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Chapter Text

Most midseason home games were seen as a great opportunity for players to shine, everyone wanted to do well and that was easier than ever with the groove of the season settling in after several months. Kristýna Kaltounková was another beneficiary of this.

Upon the puck dropping at Prudential Center in a mid-January game, Kalty felt on. She scored a goal within the last five seconds of the first, and matching one followed in the middle of the second period. Another courtesy of Kristen O’Neil made the score 3-0 Sirens.

By the third, a struggling Minnesota team, riddled with injuries and probably various diseases, had managed a dirty goal on the Siren’s starting goalie Kayle Osborne. A few shifts later, Kalty was back on the ice, putting pressure on a defender, she opened up a lane to pass to Sarah: Saved by Rooney.

After a won face off, Sarah got the puck and passed it right back to Casey who saucered it to Kalty whom found some soft ice on the dot to fire a cannon of a shot through traffic. She blanked for a minute- didn’t quite see the puck go in, but she saw the light turn red and the sound of the goal siren was soon heard as the stadium erupted.

The first overall pick just got a hat trick.

*

Upon returning to the locker room, delayed by a player of the game puck, Kalty found herself in darkness. As she walked in through the door she saw pitch black and heard the door slam behind her. Confused, she called out. “Hello?”

Nothing was heard back except a sort of rustling that made the hair on the back of her neck stand. She gulped, unsure if she went into the correct room or if she was about to get jumped by some Frost players as an epic prank.

A moment passed and she stayed still. Paralyzed by the situation, really, but also uncertain of where to go from there.

She tapped her fingers pensively on her shorts, unsure if she should try to walk in skates on an uncertain surface or stay still, hopefully find her way out the door. That is, if she could even find the door.

A glimmer of light appeared in the far corner, small and teardrop shaped, flickering with the movements of its holder, emitting a flame of heat and brightness welcome to Kalty’s uncertainty.

“You,” the speaker began, a Sirens jersey apparent behind the light. "Have upon the hockey gods today been blessed upon a gift of which all aspire for. Three goals mark your name, tonight, truly the gods have chosen such a skater as you. Do you accept our prayers to them, our offering?” The voice made it apparent that it was Micah Zandee-Hart, trying as she might to be stoic and serious.

“Yes?” Kalty croaked, unsure of whether to talk or not. Five more candles appeared, held by her line mates, goalie, and the A’s. All called their hands in prayer.

“Blessed art thou, hockey gods, spirit of the rink we pray for thankfulness after this successful game, for the continuance of our scoring, and the challenges you have presented us along the way. May our future be riddled with more hat tricks and comradeship. In the name of the foreword, the defender, and the holy goalie amen.”

Kayle spoke, “Do you, Kristýna Kaltounková, offer a blessing to the Hockey Gods?”

“Yes.” She replied.

“What of your person shall you offer?”

“My gloves.”

Just as she said it, Micah stepped foreword, removing her gloves and placing them upon the floor. Like clockwork, the rest of the circle placed their candles in a circle around it, getting down onto their knees and bowing before the circle repeatedly.

“Join us, o’ fateful hero.” Kayle said.

Chapter Text

"Those guys don't deserve to just beat us up!" Sarah cried.

"Well that doesn't mean you can just go shoving them around. You're gonna get yourself hurt." Jaime replied.

"Mikes, you're always getting into fights arent you?" Sarah asked her captain.

"Yes but I understand the risks, you're only in your sophomore season and you're out there hitting like you're invincible." Micah replied.

"And yaknow usually people hit back. Consider yourself lucky you haven't gotten your ass kicked four ways to Wednesday yet." Jaime added.

"Well they sure weren't." Sarah retorted.

Micah threw her hands up in defeat, looking over at Kalty who was sat in the corner of the locker room, watching the scene unfold, waiting for Sarah to need her to step in."Sar, let it go." The rookie of the year pouted in response. "Captain says knock it off, knock it off. Shes right. No need to beat yourself up to knock out some poor girls who can barely skate out of your way."

"What so now they're all innocents?"

"No," Micah chimed in, "we're just afraid you're gonna end up hurting yourself." She exhaled, pinching two fingers along the bridge of her nose, she had gotten smacked on the bench when she removed her helmet to retie her hair during the third and it still ached. "We just want you to own up to it. I'm tired of this dancing around your mistakes. Own up to fighting. We both know you shouldn't be. That's not the game we play. It's not always bad either— you just need to tone it down sometimes."

Sarah grumbled. "Fair enough."

Chapter Text

The night was cooling from the mid-forties of the afternoon quickly, snow began to soon trickle to the tops of light-glittered buildings as a midwinter night fell upon Newark, sending the city into a different kind of light, less of stars whether close like the sun or faraway burning galaxies and more of the artificial variety.

Micah Zandee-Hart and Corinne Schroeder watched in soft lighting as the Jets faced off against the Canadiens in a hard-fought battle over two periods. Mikes was cozy under a warm quilt, wrapped in the arms of her girlfriend whom was absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of her wrist, every so often moving fingers when a shot was made on goal to mimic how she would move herself to stop it. Always a Goalie first, Corinne was.

Micah sighed quietly as another face off was won by Montreal who had been killing it all period, she felt Corinne shrink as her provincial team appeared to loose their edge and fall apart. She was just glad it was the Jets she was watching and not the Canucks, if they were failing this hard —and to their credit they were known to— she would probably be a rambling mess pointing out every little flaw in their defense. Corinne always liked when she went on her defensive rants, all she ever really watched was the puck so it was nice to hear from one of the best defenders in the game about how her position worked.

Right as a shot was saved by the Winnipeg goaltender, Hellebuyck— the tv went black. Soon, the lamp in the corner was as out as Abby when she got her concussion, outside too, the city had gone quiet, no lights apart from the occasional headlights. All street lamps, corner signs, apartments. Dark.

New York City had just entered a blackout.

A moment later the HVAC stopped pumping warm air into the apartment, much to the dismay of the easily cold British Columbian. “It’s more temperate in the sound!” She’d always say as the Manitoban, forced to endure many a cold winter on outdoor rinks, snickered.

“Well that’s a problem.” Corinne mumbled, hand tracing more scribbled lines on Micah’s arm, ruminating.

“I’m sure the power will be on in just a minute,” Micah reasoned, “It’s probably just a small thing, frozen pipe or something.”

“I dunno Mikes, it’s probably safe to say it’s pretty bad if the whole cities gone lights-out.”

“I dunno…” Micah yawned.

“Thank god, we've been put out of our misery.” Schroeds said, referring to the game.

“I wouldn’t mind going to bed.” They had no game for a few days and a practice the next afternoon, nothing but an open schedule for much of the time.

Upon dragging Mikes from her comfortable, warm spot on the couch, Corinne attempted to get ready for bed, ambling down the dark hall and fumbling to find her chest of drawers.

Micah loomed over her emanating warmth, arms wrapped around her torso as she looked for an adequate pair of pajamas by feel. The goalie smiled, “Do you mind letting me get my shirt on?”

Micah, feeling that she was being incredibly funny, instead helped by lifting Corinne’s shirt. “Arms up,” she requested. Corinne obliged, quickly feeling the cool air against her skin and having a desire to be warm again, reached for her hockey Canada shirt, getting it over her head and begrudgingly allowing Micah’s clammy hands to pull it down for her.

“Do you mind sitting for a sec, babe?” Corinne asked. Micah sat down on the goalie’s side of the bed, watching her every move as she removed her sweatpants, whistling at her.

“You cannot be serious right now.” Corinne snickered all the same.

“What can I say, I like what I see.”

Corinne pulled up her pants, “You mean what you don’t see.”

”I have a fine enough imagination.” Corinne landed atop the bed, attempting, in vain, to get Micah to switch back to her side, like she was dealing with a stubborn cat. She crawled atop her instead, her necklace dangling between their chests as she leaned in and kissed Micah. “We seem to just sort of find each other in the dark, eh?”

*

A few floors up, Sarah Fillier was stirring some nearly ready pasta in a pot, attempting to ease it from boiling over. Kalty, who had been setting the table, looked up as she heard a sharp hiss coming from the stove. "You alright there, Sar?"

"Yeah, yeah, under control. Is the table good to go?"

"Yeah, how's the gravy?" Kalty insisted that it went well with chicken and pasta, Sarah had doubted as much but finally folded and agreed to make it for dinner that night.

"Gooey as ever." Kalty laughed, then, darkness.

The stove turned off, lights out, it reminded Kalty of Hamilton, pitch dark at night. She could hardly see a foot in front of her.

"Blackout?" Kalty asked.

"For sure, we used to get these all the time in my dorm at Princeton." Sarah replied.

"Is the pasta at least done?" Kalty asked just as the heating shuddered to a halt.

"Hard to an extent that is not pleasant."

"Terrific." Kalty bemused.

"What do you wanna do?" Sarah asked, moving the pot from the hot part of the stove to let it cool down.

Soon the pair found themselves under a blanket atop Sarah’s- their couch. Silence had filled the air in the midst of a lighthearted conversation, nothing much said to a point.

“Do you ever think all the hype is….I dunno…scary?” Kalty asked.

“What do you mean, K?”

“Like about going first overall. Like maybe you’re not as good as everyone said or you won’t ever adjust to the competition.”

“For me, not too much, I guess I doubted myself for a while, but I had played with all these people on the national team, I knew I’d be fine, even on a less than great team Alex was always there for me.” But Alex had left for Seattle. And Kristýna played for Czechia, not team Canada. “But if you’re afraid,” Kalty looked out the window at the slowly trickling snow, failing to make eye contact. “I’d say just, go out there with confidence, every game. Whether we’re playing the juggernaut Seattle or Minnesota. Every game you’re adjusting more, K, I can see it, you’ll get comfortable faster if you get out of your head.” Sarah said, laughing, knocking gently on her head to punctuate her last phrase.

Kalty looked at Sarah finally, hand finding a spot just at the base of her neck. “That’s easier said than done, I know, but your hat trick last week was no blip, you’re always great.”

*

Down a few doors, Abbey Levy was FaceTiming her Boston College roommate, Hannah Bilka, and attempting to flip a pancake with no spatula when the power cut.

“What just happened?” Hannah asked as the screen went black.

“I dunno, I guess the power went out.”

“Damn.”

“Well, I guess no more cooking.” The goalie said, trying and failing to turn the stove back on. “Geez, and the heating cut out.” Abbey had a lightbulb go off over her head, “I know what to do.”

“Yea I gotta go pack for our flight tomorrow.”

“Great see ya Bilks.”

Abbey Levy rang her goalie buddy, Kayle Osborne. Not a moment too late she came knocking on her door, flashlight in hand. “What’d you need me for.”

“I need some help, my apartments getting cold.”

“I think I know what that means.”

“You do?”

“PILLOW FORT!”

“You’ve got the right idea, Osmosis.”

