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The game ends with a bang, a true buzzer beater, but not one that's in their favor. Sid feels stunned. He hasn't lost internationally since he was a just a kid. He's never lost this early in a tournament. They weren't even playing for a medal yet. It's an upset, and he has to take his time to be upset—to process it. The whole team does. They filter out of the arena in ones or twos. Some of them are headed out to find a bar to drown their sorrows. Those with family in attendance head out to find them.
Sid knows his parents were somewhere in the stands, watching the game. He should go find them—talk to them. He doesn't. Instead, he sends them a quick text telling them that he's headed back to the hotel and that they shouldn't wait for him. Sid loves his parents, but he doesn't want to be around them tonight. He's not ready for his mom to give him the look of love mixed with pity that's accompanied every tournament loss since he was ten.
They text back an acknowledgment and condolences but he ignores it. He's not ready to hear it. From anyone. They aren't the only messages crowding his notifications. It's daytime in North America and a lot of his friends are texting. Most are delivered quiety, but a few whitelisted numbers sneak through. Taylor. Kris. Geno. He locks his phone without reading any of them. He'll text them back when it doesn't hurt to think about.
Nate catches him on the way out of the arena, but Sid shrugs him off. Sid doesn't want to mourn with him—with the team—with anyone. He already gave a speech right after they got off the ice. He doesn't have anything else. The crushing disappointment from the end of the NHL season is back, threatening to bury him alive. The ticking clock to the end of his career is louder than its been in weeks. He can't do it tonight, not even for Nate. Tomorrow he'll put on a maple leaf and a smile and answer questions from reporters already writing his obituary. What's another disappointment in a year full of disappointments? Maybe this is what hockey will be like from now on, he thinks to himself as he walks through a random hallway on his way out of the arena, coming close but not close enough until my body gives out, and I'm forced to retire.
Sid has to pause and take a deep breath in an attempt breathe around the ache that thought brings. Thankfully there's no one around to see him stop and press his forehead to the wall until he can get his breathing under control. Sid's hands shake. He balls them into fists in an effort to stop. When that doesn't work he shoves them in his pockets and speedwalks until he finds fresh air.
Once outside, it's relatively simple to get back to the hotel. Sid could have taken the team bus back but he didn't want to wait, risk being stopped, or worse recognized. It was selfish but he didn't want to see any teammates either. If Geno was there he'd accuse Sid of sulking. Sid would protest and deny it on principle, but they'd both know Geno was right. Geno isn't here, Sid reminds himself. He's back in Miami with Nikita and his parents. Sid misses him. He misses Kris. Kris, who had heart surgery, and couldn't have played in the tournament even if he wanted to. The feeling of hurt—of longing, rises in Sid's chest again, threatening to choke him.
He misses his team. Not Team Canada. Not even the current roster of the Penguins. His team. Geno, and Tanger, and Rusty, and Flower, and Duper. Jordy, and Kuni, and Jake, and Horny. Army and Talbo. Mario. Nate. So many others. He doesn't ache for a specific roster — a specific moment in time — but the ideal of a team full of everyone he wants to play with, and everyone he misses. The ache occupies his thoughts and distracts him, which is why he doesn't realize something is off in his hotel room until the door closes behind him.
The first odd thing Sid notices, is that every light is on in his hotel room. It catches his attention because he always turns them off before he leaves. The door clicks shut behind him, distracting him. He turns around to check it, and that's why he doesn't notice the second odd thing until he nearly trips over the shoes that were left in the doorway. They aren't Sid's. He'd never leave his shoes out like this, and he doesn't recognize them. Sid has half a second to contemplate the oddities before he takes a proper look around the room and sees the lump of blankets and pillows occupying the center of his hotel-issued king-sized bed.
Sid's immediate thought is that he didn't think he had that many blankets in the room. He's proven right when he walks closer and notices a second comforter in the mound that must have come from either housekeeping or another room. The closer he gets the more details he can glean from the mass. It's definitely person-shaped. Sid can't think of who would have his spare room key, nor who would let themselves in. Nate had called dibs on his spare, but Sid hadn't had a chance to give it to him yet.
Sid is at the foot of the bed when he recognizes the flop of hair sticking out.
"Oh bud," Sid breathes into the quiet of the hotel room.
A low noise is his only answer.
"Flower," Sid starts, but doesn't know how to finish. He'd thought, when he'd spared a second from his own sulking, that Flower was with Vero and his kids. That's where he should be, Sid thinks, instead of curled up in a lump on Sid's bed.
Flower lets out sad trill. The blankets shift so that Flower's eyes are peaking out. Sid recognizes the strangeness in them and feels his heart break for the second time that night. There are plenty of possible explanations for why Flower is there, but only one is the truth. Sid doesn't even have to ask; he knows what nesting looks like on his goalie when he sees it. The look in Flower's eyes is distinct.
