#angst!!!!!

Kris just lives with it. There are lots of things he's learned to live with—the migraines; how his left hip has never really felt the same; a family split across international borders. A twitch was a small thing to add to the pile.

He can't see out of his left eye by the time he makes it back to the locker room.

"Shit," he hisses to himself, and then "Merde" as he presses his back to the cold cinderblocks just inside the door. It feels good. It's like the compresses he uses over his eyes when the migraines rise up and create colorful blooming spots of black in his brain, like flames eating up film.

He presses the palms of his hands to his eyes, and wishes things had gone differently. Maybe he should have left, too. Maybe he should have begged harder to the Habs. Maybe, maybe—

But—

"Hey," says a quiet voice, and Kris wipes over his mouth, blinking his eyes back into the stupid, seeing little organs they're supposed to be, so he can focus them on Sidney Crosby.

"Hey, man." Kris rattles a cough out of his throat, trying to sound normal. It doesn't quite work. "Sorry."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Migraine." Kris says, but he can feel the way Sid's eyes are ticking over him—the stress in his jaw, the way his body is coiled up, where Kris's eyes are fixed pointedly at Sid's left shoulder, and not at his face.

He braces himself for the reply he'll get, one of an inevitable mix of "C'mon, tell me," or "Let's talk over sandwiches," or "You got time tonight?" or "Watch some tape with me?" or "Want to come test out the new grill?"

"Make sure you talk to Stewey about it."

The chill from the cinderblocks radiates through Kris's spine as Sid turns away, and Kris finally looks at Sid's back as he retreats.

He looks small. He looks worse from the front. It's why Kris can't bring himself to look him in the face right now, his head still buzzing with questions the media is lobbing at Kris instead of the team's captain, who hasn't given an interview since June.

What's the team going to look like without Malkin? Is his loss impacting the room? With the way Florida is looking these days, does this set them up for a new era with Malkin on their team? Did you and Malkin talk before he made his decision Kris? Did you know, Kris? Did you care, Kris? Where is Sid, Kris?

Sid slips back into the video room. He's there a lot these days. No one joins him. Kris thinks he knows what kind of tape Sid's watching. He's met Sully's eye across the locker room more times this preseason than ever before.

Where is Sid, Kris? Sully's eyes ask.

Sid is here, in Pittsburgh, Kris knows, but everyone can see that. What they can't see is where his head is; only that it's far away, someplace else, disconnected from what's going on around them. Floating, untethered, alone, where he wants to be because he hasn't picked up any of Tanger's phone calls from the last week.

Kris wonders, often, if he should have left too. He's not doing Sid any good here. It's bitter, to know that he isn't enough. It isn't him Sid needs, but it also isn't hockey Sid needs.