Soon the pair gathered every blanket that Abbey’s room had to offer and carted them to the living room where the couch was quickly taken apart.

*

Blankets soon covered the hard floor, couch cushions supported two walls along with a coffee table turned on its side, a sheet forming a roof with it all illuminated by a lantern.

“Do you think we’ll be cold?” Kayle asked, knowing the heat was not likely to turn on until the next day.

“I doubt it.” Abbey replied, referring to the sleeping bag she was inside paired with the several blankets she was burritoed inside.

Chapter Text

PING

A puck hit the iron crossbar of my post, I gloved it down a second later as a Toronto player sprayed me, stopping before she ran me over.

Only a few minutes left in the game. A few. No goals on the board for either of us. Kirk put a good fight, made another save off a shot from Kalty but pretty soon I found myself facing an odd man rush, I lifted my arm to make another high-save but the puck slipped right past me. I flopped foreword onto the ice.

Shutout chance lost. Their home goal song sounded through the speakers, echoing into my helmet, into my skull. The next face off was taken. It was all too much, the play, the shouting across the ice, the puck moving at light speed, the noise of the crowd. Fifty seconds left. I was freaking out.

Chapter Text

Camp had started and Kayle Osborne felt more than uneasy, more than what’s normal for a goalie anyways. As she slid her pads on in the dressing room she couldn’t help but feel a terrible sense fear creep over her her subconscious, making her feel like she just couldn’t go on the ice, all alone. Neither of their drafted goalies had flown out to Newark yet for the camp, much less even been signed and she was the sole goalie at practice that day. Both of her elder goalies from the previous season, well, they had parted ways with her.

Corinne Schroeder had been an up and coming goaltender for a year when she signed with PWHL New York and very soon became a mainstay, starting goaltender by her second year, so when she got wind of expansion teams out in Seattle and Vancouver and the unrestricted signing period, she figured it could be a way to improve on several things.

Alex Carpenter had made her motives to leave for Seattle very clear: she wanted to win a championship. New York hadn’t gotten her far and the locker room was less than stellar, she figured it could be an easy buyout.

Schroeder, ever the loyal goalie, followed Carp out to Seattle for a chance at a higher paycheck and a change of scenery.

Abbey Levy, strong third stringer playing for her home town, too, decided to leave. She was getting little to no ice time and both of Boston’s backups left for Sweden. Levy figured it would be an opportunity to head back to her BC roots where she lived out some of the best days of her young life and play with her Shattuck buddy, Aerin Frankel, again.

It was difficult for all parties present at the meeting wherein the goalies announced to their rookie the plan to depart. They sat Kayle down at the rink, on a bench in the locker room, with two chairs pulled up in front of her, they looked like a couple announcing their divorce to their daughter.

“Look, Oz, we’ve been thinking….” Abbey began, “With the reshuffling of goaltenders with the Olympics and expansion teams and all, we’d….Seek some opportunities.”

“It’s not that we don’t love you.” Corinne spoke up, assuring, putting a hand out to punctuate her words. “It’s just that we figured a change of scenery could be good for us. I’d hate to leave Carp alone out west, and I’d hate to lose my A who’s always making sure I don’t get messed with.”

“And you?” Kayle said, referring to Abbey.

She sighed, “Look, it’s not that I hate New York, greatest city in the world, I was born here. It’s just, ya’know I get to be with Aerin again and maybe even be the second string.”

“Oh yeah, I can already read the headlines. ‘First Jewish Tandem in the PWHL’” Corinne added, attempting to bring up the mood.

“You think? Gee my Shul’ll be buzzing.”

“W- What am I supposed to do? What- Just BE the starter to my horrible hockey team! Haven’t I been punished enough!” Kayle cried.

“Look, look,” Corinne said, putting a hand on Kayle’s shoulder. “We all have to play behind atrocious teams, it’s a right of passage. It’ll make you a better goalie.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I’m more resilient because of it, you’ll be too. This team isn’t like BU, it’s not—euh—BC, and it’s definitely not like Colgate. It’s a different beast, you just gotta remember that games aren’t won by saves alone, it’s on the offense to score goals, you can’t do anything about that. “ Kayle smirked, obviously thinking of the mythical Goalie Goal, maybe she could score one, one day. “Just forget it Kay, a goalie goal isn’t happening in this league and you know it.”

“Ugh you’re just jaded from watching the islanders too much.”

“Hey we had the most recent one in the NHL I’ll have you know.”

“Oh really? If you’re so sure, then when, Levy?”

“March 1st, 2025, UBS arena, ya’know how I know cause I was there!”

“Oh.”

*

But the fun times with the vets were over. And she was alone. When she went into difficult situations, games against Marie-Philip Poulin, Hilary Knight, Taylor Heise, she always got worked up. Corinne had played those chumps dozens of times, had blocked tens of their shots, she had plenty of experience under her belt and was always more than happy to help Kayle out, whether that be tips on how to respond to their style of play or helping her calm down.

Abbey was similar in that she was also comforting, she cracked jokes, distracted the rookie, always giving her a fist bump when she got back to the bench and reminded her to have fun whenever she skated away.

Kayle didn’t know what she’d do without them. She had no clue how to face the greats, manage her stress, or even handle backing up a team that couldn’t shoot back, she didn’t even know if she could step on the damn ice she felt so scared, terrified, of going out their alone. No one else would be there who could understand, the rookies showing up a week later into camp who had never even been to a frozen four didn’t know how she felt, her friends on defense didn’t know what it was like. The Only two people who knew how she felt, esoterically, the pressure of backing for a bad team and to perform well in a league full of top goaltending, had just left her in the dust for better teams. She felt betrayed on top of it all.

Tears began prickling at the edges of her eyes, hidden by her mask. Not that anyone was there to see her, they were already on the ice. Literally no one was there for her.

She couldn’t bring herself to move from her spot for some time, tears streaking down her face, drying in the foam of the inside of her mask, thoughts of what her future held for her plaguing her mind.

At some point, her crying stopped. She felt as thought her face was fine enough to go on the ice without anyone asking questions, but when she actually stood at the glass, a step away from the ice, she was, again, paralyzed by fear. She was scared, of everything, the ice, falling like she was a five year old who left their skate guards on, of being alone in her crease while the rest of the team ripped around on the other side of the ice, like she didn’t even exist.

Standing for what must have been a minute, a few eyes perked up at the girl standing on the edge of the boards. After a bit, Sarah skated over. “Hey Oz? The great and powerful?” Kayle snapped out of her trance. “We’ve been hoping you’d show up, we were about to throw a rookie in pads. C’mon let’s go have some fun.” Sarah said, waving an arm for her to follow. The goalie hesitated for a minute before stepping carefully onto the ice and skating to the near crease. As she tapped her posts and made a glove save, a smile creeped over her face.

Chapter Text

POV Kayle Osborne

A play unfolded right in front of me in practice, mid camp, a hard fought scrimmage by the white team. A shot, pad save, the rebound— glove saved. A whistle blew and my eyes unfocused. I was on a streak, ready for the next face off.

White team dumped it into blue’s side, Kalty passed the puck right back to the red line where Casey took it up, a pass to Kalty who held the puck for a moment before opting to pass back to Filly who was heading full speed for the net, she tipped it right up by my glove and I managed to swat it away before she fell right over me, ending up in the net. As fast as Sarah was going, her attempt at making trouble was in vain as her small frame wasn’t enough to dislodge the net from its place pegged into the ice. The sophomore instead flopped hilariously, her back hitting the net with her skates and arms flailing.

Micah spread her fingers over her forehead, much like how a disappointed father would. Jaime turned to her, “She’s your problem you know.”

“I did not sign up for this.”

“Motherhood is not asked for; it is only gifted.”

Chapter Text

Off season practices left much room for goofiness, the Sirens and other PWHLers who had been training together were no exception. Between puck tricks, fun cellys, and maybe a few too many ticktock dances, the handful of them had bonded a good bit seemed to be finding one another on the ice more, and were pumped up to be returning for a better season in the tri-state. Those few weeks were blissful, no blockbuster trades, on-ice drama, nothing. It was peaceful as hockey can be, until Abby Roque signed with Montreal.

“What do you MEAN MontREAL?” Jaime Bourbonnais cried. Abby didn’t mean for her to find out this way, she wanted to sit Jaime down and explain her reasoning, not have her nearly in tears in the locker room, the announcement posted by some league watch account, probably ran by Ian Kennedy or something. [AN- eyeroll]

But that was a week ago, and Abby figured things had at least somewhat gotten better, even though Jaime’s passes starting inching more and more away from her stick, and passes between the two became less frequent.

After the group’s daily skate, Abby was on her way out by the rink when she dropped her coffee, sticky brown liquid falling upon the rubber floor. “Oh. Just great.”

She went around to the broom closet, the door propped ajar by a stop. Inside, she pulled the string to the lightbulb which illuminated two brooms, a bucket, and a mop. She took the latter two back to her spill and began cleaning it.

By the time she had dumped the water down the drain, Jaime was walking by and being the good teammate that she was, offered to help Abby.

She stood inside the closet, propping open the door for Abby by lightly jamming the doorstop in and stepping aside, but as Abby pushed the bucket harshly to get it passed the threshold, the doorstop dislodged and the door slammed shut, a click was heard.

The defender frantically tried to open the door only to find it locked from the inside, the handle unmoving. “Oh this is just great, real great.” Abby said.

“Well don’t you have your phone on you?” Jaime pondered.

“No it’s in my bag back by the locker room. Where’s yours anyways?”

“It’s in my bag because I’m not addicted to my phone like some of us.” Jaime jabbed.

“Hey! That was one time.”

“Great. This gives me time to pepper you with questions as to why you’ve left us for dead.”

“I did not leave the Sirens for dead—“

“So why did you go?”

“I dunno, I just wanted a change of scenery I guess. A smaller city, work with Pou and Stace, it’s a pretty good gig up there.”

“With a fat paycheck too I bet.”

“Says Mrs. Bourbonnais-Clark, sugar baby of the highest paid in the league.” Jaime rolled her eyes.

“But we’ve built so much.”

“Yea and I haven’t done shit of it. It’s all Mikes and Greg and Filly. I’m not the main character, I’m not a top points getter. God I don’t even think I got double digit goals last season.”

“So what? We’re enemies now or something?”

“Maybe.” Abby said, sliding to the floor, almost as if in defeat.

“Sounds a bit weird, eh?”

“Just a little.”

*

And so the pair talked on long into the hour, when footsteps were heard in the hall, a savior at last in the form of their summer goaltender who in true goalie fashion took forever to get out of her gear, Kayle Osborne. “Gee you two look, rough.”

Chapter Text

POV Kristýna Kaltounková

A game had wrapped up. A loss, really, wrapped up. When I got back to the locker room I got my skates off but slid out as soon as I could. I didn’t quite put my finger on it but I just needed to be alone.

