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Macklin felt numb as he stood in line for the medal ceremony.
He had, of course, faced losses before. Even just before coming to Milan, the Sharks hadn't been doing particularly well in the weeks before he had to fly out. But this loss was a knife in the chest, the blade twisting and turning everytime he got a glimpse of a USA jersery, or while watching them celebrate. It's the worst Macklin has ever felt.
Canada had just lost to the USA. A devastating blow to what had been a pretty good Olympic tournament for Canada up until that point.
Macklin was biting the inside of his mouth, willing himself not to cry. He wouldn't cry, he can't cry. Not where everyone could see. Not when the whole world was watching. Watching as he took silver.
His hands clenched and unclenched.
The Olympic offical came to a stop before him, but Macklin barely saw him, barely registered what was going on around him, or what he was doing. He was barely in control of his actions anymore. He seemed to be on autopilot as he leaned forward to allow the official to slip the medal over his head. He was hardly there when the official shook his hand before moving on to the next person.
Macklin just zoned out completely. The ice and the arena around him blurring as he just stood there and waited for this whole thing to be over and done with. But of course, to add insult to injury, and to be even more patronising, the officials came around a second time, handing out the stupid official stuffed mascots, making them stand there even longer in the middle of the rink.
He looked down at it before raising his eyes up to the rafters, the feeling of wanting to throw the stupid stuffed toy at a wall increasing with every second.
Looking up at the rafters, though, was a bad idea as it caused him to see the people in the stands wearing red. Wearing the maple leaf. The Canadian flags. And all that just drove the nail even further, the knife twisting even sharper as he was reminded that he had just let his whole country down.
Macklin didn't know how he even got back to the locker room. One moment he was on the ice, the next, he was standing in front of his stall, his jersey already off. He could hear several people sniffling. Someone else was cursing under their breath.
Macklin kept his back to the rest of the team. He couldn't face them. He couldn't look at them knowing he had disappointed them, that he had failed them. And oh god, Sidney Crosby. Their captain. He couldn't bear to look up and face their captain, knowing that he'll be disappointed at them, at him, for not playing better. For losing against the USA of all countries. Oh he couldn't bear to see that look of disappointment on his childhood idol's face. He just couldn't. He wouldn't be able to bear it.
He quietly went through the usual motions of his post-game routine, done so many times that it didn't matter that he was shutting himself off, his body did everything automatically.
There was a ringing in his ear and his vision blurred from time to time, whether from unshed tears or not, he didn't know. The lights were too bright. Everything just felt wrong. And despite there not being much noise in the room, everything was too loud.
He ran the shower too hot, wanting to punish himself. Had Macklin been in a better state, he would have winced at the temperature, but he just stood there, letting the water flow over him. His stare was blank as he watched the sweat off and rinced it thoroughly out of his hair.
He got dressed quietly, still not looking up at his team. They were surely mad at him anyway. There was no way they weren't. If he was quiet, they wouldn't notice him, and they wouldn't have a reason to voice their complaints about him or their disappointments. He could hear Sidney quietly talking to someone in the back.
Macklin glanced at the door.
No one would notice. No one would notice if he just slipped out of the room. They wouldn't noticed that he was gone. Why would they? He was a disappointment. A failure. He had failed them.
Sidney was talking quietly to Mitch Marner, trying to lift spirits and give words of consolation after the devastating loss. He was making his way around the room. He hadn't approached McDavid or Mackinnon yet, knowing those two wanted some quiet time in their own thoughts to collect themselves before being approached. They were taking the loss pretty hard.
"Hey Sid? Your phone has been buzzing," Someone murmured.
Sidney crossed the room to his stall and fished out his phone.
3 Missed calls.
2 texts.
All from an unknown number.
Sidney frowned. It was a US area code. And right now, he couldn't think of anyone that was desperate to get into contact with him. The phone started buzzing again, the screen lightening up once again with the same unknown number.
He accepted the call.
"Hello?"
There was a noise, as if someone had just sighed in relief. "Hi, sorry, I know this is a bad time," The voice over the line spoke, speaking a little rushed. "It's Will Smith, from the San Jose Sharks. Sorry, I know it's a bad time, it's just, really important, and I really needed to speak to someone who's there. And I wasn't sure who else to call that I could trust or that could get to him in time -"
"Hold on, wait, slow down. Take a deep breath," Sidney gently cut off the rambling. "Don't worry about calling, it's fine. What did you need?" He wasn't sure how the young player had gotten his number, but details could be dealt with later.
