Work Text:
The sudden arrival of spring means Geno, as he does almost every year, invites some of the guys on the team for a barbecue in his back garden to celebrate the milder temperatures and shoot the shit together. They have a couple of off days coming up, and everyone's itching to get loose.
As the night progresses and everyone gets pleasantly buzzed, someone, Sid doesn't understand who in the following stampede, proposes a dip in Geno's outdoor hot tub. He’s too much of a good host to deny them, and everyone jumps in in their underwear.
It starts to get chilly after a while even in the hot water, staying still for so long. Everyone begs off after sobering up in the tub, saying their goodbyes. Geno can't be bothered to accompany them to the door, and Sidney is too relaxed to not follow his example, at least until G makes it clear he's outstayed his welcome, which he doesn't show signs of. The heat burns in a not quite as pleasant way as the beginning, but it's not unbearable. The night is quiet and dark, and Sid is content to sit by Geno's side as they gaze into the distance of his garden.
They stay like that for a few minutes, silent, the most at peace Sidney’s felt since the beginning of the season, every single one of his muscles relaxing. The only sound is the occasional rattling of the ice in Geno's glass.
Sid lowers his head to rest it on the edge of the pool, and Geno towers over him in his peripheral vision, too big to be ignored. Sidney’s mostly sober, hasn't had a drink since they got into the tub with the others, but he can only justify himself as being drunk when he thinks that there has never been a single moment in his life where he thought Geno could be ignored. He's too big for just one life, he fills the ones of everyone around him to have enough space to exist, and Sid has been glad to give him as much space in himself as he could for years now.
Geno's hairline is receding a bit, and his hair’s thinning, and there's wrinkles around his eyes. Sid remembers when they both still had baby fat in their cheeks, when their jaws started to shape out in their twenties. Eighteen years of friendship means being intimately aware of every shared experience; becoming an adult, growing old. They did it all together.
Geno must notice his staring, turns towards him, looks him in the eyes. A beat passes, then he asks, "Sid?"
"Sometimes," he starts, and instantly knows what he's about to say with such clarity, such impotence to stop himself, that he feels like a spectator to a car crash. "Sometimes, I want-"
He moves his shoulders out of the water as he raises his head, makes a move to get closer to Geno, but the sloshing of the water as he moves is enough to startle him out of his haze. He hijacks his direction and climbs out of the tub, grabbing a towel. Geno's eyes never leave him, hung up on Sid's unfinished sentence. "What, Sid?"
"Nothing. I'm tired, I'm going home.” It’s a weak excuse, but it’s the only one he’s got to make his escape.
Geno puts the glass down on the edge of the pool and starts getting out of the tub as well. Sid doesn't even have to think about offering him his hand to help him, and the shock of his hot water-warm hand in Sidney's now cold one is so intimate and startling it makes him shiver.
They look at each other as Geno grabs his towel and puts it around his shoulders. A beat passes, then Geno speaks. “Feel like little kids, you know? Out of pool, with towels, shivering."
Sidney smiles. "We're 36 years old, G".
Geno makes a face, and it's not a pout but it's close. "Yeah, but- little kids still. Sometimes."
There's a sweetness to the air tonight that feels almost thick, as if spring was trying to amend for its late arrival. Geno stands in front of him, and the light from the tub makes the water dance on his skin. Watching him dry his post-game sweat with a sports towel in the locker room as he has done thousands of times now feels like the furthest thing in the world, like it must have happened on another planet.
Geno speaks, breaking him out of his reverie, and asks him, "Sid, what you want?"
What he wants? Another cup. Maybe another Hart trophy. Five, ten more seasons, for it to never be over, but only if he gets them with-
Sidney's strong in all the wrong places; in this, he's weak.
"We would've had so much time if we'd met when we were kids.”
Geno doesn't seem to be bothered by Sidney not explaining himself once more. His stubbornness has always come with patience when he wants it to- he knows he'll get him there. "We did meet when we were kids. Seventeen- not adult, Sid"
Sidney laughs. That's not what he meant, but it's true. His seventeen year old self feels so young in his memory that he almost can't believe having ever been even younger than that. "No, I meant- sometimes it feels wrong you weren't there when I learned how to skate, you know? We've known each other for so long, it almost feels like it's been all my life."
Geno stays silent. Sidney doesn't know how long they stay like that, standing together on Geno's garden-facing patio.
Baring himself like this was not in his plans, tonight or ever. There is no world where this works out, before retirement, after retirement. Sid has given so little thought to it because that's the assumption he has always operated under. The space to be himself outside of hockey has only come around in these last years. It still hasn't been enough time to form coherent thoughts when it comes to- who he is in that way.