Score was something like 4-0, I just couldn’t seem to finish on my 9 shots. A post thrown in there, god I made a fool of myself. Why did I even try? Hannah Murphy knows my shot like the back of her hands I had to keep finding ways to score on her at Colgate. It seems like we’re back to the good old days of her saving every shot I made, every trick in the book, just like Kayle– except I’ve gotten better at shooting on her. My game got stronger, shots faster, more accurate.

Foolish. The word kept coming back to me. I looked like an idiot out there, all that effort, skating so hard, and for what? Sarah barely got any shots, Casey did her best, the other lines had no better luck. God.

When I made it out to the hall the coast was clear. A few dozen paces away from the door I was face to face with many a painted cinder blocks, white with the occasional black mark. From old bags, to tossed pucks, who’s to say what it was.

I sort of blacked out for a moment. All the anger of the game, all the anger I was hiding, keeping it together for my team, came up; before I knew it I was throwing my fists at the walls.

I guess my vision got a little blurry, my mind sorta went out. It hurt like hell, meat hitting brick. It’s not as nice as hitting a punching bag or body or anything. It doesn’t move. You’re not really trying to hurt the object so much as yourself. It’s better to take it out that way instead of around— or on— someone else, but that doesn’t numb the pain. After a while I stopped noticing each shot to the wall and they just sort of scrambled together, my hands hurting less as I went on, though I never let up on my force.

The grey fog sorta took over my vision. When I got some more visibility back the white wall had a bit of red on it, I could hardly see my hands.

Next thing I remember I was sitting in the hall, my back to the wall, Sarah looking at my banged up hand. I don’t remember what I said to her or anything, if I even did. I think I might’ve begged her not to take me to the trainers, though, because I only got fixed up once we got to Sarah’s— our apartment.

My vision started clearing up when we got back to the locker room, most people had scattered and the goalies were still showering. My hands hurt too much to get dressed myself so Sarah helped me get my jersey off and all. Not much was said, I think she was sort of shocked by the whole thing, but also understood. We’re both competitive as it gets, however esoteric that may be, I think she was just a little blind sighted by how I handled it.

When we got home she was probably the most gentle and genuine I’ve ever seen Sarah Fillier. A beast on the ice, competitive and physical, has your game beat before she even crosses the blue line, ready to strike. Feared by all. But when we got back, she took me to the kitchen, in the warm lighting I could finally see how beaten up my hands were as she led me to the sink. Blue, purple, and brown were the color of my knuckles. Small red dots had formed on the side of my hands almost resembling a day-old hickey.

She stood behind me, her head on my shoulder, and took my hands in hers. She turned on the warm water. It was then I understood she was really bracing me, because it hurt like hell. Forget the actual punching, the, for all intents and purposes, open wounds hitting water was much worse. I scrunched up my face and held my breath to distract myself but it wasn’t near enough, they burned and ached more than I thought was possible.

“Shh,” she cooed. "You’re doing great, K.” I bit my lip as she spread soap over my hands, rubbing it into my knuckles where every bubble seemed to start a fire in its wake.

“I know, I know. I got you. It’ll be over soon.” It felt like forever and a day. She rinsed off my hands with hers half a minute later.

“Are we done yet?” I croaked, I guess I hadn’t said much after the game.

“Just a little longer, I gotta bandage that little mess you made.” I looked down at my hands. “Don’t look at it, K, it’ll freak you out, believe me.”

I often recall just how smart Sarah is, but honestly sometimes it passes over my head the fact she went to an Ivy League school and took quite a few behavioral psych classes for her degree. I trust that she knows what she’s talking about.

I sat at the couch, she sat on the floor in front of me.

“Hold still,” She requested after I started squirming at the sight of the first aid kit. “You’ll be fine. I’m gonna take care of you. Don’t look at your hands K, look at me, okay?”

She inspected my hands, mainly the knuckles were the problem. She got straight to bandaging around my knuckles, to the top of my palms and back again. A few fingers had some cuts I guess, because I felt her put a piece of medical tape with a folded over bit on my ring finger, followed by a few on my other hand.

“You might wanna take some ibuprofen….” She trailed. I nodded

“Thank you, by the way, for this.”

“Anytime K.” She said before sneaking a peck on my cheek. God I love this girl so much. “Just, maybe don’t make a habit of it.” But that was a conversation for another day.

Chapter Text

Corinne held Micah close one winter evening, legs tangled under a warm blanket with the defender nearly asleep if it weren’t for the quiet conversation the goalie was making and the game on TV. “Gee this Frozen Four is no joke…” Corinne said, surprised at the parity of Cornell and Colgate.

“It’s insane.” Micah sighed.

“Like the amount of pressure is insane, isn’t it Mikes?” Corinne received a shrug and confused look. “I mean just knowing that you could be out of the tournament any second if a goal sneaks past you…..” Just as Corinne spoke a shot made by Chloe Goofers landed in the glove of Bergman. Phew.

“Don’t be saying that, it’s bad luck as we now see.”

“Oh c’mon I barely did anything.” Micah shushed her, Corinne rolled her eyes.

The game reminded Micah of her Frozen Four appearance back in college, a solid loss to Minnesota after they thought of themselves as invincible during the regular season.

Her mind slowly brought up other championship memories, the gold medal in Beijing, the Ivy League, women’s worlds, but one stuck out as less than positive.

Micah forgot about the world around her for a minute, her girlfriend locked into the hockey game as the minutes ticked by.

It was like she was still on the rink, gasping for air and skating as hard as she could, just trying to help the forewords get on the other side of the ice so they could do something as the waning minutes of the third and the score of 4-2 for Finland hung over her head. God. The feeling of painful churning in her gut was by far the worst she ever experienced in a team Canada jersey— the best team in the world, it was their job to win, to represent their country, going back up north with silver was bad enough, but they were on track for bronze which is exactly what happened. The thought of the disappointment she was going to carry back to Vancouver was heartbreaking. Her Big Red had just been shut out by Minnesota to end their title dreams just a month prior, another runner up position stung.

“You good?” Corinne asked.

Micah blinked, becoming conscious of the frown on her face. “Yea Cury, just…thinking about my Frozen Four game. These guys are lucky, we had to play Minnesota. The WCHA’s strategy is to just throw more pucks at the net than your opponent— defending be damned.”

“What about Wisco? Laila and KK are pretty solid, and Abby would have never gotten away with her style of game all four years if it weren’t for defenders backing her ass up.”

“Mark Johnson puts his D through the gauntlet, they’re the exception.”

“I see…Wasn’t your Frozen Four like right after the….ya know.” Corinne never cared much to breech the topic, she knew Micah didn’t like talking about it and honestly, she wasn’t sure why she’d asked.

“Yup,” Micah replied. “Just a great year, eh? And Covid right after.”

“God how did you survive I think I would go into hiding from the people of Canada at that point.”

“They call me a disgrace to the game.” Micah joked, mimicking the mantra of Abby Roque that she’d always say after getting in scrums or scoring Michigans.

Chapter Text

Ever since Corinne had put two and two together about the Sirens’ first overalls dating she noticed it everywhere she went. It sort of reminded her of the time when a friend of hers point out that the CFL, NCAA, and NFL footballs had different stripes, every time she saw the full white circle on a ball she couldn’t unsee the “Canadian football” label that seemed to drop from the sky.

Every time Kalty and Sarah left the locker room after practice together, arrived at the same time, whispered to each other a little too much on the ice. She thought it was getting a little excessive when on a spirit day, Jersey Thursday, they came in wearing the other’s national team sweater. She just about rolled her eyes to the back of her head they were so obvious. Really, did neither of them somehow not like the bills?

She figured it was much of the same excuse and reasoning as her and Micah had: they didn’t want to make a big deal with the team and got around it but just saying they lived together. Close friends. Roommates.

Jaime Bourbonnais also thought it was strange, thinking she was slick with her team Canada romance she thought she’d be able to snuff out any funny business on her team. “Do you think there’s something…up with those two?” She asked Corinne as they walked out of the rink together.

“Uhh not that I know of.” Corinne lied, looking down at the shoe she was tying and then up at the pair of forwards.

“Yeah but don’t they seem a little close.”

“They’re roommates Jame.”

“I dunno, it’s a feeling I have.”

“You might be feeling wrong.” Corinne said, standing and picking up her bag to leave. The best way to deal with such situations, in her opinion, was to leave as soon as possible. She didn’t terribly want to recreate the situation of last season concerning a certain now-montreal player frequently found in the penalty box.

“Well what do you Think?”

“No comment.” She said, smiling a bit, trying not to burst out laughing.

Chapter Text

Ever since Micah’s shoulder injury ahead of the inaugural season, Corinne had noticed her style of play change. She used to throw her body around like she was invincible, but after she got her shoulder kicked two ways to Wednesday, she got a lot less physical. She still stayed as rough and in your face as ever, but with a more thought out approach than just “hit them”.

That’s why it was to Corinne’s shock that in a game against Toronto she seemed to be throwing her arm around more. She knew intellectually that Micah had good and bad days even over a year after it fully healing, but it seemed a bit off. Between periods she forgot to make a comment of it, she figured Micah knew what she was doing.

However, once the third started Micah got blindsided by a Toronto player, knocking her bad arm—and shoulder with it—into a massive overextension. Micah’s arm shot with pain for a second, her hand fell limp and felt like static. Play continued as she skated off to the bench. “Oh yea, it’s alright, just gimme a second to catch my breath it’ll be fine.” She told the trainer.

By the end of the game she was back on the ice. But her change in game was subtle, something Corinne noticed that went unseen by the trainers, coaches, other players, something looked off about the speed at which she moved her stick on her bad shoulder and gave hits. With no further objection the game was an on-the-road win for the Sirens.

*

On the trip to the next game in Seattle, Corinne gathered that Micah was not carrying her duffle bag on her bad shoulder, and neglected to move her arm much.

Much of the same happened for all three periods, though she was a little faster than immediately after her bad hit in the previous game. Corinne thought it reckless that Micah went on to play through the pain, and she completely agreed herself.

The searing pain that wracked her shoulder every time she pushed and shoved an opponent was not something she would wish on another, the speed at which she was still able to move came at the cost of forcing a sharp stab in her shoulder whenever she went for a poke check. She hoped that if she could just get through one game they’d have a travel day, and a few off days, then her arm could heal up. But for the time being, she just needed to ignore it and press on.

Chapter Text

Corinne had met Micah in her hotel room the night before the flight back to Newark for a quick one-on-one. She called out her girlfriend on her injury, questioning the defender on why she was hiding it. Micah's reasoning was a little lost on her, but she summed it up to be about not being able to take off days.

However, when the off days came, all the excuses and lies fell away with Micah finally embracing her suffering. Corinne, being the resident first-aider to the defenseman's stupid decisions, had agreed to tape up her shoulder.

"I only need to fold my laundry, then I'll tape you up. Just take it easy for a bit." Corinne said.