Sid moves forward on instinct, reaching out and putting his hand on the bed before he can think better of it. He halts there, his good sense catching up with him at the feel of the mattress under his fingertips. Flower is in his room—had chosen to nest here—but that doesn't mean he wants Sid in his nest.
Flower is up and moving almost as soon as Sid gets close enough. While Sid wonders if Flower even wants him, Flower is already rearranging the nest, dismantling part of the wall of pillows and building it back wider, big enough for two people. Sid watches, head full of indecision, heart aching, as Flower finishes making space for him in the nest.
Flower turns to Sid when he's done, a low beckoning hum sounding in his chest. Sid feels caught in his gaze, unable to break eye contact.
"You're sure?" Sid asks—has to ask. If Flower were to do this and then not invite him—or worse change his mind—Sid has no idea how he'd survive that.
Flower gives Sid a firm nod and then folds in on himself, returning to the sad lump of goalie he was when Sid walked in. Sid reaches out and grabs his ankle, giving it his best reassuring squeeze.
"Just. Let me change into sweats first. Turn off some of these lights. I'll be quick. I promise."
Flower lets out another sad trill followed by an acquiescing hum. Sid squeezes again, then hurries off to do exactly as he said.
It's the work of moments for Sid shuck out of his pants and shirt until he's left with just his socks and boxers, uncaring of his nakedness. They've shared a locker room and Flower has seen him in worse states. The socks go next, followed by Sid pulling on sweatpants. The old Shattuck shirt he'd brought to sleep in is missing from his suitcase, along with a couple other items. Experience tells Sid it's not worth looking for it. It's probably already in the nest.
Flower makes another noise on the bed behind him, and Sid gives up on finding something specific to wear. He tosses on the first t-shirt he touches, and goes to start turning off lights. It's not until he's turning off the light in the bathroom that he realizes the shirt isn't his. The Penguins branding across the chest of the black t-shirt certainly implies who it should belong to, but nothing Sid owns has a 29 on it like this one does. Flower must have dropped it in Sid's suitcase when he was raiding it for nesting supplies. Sid firmly doesn't let himself think about it, turning off lights one by one until only the one above the bedside table is left. He makes one final detour for his phone and water bottles.
Sid turns back to the bed, prepared to hand Flower a water bottle, and has to stop and breath deeply around the sudden urge to burst into sobs where he's standing. Flower has shrunk even more, looking small and sad without the high walls of the nest to protect him. That alone isn't enough to cause so extreme a reaction, but Sid is struck by a sense memory from '08 — Flower in a nest just like this one after the worst loss of their shared career up til that point. They'd all filed into Flower and Tanger's shared room that night, after the final, none of them wanting to be alone. Flower had made a nest on his bed, at first trying to fit everybody, and then when that didn't work, one barely big enough for one person. They'd all curled up around it, spread out across two hotel beds, mourning together. Sid doesn't want to mourn—not again. He takes another deep, controlled breath, holding it for several seconds like he was taught, and reminds himself that at least he’s here with Flower. He's not alone. Neither of them are.
Sid takes one more fortifying breath, deposits his supplies next to the bed, and then nudges Flower's foot to let him know he's back. Flower's hand snakes out faster than Sid expects and pulls until he's toppled forward onto the bed. Flower lets out a pleased chirp, and starts rearranging blankets around Sid. Sid rolls over and gets comfy. He knows the drill with Flower's nests. He waits, not moving, and soon Flower has the nest rebuilt around him. As Flower works, Sid fires off a quick text to Vero. She deserves to know where her husband is, if he hasn't told her.
Flower finishes and crawls back into the nest while Sid is still waiting for the three dots to form into a reply. Sid locks his phone while Flower gets comfy, the texts from everyone else in his contacts list still unread. At least he knows Vero's read it. Everything else can wait.
Flower ends up spooned next to him, his head on Sid's chest, and an arm thrown across his waist. Sid wraps his arms around him and just holds him. They don't talk. They don't need to.
It's nice, Sid thinks, just to lay like this. It's been literal years since the last time he was in a goalie's nest. Muzz hadn't nested with the team after Flower left, and Jars preferred to drag the defense and defensive forwards into his nest. Sid didn't realize how much he'd missed it until now.
Sid toys idly with the thought of asking Jars or Ned if he could join them in a nest next season, before he dismisses it. No use asking when he doesn't know what the team will look like come camp next fall. The thought stings, and Sid has to force himself to focus on the here and now, the things he can control. The future doesn't matter when he's got a nesting goalie in his bed.
