Chapter Text
Sidney has always prided himself on having some sort of control over his emotions. He didn't get upset and drink when he lost a game, or even sulk around feeling pity for himself; he got better. He didn't curse the other team for besting his (not anymore, anyway); he got better. And when he found out he might have slightly less then heterosexual feelings towards Geno, he didn't panic. He didn't run off to tell Geno either. He got better; better at hiding it. Better at keeping it caged up, heavy bars holding it in and keeping it from reaching the light of day.
Geno was Sid's best friend. Sidney could accept that that's all they would ever be. He could deal with that, in fact, he would love to keep it that way. There was less of a chance of Geno being disgusted with him. Less of a chance of Geno leaving him and never talking to him again.
Then Geno told Sid he was going to propose to Oksana and it's possible Sidney didn't take it as well as Geno expected him to take it.
It's not like Sid said anything to Geno's face. In fact, Sid's pretty sure he just stared at his Russian teammate before walking out of the Penguins' locker room. Sidney didn't have to stick around anyway, not with the Penguins being left out of the playoffs. He had a legitimate reason for leaving the locker room in a mood and he took it.
Sid remembers going home, dropping his bag as soon as he entered the door. He kicked off his shoes with a violent toss, not caring when they banged loudly against his hallway wall. He stumbled into the front room, falling onto the couch with a muffled moan. Sidney had stared up at the ceiling in an unfeeling, blank state.
Sidney wakes up in a haze, his eyes blurry and dry. He blinks several times as the light from his front room window shines through, blinding him. He takes in the sunlight and stretches for a moment, checking the clock on the wall. He's surprised at what he reads, having slept longer than he has in a long time.
Sidney stands up, joints popping and cracking as he stretches. He stumbles away from the couch, lazily walking into his kitchen as he scratches his thigh. He notices that his laptop is open, asleep, but avoids it for the immediate need of a refresher. He raids his fridge and pulls out a small bottle of Gatorade, gulping it down in one long breath. He tosses the empty bottle into his trashcan, yawning as he pokes the laptop's attached mouse. He enters the password to his computer, immediately going to check his e-mail.
Sidney's eyebrow goes up slightly when he sees an e-mail about an airline ticket. He clicks the link and watches in surprise as the window opens, confirming his flight to Las Vegas, Nevada. Sidney checks the date, sees that it's for tomorrow, and bites his lip, uncertainty flooding him. He has a sudden flashback, Geno's wet hair plastered to his forehead, his bright smile as he talks about his engagement.
Sidney heads upstairs to pack.
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He sets up a suite at a hotel easily enough. Name dropping isn't something he likes to do, but with the state he's about to put himself in, being uncomfortable is something he's not willing to negotiate. He books a hotel he's stayed in before, a year or so ago, and takes the only available room. Sidney packs with gusto, ready to go for tomorrow. He hesitates later that night, uncertainty filling him, but he'd rather be far away from Geno when he has his break down. Geno doesn't leave for Russia for another week and Sidney would hate for Geno to find him in a state, or even worse, find him to talk about Oksana.
Sidney calls his mom, just to let her know he's not coming home immediately. She doesn't question him, just tells him to be careful and to have a fun time. He's grateful for that, his nerves waning slightly. He Skypes Taylor next, determined not to leave her out of the loop. She does question him, something he has no trouble avoiding, and they part with a suspicious good bye from her and a relieved see you later from him.
Sidney heads to bed afterwards, curling into his bed spread, thankful for the slight chill of the night, his curtains billowing from the small wind. He's awake for a while, his digital alarm clock blinking at him. He slips into a dreamless sleep.
He gets a taxi to the airport the next day, not willing to pay an obscene amount for parking. He runs into a family that asks for an autograph, all friendly and awe filled. He obliges, smiling awkwardly as an uninterested passerby gets wheeled into taking their picture. Sidney politely leaves, pulling his cap down farther to avoid any other interactions. His flight is boarding when he gets there, his luggage checked, and he sits down next to an elderly woman. He smiled at her, turning away before any conversation can occur, and falls asleep with his head against the window.
He's awoken when the elderly woman grasps his shoulder slightly, nudging him as the flight attendant informs them they can unbuckle their seat belts. He thanks her, Canadian kindness going a long way, and gets off at his gate. He's lucky to find his luggage easily, getting into the cab he'd arranged the day before. The city is busy, it was the last time he was there, and Sidney watches the varying types of people as the cab makes a slow crawl to the hotel. They get there eventually, and a generous tip later, Sidney is getting his room key and riding the elevator up. His room is at the end of the hall, something he's grateful for, and is is no way extravagant. It is nice though, beige and cream colors accented with a splash of gold and red here and there. There's a mini fridge in the corner, something he knows from experience is filled with small containers of alcohol.
He checks to see if it's stocked before he checks the bathroom for towels. He's mildly upset at not finding any layed out and immediately sets his bags down on his bed. He grabs his room key as he leaves, determined not to get locked out, and heads down the hallway. The elevator takes a minute to get to him, the red letter above growing higher and higher before they finally settle on his floor. The doors open at their usual speed, yet everything slows down as he stares at the disgruntled mess before him.
"Patrick Kane?"
Sidney hasn't seen Patrick Kane in what seemed like forever. The Blackhawks player was swaying on his feet as he gripped the elevator rail. The rail seemed to be the only thing keeping him balanced and on his feet. The blond blinked at him, his hazed blue eyes dulled with something other than alcohol. His eyes narrow at Sidney, his wet mouth popping as he takes a step.
"Sidney Crosby? I can't be that drunk."
Sidney gives him a weird look, uncertain if Kane had hallucinated him before when he was intoxicated. He doesn't get very far in his thoughts, a stumbling Kaner falling into his arms as he trips over his own feet. He shrieks as the dead weight pulls him down, his center of balance adjusting so they don't spill over.
Patrick blinked up at him, a goofy grin spreading over his face and said, "Hey! You really are here!" He paused for just a moment, his eyes narrowing even farther. "Why is Sidney Crosby in Las Vegas?"
Before Sidney gets a chance to reply, Kane closes his eyes and promptly passes out.
"What the hell am I suppose to do with you?" Sidney mutters as he stared down at the smaller man cradled in his stiff arms.
He sighs, positioning Kane is a more easily handled position, and starts to drag him back toward his room. All intentions of asking for towels is forgotten as he carefully keys into his room, depositing Kane on one side Sidney's bed.
"This isn't what I came to Vegas for," Sidney grumbles as he moves his suitcases onto the floor, moving Kane so he was spread out across his bed. "I should've just called down for the damn towels."
He groans as he plops down onto the loan chair in the corner, turning the TV on as he waits for Patrick to wake up.
"Fucking Blackhawks," he mutters, huffing as he quickly flips through the channels.