"But that'll take so loooong." Micah whined, half joking. Against her better judgment, she removed herself from watching some Netflix show to follow Corinne into their bedroom and wait impatiently.

Corinne dumped the hamper out next to the defender, slowly picking out T-shirts and folding them halfway before rolling them up and placing them in her chest of drawers.

"You should hurry up."

"You should be patient."

"But my shoulder huuuuurts. Why won't you pay attentions to my needs?"

"I have other things to do." The goalies defended.

"Tsk tsk tsk, withholding medical treatment I see."

Corinne moved onto workout clothes, tossing them into a middle drawer that when opened often invited the dull smell of sweat into the room. Micah began to bounce her leg, flicking her fingers in a rhythmic pattern to a song she couldn’t hear.

Corinne, moving onto folding her socks, sighed. "Ya know you should probably get that checked out."

"I will tomorrow I just need to not feel like my shoulder is breaking out from the joint."

"Have you taken painkillers?"

"Two ibuprofen."

"That's my Mikes." The taller girl said, closing her top drawer before haphazardly throwing a pair of pajama pants into the bottom one. She closed it with a snap.

Micah sighed quietly, closing her eyes for a moment thinking the goalie wouldn’t catch her, not that she minded, Micah knew that if she was getting tired she’d usually make a funny comment.

She looked down at Micah who was sitting on their bed. Her face softened as the shorter girl’s demeanor had turned from joking to sour. The lingering pain had boiled to an unpleasant ache, fidgeting less than before and instead just accepting her fate. She bit back cries of pain at a sudden shock that came to her shoulder out of nowhere, biting her lip to numb it.

“Oh Mikes…” Corinne trailed, almost whispered. Micah didn’t quite look up.

She quickly fetched the first aid kit from their bathroom, taking out the tape that Micah had stashed after her first shoulder injury.

The goalie sat next to the defender. “Shirt off.” Corinne requested.

The moment was sincere, nothing terribly lustful hung in the air more than a sense of trust and intimacy. Corinne smoothed out a piece from about the base of Micah’s neck down her bicep, and repeated a similar pattern from her clavicle down the other side of her arm. “How’s that?” Micah moved her arm in a chicken-wing motion, then left to right.

“Alright.”

“Feel any better yet?”

“I dunno it’s hard to say.”

“So much for withholding medical treatment.”

Micah play filled shoved Corinne in the chest. “I was in pain.”

“Have the painkillers kicked in.”

“Just a little…” Judging by Micah’s sudden wincing in the moment prior, Corinne figured they hadn’t done much.

“Well maybe take one more and we can see how you feel in the morning, ‘kay?” Corinne wrapped her arm loosely around Micah and kissed her on the forehead.

Chapter Text

Ever since Abby Roque had signed in Montreal things felt…..new. From strained relationships with old friends to moving to a country she didn’t spend a ton of time in, everything was like turning a page to a new chapter in her life.

It was then Abby realized, as she stood in the locker room staring blankly at her new #11 Victoire jersey, that it really was a new stage. New city, new people, everything felt so alien to the Michigander who had spent the past two years cooped up in New York. She missed the warmer summer days at times, the English was nice too. Her French needed much work by Pou’s estimate and she was pretty sure she was laughing about it with Cath after she walked away.

New system, new chances, new opportunities. Maybe this year she could find the back of the net like in college, maybe their defense would withstand her corner-cutting to get chances at the net, maybe this new logo, this burgundy jersey would serve her better in the long run if she really worked for it. But only time would tell. All she knew was for certain was that there surly was going to be much booing when she went out on the ice for her first game as a Victoire against her former Sirens.

Chapter Text

The term “body bag” had never really fully processed in Sarah Fillier’s mind. It seemed like a word that you just sort of heard and knew the meaning without thinking of its deeper etymology. Like breakfast. She thought it was a strange word until she realized it means to literally break your overnight fast.

Elle Hartje, however, fully understood the meaning and had suggested to her partner in crime the perfect locker room prank idea. “There’s no way I’m fitting in that.” Sarah said of her captain’s hockey bag, empty as it was.

“Trust me I’ve done this about three times in smaller bags.”

“How– what do you mean you’ve done this?”

“Yale.” Elle replied, unzipping the bag for Sarah to crawl inside.

“Oh.”

“So you see if you face up and have your hand over the zipper,” she said gesturing. “You can fully pull it open when she starts unzipping it. I find higher success rate when they are reaching for it but that’s hard to tell.”

“And you’re sure we’re not gonna do bag skates for this?”

“Eh, pretty sure. Quick! Micah’s gonna be out of her meeting soon.”

Sarah, with the help of her fellow sophomore, compacted herself into the duffle. She was right, there was a decent enough amount of space, though it was by no means comfortable. She felt the inside of the insulated bag warm more with every breath she took and second she spent inside. The synthetic fibers that brazed her skin almost irritated her to the point of shuffling around but she knew she couldn’t move a muscle when the door creaked open and the captain could be heard talking.

She sat at her locker, making conversation with one of the A’s while untying her skates. Sarah could practically feel her about an inch from her left leg inside the bag. “No yea the rookies have been giving me a bit of a scare if I’m being honest, and Sarah’s trouble is no help….” The British Columbian trailed.

Filly, offended as ever, then had a bit of a chip on her shoulder, she really felt like she was sticking it to the man, but after the comment she felt a little guilty about the prank. Only a little. But she had committed.

After Micah had surly taken off all her gear and it sat next to her on the locker and floor, Sarah inched open the zipper so slowly and quietly that Micah didn’t notice. She watched her reach towards the bag with the corner of her eye, though the small hole she made and lurched down the zipper as far as she could go, yelling as she did so.

Micah stumbled back, letting out an explicative and landing next to her helmet on the carpet. It was entirely worth it, Sarah thought. She laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world while Micah stared at her incredulously, not being able to believe she would pull something like that on her, the captain, the boss. It sort of frustrated her but the prank itself was funny, she couldn’t help but laugh along with the kid.

“You are gonna skate till you puke for this.” Micah said, giggling, Sarah sobered at once.

“Say what now?”

Chapter Text

Ever since moving out to Seattle, Jessie Eldridge had been adjusting pretty slowly. It wasn’t like New York, Hamilton or even Ontario. It didn’t snow as much, it rained a lot, she seemed to never see the sun, and yet, she was happy. Being on a winning team definitely helped on the worse days when her legs burned from skating the sun refused to shine. Keeping up with old and new teammates helped too.

Seattle had been doing exceptionally well early on in the season and just as Jessie went into Christmas break, she had received a package from Montreal. She put it just next to her door and went about the task of making dinner. Her golden retriever, Beau, often hung around her in the apartment. Following her from room to room, he often laid down in the kitchen when Jessie was making food. But that night, he was sniffing the parcel by the door. Jessie called him over but he would not cease. She didn’t really know what she was getting all the way from Canada, much less a province she didn’t have ties to. Unless it was a bomb, that’d be good reason for the dog to be concerned. But it was probably not. A bomb.

After dinner she brought it over to the kitchen, Beau following right behind her. Opening it up, she found a note atop some bubble wrap.

‘Hi Jes,

Thought I’d send over a gift for my favorite fur ball— missing him over in Montreal.

Merry Christmas,
Abby’

Beau was wagging his tale, staring up at Jesse eagerly. “Yea yea yea, I’m on it.” She said, ripping open the bubble wrap to reveal an antler about the size of her forearm, giving it to the dog who quickly scampered off to the living room with it.

Chapter Text

Corinne Schroeder was always a rock; the calm in the midst of the storm; we’ve heard this story before, but we’ve never heard about her past and how it impacted her future. That calm was developed, not gifted, it had to be grown and nourished to make her so good at her position, the collected and locked in goalie. She played the part well for most of the time. Then there were other times, like after rough games and when she was sick. Those days were more or less one and the same with the feeling of emptiness at the pit of her stomach and a light head. When she cried or puked or blacked out all the bad feelings went away and were replaced with a bit of brain fog and cold sweats. Sometimes she’d wake up in a flash with the memories of years past, thinking she was back there, before opening her eyes to her room, her girlfriend, what was familiar to her. Safe.

The Sirens had been doing various activities for cross training from pickleball to kickball, from running around the city to hiking in the Hudson Valley, but one day they were at the gym. A simple weight lift and cardio mix. Several stations to focus on, different muscle groups with different workouts, all laid out on an archaic chalkboard that reminded Corinne of her high school; being rural as it gets, they were rather slow to catch up on technology. Corinne didn’t think she saw a dry-erase board until college way out in Boston.

The workout was simple enough, scanning over the board while everyone slowly trickled into the gym, her eyes glazed over one sentence that stuck out to her. “Rowing machine— 10 minutes”.

That feeling of the pit in her stomach and the desire to vomit crept up on the goalie. ‘It’s an erg goddamnit’ she thought.
She couldn’t go back.

As her group moved from spot to spot throughout the lift, they inched closer to her dreaded exercise. It felt like getting ready to take a shot from Pou, straight to the neck or body, like she was bracing herself for what was to come, tapping her foot anxiously as she watched the group before her attempt to use the machine correctly. It seemed like no one had ever actually rowed before despite the fact many of them had spent several years in places that largely featured it, she gave Abbey a side eye having lived in Boston for three years and yet being more or less oblivious to the concept. They were hockey players after all, no need or desire to venture outside their sport and maybe golf. She sighed. Everyone was throwing their body around before fully extending their legs, arms were the last thing moved on recovery— god how that would hurt their backs if they kept that up. Corinne made herself look away as the pit in her stomach hurt more and more, growing deeper by the second. All of a sudden the change was called.

She sat down at one of the ergs, strapping her feet in, it was like she was there. She couldn’t go back. Her high school days were dead, gone. Buried. And yet she was there. Her heart racing as she looked up at the coach standing just a few steps from her, all her teammates lined up like sardines in the basement hallway. “Attention,” he said. “Row.”

Corinne could feel the burning of her legs. Saw everyone around her move at breakneck paces for their first few strokes. The first 500 meters alway felt fine. Easy. Dusted in 1:37. But then the middle thousand came around and that was when it started to worsen. The music ringing in her ears was never loud enough to drown out the pain in her head telling her to stop, breath, think. All she could do was row harder, faster, pick up the rate whenever she got thinking too much. Next 500 down in 1:40.

She could feel the coach walk up behind her as she desperately dropped her split however she could, picking up her rate to a 34, flying up the slide to every catch, feeding her handle up to get the most out of each pull on the chain. She felt a nod. She needed to be in the Charles boat. Needed to prove herself even though, intellectually, she knew she was the fastest on the team.
Last 500 left.

