Chapter Text
January 20th 2026 7:17pm
“Alex, I told you, we’re done eating,” Nicke quietly chided as he moved to pull the paper plate from his husband’s massive hands. The plate was engulfed in food. It was Alex’s fourth plate.
Sighing, Nicke turned to Mike Green (who had been hosting this small reunion).
“We need to go,” he murmured apologetically, but he could tell this wouldn’t go over so simply.
Mike’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced around the room of retired hockey men. “Nicke it’s just getting started. Are you kidding me?”
A breath of air huffed between Nicke’s lips. “Alex is-,” he began, but Mike interrupted.
“Alex is fine. Look at him!”
It was true. The man looked jubilant as he tried to commandeer the Karaoke mic from a Russian who formerly played on a line with Mike in Detroit. Nicke couldn’t recall his name.
“There’s things you don’t see Mike,” Nicke tried. “This isn’t about me okay. He’s. Fuck. He’s had four plates of food. He sees food and his brain says that he needs to eat it because it’s there and I’m already going to have to deal with him puking it all up tonight and I know he’s going to get his hands on some vodka. I just can’t do this. We need to go home.”
When the monologue trailed off, Nicke’s shoulders drooped and his face felt tight and his hands were clinched tightly. “I’m tired. Maybe it is about me. But I’m tired.”
April 14th 2025 3:30pm
Nicke glanced up from his book as the surgeon entered the small room. He’d been perched on the bench by the window, which had doubled as his bed the past few nights. From here he could entertain himself, but also keep an eye on Alex as the man drifted in and out of consciousness.
The surgeon intimidated Nicke. He was sharp and intelligent, competent and aware of his skills. Nicke felt thankful for the intimidation. It felt akin to trust.
“How are we doing in here?” the man asked cordially as he strode assertively to Alex’s bedside. Keen eyes scanning the clipboard hanging on the wall, he waited patiently for Nicke to decide to engage in conversation.
“He sleeps a lot,” Nicke supplied. Though he figured the man knew as much. “His um, his face has swollen a lot. Is that? Is that okay?”
Setting the chart down, the man leaned over Alex’s prone form to touch lightly at the stretched skin.
“It happens. I’m not worried at this point.”
The astute green eyes flickered to Nicke’s and he could read the confidence. Nicke clung to it.
“We’re going to take out the staples today,” the surgeon informed as he began to jostle at Alex’s shoulder. The contact slowly pulled Alex from his sleep.
Little moments over the past days, like the Russian’s bleary-eyed confusion now, would jab at Nicke’s heart. This wasn’t the vulnerability he knew and loved. It was a lost, needy vulnerability. Too youthful, too unassured.
“Good morning Alex,” the man greeted, voice strong and clear. Alex just blinked up at him. “We’re going to get those staples out of your head today. Okay?”
A slight nod was all Alex gave., but it was enough for the surgeon to reach forward and begin peeling back the medical tape. It revealed puffy irritated skin, perforated by metal.
A sharp whine escaped Alex’s lips and it had Nicke leaping to his feet. Never in his life had he heard such a tortured sound out of his husband’s mouth. The surgeon only hesitated long enough for Nicke to grab ahold of Alex’s hand before he continued his measured movements. As the tape peeled back, Nicke felt his stomach churn. Whimpers dropping from this, this Russian Machine, paired with the unveiling of the massive ‘C’ shaped wound in his head, it was too much.
When the surgeon left. When Alex had drifted back to sleep. When the nurses cleared out. That’s when Nicke ripped open the door to the attached bathroom and launched himself towards the toilet. Hot tears burned on his cheeks as he heaved.
March 25th 2026 6:11pm
Nicke stood watch as Andre and Tom stepped towards the hospital bed. It wasn’t in a hospital though. Nicke had partnered with hospice to rent the equipment. He didn’t want to face these days surrounded by sterile hallways and white walls. He wanted to be home.
He’d called Tom and Andre when the countdown began. They’d been waiting months now for it to start. They’d wondered if it would all be as clear as the nurses had assured them it would be. But then it came. The day came when Alex didn’t get up. He lacked the strength and the desire and he just stayed put. And there was no question.
So here they were. The day had come. And with it came goodbyes.
Nicke hated goodbyes. He hated them. He could care for and clean and maneuver his husband with assuredness, but to say goodbye? He just wasn’t ready yet.
As Tom approached, Alex lifted a tired arm to grasp the forward’s hand. They’d named Tom captain last fall. This wasn’t how anyone imagined the passing of the team, but everyone knew the C would go to Tom. He’d risen to the occasion.
Words fell from Alex’s lips, faint and quiet. Indiscernible.
“What was that?” questioned Tom, leaning his ear close to those dry cracked lips.
They heard it this time. They all heard it.
“I still your captain.”
Andre visibly flinched.
Nicke’s stomach dropped.
Tom’s eyes crinkled with warmth. “You will always be my captain O. Always.”
February 10th 2026 3:01am
Nicke startled awake. Sleep came haltingly these days. His spirit alerting him to keep an eye on his ever fidgeting better half.
Turning he reached his hand out in the dark and felt the far side of the bed cold. Empty. His heart pounded as the recesses of sleep were chased away by fear.
The former hockey player threw back his bedsheets and ran to the doorway.
“Alex?” he questioned, voice carrying into the darkness of the hallway. Turning a corner, he saw a sliver of light escaping the office. Pulling open the door he froze in his tracks.
Alex stood in his pajamas, bare feet curled into the carpet, as he juggled three oranges.
“Sötnos,” he bit out through laughter. But he couldn’t carry on. Any words he wanted to convey were swallowed up by hysterics. Tears sprang to his eyes as he cackled.
Here they stood, in the middle of the night with fear pounding in his veins, while the terminally ill love of his life juggled fruit from the kitchen in their office. This was his life now.
“Sötnos, what the fuck are you doing?” he gasped out in between giggles.
Alex, who had dropped the oranges when Nicke barged in, blinked owlishly at his exasperated husband. “Practicing.”
March 31st 2026 1:04am
The nurse had called it Cheyne-Strokes breathing. A crackling, interrupted breathing. Nicke hadn’t slept at all that night. An unease had settled over him as he sat, curled on the couch beside Alex’s bed. The breathing would pause and Nicke would count. Then it would rattle on again. Alex hadn’t eaten in days. They stopped giving him water as well. Nicke hated it, but he understood that restarting the digestive system would make things harder.
Curled under his blanket, hot tea clutched in his too-cold hands, Nicke’s mind wandered to 24 hours prior.
Alex had reached up with all of his remaining might, huge hand cradling the back of Nicke’s head, to draw him near. One, two, three, four, five, six dry pecks to his temple. Small kisses. Goodbye.
Thinking back led a dry sob to crawl up Nicke’s throat. He’d said his own goodbye just a few hours ago as he’d turned out the lights. He’d told Alex he loved him. That he would always love him. And then, though it took everything in him to do so, Nicke had told Alex that he had his permission to let go.
The breathing stopped again. Nicke began to count. A single gasp. Nick started his count over, but something felt different. He scrambled for the light and then up to Alex’s side so he could clutch one large hand between his own. Another gasp.
Alex’s eyes slid open. But it wasn’t him anymore. Nicke choked on air. The room, for the first time in a week, stood silent.
He needed to call it in. He needed to shut Alex’s eyes. For some reason the latter felt more important. Gently reaching out he slid his hand down Alex’s face, but it didn’t’ quite work. A sob broke out into the silence.
He wasn’t ready. He hates goodbyes.