Geno, though, has never been contained by rules. Not on the ice, and not in Sidney's head. He's never needed to be formed coherent thoughts about; the truth of who he is to Sidney feels as if it was born with Sidney himself.
Geno's not his best friend, and he's not his coworker. He has no idea how to define their relationship. They don't hang out one on one very often, and they don't talk too much personal stuff, but it feels laughable to consider what they have a professional relationship. Geno is reliable and present and funny; he's understanding of how Sidney is, with all his quirks and awkwardness that are still present despite having gotten less noticeable through the years; Sid bakes him a loaf of his infamous banana bread every once in a while, but he does that for many people. He doesn't know everything about Geno's life, and Geno doesn't know everything about his, but when they get lunch together, it feels like they do. Or better, like they don't need to; like they work anyway. Maybe Sidney doesn't know every single detail about Geno's life, but he knows Geno, and Geno knows him.
And sometimes, in Geno's eyes- sometimes, in Geno's eyes, like right now-
Sidney's retiring in four, five seasons, maybe less, maybe more. He loves hockey and the Pens with all his might, but his body will ask for mercy in a few years, or maybe his pride, when his performance inevitably starts to fall behind. Geno will possibly retire earlier than that, and Sidney thinks of seasons without him with an horror and an ache that he's always quick to ignore lest it cripples him.
There’ll be a day when they’ll be older, and wiser, and possibly out of the public's eye, and Sidney has already been the first too many things in his life and in hockey to wish to be the first out (or outed) player in the NHL. This is not the time to do this. There'll be all the time he wants in the future, one that's getting closer and closer.
But he doesn't want a cup in five years, he wants a cup now. And he doesn't want Geno in who knows how many years, he wants him-
"Sometimes," he starts, this time with the intent to finish. ”Sometimes I feel like the time I have with you is never enough. G, you must know-"
Sidney’s momentum breaks as Geno interrupts him, takes a step forward to grab Sidney's towel from his shoulder and starts patting his neck. His face looks as if he's thinking about something as he speaks. "You get sick, stand there thinking so hard, still wet."
Sidney looks up at him. The interruption has derailed all his thoughts and now he has nothing else to add as he takes in how close they are. If Geno doesn’t want to hear about it, if this is what that is, then Sid will never open his mouth on it again, but-
Geno speaks again, seemingly having reached a conclusion in his head. He may not show it, but Sidney knows he’s always been careful with his words. "I'm not go anywhere, Sid. Yes, maybe I retire before you, maybe team not want me anymore and I too old to find other contract, but not all of us get to forty like Sidney Crosby does. You one in million. But I stay, I promise. I stay, you understand, I know. And is, is," he takes a deep breath as he puts the towel back on Sidney's shoulders, leaves his hands there. So many things hang unspoken in the balance of his touch on Sid’s bare skin. ”Is same for me. You understand?"
Sidney's never been good with words. He's already exhausted his capacity for the year just from tonight, probably, and he has no idea what to say when a thing that hadn't even taken its full shape in his mind out of fear and too much longing materializes in front of him, barrelling through every reserve and worry and plan he'd ever made. Such a short moment, with such- a big impact.
But he gets it now, even if he’d never thought he would. He gets it, and he's not letting it go.
"Geno, really? Are you serious?"
"You most stupid, Sid. Yes, really. We together, now and in years." His hands move to frame Sid's face, and he furrows his brow. "You cold."
It's not a question, and Sid, in fact, is. He nods, and then he fumbles the words when his mouth opens to speak, because his heart his rabbiting in his chest and Geno's hands feel so big, so big, and he can feel his fingertips on his cheekbones, the heartbeat in them betraying the fact that Geno is just as feverish as he is, and-
"Shh, Sid. Not ruin good moment. You cold, we go inside. But, first-"
His lips are dry, and they taste like chlorine. Sidney only has the time to put his hands on Geno's wrists before it's over, and he holds them tight. When he looks at him again Geno is staring at him with big, wet eyes, his cheeks red, his mouth open, his face, Sidney hopes, showing the truth of what he’s feeling. It looks like Geno's looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and Sidney’s too old to be feeling like this, but his knees buckle a little. He feels more like a kid than ever, looking at the world with new eyes.
Something in Sidney falls into place. He caresses Geno's wrist with his thumb as he regains his footing, and decides he never wants to let go. So he doesn't as he lowers their hands, still interlaced.
Sidney's renown for his blind passes on the ice. This isn't the same, but it's pretty similar, he thinks as he opens the door to lead them into the house. He knows where he’s standing, and where Geno’s standing, and he just has to figure out how to get the puck to him. He’s done it hundreds of times before. He understands, suddenly: they’ll be alright.