She pain boiled over, making her grunt with every powerful drive she took, but she needed to press though. ‘1….2….3….4….5’ she counted her strokes, knowing she only had to count to forty before her sprint. She always thought of the 39 lashes during that part. Something or other she learned in bible study. She almost understood how it felt, regardless of how sacrilegious it must’ve been. 250m showed on her screen and all bets were off, she took her pace up to a 40, using every ounce of strength left in her body to pull, drive, move faster. Split down to a 1:30. Not enough. It was never enough. With five more strokes it was a 1:25. Her coach was behind her again. “Good Corinne. Keep it right there.” He said.

She counted her last ten after she passed the 30m mark, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t know if it was over before she was done. Afterwards, she peeled them, the sinking feeling in her stomach that had been building in class, at lunch, the entire day really, had melted away as the 2k test was done, she could breath, “Excellent work.” Her coach said, giving her a pat on the back as she tried and failed to reach for her water bottle, the whole world turning black.

“Hey? Schroeds?” Elle asked, snapping in front of her absent face. Corinne came out of her zone-out session, blinking a few times and moving her head backwards to focus her eyes. She didn’t remember 2k tests, not really anyways. She remembered hating them, the stress, but she didn’t remember that being the reason the pit in her stomach was such a familiar feeling once she went pro, she didn’t remember the details down to the split and what her coach said. But she remembered it like it was an hour ago. Her pulse was through the roof and adrenaline flooded her system; she felt like she was being hunted for sport.

“Huh?”

“We’re about to do the rowing thingamabobber c’mon.” Elle said, grabbing the handle.

“What’s the category?” Corinne asked, still reeling in her 2k memory.

“The what?”

“Ya know like how fast to go, like sub 1:50 for this ten minute, rate cap at like 20?”

“Hello? Earth to Schroeds I only speak English.”

A coach came over to the group and chimed, “Ready, row.”

The feeling of stress trickled away little by little as the goalie realized what exactly the kind of piece they were doing was, steady state. Nice and easy, calm. No sprints, the split and time didn’t matter, there was no seat she had to race for, it was just about moving for an extended amount of time.

Corinne was still competitive as she was in her high school days, she found. A quick glance at Elle’s screen revealed a 2:40 split. ‘Childish novice.’
She kept her’s sub two the whole time, the rate low as ever. Her technique was also good, a little rusty from all the years off the water but good. She had maintained proper sequencing when a comparison with Elle had her nearly laughing, the girl had no idea what to do, she was like a baby dear on a footplate. Arms at the same time as legs, hardly any layback, it was hilarious. No wonder she was moving slowly.

By the end of the piece Corinne had amassed several thousand meters more than Elle who stared at her like she was a god.

“Just a former rower.” Corinne said, the recently dug up memory of her final 2k panging into her conscious. She was half surprised she didn’t black out after or something. Just sat there kind of proud and nostalgic.

Chapter Text

Sarah’s legs still hurt from the bag skate session she had at the practice following her little prank on Micah. Every push that sent her flying down the ice felt like it was pulling her quads apart and after any particularly strong pushes her leg would wobble, sending her onto the ice in a fall which resembled a cartoon character.

She remembered her prank fondly, it was executed nearly perfectly and garnered the intended affect, the only problem was Micah’s disappointment. Sarah Really wanted to stick it to the man by using her element of surprise to her advantage and so it was with the very next game they had: Vancouver.

Third period, scoreless, Sarah was the dot with a defender skating right up to her as Casey had the puck and was looking to pass to her. Just as the Vancouver defender, an old friend of Sarah from Princeton, skated up to her, Sarah bit back with a loud “AHHHHH!” and jutted out her neck, the defender was surprised, lurching backwards and losing her balance on skates before fumbling down. Sarah got the puck on her stick and a half second later the puck whistled right between the goaltender’s pad and glove. 1-0 for New York.

Skating down the bench Micah was shaking her head, smiling, “How is that not a penalty, Filly?”

Chapter Text

This was it, the Head of the Charles regatta, the big one. Largest rowing race in the world, five kilometers in Boston, all grit, not energy left. Hilary Knight had once said it was okay to swim in the Charles, but that wasn’t true. Any rower knew that you had to Win Charles to swim in it, drink in the glory of besting the finest crews in the country with superior effort and technique. Every rowers dream.

So here they were, near the finish line in the Women’s Master Eight+’s.

In the middle lane was the juggernaut Boston, the name Fleet was accurate to their status, a true navy. Former winners of the cup, with their ace of an engine room Hilary Knight having just switched teams they still managed to pull ahead in the first mile but by the end they were losing some steam.

Seattle, a historied team who was looking for their top boat to win big with some transfers of sub-eight studs in the form of their 7, 5, and 4 seats: Alex carpenter, Corinne Schroeder, and Hilary Knight. Knight was no stranger to winning, having won the cup the prior year and looking to repeat her success with a new all-star squad. They hung a boat’s length off of Boston’s stern going past the CBC boathouse, on their outside along starboard.

New York, though, were the shockers. The Sirens were a young group, half their boat was made up of novices who had hardly ever raced before, with only one veteran and a handful of sophomores paired up with a bunch of novices. Though inexperienced, the rag-tag group showed promise with explosive drives and speedy recoveries, they maintained a rate of 36 and a sub 1:50 split by the time they got to the CBC boathouse, their bow ball on the eight seat of Seattle, taking the inside.

The three top boats in the race. The three top crews in the country going head to head, desperately vying for first place on the world's biggest stage.

Kluge called a power ten for her Boston team as Seattle took a few strokes propelled by their engine room bringing their brown up to their stern. The Fleet succeeded in pulling ahead of the two boats as Seattle and New York began to battle for the inside spot on the next turn.

Kayla Vespa called a high 20 through the bridge with a nod from her stroke seat, Micah Zandee-Hart, to pick up the rate to a 37. With the extra strokes the Sirens had no room for layback as their legs drove each stroke and made time on the Fleet.

Not to be outdone, Seattle drove ahead and got halfway up the Sirens boat with their stern at New York's Kayle Osborne and their bow at Alex Carpenter. 750 meters to go.

Emily Brown growled into her mic, "We will take the inside here—press it —down —staying strong passing this boat—" in time with the strokes.

"Hit– send. Hit– send. Hit– send." Vespa repeated to her crew to keep them in time. "Alright 600 meters to go girls. Lemme see press HERE—"

Seattle gained more, Boston continued their pace with the west coasters on their stern. New York, however, worked tirelessly to gain the inside on the final turn. A straightaway awaited their final sprint as they attempted to pass Boston.

"Let's go girls," Vespa said. "You have it in you. We may not have won last year but we can change all that. Lock— in. Hit— send. I'm at their four seat. 500 to go. Keep up that press; Mikes let's see a 40 I wanna walk on them!"

The crew picked up what little energy they had left- running off pure adrenaline and inching ahead. "We may not be able to out press these teams but we can out rate them." Coach Fargo had said.

Seattle’s press was picking up to them— they chased Boston and ended up around Tappani as they entered the last 400.

"Come on girls keep that rate up let me see more strokes. We are finishing this race strong. This is OUR race believe in me, believe in our team, press it down. All of your energy is going through that footplate. Bring my split down. Take me to the finish line— I'm at Bilka!" She cried as she looked on from Boston's two seat. A miracle. The Sirens were winning the race.
Every person down that lineup's eyes were glued to the miracle workers of Boston being thwarted by them and only them
"250 meters to go. Girls. Blackout. Give me every last thing you have girls. Hit the wall. And— send it. Hit the— wall. Press it— down. Good keep me right here, don't lose it. Aaaaand— we're walking in them. Let's go take me to the end. Take me past the Fleet. Don't worry about Seattle girls let's fucking go. Let's press it down I wanna be a boat length away from them when we finish the race."

And the crew wanted it as much as their coxswain did. The press had never been so powerful, so hard fought from the group, even in the most intense practices. They wanted this.

"And we're walking on them. Let's go girls. Gimme that bow ball. That's 100 meters left gimme EVERYTHING YOU HAVE LEFT girls. And 1. And 2. Let's take a final high 15. 1. And 2. And 3. And 4. Come on. 5. Hit the wall. 6. Girls this is what we train for. 7. We're walking them girls. 8. Let's go. 9. Aaaand BOW BALL." Vespa cheered as she passed Boston completely. "10. Gimme last five. Ready 1. Give me the rest. 2. 3. Last strokes. 4. 5. We just passed the finish line girls paddle in ten." She said, hearing the finish horn. The boat erupted into cheers and Boston passed just after them, Seattle trailing behind by half a boat. The New York Sirens had just won the Head of the Charles.

The engine room cheered through the aching pain in their legs, the adrenaline of victory covering it up whilst they caught their breath. Seattle's bow slammed her fist into the water in frustration. New York, meanwhile, drank from their hands the water of the Charles. They had made their coach so proud. Micah heard nothing but a ringing in her ears as her rookie splashed water on her. Bow three quickly picked it up with Casey, Sarah, and Elle doing the same.

Chapter Text

A takeover tour game was set to take place in Detroit between the Sirens and Minnesota Frost. Somehow, the two teams had been scheduled in the same hotel which Micah had not known about until she saw her troubled daughter, Sarah Fillier, staring daggers across the lobby at a certain dirty playing forward. Corinne tapped the captain on the shoulder, pointing her attention to Sarah which subsequently resulted in the blonde girl being escorted by Micah and Jaime upstairs.

When Sarah got to her shared room, made up of her line mates, she struck up a conversation. “Did you see that the Frost are here too?”

“Meh.” Kalty replied.

“I swear to god Filly if anybody ends up on LTIR before the puck drops so help me god–“ Casey piped up, well aware of Sarah’s habits.

“Relax I wouldn’t go That far—“ A knock was heard at the door.

On the other side was Maddi, “Dinner’s up, c’mon.”

“Coming.” Said the three simultaneously.

At dinner the conversation was lighthearted, excited to be back in Hockey Town again with previous success in Little Caesars, the Sirens were full of hope.

After the meal, Sarah managed to slip away early found herself walking down a hallway where just beyond a corner was Curl. The same Curl who had disrespected her teammates. The same Curl who was a massive bigot. The same Curl who Sarah would likely kill had she the opportunity. She felt like some words needed to be “exchanged” in a less hostile environment than the ice, she had a whole plan developed in her mind during dinner. She’d aggressively approach Curl, tell her what was on her mind, and maybe give her a good smacking around the next day.

This did not come to fruition. Corinne Schroeder had been tasked with keeping an eye on Sarah when Micah needed someone more covert. She diligently followed Sarah out of the dinning room, just a few steps behind. When she saw Sarah move to running to catch up with Curl she ran up behind the sophomore, just as Sarah began to lunge at the bigot, bear hugged her and lifted her up, walking away. Br*tta was surprised as the sudden scrum. “Sorry,” Corinne began.

“Ah—“ Sarah yelped before her mouth was covered up.

“Our Rottweiler bites sometimes.” Curl anxiously placed a hand over her heart, tugging on her shirt a bit, fear visible on her face.

