Chapter Text
Pictures lay strewn across the table, private moments of gentle intimacy and reverent affection made physical before his very eyes. The memories came rushing back as he traced the captured images with shaking fingers, a small smile forming on his bloodied lips.
Geno’s laughter, warm and booming echoed in his ears. The phantom weight of arms wrapped around his middle, whispered admissions of love, and the press of kisses to the back of his neck.
Sidney remembered Geno’s dark eyelashes, frosted with the gentle snowfall of their first Christmas together. He remembered the taste of cinnamon tea on Geno’s lips when they met his, hidden away in the safety of their home.
There were date stamps on the bottom left corner of every picture, but he didn’t need them to know where each moment had been captured, or when.
The lights of the carousel in Central Park, the worn wood of the pier on his favorite lake in Nova Scotia, and the empty plain of ice at Consol cut only by their skates...he knew each image with startling clarity, moments that belonged to just him and Geno.
Except there they were, spilled over the small wooden table, for anyone with eyes to see.
A gloved hand reached out and stroked through his hair, grabbing a fistful of Sid’s curls and yanking his head up. Ice blue eyes stared down at him mockingly, scared lips twisted into a cruel smile that made the hair on the back of Sid’s neck prickle with unease.
“You love him.”
The words formed slowly on his lips, thick with an accent that Sidney had once loved and now feared. He spat the word ‘love’ as if it were a childish joke, an adult lecturing a child that ought to know such sentiments were a privilege they weren’t worthy of.
“I do.” Sid breathed, pleasantly surprised by the strength in his own voice. It didn’t waver or crack as he’d thought it would. A steady conviction dripped from his words, a devotion that sat heavy in his stomach where the terror in his veins could not reach it.
The vice like grip on his hair went lax, smooth leather tracing his jaw with the gentleness of a lover.
“Wrong answer.”
His hand crashed against Sid’s cheek with a vicious crack that left him reeling, black dots dancing in an out of his vision, blood splattering the photos spread out before him.
“I do, I love him.” Sidney bit out defiantly, meeting his capture’s cold gaze without hesitation.
Something in the cruelty of his smile became genuine, satisfaction gleaming in his once dead eyes. Whatever it was that he’d wanted, Sidney had just somehow given it to him.
“Then you’re going to die.”
Sid’s stomach sank, the shreds of confidence he’d been clinging to ripped from his grasp as he watched the man pull a blade from his pocket and methodically saw through the rope that bound his wrists to a chair, slowly letting him free.
Without preamble he hauled Sidney to his feet and started redressing him in his hockey gear, expertly hiding away any physical evidence that would exist as proof of his time in captivity.
“You will exit your locker room discreetly and without explanation to anyone or anything during the intermission before the third period. When there are only two minutes remaining in the intermission you will skate to center ice and you will kneel, and when time expires you will die.”
A sick sense of contentedness colored his tone as he gave Sid his instructions, as if he were telling him about the pleasant weather, and not giving him marching orders that would take him to his own death.
Exhaling stiffly, Sid took his helmet when it was offered to him, tracing the eighty-seven with the pad of his thumb. “You’re a murderous lunatic.” He muttered, quietly distraught. “Why, why would I follow your rules?” The question fell softly from between gritted teeth, his hands shaking with a mixture of terror and adrenalin.
Harsh breaths ghosted across the back of Sidney’s neck, a whispered answer coiling on the man’s lips and slithering into his ear like a monstrosity. “To save him, to save your precious Zhenya.” He wasn’t mocking anymore, he wasn’t teasing. There was nothing but a bone deep hatred, a sense of disgust so deep in his words that Sid could only wonder what he did to deserve it.
“Mother Russia does not take kindly to you filthy westerner’s corrupting her children.” He spat, pacing a predatory circle around Sid, before striding forward and taking hold of his chin, forcing him to stare into empty blue eyes that had long ago lost what little humanity they’d had.
“Someone dies tonight Crosby, you get the luxury of deciding who.”
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If anyone noticed his brief absence they don’t mention it, and Sid is more than a little relieved. He didn’t have the strength to lie, not to his team. They bounced around the locker room in a flurry of pre-game antics, throwing around chirps and jokes that make the entire place echo with laughter. His own giggle honk was the loudest and the guys mimicked it so precisely that Sid laughed until he cries, but there was no telling if it was from the joy or from the sorrow.
