#creature comforts

Sid has to sit in the locker room after the game ends. He feels stunned. He hasn't lost on this level since he was a just a kid and never this early in a tournament. They weren't even playing for a medal yet. It's an upset, and he has to take his time to process it. The whole team does. They filter out of the arena in ones or twos. Some of them head out to find a bar to drown their sorrows. Those of them with family in for the end of the tournament head out to find them. Sid knows his parents were somewhere in the arena. He should go find them - talk to them. Instead he sends off a quiet text that he's going to head back to the hotel and they shouldn't wait for him. It's daytime North America so he's not surprised to see texts from Kris and Geno waiting for him when he goes to lock his phone. He'll message them later. When it doesn't hurt to think about.

Nate catches him on the way out of the arena, but Sid shrugs him off. Sid doesn't want to mourn with him- with the team- with anyone. He already gave a speech after they got off the ice. He doesn't have anything else. The crushing disappointment from the end of the NHL season is back. The ticking clock to the end of his career is louder than its been in weeks. He can't do it tonight, not even for Nate. Tomorrow he'll put on a maple leaf hat and a smile, and answer questions from reporters already writing his obituary. What's another disappointment in a year full of disappoints? Maybe this is what hockey will be like from now on, coming close but not close enough until his body gives out, and he's forced to retire.

Sid has to take a deep breath to breathe around the ache that thought brings. Thankfully there's no one around to watch him stop and press his forehead to the wall until he can get his breathing under control. Sid's hands shake. He balls them into fists in an effort to stop it. When that doesn't work he shoves them in his pockets, and gets out of the arena as quick as possible.

Once out, it's relatively simple to get back to the hotel. Sid could have taken the team bus back, but he didn't want to wait or be around his teammates right now. If Geno were here he'd accuse Sid of sulking. Sid would protest and deny it on principle, but they'd both know Geno was right. Geno isn't here. He's back in Miami with Nikita and his parents. Sid misses him. The feeling of hurt once again rises in Sid's chest, threatening to choke him. He misses his team. Not Team Canada. Not even the current roster of the Penguins. His team. Geno, and Tanger, and Flower, and Duper. Jordy, and Kuni, and Cully, and Jake, and Horny. Army and Talbo. Nate. So many others. He doesn't ache for a specific roster - a specific moment in time - but the ideal of a team full of everyone he wants to play with - everyone he misses. The ache occupies his thoughts and distracts him, which is why he doesn't realize something is off with his hotel room until he's letting the door swing closed behind him.

The first thing Sid notices is that every light is on in his hotel room. It catches his attention because he always turns them off before he leaves. The door clicks shut behind him, pulling his attention and distracting him. He looks behind himself, and that's why he doesn't notice the second strange thing until he nearly trips over the shoes that were left in the doorway. They aren't Sid's. He'd never leave his shoes out like this, and he doesn't recognize them. Of course then Sid takes a look around the room proper and sees the lump of blankets and pillows occupying the center of his hotel-issued king-sized bed.

Sid's first thought is that he didn't think he had that many blankets in the room. He's proven right when he gets closer and notices a second comforter in the mound that must have come from either housekeeping or another hotel room. The closer he gets the more details he can glean from the mass. It's definitely person-shaped. Sid can't think of who would have his spare room key, let alone who would be in here. Nate had called dibs on his spare, but Sid hadn't had a chance to give it to him yet.

Sid is at the foot of the bed when he recognizes the flop of hair sticking out.

"Oh bud," Sid breathes into the quiet of the hotel room.

A low noise is his only answer.

"Flower," Sid starts, but doesn't know how to finish. He'd thought Flower was with Vero and his kids. That's where he should be, instead of curled up in a lump on Sid's bed.

Flower lets out sad trill. The blankets shift so that Flower's eyes are peaking out. Sid recognizes the strangeness of the gleam in them and feels his heart break for the second time tonight. There are plenty of explanations for why Flower was on his bed like this, but Sid knows what nesting looks like on his goalie when he sees it. The look in Flower's eyes is distinct.

Sid moves forward on instinct, reaching to put his hand on the bed before he can think better of it. He halts there, his good sense having caught up with him at the feel of the mattress under his fingers. Flower is in Sid's room- had chosen to nest here- but that doesn't mean he wants Sid in his nest.

Less than a second passes before Flower is up and moving. While Sid wondered if Flower even wanted him, Flower was already rearranging the nest, dismantling part of the wall of pillows and building it back wider, big enough for two people. Sid watches, head full of indecision, as Flower finishes making space for him in the nest.

Flower turns to Sid when he's done, a low beckoning hum sounding in his chest.

"You sure?" Sid asks - has to ask. If Flower were to do this and then not invite him, or worse change his mind, Sid has no idea how he'd survive that.

Flower gives Sid a firm nod and then folds in on himself, returning to the sad lump of goalie he was when Sid walked in.

"Just. Let me change into sweats first. Turn off some of these lights. I'll be quick. I promise."

Flower lets out another sad trill followed by an acquiescing hum. Sid hurries off to do exactly as he said.

It's the work of moments for Sid shuck out of his pants and shirt until he's left with just his socks and boxers, uncaring of his nakedness when it's just Flower in the room with him. They've shared a locker room. Flower has seen him in worse. The socks go next, followed by him pulling on sweatpants. The old Shattuck shirt he brought to sleep in is missing from his suitcase, along with a couple other items. Experience tells Sid it's probably already in the nest.