Corinne put Sarah down at the staircase.
“Filly, don’t make this harder than it already is.” Sarah pouted like she had done nothing wrong. “Come on,” she coaxed. “Up to your room.”

Back inside her girlfriend and team father sat on one bed, opposite to where she was supposed to be.
“Sarah we think after this little….incident it would be best if you stayed in tonight.” Kalty said, treading over her words like they might set off a land mine.

“How is this fair?” Sarah asked Micah, surly the architect of the punishment. “Aren’t I allowed to go around the city like everyone else?”

“You have lost that privilege for this trip seeing as you have just tried to ATTACK our opponent off the ice, save it for the game.”

She sulked, crossing her arms.

At some point Kalty had left with a pat on the knee to go look around Detroit with Casey, she had never really been Midwest before and especially not Michigan. Sarah understood the reason of her absence but it didn’t make her feel any better.

Micah and Corinne had been put on watch duty primarily as a result of the captain levying the punishment and Corinne being the only other teammate who wasn’t going out. It was part of her pregame routine. Sarah, meanwhile, couldn’t be left unattended for fear she would stir something up.

The Simpsons played on the TV after Corinne got her hands on the remote, Sarah lying when she said she didn’t care what they put on. Micah sat with her book, occasionally glancing up and/or inching towards the goalie.

“So,” Sarah began. “Does this mean I can kill her on the ice tomORRow?”
Micah gave a look of pure annoyance and adoration.

Chapter Text

“How’s this?” Kalty asked, stepping in front of Sarah who sat perched on the couch, waiting for the rookie to make up her mind as to what to wear.

“You look like a 16-year old getting drafted to the NHL, babe,” The sophomore said of her suit and tie. “And why are you wearing a hat?”

Kristýna removed her backwards Yankee cap, fumbling with it and hanging her head shamefully. Sarah stood, “See your hair is nice when it’s up,” she said folding her arms around Kalty’s neck, fingers just barely brushing her bun.

“There. Like a fine young man at his grad party.”

“You’ve gotta be joking.”

“Only a little bit.” Kalty let out an exasperated sigh, anxiety building up in the corners of her conscious. “I just don’t want to look like an idiot tonight is all.”

“Just relax. It’s only an award show.”

“Yea but it feels like everyone’s watching.” The taller girl mumbled, hands clammy to be shoved down her pockets but stopped by Sarah pressing into her.

“You’ll be great, K, you’re always great. I mean how many awards have you gotten?”

“I dunno. A few. But this is different— people care about it. If I even get it….” She trailed, hiding her head in Sarah’s shoulder when Englishmen stopped coming to mid. She didn’t know how to respond, just wrapping her arms around her, bringing her in closer as if to communicate all her adoration and confidence through touch.

Chapter Text

SLAM
A slap-shot rang out off the stick of Kristýna Kaltounková. It soared through the air, gaining height before —zip- and it was in the glove of Corinne Schroeder. "I don't know how I feel about this...." She said, referring to her current position; kneeling in the crease, no butterfly, no pad saves. Glove and blocker.

"It's fiiiiine. Besides, you heard what Jincey said—" Kalty took a wrister from the blue line that hit the top corner of the net, passing the goalie. "You're getting beat on the side."

"Am not! You were distracting me." Not being able to move from post to post or rely on her classic toe saves were not making anything easier.

"Oh yea?" The Czech replied, serving up a flick to where her six-hole would be, Corinne swatted it away with her blocker.

"Yea."

"Well here's one." She took a slapshot just above Corinne's left shoulder, she snagged the side of it, halting its forward motion, causing it to spin upwards towards the crossbar, she gloved it before sending it towards the boards. "Some glove. Are you left handed or something?"

"Yes."

Kalty stood still for a minute, puzzling in her mind as to why her hands were switched then. Corinne sat back on her heels, confused as to why she wasn't shooting.

Chapter Text

Ever since Micah Zandee-Hart had been rag-doll-hit in college she had understood the need for neck guards. Intellectually she knew they were to keep from getting your throat slit. She knew that. But it always seemed like they were really just to choke her. She figured she'd get used to it if she ever committed to wearing one at practice and every time she went on the ice— she did for team Canada anyways, but those tournaments and camps were never long enough to really build a habit.

"How's that collar you got there? Your dom do it up for ya?" Abby Roque had chirped at her the first game after Hockey Canada mandated neck guards. She sort of wanted to choke her with it.

Chapter Text

Despite being close with New York's attentive starting goaltender, Kayle Osborne hadn't heard about the first overall pick romance straight out of a bad-pun hockey YA book happening on her team. Corinne had stuck to her guns and remained silent, however the pair did not.

Kayle wasn't far off from Corinne in paying attention to things most of her skaters would ignore. The way Kalty sailed the puck and seemed to always find Sarah even better than their center, Casey. The way Kalty alsays searched for Sarah in a scrum to pull her away. The way Sarah always seemed to find Kristýna in pregame skates and be next to her. But she could've chalked it all up to being line mates — a bond stronger than marriage.

It was, indeed, at the Olympics when her suspicions came to light.

Kalty had been staying on the Czech floor of the Olympic Village, and Sarah was sharing a room with Kayle. During a team meal, the goalie noticed an abundance of smiling at her phone which the blonde usually wouldn't do back in New York. She ignored it and conversation continued. "So, you excited for the prelim against Finland?" Danielle asked the goalie.

"I dunno, we're gonna cook em, but they got some good shooters on their team. Tapani, Tulus— Noora shot on me all last season; she knows my tendencies."

"We'll be fine. Know we got a great defense backing you up, eh?"

"Forget defense, I just need our offense to get goals." Kayle replied, referring to Sarah who swallowed a mouthful of pasta.

"I got you." She said, pointing her fork vaguely in Osborne's direction, punctuating each word.

*
After the meal Sarah managed to slip away from her roommate, returning after midnight to her room.

She tried to push open the door quietly, the room was dark and she assumed Kayle was sleeping, but as she gently closed it, a light flicked on near the beds. Sarah shot her eyes over to see Kayle turning around in a swivel chair to face her, hands maniacally placed, the pads of her fingers taping each other. "Well well well. Look what we have here."

"You stayed up to wait for me just to do this?" Sarah asked, not finding the satirical gesture amusing.

"Where'd you go after dinner? Who were you with? Why didn't you tell me? Why are you back so late?" The goalie fired.

"Gohhhhhhd why do you care? I'm here aren't I?"

".....was it like some American snowboarder or something? I hear they're pretty hot." She was being facetious, she and Sarah had each others locations.

"Shut up, Kayle!"

"You can be honest, I support you going after the Olympics huzz."

"Yea right." So she was definitely having a more than cordial visit with a certain Czech.

Chapter Text

Kayle Osborne didn't feel right after Olympics. It reminded her of how her elder goalie ended up after worlds the previous year, unable to stop pucks the same way she did before. She didn't actually see any ice as the third stringer for Canada, so the outcome was extremely out of her control and she barely got to practice. The return to New York and her time as a starter amidst a backdrop of of Kaleys and Kaltys running the show was an adjustment, even if the tournament was only a few weeks.

She wanted to blame her abrupt change in diet, the time zone change, even the weather feeling different but she knew none of that was the reason. No matter how much sense Corinne tried to jam into her brain over text from the west coast, Kayle couldn't seem to snap herself out or even find what the issue was!

But maybe that was okay. Maybe she'd get over it while her team tightened up on defense and gave Callie some games ahead of playoffs. Maybe it would turn out alright.

Chapter Text

Elle Hartje didn’t know when she stopped being a good Jew. Was is after her Bat Mitzvah when she was no longer forced to go to services every week? Was it when she stopped observing the sabbath to attend hockey tournaments? Was when she left home for Yale, finally in a place outside the Midwest where there were more Jews in one dorm than in her entire town, and still didn’t partake in her community? Was it when she started skipping the holidays she had been trained in the routines of since she was born for parties, games, and studying? The first thing out of her Bubi’s mouth when she was drafted to New York was “You can finally come visit us in Lawnguyland and come to Rosh Hashanah!”

She had stopped celebrating Hanukkah not long after moving out, the logistics of fire and cleaning the wax off the windowsill of her flammable dorm had unappealing consequences, not to mention the buying of another box each year. Abbey Levy had suggested they celebrate together some time since they had both stopped as adults; but Elle never got around to it; so she was surprised when a text came up from Aerin Frankel a few days before the Fleet was set to play in Newark.

Aerin: Levy and I were wondering if you wanted to celebrate Chanukah together after the game

I know you haven’t celebrated in a while but neither have we. ya’know it could be fun

Elle couldn’t have said yes faster. She had been hoping to see Abbey again, and Frankel was known to be a good time, plus she had been looking to actually celebrate Hanukkah in light of her grandmother giving her a menorah as a gift at Thanksgiving.

*
After an evening game, hard fought and ending in the Siren’s favor, Elle fixed the setup at the sill of her window in her living room, overlooking the city streets below. Hartje admittedly felt a bit awkward about having their goaltenders over but Aerin assured her it was all good upon arriving.

“Geez it’s dark, eh? When did the sun go down?” Levy said.

“I dunno, sometime before the game.” Elle replied.

“Sooooo,” Frankel nerved. “Do any of us actually remember the candle blessings?”

“Not a word—“
“Nope.” The two said simultaneously.

“Oy vey iz mir.” Aerin said, putting her hand to her forehead. Abbey picked up the candle box and placed three on the menorah, one in the middle, two on the far right.

“Hold on I should have a book around here somewhere..” Elle said, walking to her bookshelf, scanning the large tomes on the bottom shelf that looked as if they hadn’t been touched in generations.

She returned to the window with a hardcover book, blowing a comedically large amount of dust off the cover and turning to the table of contents, under Hanukkah she found the Hebrew text of the candle blessings said for the holiday. She attempted, at first, to look cool and read the Hebrew; but all recollection of the alphabet had long left her brain after many years around goys. She settled for the transliteration.

Soon the three were able to choke out an interesting rendition as they lit the candles, different beats followed and notes hit as a result of a few too many years of missed sabbaths and candle lighting. The three snickered but by the second blessing they managed to match pitch, even staying together through the beats.

By the end three lights flickered in the window, melting down over the course of the hour while voices filled the room along with a dying light spilling from the flames. A beautiful centerpiece

Chapter Text

Sarah stumbled hazily out of her bedroom, eyes half lidded and blurry as she dragged her feet across the floor to the kitchen. The sun still wasn't up and the air was pleasantly warm in front of the vent. The Canadian flicked on the smaller light to illuminate her workspace as she heard a grumble from the couch. The figure seemed to rustle for a moment before Sarah fully put two and two together; Kristýna still hadn't left her spot of the couch from the previous evening. Sarah had turned in early and assumed Kalty would come to bed eventually, however the present scrolling television background and phone on the carpet told her otherwise.