Geno stopped him in the tunnel like he always does, and Sid went through the motions of their handshake with an affectionate grin. Still, it took every bit of willpower he had to not break down on the spot, when Geno tapped their foreheads together and whispered ‘I love you,’ quiet and low.
“I love you more.” Was the only response Sidney could muster, hoping his words weren’t lost to the deafening roar of the Consol crowd.
He played the game like it was his last, weaving around orange clad defensemen like they weren’t even there. He threw around compliments like they were going out of style, wrapping his boys in rib crushing hugs each time the goal horn blasted. It felt like game seven of the finals, it felt like there was a Stanley Cup waiting to be hoisted.
Sid wouldn’t make it that far though, his name would only ever be carved once. But as he flew down the ice on a perfect break away, scoring five hole on a flustered looking Emery, once felt like plenty.
Each second seemed shorter and shorter, the time he had left slipping away like water through his fingers. With a three minutes and four seconds left before the end of the second period, Sid skated over for what would be his final face off, smiling a bit sadly when he saw Claude Giroux on the other side.
While he’d never been much of a fighter, Sid knew there’d never be another chance. He didn’t spare a second thought about dropping his gloves, launching himself at the startled Flyer with utter abandon. A rush of obscenities and less than choice nicknames poured from Giroux’s mouth as they swung away at each other, egged on by the pounding of sticks and the roar of the crowd.
There was something freeing about it, and before the refs could haul them apart after they’d lost their footing, Sid uttered a quiet thanks. If he took a small amount of joy in the utter bewilderment on the other’s face as they were skated to the box, no one really needed to know. Claude’s insults, his rough hits had always made him stronger, and Sid could still thank him for it, even if he’d never understand.
It was quiet in the penalty box, or maybe it was just quiet in his own head. Either way it was a front row seat to the greatest show Sid had ever seen. He watched Geno and Nealsy dance up the ice like they were headed for an open net, Flower standing tall in his crease with the taste of a shutout on his lips. Memories of Mario flickered to life and he could almost see the man out there where he belonged, skating alongside his team.
Luckily before he had the time to get too sentimental the period was up, the buzzer of Geno’s final goal ringing in his ears as he skated back to the bench.
Sid tried to soak in everything, patting Duper’s shoulder, tapping Flower’s pads. He reveled in the swell of familiar voices, and tried to memorize their faces, frozen in laughter. While Dan made a big show of reining them back in, insisting there was another period to play, Sid knew better. The game was as good as done.
Fifteen minutes had never gone by so fast.
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But when he got to the end, open ice spread out before him, there was a little boy standing near the tunnel peering down. He smiled at Sid, bright and enthusiastic. Without really thinking about it Sid handed him his stick and his gloves, content with the way his face lit up and he turned to show his parents.
Sid wished he could tell them to turn away, he wished he could warn them to shield their childrens’ eyes. He wished his parents weren’t watching from home, he wished Taylor’s cable at Shattuck would go out. There wasn’t any use in wishing though, it was far too late for that.
Seconds ticked by and he hovered for as long as he could before striding out onto the ice, effectively drawing the attention of the entire crowd.
His hands shook by his side, and he fought tooth and nail hold back the hot rush of tears that filled his eyes. This arena had been his home, the sport had been his life, and his team had been his family...now they would all have to stand witness to his death.
A hush descended over the crowd, and Sid didn’t have to look up to know that his face was plastered on the jumbotron. He tried to smile, clenching his hands into fists as he watched the scoreboard clock tick away his final moments of life. But if there was one thing that Sid owed them all, for their loyalty and their support, it was what little bravery he could muster.
He wouldn’t give his murderers the satisfaction of seeing him on his knees.
If they were going to kill him, they would have to do it while he stood tall at center ice.
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“Anybody seen Sid?”
Geno asked, head tilted toward Sidney’s empty stall with confused curiosity.
A quiet murmuring went up around the boys as everyone glanced around their general vicinity for their captain.
“He was just here.” Duper muttered, his brow creased with puzzlement as he gestured to the open and noticeably vacant air to his right. “He stood next to me through the whole ‘keep playing your game’ spiel.” He added, earning a few nods of agreement and a slight glare from Dan, as he didn’t take too kindly to his well worded speeches being reduced down to ‘spiels.’
“Probably just went to get his blades sharpened or something,” Kuni shrugged and reached for the locker room door, and tried to jostle it open with his shoulder.