"Mackie. Is Macklin with you? Or is he with someone else? Anyone? It doesn't matter who, I just need to know that Macklin isn't on his own." Will sounded a bit panicked.
Sidney froze, blood turning to ice as he slowly turned around to scan the locker room. A couple of his teammates, who were sitting nearby, were giving him a questioning look.
A once over. A second look around, a third.
Macklin wasn't there. He wasn't at his stall. He wasn't on the ground, or with anyone else either.
"Smith, just bear with me one second," Sidney said into the phone as calmly as he could, not wanting to send the kid into a panic if he could. He went into the showers, thinking, perhaps a little too hopefully, that Macklin was in there. That he was still in there or had gone back in.
Empty.
Going back into the locker room, he checked the room once again, just to make sure he hadn't missed the kid amongst the crowd of players all wearing the same burgundy uniforms. He was really trying not to panic now.
"Has anyone seen Macklin?" He called out, his eyes sweeping over everyone's faces.
Everyone stopped, all eyes turning to their captain.
"I could have sworn he was here," Makar murmured, taking a glance around the room himself.
"H-he was just here. I swear he was. I didn't even see him get up, or leave!" Harley exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
Sidney brought the phone back up to his ear again. "Smith, I'll have to call you back. Macklin's not with us. I'm just about to go search for him," He said.
"No, no, no, no, he can't be by himself! How long has he been gone?" Will sounded frantic, rustling noises coming from the other line. "He won't talk. Not after something like this. And it'll be worse than usual. He'll spiral!"
Sidney took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down in order to think rationally. " He must have slipped out, we hadn't even realised it," He felt a pang in his chest. He should have known. Should have seen it, should have noticed. Macklin was the youngest on the team, oh why didn't he check on the kid first?!
"Please find him!" Will pleaded, "And get him to call me later, please."
Sidney made his promises before hanging up.
"I'm going to look for Mack. I have my phone with me, so if he comes back here, ring me," Sidney announced to the rest of the room.
"I'm going too," McDavid said, already waiting by the door.
A couple of others chimed in, wanting to help.
Sidney felt a hand on his shoulder.
"I'll stay here with the rest," It was MacKinnon, "Just to be here if Mack does return. I'll reing you immediately."
Sidney nodded. "Thank you." He was about to follow McDavid out the door when something caught his eye. And in a split second made a decision to grab it before heading out the room.
Macklin sat on the ground, leaning against a wall in a quiet corner that was far away from the hustle and bustle of the stadium that was in the process of winding down from the game.
The game that he had just cost his team.
He stared, without really seeing, at the wall opposite him. He was playing the entire game in his mind, trying to see where it all went wrong, to see the places where he made mistakes. Stupid, game-changing mistakes.
He had missed. So many times. He could have sunk in a goal on multiple occasions, but he had missed. The other players on his team had set him up with beautofil passes, all to be ruined because he had made stupid mistakes and missed the goal. How could he have made such stupid accuracy mistakes and miss?!
Now that he was alone, the tears that had been threatening to spill earlier, were now flowing freely down his face. Quiet sobs filled the area. He couldn't stop it now. The dam had broken.
He had let his team down, he had let his country down, and he had let his family down.
They would all be so disappointed in him, and he wouldn't blame them, wouldn't find fault in them for feeling that way. He was disappointed in himself too. He was blaming himself for the loss, for not being able to sink even a single goal in. He should have tried harder. If he had tried, even just a little bit harder, they could have won. But instead, he had failed and brough the whole enitre team down, brought his country down. And it was all his fault.
Cale Makar was rushing through the hallways, checking rooms, closets behind racks of equipment, trying to find the boy. Minutes had been ticking by since they had began searching for the young player, and he was cursing the stadium for being too big.
Celebrini was young, the youngest on the team. The young player would be taking this hard and Makar was kicking himself that he hadn't been paying attention to the younger boy, to caught up in his own grief.
"Mack! Macklin where are you?" He called out. Surely there was only so many places one could hide in this place. And surely you would be able to scan every inch of it, especially with a few of them searching. Surely someone would come running to let him know if he had been found. But the studium was stupidly big now, in his mind.
