitals in some kind of wake-up room, Scott guesses.
He can’t really remember anything from the moment he was wheeled into another room, moved to a gurney, and then attached to a few weird beeping machines. Eventually the anaesthetist told him to think about something nice, and Scott had exactly enough time to ask himself what he wanted to think of, before he passed out.
There’s a numb spot at the tip of his tongue which is really annoying. A nurse says it’s probably from the tube they had to shove down his throat so that they could make him breathe during surgery, where his brain and body were completely shut down. The thought makes Scott shudder.
He’s just lying on his back, moving the ice chips the nurse brought him around in his mouth.
According to the doctors and nurses that constantly drop in to take a look at him, everything went fine and everything looks great. But Scott barely finds the energy to care. He’s just exhausted. And woozy. So he just lets himself float in that sleepy relief of not being in pain anymore.
Kip’s stomach clenches in sympathy when he sees Scott in the hospital bed. He looks so young and vulnerable like this. No tension in his body at all. He’s just lying there, on his back, breathing evenly, with his eyes closed. His skin is a bit flushed, and a cannula is still stuck in the back of his right hand.
Hopefully, Kip thinks, he’s not in pain anymore. He gently pulls a chair to the bed and sits down.
Scott’s eyes flutter open. They’re a bit unfocused until they settle on Kip’s face and lighten up. “Kip,” Scott says hoarsely.
“Hey,” Kip smiles, putting his hand on Scott’s forehead, brushing back his hair. “How are you feeling, babe?”
“Okay,” Scott mutters, his eyes closing again. “Tired.”
Kip hums. “I can imagine. I’m going to let you sleep, okay? Just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”
“Hm. Nice,” Scott breathes. Kip assumes he means the touching, so he keeps it up, just running his fingers through Scott’s hair for a while.
He really wishes he could stay here and keep Scott company, instead of having to go home alone. But at least it’s only for a few days.
Someone once told Scott that you can’t sleep at a hospital. And Scott gets it now. Every time he leans back and closes his eyes for a moment, there’s a knock at the door, and someone new enters his room.
Nurses take his blood pressure, inspect his surgery wound, change the dressing, show him the way he’s supposed to sit up without putting too much strain on his lower back, give him an anti-thrombosis injection, bring something to eat … It never stops.
A physiotherapist visits him too and rattles off a long list of rules. No bending. No twisting. No sitting. No long standing. Only short walks. Very slow, very short walks. No running. No lifting. No housework.
So basically, Scott is supposed to do nothing. For weeks. Great.
“Now is the time to watch that show you always wanted to watch. Or read the books you haven’t read yet,” the physiotherapist tells him, winking.
Scott forces a tired smile on his face.
He can already imagine the headlines of some stupid tabloid. And the social media posts. What is going on with Scott Hunter? Where is he? Did his age finally catch up to him? Is he about to retire? How will the Admirals deal with the loss of their Captain and role model for so many?
God. Rozanov will have a lot of fun.
Maybe, Scott thinks sullenly when he’s alone again, these rules are made for older people. For people who have not been athletes for most of their lives. Maybe I don’t have to wait that long until I get back on the ice. We all played hockey injured before. As long as it doesn’t hurt …
His thoughts are interrupted by a knock. This time, it’s not a nurse or doctor, though. It’s Carter who walks into the room with a bag and a grin, whistling when he sees Scott. “Whoa, I’ve never seen such dark eye bags on you, Cap. Not even during Scott Hunter night. You’re rocking the look though, don’t worry.”
Scott smiles tiredly. He’s really glad to see Carter. And glad to hear him talk. It finally stops the endless thoughts about the future. “Hey. I’m happy to see you too,” he rasps, his throat still a little sore from that tube.
Carter rummages in the bag he brought and pulls some things out. “This,” he says, waving a little plush penguin, “Is from Gloria. She says get well soon.” He throws the penguin at Scott, who catches it with a smile.
Aw. The plushie is cute. And soft. It has a little heart on its chest that says: I'm thinking of you. “Thanks,” Scott says, smiling at it. “I love it.”