It didn’t so much as budge.
“Forget how to work a door Kuni?” Tanner was on his feet, eyebrow cocked skeptically as he eyed his teammate.
“It’s locked.” The winger muttered, trying again at the second door but to no avail.
Chuckling, Tanner ambled over to the first and tried to shove it open, his frown deepening with each failed attempt. “This door shouldn’t even lock from the inside.” He muttered, finally giving in.
“This is fun and all, but why don’t we just give Dana a call so we can actually make it back to the game, eh?” Craig reasoned, pulling his phone out of his duffle, only to find he didn’t have a signal. After a general check around the room it didn’t seem that anyone did.
“Sid…” All eyes drifted to Geno as he stared worridly at the flat screen positioned above their heads.
“What’s he doing?” Flower asked, amble over the Russian’s side and squinting at the screen in confusion.
As the camera panned closer the intermission clock hit zero and a gunshot echoed through the arena.
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They soared straight through him like he wasn’t even there and embed themselves into the ice, cracking it and splattering it’s pristine surface with a god awful shade of red.
Sid could feel the blood welling up in his lungs, drowning him as he fell to one knee and then two, a bullet grazing his cheek as he went down.
Each breath was harder to pull in, and trying to stay upright was a battle he lost quickly.
Lying there, face down on the ice, while his vision went hazy and his limbs grew cold, Sid clutched a ring in his fist--a promise he would never get to fulfill.
He didn’t regret it though, not one bit, so long as Geno was safe.
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His boys were doing the same thing, shoving chairs and sticks at the door, trying to get it to budge.
All Claude could think about was the last thing Crosby had ever said to him, how he’d thanked him with that sad fucking smile. The idiot had known he was going to die, he knew and he still went out there and took it.
It was with a splintering crack that the door finally gave way, torn from it’s hinges by the combined weight of four different hockey players.
While the rest of the team sprinted off to free the Pens, Claude stayed where he was huddled, staring at the carpet between his feet, afraid to close his eyes. All he could see was Crosby, face down in a puddle of blood, the image seared into his mind.
Danny slid down beside him, pale and shaking as he clutched at Claude’s jersey and pulled him close. That’s when they noticed the silence, the sudden and all consuming lack of sound. Each moment dragged longer through the quiet, it felt like a wire pulled taut and on the verge of snapping.
“SIDNEY.” The cry was strangled, grief stricken, and wrought with a pain so deep it had to belong to lover.
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Tanner and Adsy both had a death grip on Geno as he screamed in belligerent Russian, tears pouring down his face like they would never stop. Begging for Sid to open his eyes, to come back.
While most of the team stood back in shock, knees giving out, and several stomachs rebelling against their contents. Flower rushed forward and pressed his hands against two of the five holes ripped through Sidney’s body, desperate to keep some kind of pressure on the wounds. But the blood kept flowing, welling up and running through his fingertips and spilling onto the ice.
As paramedic’s flooded the scene, Duper had to haul the goalie back, Kuni coming to his aide when Flower tried to struggle, shouting in panicked French as they wheeled Sid’s limp body away in a flurry of shouted medical jargon.
That was how they were left, in a deserted arena in a pool of their captains blood. Hockey, long forgotten.
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Sid cracked his eyes open just a fraction, glancing as best he could toward the voice that called him. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, disconnected and free floating like only good pain meds could induce.
Everything just seemed to be a blob of color, fuzzy and undefined.
“You’re not going to die kid, you’re not.” The voice was so confident, so strong, thick with an accent that felt safe and familiar. It almost made Sid think he had a chance.
Except somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that was wrong, he didn’t want a chance, he was supposed to die, he had to die... to save Geno, he had to save Geno.
“His heart rate’s dropping, start compressions…”
Sid tried to shake his head, tried to get them to understand, but it was a little hard when there was some sort of tube down his throat. He could feel the pressure pounding into his body, trying to coax his heart into beating.
“Come on kid fight, you hafta fight.”
Don’t save me.
Please, please don’t save me.
A rhythm weak, but true came to life on the monitor and Sid wanted to sob in frustration.
With what little energy he had left, he forced his eyes open to plead with his savior to let him go, to let him die.
As the world came into better focus his newly beating heart stuttered to a near stop, what was left of his blood running cold with fear.
Ice blue eyes, cruel and mocking were staring back.