He suddenly came to a stop, mouth agape before he dashed forward. "Macklin!"
The boy was sitting,tucked away and hidden in the corner of a quiet, unassuming hallway. He was curled in on himself, knees pulled up to his chest. His body was shaking slightly, and the boy seemed to be staring into space, a devastated, crushed look on his face. But his eyes were red, and there were tear tracks on his face. He had clearly been crying.
Makar dropped to his knees beside the boy, hands moving about hesitantly, as he couldn't decide whether or not to touch him. "Mack? Mack? Can you hear me? Come on, man, talk to me," Makar exclaimed.
He got no response, he didn't even know if Celebrini had realised that he was there. He hadn't flinched at his sudden arrival, and he hadn't made a single incication that he had heard anything.
"Cale?"
Makar turned to see Harley rushing towards him, a wide-eyes, alarmed expression on his face.
"Get Sid, now!" Makar said firmly, "And let the others know we've found him."
Harley nodded vigorously, already turning around and making a mad dash down the way he came from.
Makar turned his attention back to Celebrini. "Mack? Can you hear me? Say something. What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Makar didn't know what to do. Celebrini wasn't responding. It was like the kid had just shut himself off and had dissociated.
After what felt like forever, hurried footsteps echoed through the hallway, and suddenly Sidney appeared, followed closely by McDavid and MacKinnon.
"Sid, I think he's gone non-verbal," Makar whispered, moving out the way to allow Sidney to take his spot.
The captain immediately knelt down beside the boy.
"Macklin? Hey kid," Sidney said softly, gently laying a hand on the boy's shoulder.
Celebrini startled, the whole body jerking away, his head snapping around, eyes wide as he focused on Sidney.
"Is he ok? He's not seriously injured or anything, is he?" MacKinnon murmured to Makar. Makar shook his head. He wasn't entirely sure himself what was happening.
"Hey, kid, you're ok, you're fine," Sidney said soothingly, "Just take a few deep breaths for me, yeah? That's it." Turning to McDavid, he handed him his phone. "Go to my call log, call the last number that came through. Tell Smith I've got him."
McDavid immediately found the number and dialled.
Will Smith picked up on the second ring. "Did you find him? Is he ok? What's going on?"
Sidney heard the frantic voice come through the over the phone.
"Makar found him. Sid is sitting with him now. But apparently he hasn't said a word yet," McDavid explained the situation, filling the young boy in.
"He does that. If it's been a bad game, or a bad loss, Mackie will go non-verbal. He just needs someone to be there with him," Will took a deep breath, "He justs shuts down, gets in stuck in his mind, his thoughts. If you keep talking to him, you might be able to bring him out of it. Depends how bad he's in it."
"We'll do that, thanks Smith. We'll keep an eye on him and we'll update you if anything happens. We'll try to get him to phone you later if he isn't knocked out," McDavid replied. He paused, then went on to say, "Macklin is really lucky to have you as a friend."
There was a small huff, almost like a fond laugh. "He's my best friend, I'll do anything for him. I even booked him an enhanced cupcake experience. But really, I'll do anything for him." Will laughed. After saying his thanks and goodbyes, he ended the call.
Throughout the whole exchange, Sidney had made himself comfortable on the ground, back against the wall. Celebrini has also shifted his position and was now leaning his head against Sidney's shoulder. His stare still had a farawat look in them, face blank as he didn't really focus on anything. His hand was fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie.
"I have a fair idea why you're out here, kid," Sidney started off, voice soft and gentle, "I want you to know that you did an amazing job out there. Not just today, but throughout this whole tournament. Really well done."
There was a shift. Nothing huge, but Celebrini had shifted his gaze amd was now staring at a spot next to Sidney's leg.
Makar gave McDavid and MacKinnon a nudge. He's listening. He mouthed to them.
"An Olympian at 19 is an amazing feat. And an Olympian medalist too! You should be proud of yourself, kid. And I'm sure your family is extremely proud of you too," Sidney continued. He had an arm wrapped around Celebrini's shoulder and was slowly rubbing circles into the boy's arm with his thumb. "You've made your friends and team back home proud."
Silence filled the hallway as Sidney left that to sit in the air for a while. Makar was rocking back and forward on his feet, a little anxious as he looked on. MacKinnon was clenching and unclenching his hands, chewing on his bottom lip. McDavid was only just managing to restrain himself from pacing the floor, not wanting to spook the young boy in front of him even further.
