Post Olympic

Calgary

WARNING: ptsd 

posting way too early? yeah. Why? because there's nothing to do but post or homework, and frankly, looking at homework right now is making me feel like I'll never ever amount to anything. 

alright, 

MUSIC: bridge back to your heart - the beach

ANYwaY, enjoy this because pissy Fen is a common occurrence now I guess. 

-rabid

******************

Calgary. I'm not a huge fan of the city or the rink, having been here once already.

"Game time," Hadley snorts. I nod, looking out onto the ice.

"Game time," I confirm. I watch Sauerkraut line up for the drop, his shoulders sloping down, his wrist peeking out from his sleeve at the bottom of his stick. He glares right across the line to the Flames' center. The whistle is blown, the puck falls. Sauerkraut and the other center throw shoulders at each other, crushing heads for the puck. His arms fling, smacking it to Greenbean on the side. I watch Greenbean rip up the side of the rink, Sauerkraut on his heels, holding position, his jersey flying behind him.

"That. Was. Insane." I holler into the locker room after the first. The boys howl back. "I mean, you guys looked almost flawless. You're finally working together. We ain't just shit in a bowl anymore!" I laugh. "We're fine salsa. Fine, fine salsa."

"Shit in a bowl, we're out of control!" Greenbean chants. The team joins him. "SHIT IN A BOWL, WE'RE OUT OF CONTROL!" It turns into a rumble that I'm sure everyone can hear.

We're wild coming out of the locker room, the energy in the arena matches us, cheering and screaming. I feel pretty damn good standing up on that bench, staring out at the guys.

Fenrir catches my eye, and I stare back at him. He slaps down the cage on his helmet, clicking the buttons then stepping backward. He's fierce, fearless, untamed. I wonder why he didn't scare me this much before.

The giddy feeling is gone. Disappeared. The sound in the rink fades as we stare at each other. My vision tunnels on him. He slips backward over the ice, lining back up again, never breaking eye contact.

I'm the one to look away. I have to, when I need to breathe. The sound seeps back into my ears, the music, the yelling. I'm able to focus on things, but my blood pressure doesn't go down. I lean back against the glass, taking a second. I feel sick to my stomach.

"Nico?" Hadley looks concerned. "You okay?" I take a minute longer, trying to get the spots out of my vision.

"Yeah, I'm okay,"

I'm having a hard time focusing again. I can't think right, I can't see straight. I try to pay attention to the game, but everything I'm seeing just looks like the olympics again. That same look Sauerkraut gave me blurs into the look that She gave me. Getting onto the ice on the first game instead of me. I rub my hands over my face, trying to focus.

It's really not working. I'm struggling for air and not thinking. Someone asks me a question but I don't hear anything.

Greenbean wavers in my vision and reaches out to tap my shoulder. I lurch away from him, his glove feels like fire against my skin.

"Get back." I growl. He shakes his head at me, confused. I see my old coach for a split second and smash my eyes shut.

When my eyes shut I don't see the nothing I want to see. I see wires. Too many wires.

Red.

Red eyes.

"I have to, to go, I'll, be back," I pant at Hadley, then jump off the bench, trying as hard as I can not to stumble like a drunk. I feel gross all the way through. Every time I blink I see the probes and the wires. I crash down on a bench in the locker room, but when I look up, I don't see Wolves jerseys.