Sarah felt bad for waking Kristýna, quickly whipping up her masterful culinary zenith of cold cereal and milk before killing the overhead light.

She pondered the path she would take on her run while she sat masticating in the dark, itching to lace up her shoes and move her body. She very nearly hurt herself before the run, trying to get to the door and tripping over what she presumed to be a skate. Hockey forewords were never known for being organized after all.

The air was cold, almost biting at Sarah's skin and she combed her was through. Dry oxygen seemed to burn her lungs with each breath and the cold seeped into her socks. It was always a good measure of a long run, in Sarah's eyes, when you couldn't feel your feet by the end. The icy streets of Newark provided a fantastic avenue to test her theory. Snow banks melted on every street corner where they had a chance to thrive, near postal boxes, the roots of trees, and against bus shelters. They seemed to echo the emptiness of the streets and absorb all sound throttled their way. As Sarah ran from block to block on the path she didn't see a soul save for a car or two. But by the time she turned around the city seemed to be waking up, businesses dark on her first pass were now aglow and more people began to trickle from apartments.

Not Sarah and Kalty though, they had a comfortable day off between events in their hectic hockey schedule.

When Sarah returned she expected Kalty to be up and adam but instead found her still asleep on the couch, this time in a more comedic position, sprawled out over what seemed to be every cushion she had available.

The Canadian hung around their room to put on more comfortable clothes and ponder what to do, until her nerves got the better of her and she grabbed her book to go sit with Kristýna, even if she was asleep like a middle aged dad taking an afternoon nap. If only Kalty had her cap, Sarah figured, then she'd look like a hung over frat boy.

As the sunlight beamed into the room over the course of the early morning hours, Kristýna grumbled, turning away from the light and closing her eyes, tugging the blanket more snug around her shoulder. Eventually she inched closer to Sarah and nuzzled her leg with her head to get her attention, pointing her towards the window. The Canadian slowly took the hint as Kalty's throat was in no place to make noise, and quickly closed the drapes. When she settled back, Kristýna rested her head on Sarah’s lap. She was so out-of-it she hardly felt the soft scratching of Sarah’s fingers through her hair, Sarah always did so when Kalty’s hair was, rarely, not tied up.

Eventually Kalty woke up, asking what time it was as she flicked on the tv to the news. "I dunno maybe 11 or so,” Sarah said.

"Eleven? I slept that long?!"

"Out like a light, and when the sun came up you were very eager to keep that light out.”

Kalty began coughing. Sarah, for the first time that day, got a good look at her face, it was very pale, quiet abnormal even when she was a European in the middle of winter playing an indoor sport. "K, are you good?"

"Yea yea I'm fine, just a little sick I think." Her voice raspier than before.

"Maybe you should just take it a little easy today, eh?"

“I’m sure I can function, here, I can make lunch.”

”We do not need an eating club repeat, now do we?” Sarah asked, knowingly. Kalty’s face fell at the memory as Sarah snickered.

"Fine. Yea, okay.” She conceded, not having the voice to fight.

"Great. What do you say I make you some soup?" Sarah asked, feeling her forehead. The room was warm and contrasted to the seething temperature of Kalty's head, Sarah wondered how she even had a throw blanket over herself the prior night when she was so hot.

"I don't think you even know how to make soup."

"I can probably do my best."

"Hrrng fine just don't overdo the salt."

"Yes chef." Sarah replied, saluting.

*

A while later a small pot of hopefully edible red stew sat on the stove, Sarah returned to the couch with a glass of water for Kalty who had flipped on a football game. "You're really never beating the frat boy allegations, are you?" Kristýna made a face.

"Do you Ivies even have frats— or football games for that matter?”

“Allegedly, they’re really just a burden upon our student body with how bad they are.”

“I think you might have never seen one, to deep in your flash cards at Princeton."

"I'll have you know some of the Stories I’ve heard about the Colgate womens hockey team, even before we started dating…..” The two laughed, “Things spread.”

"Ok, ok, in all seriousness do you need anything?" Sarah asked.

"I mean I'm sorta running hot but that's the job of a fever so I just won't mess with it."

"Okay." Sarah replied, giving her a quick peck on the forehead and heading back to the kitchen. It felt strange for Kristýna, having someone take care of her. She always had to be independent and even solitary between prep school and Colgate with her whole family on the other side of the world, but now she had Sarah.

The Czech joined her in the kitchen, grabbing a serving bowl for the fruits Sarah was slicing. "Don't you even think about it. You need to rest." The rookie rolled her eyes a bit, god Sarah really was doting over her.

She sat back at her perch on the couch, this time sitting up and hunched over her knees looking pensively at the game, coughs passing her every few minutes, trying as she might to muscle them down.
"Don't feel like you need to eat it all," Sarah said, placing a bowl on the coffee table in front of Kalty. "If you start to feel sick please stop eating, I don't want you puking like that guy in the new south park episode." Kalty didn't really want to speak in that moment, not just because her throat hurt but mostly because she didn't know exactly what to say to convey how she felt. She settled for leaning against Sarah.

Chapter Text

The 2026 Walter Cup playoffs were in full swing, hearts were filled with faith in each team that they would be the ones to hoist the cup. Fans turned out in record numbers to takeover tour games, there seemed to be a jersey on the back of every soul in the Xcel Energy center. Going for their third championship, the Minnesota Frost finished off a victorious series against the Ottawa Charge, moving onto the finals.

In the final moments of a game, the standard for refs is often “put the whistle away in the last two” but this proved dangerous at the teams’ previous meeting in Ottawa.

The score was 2-1 Frost and with just a few seconds left on the clock Britta Curl blindsided Ottawa captain, Brianne Jenner at the dot. The play was in transition to Minnesota’s side and the refs had been puck watching all night; No one noticed until Curl lazily skated passed the blue line while Jenner stayed down, on her stomach with her head in her hands.

Immediately Coach Carla piped up to the refs for a play review and penalty but she was ignored. Furious, the veteran exchanged swears with Ken Klee on the other side of the glass, barely restraining from walking over to the other bench and beating the shit out of him.

In the press conference after the game, Carla declined to comment on the state of Brianne but had a lot to say on the league’s reffing and how it was harming players, calling out certain executives in particular.

The PWHL commissioner, Cathy Englebert, wanted nothing to do with such disobedience. She was furious at a coach, whom she had personally hired, being so disloyal to her and her decisions. She thought reffing was fine, maybe not as good as the men’s game but they didn’t have that kind of money, obviously the players were just being weak. That losing coach had no right to complain after all she had done for her, putting together two whole expansion teams from scratch, running the most successful takeover tour yet, and making sure her team had smooth playoff travel.

Brianne Jenner was back for game five in Minnesota, albeit in the press box. After the crushing defeat she attended the season exit interview and prepared a statement. “I’ve been extremely disappointed with the leadership of this league. They failed to fight for Ottawa’s rink, repeatedly did not punish players for harming others, underpaid us with a pointless salary cap, and dispatched inconsistent and visually impaired officials to games. I still would have not played tonight after that illegal hit from Curl, but she wouldn’t have either if it was called like it should’ve been. Hits like that end careers and put people on LTIR it is deplorable that a team of refs in the semifinals were not able to recognize that.
At a takeover tour game I conversed with Cathy about the conditions and the leagues prospects relating to salaries, expansion, and reffing. When I questioned her about the salary cap she responded, and I quote: “those players should be begging me on their hands and knees for the media deal I got them”—all games streaming on TSN, ESPN, and Poob central—“and what it did for our visibility. It has raised salaries by a minimum of $10 per player, they should be grateful for the amazing, wonderful work I do. I’m keeping them from quitting the sport for a real job or ending up on the streets. Those ruffians should be glad they even get to play in this league.”
When I asked her about bad reffing she replied: “Sounds like an issue not an ishme.” Further showing her and the leagues lack of care for player safety and well-being. When I asked her about the Charge’s arena situation she said she had “done all she could” by sending an email. And it was good that Ottawa got a rink as good as TD Place for season one “even though they don’t win much.” “Maybe if you won more the city wouldn’t want to build a smaller rink.”
This is unacceptable behavior from a woman in her position and the league’s handling has been equally disgusting. We must strive to create the best league possible, not set it back. Thank you”

*

The next morning players, whether they had just won a Walter Cup or had been enjoying the offseason for weeks already, woke up to a notification for a players union meeting that afternoon.

The news was abuzz with reports on Jenner’s statement. She was fined six hundred dollars for her words criticizing the commissioner and article after article was penned out covering it from the New York Times to the Winnipeg Sun.

The players union drafted a statement that was posted later that evening, standing with Brianne Jenner and calling for the suspension of Englebert, it was shared all across social media with NHL stars, players, coaches, and fans sharing the message.

Four days later it was announced Cathy would part ways with the league.

Chapter Text

Kristýna Kaltounková was known to be a tired hockey player. When she got on the ice she truly gave it her all but as soon as she was back in the locker her eyes were drooping and her motivation to speak wilted.

In a game against Seattle she lost her tempter, drawing a game misconduct and an early exit from Climate Pledge Arena. Extracurriculars, kids work, she really hadn’t seen why she got more than a two minute minor but it wasn’t her job to ref, and she knew she’d hear as much from her captain afterwards unless she got scolded.

She dragged her feet into the locker room and an overwhelming feeling of sleepiness finally set over as the adrenaline wore off, she just about closed her eyes untying her skates. She managed to remove her helmet and skates but soon lost motivation, opting to lay on the carpeted floor of the locker room, just to close her eyes for a minute before the game wrapped up.

*

Kalty awoke startled to the feeling of being tapped in the back unintentionally hard. She turned over to see Sarah poking her with the tip of her stick. “Wake up sleepyhead.”

The Czech sat up, “I’d rather stay asleep.”

“Well too bad,” Sarah said, putting a gloved hand on top of the girl’s head while Kalty subtly leaned into the touch. “We need to get back to the hotel before Cherk starts a war, and Mikes wants to talk to you, so time to get out of your gear. I can smell your socks from here.”

“Fuck you,” she said, playfully, standing. “You stab me in the back and deliver bad news? Tsk tsk tsk, Brutus.”

“Yea, yea, and the ides of April or whatever was the two minute minor you had in the second. You couldn’t quite conquer the five minute though, eh, Caesar?”

”I came, I saw, I got kicked out.”

Chapter Text

People dropped like flies in the hall outside the weight room, lined up like sardines with their arms positioned above their heads. A rookie dry heaved over the tile but nothing came out. The girl next to her coughed up a lung all the while and sweat dribbled from the foreheads of minds unfaltering to their tasks.
*
“I wanna lead this one.” Micah had said to Coach Fargo. The coaching staff stood at the end of the hallway, talking amongst each other while the players did the workout.
“The rules here are simple. You will do a wall sit for as long as possible.” Captain Zandee-Hart said, pacing up and down the line. “We are a team. And our mistakes fall on one another at all times. If your teammate next to you falls you will pick her up, carrying her weight as well as your own. Every time one of you fall I will do five push-ups. If you are unable to pick a teammate back up: she is out, and if you don’t do everything in your power to get her back up: you will be out too.” She looked at the goalies, half the defense which crowded together, the top line on the far end. “This is last man standing,” She looked down at Coach Fargo and back at the top line. “Begin.”