They lay together in the warm confines of the nest, the outside world passing them by. After some time, Flower starts making a low noise, not quite a croon, or a purr. It's not a sob either. Sid ponders over it, and decides it might be something meant to self soothe rather than an emotional expression. Sid brings his hand up to sweep over Flower's back, attempting to sooth Flower as best he can. Flower isn't crying. Sid would know. There are no tears staining Sid's—Flower's—shirt.
Flower continues to make his low noise as they breathe in tandem in the quiet stillness of the nest. As he listens, Sid feels something rise in his chest and get stuck at the top of his throat. The next time he tries to take a deep breath, his breath audibly catches in an unmistakable sob. His face is tight. His hand stills where it had been rubbing soothing strokes along Flower's back. Sid's chest burns again. He hates it. He hates losing; hates feeling like this. The worst part is he hates feeling like he's losing something. Like another last in his career just passed him by and he'll never get whatever it is back. Except he knows. They both do. Why else would Flower be here in his hotel room instead of licking his wounds with his family.
Flower just continues to hum as Sid shudders through his sobs. They hold each other tight inside the nest, taking what comfort they can from the enclosed space. Sid lies there and feels, their noises ebbing and flowing as both of them grieve. Sid feels tears gathering behind his eyes but he can't relax enough to cry. Instead the pressure builds until it overflows, carving small rivers from the corner of his eyes down his cheeks. Flower’s eyes, when Sid blinks his own gaze clear enough to make eye contact, are dry and alien but so so familiar that it makes another sob rise in his throat. Whatever instinct has possessed Flower is mourning in its own way. Sid pulls Flower closer, burying a sob in his hair, clinging tight. Flower clings back, hum rattling through both of their chests from how closely they're pressed together.
Sid sobs himself out like that, unable to fully cry, and equally unable to stop. By the time the last sob has forced itself out of his chest, he feels spent—empty both physically and emotionally. Sid goes boneless on the bed, tension melting away with the last of the hurt, his arms falling away from where he'd been clutching Flower. There's a floating feeling in his chest—like he'd float off the bed if not for the body on top of him. He's been carrying a weight in his chest for so long he doesn't remember when it showed up, only able to feel notice it now that its temporarily gone. He feels lighter than he has in weeks, maybe even years.
Flower props himself up on his hip, sitting up as best as he can within the nest. Sid lets him go. Flower doesn't pull away further; doesn't leave. Instead a steady hand brushes at Sid's cheeks, first one, then the other, wiping away the lingering traces of his tears. When Flower is done, his fingers linger, tracing Sid's cheekbones. Sid opens his eyes. Flower's face in the dim light is the only thing he can see. Flower's face is older— wrinkles gather at the corner of his eyes and his mouth, and the soul patch is missing—but still so familiar to him. Sid's heart clenches at the face of one of his dearest friends.
Flower pushes forward into Sid's space until they're practically nose to nose. Flower tips forward, pressing his forehead to Sid's and then staying there. Sid can feel Flower's breath across his lips, their breathes intermingling. The view of Flower's eyes in this position is familiar from so many moments on the ice, straining to press as close as possible around all of their gear. It's also unbearably intimate. Without the their gear they're pressed right up against each other from thigh to chest. Sid can feel every twitch Flower makes. The warmth of the nest cradles them close, providing a sense of safety to the vulnerability of the position. Sid's hands come up to brace Flower's hips, helping him hold the position. Sid lays back, letting Flower do whatever he wants. Flower is the one in charge, Sid is just along for the ride.
Sid doesn't know how long they stay like that. By the time his arms get tired of holding Flower and he has to move, the gleam in Flower's eyes has softened into something more alert, more normal. Sid shifts, and Flower pulls back, letting him. As Sid gets comfortable again, one of his hands goes to Flower's face, thumb framing the laugh lines at the corner of his eye. Flower smiles, soft and bittersweet, and Sid traces them with his thumb.
"Ah, Sid," Flower says, his accent thick, his face broadcasting how at a loss he is for what else to say. There's still a hint of nesting in the rumble of his voice, underneath the accent. Whatever lucidity he's gained, he's not done nesting.
Sid's other hand grabs onto the closest part of Flower he can. He refuses to give Flower the space to pull back. He doesn't want Flower to feel shame, guilt, or remorse about nesting. Whatever he's thinking can wait. Sid doesn't want him to go. Not yet.
"Stay." Sid tells Flower. "I texted Vero. She knows where you are. Everything else can wait until the morning. Stay. Please?"
They're close enough that Sid can see every emotion that crosses Flower's face until it lands on acceptance. Flower sighs, tension seeping out of his shoulders as he makes himself comfortable pressed against Sid. It's Sid's turn to let him go as they both reposition one last time, getting comfortable in the nest. Sid rolls over and turns off the light. They fall asleep to the sound of their shared breathing, their limbs tangled together in the nest.