"They're not."
The four men startled. It had barely come out as a whisper.
Macklin sniffled, his eyes blinking rapidly. "No one is proud of me. They should be proud of me. I mean, why should they? It's all my fault, we lost the game, and it was all my fault -"
"Hey, hey, no, Mack, that's not true," Sidney shifted, wincing slightly. He waved away McDavid who was hovering even closer, now also worried about Sidney sitting in any uncomfortable position that might impact the injury he had just sustained.
"Mackie, Mack, listen to me. Macklin, listen to me," Sidney tried to look the boy in the eye, but the young player was refusing to meet his gaze and was instead intent on keeping his facepointed downwards. "Us losing, isn't your fault, kid. Oh god no! It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong, you hear me? You played your heart out today."
"But it wasn't enough!" Macklin mumbled, "I should have played harder, played better. I-I should have pushed myself even more. I missed the goal shot so many times. I could have done it! I could have scored a goal and we could have won. But I failed. I failed you all. I failed our team, our country, my family, and, and... I failed you. I should have tried harder."
Sidney's heart was shattering into a million pieces as he listened to the young boy speak. He could hear someone pacing frantically nearby. Who it was he didn't check.
"Macklin, you didn't fail anyone, and you certainly didn't fail this team, or me," Sidney said, "Look at me, kid, look at me when I say this. "He paused as Macklin slowly lifted his face to look at him. "I am proud of everything that you have achieved here. And I am proud and have had the gratest pleasure having you on my team."
Tears started to pool in Macklin's eyes, his bottom lip quivering.
"The team will agree with me that this is not all on you. And I can assure you that they're proud of you too," Sidney continued, "you didn't disappoint anyone today, kid, that I can assure you. And silver isn't all that bad. It's a medal. And there will be more opportunities in the furture. It's not the end of the world. It doesn't matter what happened today, you've made a hell of a lot of people proud. And I'm really, really happy that I have had the pleasure of having you on my team, and I wouldn't exchange that for anything else. "
Macklin's eyes flickered back and forth, as if searching for something in the older man's eyes, before he promptly burst into tears and flung himself into the other man's arms.
"I tried. I tried really hard, I swear I did," Macklin sobbed.
Sidney rocked them both back and forth, running a soothing hand through tha back of Macklin's hair, while the other was wrapped around the younger boy's shoulders.
"I know you did, kid, I know. And you were amazing. Believe me when I say this, you played your heart out today and more," Sidney murmured into the boy's hair, "We win games, and we lose games, that's just how it goes. But at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if you won gold, silver or bronze, or didn't get a medal at all, you played your absolute best. You've made people proud. You've made us proud. You've made your country proud, heck, even people who aren't Candians are proud of you! And that can be the best win of all. Becuase you have people that are cheering you on and who are proud of you no matter what."
Macklin continued to sob into Sidney's shoulder, clutching onto the older man like a koala.
McDavid crouched in the ground behind Macklin and placed a comforting hand on the younger's back, slowly rubbing up and down.
"I'm really proud of you Mack," McDavid said, "I really am. Tonight's loss isn't on you. We're a team. If we lose, we lose as a team. Perhaps we all should have tried even harder earlier, but a loss does not fall on one person. You did extremely well, Mack. I've enjoyed playing on the same line as you."
"I'm really proud of you too," MacKinnon spoke up. "You play extremely well kid. It's been a great pleasure playing on the same team as you."
Macklin's sobs were slowly subsiding.
Sidney fished something out of his pocket. "I believe this belongs to you," He said. It was the silver medal that Macklin was discarded in his stall. He gently placed the medal back over the young player's head, letting the medal rest on his chest.
Macklin looked down at the medal, and now, it's didn't hurt as much to look at it.
"All that glitters is not gold, kid," Sidney smiled. He then laughed, "And you have a best friend who is very worried about you. I'd give him a call later if I were you."
Macklin gave a slow smile. Will. Of course it was.
"I heard he's apparently booked you for an enhanced cupcake experience for when you get back," McDavid sniggered.
Macklin face morphed through the five stages of confusion and horror, tears and grief momentarily forgotten.
"SMITTY DID WHAT?!"