Carter grins. “Good.” He pulls out some fruit in boxes next. “This is for your vitamins. And this is for when you feel like crying.” He shows Scott some chocolate bars and places them on the nighttable.
“Thank you, Carter,” Scott says gratefully.
“Sure thing,” Carter says brightly. “Just tell me if you need anything else. I got you. Benny and Huff are coming to visit soon, too. And don’t worry about the team. I’m running a tight regimen; I learned from the best after all.”
Kip has the best friends in the world.
When he comes home, the kingfisher group chat is very active, telling him to sit his butt down on the couch and wait. For what, Kip is not entirely sure, until Shawn, Maria, Kyle and Elena come walking through the door with a few bags and matching determined expressions on their faces.
They cook delicious pasta for dinner, make hot chocolate with marshmallows, and also pull out a bottle of wine.
“You’re the best,” Kip says weakly, a bit overwhelmed, while he’s holding on to the fluffy pillow Elena gave him. “Thank you.”
“Not for this,” Shawn says, nudging him. “We are family, baby, and we all know your super active, super fit man won’t be able to sit still when he has to recover at home, so we will make a battle plan on how to keep him from climbing the walls and from driving you insane together with him.”
Kip laughs nervously. “I hope it won’t be that bad.”
Kyle gives him a look. “Please. When Eric heard about the herniated disc, he immediately said: Oh God, he’s going to be like a tiger in a cage.”
“A tiger needs enrichment,” Elena says, sipping her hot chocolate. “Don’t worry, we will find ways to keep Scott from despairing about not being able to run from his thoughts and slam into people for a few months.”
“Okay,” Kip says, relieved and grateful. This really is a family. One that sticks together.
Scott is not surprised that it’s Eric Bennett who talks some sense into him.
Eric, who not only retired from hockey a while ago, but also came out as bisexual to Scott and now is together with Kyle, has always been a voice of reason in the team and in their friend group.
When he comes to visit, and Scott tells him about how he will try to get back on the ice sooner than recommended, he shakes his head and says, “Scott. I say this with all the love I have for you. Listen to the doctors. This is not a bruised rib or a sore ankle. This is your disc. Your spine. If you don’t give your body the time it needs to heal from this surgery, you will risk worse things. And I don’t only mean hockey. I mean life after being a professional hockey player. You don’t want to be in pain every day, right? Rest. Be patient. Time will pass. Even if it feels like torture sometimes.”
Scott knows Eric is right. Still. It’s so frustrating. And scary. He never had to take a break this long. On the other hand … He has a family now and so many friends. He also has a therapist he can call if it gets really bad. He should be able to get through this. It’s just temporary.
“Thanks, Benny. I appreciate you being honest with me,” he says.
“Always,” Eric says, raising a brow. “We do that for each other, right? We’ve all been at a point where we were about to do something … let’s say something not very smart.”
“Yeah,” Scott says, a laugh bubbling up when he remembers. “Like when you thought you could still guard your goal one-eyed, when you had to wear that patch after you walked into a branch on the way back home from team dinner, remember? You looked like a pirate.”
“Or when Carter played with a broken toe, claiming it was only bruised? That dance he suddenly performed on the ice, oh man …” Eric shakes his head in disbelief.
“Poor Coach. Sometimes we really do behave like a bunch of stubborn kids, I guess,” Scott says with a weak smile, feeling a little more hopeful about the future.
“Kids with beards and sore bodies,” Eric says dryly. “Yeah. Look … Just try not to overthink everything, okay? I know from experience it can get difficult when you’re alone at home and the silence gets a little too loud. Just … Talk to people. It does help.”
“I will,” Scott says seriously, nodding.
He can do this. He’s not the same person he was a few years ago. A lot has changed since he walked into a smoothie bar, fell in love, panicked, almost destroyed his own and Kip’s happiness out of fear, and then finally was brave enough to be himself and live the life he craved to live for so long.
Yes. Scott worked on himself and on his relationship. He can also work on who he is when he’s not playing hockey. Right?