Flower makes another noise on the bed behind him and Sid gives up on finding something specific to wear. He tosses on the first t-shirt he touches, and goes to start turning off lights. It's not until he's turning off the light in the bathroom that he realizes it's not his. The Penguins branding across the chest of the black t-shirt certainly implies who it should belong to, but nothing Sid owns has a 29 on it like this one does. Flower must have dropped it in Sid's suitcase when he was raiding it for nesting supplies. Sid doesn't let himself think about it, turning off lights, until only the one above the bedside table is still on. He makes one final detour for his phone, protein bars, and water bottles.

Sid turns back to the bed, prepared to hand Flower a water bottle, and has to stop lest he burst into sobs where he's standing. Flower has shrunk even more, looking small and sad without the high walls of the nest to protect him. Sid is struck by a sense memory of '08 - Flower in a nest just like this one after probably the worst loss of their shared career. They'd all filed into Flower and Tanger's shared room that night, after the final, none of them wanting to be alone. Flower had made a nest on his bed, at first, trying to fit everybody, and then when that didn't work, one barely big enough for one person. They'd curled up around it, the core, spread out across two hotel beds, mourning together. Sid doesn't want to mourn, not again. At least he’s here with Flower.

Sid takes a fortifying breath, deposits his supplies next to the bed, and then nudges Flower's foot to let him know he's back. Flower's hand snakes out faster than Sid is expecting and pulls until he's toppled forward on to the bed. Flower lets out a pleased chirp, and starts rearranging blankets around Sid. Sid rolls over and re-positions himself until he's comfy. Sid knows the drill with Flower's nests. He waits, not moving, and soon Flower has the nest rebuilt around him. As Flower works, Sid fires off a quick text to Vero. She deserves to know where her husband is, if he hasn't told her.

Flower finishes and crawls back into the nest while Sid is still waiting for the three dots to form into a reply. Sid locks his phone while Flower gets comfy, the texts from everyone else in his contacts list still unread. At least he knows Vero's read it. Everything else can wait.

Flower ends up spooned next to him, his head on Sid's chest and an arm thrown across his waist. Sid wraps his arms around him and just holds him. They don't talk. They don't need to.

It's nice, Sid thinks, just to lay like this. It's been literal years since the last time Sid was in a goalie's nest. Muzz hadn't nested with the team after Flower left and Jars preferred the defense and defensive forwards to the top six and his captain. Sid didn't realize how much he'd missed it until now.

After a while Flower starts making a low noise, not quite a croon, or a purr. It's not a sob either. It feels like something meant to self soothe rather than an expression of happiness or sadness. Flower isn't crying. There are no tears staining Sid's-Flower's- shirt. It's a low constant noise as they breathe in tandem in the quiet stillness of the nest. As he listens, Sid feels something rise in his chest, and get stuck at the top of his throat. The next time he tries to take a deep breath, his breath audible catches in an unmistakable sob. Sid's chest burns. He hates it. He hates losing; hates feeling like this. The worst part is he hates feeling like he's losing something. Like another last in his career just passed him by and he'll never get whatever it is back. Except he knows. They both do. Why else would Flower be here in his hotel room instead of with his family.

Flower just continues to hum as Sid shudders through his sobs. They hold each other tight inside the nest, taking comfort from the space. Sid lies there and feels, their noise ebbing and flowing as both of them grieve. Sid feels tears gathering behind his eyes, but he can't relax enough to cry. Instead the pressure builds until it overflows, carving small rivers from the corner of his eyes down his cheeks. Flower’s eyes, when Sid blinks his own gaze clear and makes eye contact, are dry and alien but so so familiar that it makes another sob rise in his throat. Whatever instinct has possessed Flower is mourning in its own way. Sid pulls Flower closer, burying a sob in his hair, clinging tight.

Sid sobs himself out like that, unable to fully cry and equally unable to stop. By the time the last sob has made it out of his chest he feels spent. He goes boneless on the bed, tension melting away with the last of the hurt. He's been carrying that weight in his chest for so long he doesn't remember when it showed up. He feels lighter than he has in weeks, maybe even years.

Flower props himself up on his hip, sitting up as best as he can within the nest. Sid's arms fall away, letting him go. Flower doesn't pull away; doesn't leave. Instead a steady hand brushes at Sid's cheeks, wiping away the lingering wetness from his tears. When they're done, the fingers trace his cheekbones. Sid opens his eyes. Flower's face in the dim light from the bedside is the only thing he can see.

Flower pushes forward into his space until they're practically nose to nose. Flower tips forward, pressing his forehead to Sid's and then staying there. Sid can feel Flower breathing out across his lips, their breathes intermingling. The view of Flower's eyes in this position is familiar from so many moments on the ice, straining to press as close as possible around all of their gear. It's unbearably intimate. The warmth of the nest cradles them close. Without the their gear they're pressed right up against each other, thigh to chest. Sid can feel every twitch Flower makes. His hands come up to brace Flower's hips, helping him hold the position.

Sid doesn't know how long they stay like that. By the time his arms get tired of holding Flower and he has to move, the gleam in Flower's eyes has softened into something more alert, more normal. Sid shifts, and Flower pulls back, letting him. As Sid gets comfortable again, one oh his hands comes Flower's face, thumb framing the laugh lines at the corner of his eye. Flower smiles, soft and bittersweet, and Sid traces them with his thumb.

"Ah, Sid," Flower says, his accent thick, his face broadcasting how at a loss he is for what else to say. There's still a hint of nesting in the rumble of his voice, underneath the accent.

Sid's other hand grabs onto the closest part of Flower he can. He refuses to give Flower the space to pull back. Whatever he's thinking can wait. Sid doesn't want him to go.

"Stay." Sid tells Flower. "I texted Vero. She knows where you are. Everything else can wait until the morning. Stay. Please?"