Countless beer cans and champagne bottles scattered on tables and the floor around them, with players and families milling noisily about, Crosby leaned close to his mother, looked her in the eye, exchanged a smile and said nothing at all.
This has been chilling on my hard drive for a while, and I figured I’d take advantage of this random burst of productivity to actually finish the scene. Oops it’s over 2k words, WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN??
Are you okay?”
is staring at him with wide, panicked eyes, the arm he’d flung
across Geno’s chest as he hit the breaks still pressed against him,
pinning him to the seat. Geno manages to nod, still a little shaky,
and reaches up to squeeze Sid’s forearm.
Sid. Little bit …” He plucks carefully at the seatbelt and
bites back a wince. “Little bruise, maybe, but fine.”
Withdrawing his arm, Sid leans forward, resting is forehead against
the steering wheel as he sucks in desperate, greedy lungfuls of air.
After a second he lets out a laugh that sounds like it was punched
out of him. “I’ve really gotta start limiting my near-death
experiences off the ice, I swear to god.”
can’t help but laugh a little in return at that. “Everything
okay. We’re both safe, not much hurt.” He lets himself rub a
hand between Sid’s shoulder blades and feels muscles begin to
unclench beneath his touch. “Lucky Sid was drive. Best reflexes.”
laugh that gets him sounds a little more natural, and Sid straightens
upright again. “Okay. We’re both okay. We—” His eyes
narrow suddenly, and he leans forward to peer out the windshield,
through the smoke drifting over on the wind. “Shit,”
he spits out again, already scrabbling at the door to shove it open
and jump out.
Geno hurries to follow, managing to snag his arm as he rounds the
front of the car. “Sid, stop.
Is highway; not safe to jump out like—”
a fire starting in one of the cars; I think a fuel line might’ve
gotten severed. And there are people trapped.” He yanks his arm
away, fixing Geno with a stare he’s never seen on Sid’s face off
of the ice. Commanding, Geno thinks vaguely, and then Sid is telling
him fiercely, “Call 911, and stay
off before Geno can even think about stopping him again, sprinting
straight for the pile-up ahead of them, weaving around the other cars
stopped like theirs and the people climbing out to gawk at the
wreckage. For the space of several breaths, Geno simply stands and
watches. It doesn’t take long, though, for his eyes to narrow and
his jaw to set. Stick
close to Crosby,
he hears, the echo of his mission assignment ringing clear in his
only knows what someone with those abilities might do, might get away
with in chaos like this, Geno thinks, and ignores the order to follow
at a run in Sid’s wake.