Over twenty players pushed their feet foreword on the cold linoleum that seemed to echo their pain. A lift, a skate, a scrimmage, they had spent six hours in the gym already and now core. But this wasn’t about strength of muscles; it was about strength of will and the need to support one another. Intellectually most everyone knew that, but in practice it felt more like a test of how hard they could each push themselves.

If Micah had been asked who she thought would be in the final five she would guess Osborne, Fillier, KO, Cherkowski, and maybe Kalty, though she knew the Czech wasn’t one for endurance work.

About three minutes in people started dropping, two to be precise; with their line mates bringing them back to their feet and linking arms to help support them. Micah never announced a time limit but the seconds seemed to be on half-time ticking by ever more slowly. Mentally she had a cutoff at most of the group for maybe 15 minutes and the sickos as 30 but those were prone to change.

Ten minutes in, five more had dropped and only two recovered, that was 25 push-ups for the captain plus 15 for the girls who got out by extension.
“You doing okay?” Casey asked Anne Cherkowski, the red-faced rookie to her left, she had been on her wing at practice whenever the top line wasn’t completely stacked with Casey, Filly, and Kalty.

“I’m hanging in.” Anne replied.

Fifteen minutes and Elle Hartje had dropped out, Kayle with her in spite of Emmy’s best attempts at lifting her sulking frame from the floor that seemed to be magnetized to her body and only grow stronger the more she pulled. More people dropped out and the captain was occupied with push-ups. Kalty snuck a glance at Sarah who was breathing slowly, her leg beginning to twitch every now and then. She looked as though she wanted to drop for her own sanity and Kristýna clocked it. “I bet I can go longer than you.” She whispered, lighting a fire in Sarah’s competitive heart, all of a sudden her legs hurt less.
“No one gets water, a trash can, or a towel. If you need to puke, do it in your own lap. We will remain together until every one of us is on the floor.”

Twenty minutes in she turned to the top line, paced over and whispered quietly to the distressed rookie, “Cherkowski, prove to me you belong on this top line. Prove to me you belong here; not Clarkson, not anywhere, here. You have it in you.”

Micah paced up and down the line after the twenty five minute mark, only the four forwards, two defenders, and a goalie remained. “Come on D, I need you two together to support Kayle here,” Micah encouraged. “You’re not gonna have anything left in the third period if you can’t put in the work now. Now I know you’re gonna keep it up, because you will not fall back on her ass when you cannot do your jobs. Just because she has pads and a blocker does not MEAN,” She turned so everyone would hear her. “You can give her special treatment and give her the hardest job. She has picked up every one of you nearby when you have fallen and she has picked up hundreds of pucks that could have been goals against now I know you will respect that.”

Thirty minutes and even the goalie had dropped, two defenders struggled to pick of Kayle and support her but after two minutes of dead weight piled on, the three collapsed.

Anne was huffing and puffing, her legs hurt like hell and every second that went by she was further convinced she would not last another second. Casey fell, Anne tried to pick her up to no avail but she continued her wall sit. “Cherk, down, you’re out.” Micah said. She didn’t even flinch, closing her eyes and pressing on through the pain, she needed to. “Cherkowski, stop.” Anne pulled her eyes open, tears falling, she reached to grab Casey a second time, but in vain as her legs seem to sweep out from under her and she joined the center right on the tile.

Micah stood for a moment, a little surprised, before patting her on the shoulder and doing ten more push-ups.

Sarah and Kalty were the only ones left by forty minutes. Sarah’s hair had come loose in her pony tail with a few stray hairs creeping out, Kalty’s backwards hat had been spun around as a distraction more times than she cared to count, and both looked disheveled with red faces. “Ready to give up yet, first overall?” Sarah asked, jokingly almost but with a competitive bite behind her words.

“You wish, rookie of the year.”

“However hard you push me, I’ll push you harder.” Sarah had said to Kalty when camp had started, and every word was true. Neither wanted to give an inch to the other, even as their legs shook and stomachs twisted with cramps and knots from engaging their cores for nearly an hour.

“Come on, Sarah, you can push it to fifty.” Casey said at 48 minutes. The team had stayed true to their word and never moved from their spots as they watched in horror as their top forewords battled with themselves brutally.

Eventually one had to fall, try as Sarah might her legs shook like an earthquake and her core seized in quick spasms as an overwhelming sense of nausea flooded her body, she gagged, curling into herself as a Kalty watched from across the wall in horror. Sarah crumpled to the floor seconds later and Kristýna pressed on.

She was soon overcome with similar feelings about a minute after Sarah but pushed through as long as she could, when the pain became unbearable she counted to thirty nine to reach the final marker of fifty minutes. As the ten second countdown rang through her brain she could slowly feel her legs tip to the side and fall as soon as the final word sounded.

She fell on top of Anne who patted her on the shoulder, she finally noticed that Sarah was clutching her abdomen and still lying down. Kalty caught her breath and stared at her captain who began to talk. “This team cannot win a Walter Cup until we can pick each other up and carry one another to the finish line. There is no “I” in hockey and I do not care if you are on the top line or scratched: you are here to win. But we cannot win until we can rely on every girl here to push herself to the limit for this team. We cannot win a Walter Cup till every girl here picks up her fallen teammate and says, “let’s go to work”; even when it may be hard and grueling and you may be hurt and scared. We cannot win a Walter Cup until this team can come together and fight for one another like our lives depend on it.” There was a terrible, long silence, the sounds of heavy breathing still filling the hall, the coaching staff had long gone to their office. “Dismissed.”

Chapter Text

A scrimmage was usually a good thing to befall a team at practice, a venture away from drills and perfecting motions, finally allowing everyone to show off their finest tuned skills in a game-like situation and get familiar with their line mates. However, a preseason Sirens scrimmage began to challenge those norms.

It started off simply enough, with a top line on the blue team made up of Cherkowski, O’Brien, and Fillier, backed up by Osborne. The top line on the white side featured Kristýna Kaltounková with O’Neil and Levis, Shannahan in net.

The game was off to a hot start in the first half with competitive play from both sides, offense on blue was strong but their defense lacked coordination with different speeds and skating patterns leaving a blind spot open for a white defender to fire off a slap shot that was saved by Kayle. Coaches yelled from the bench to cover the middle but it fell on deaf ears as the defense soon began drifting away from each other going for offense, trying to find a good spot to score a goal. “Get on your man!” Sarah advised at a face off to her rookie defender.

“You worry about scoring goals and I’ll worry about myself, thanks.” She responded, turning her head to the puck as it was dropped.

As the face off was won by blue, Casey passed to Sarah who took it to the other side of the ice and up towards the neutral zone, Cherkowski skated up the center, using her speed and stride to pass a defender and set up for a pass to hopefully zip up into the net.

She reached the side off the face off circle in opposing territory, Sarah passed the puck to her but she fumbled, a huge mistake, losing it on her stick just as the defender she beat caught up to her and laid a heavy check, knocking her hard to the ice and ending the play.

Anne swore she saw cartoon tweety birds around her head for a moment after a whistle was blown. She looked up to see Sarah skating away from her for a line change, she didn’t even check to see if she was okay. Anne slowly rose, trying to keep what balance she could as she lazily made her way to the bench with an equally lazy D pair headed out.

During the next play a puck was sent from the blue side of the ice to them, well in reach of the blue liner who could have skated with not two strides before getting her stick on it, but instead she stood where she was an allowed her goalie to make her way out of the crease to send it back. “Kayle’s got it.” She said to her D partner who nodded in response.

When the top line was back out Casey made a pass in their triangle system they’d been trying, one player net front, one closer to the boards, and another at some softer ice to open options. Cherkowski stood at the net with Kristýna Kaltounková breathing down her neck, trying to subtly push her away from her goalie. Anne resisted, however, pushing her back towards the boards to make a tip in off a shot through traffic from Sarah which got saved by Shannahan.

Later in blue’s end, Anne was busy getting up in Kalty’s space along the boards, attempting to keep her stick in front of any puck that came her way. When she failed and Kristýna got the puck she weaved her way around Anne with ease and fired a shot straight from the dot, sneaking past Kayle’s glove. “Nice defending there Cherk.” Sarah bit, anger threading through her voice. She wanted to be on the line with Kalty, or at least Levis whom she had played with for about half the previous season. She figured this new girl wasn’t nearly good enough to substitute either and hoped she’d get demoted to a lower line and open a spot for Kaltounková.

“I was doing my job, it was the fucking defense who wouldn’t stand by the net or god forbid block a shot.” She retorted.

“You couldn’t touch that net if it was right next to you! How about YOU step up and do what’s best for this team. I’m doing all I can do and you clearly shouldn’t be guarding a forward when you can’t bear to pick up your skate to get the puck.”

“What YOU can do is lousy if our formations look like this.”

“Or maybe you don’t know what actual strategy looks like, here you don’t just get the puck handed to you; you have to earn it by doing the right things.”

“Strategy my ass, you’ve been fucking burning down any concept of a strategy all game. I’ll show your big mouth a strategy!” Anne said, lunging closer to Sarah.

“You haven’t shown much all day!” Sarah replied, shoving Anne by the chest.

“Fuck you.” Anne responded, shoving Sarah harder, back towards center ice. Teammates started approaching the two, separating them just after Sarah and Anne exchanged a few light punches, hands barely able to make contact as Kalty pulled Sarah and Casey pulled back Anne.

“Let’s calm down guys.” Kalty said.

“You’ll be lucky if we put your asses in the penalty box, much less the get along shirt.” Jaime threatened.

Chapter Text

Sarah felt a lot of feelings after the nearly eight hour preseason practice ending with what she could only think was torture the likes of which is banned by the Geneva Convention. She understood the mistakes she made and the effort she displayed, but couldn't quite shake the ever-present feeling of quiet anger. After the disastrous scrimmage she hoped the group wall sit would be a good way to use her feelings in a— well not positive per say, but less destructive way, so she could feel like she could be around people again.

All in all, most of the rage subsided in the near hour she spent pushing herself to the limit, but some stuck with her, brewing as she clutched her seething abdomen and rocked back and fourth, the cold tile a welcome feeling to her red-hot head and weak legs.

When Sarah walked into her shared apartment, her legs wobbled and buckled with every step. She didn't mean to fall onto the couch as hard as she did but when Kristýna did much of the same she laughed with her diaphragm, her core aching painfully. "Ouch." She exclaimed, suddenly sober.

Kalty had her head in a pillow, tired from being up for such a long and strenuous day and just about falling asleep as the sun had sunk below the late November horizon and left any trace of daytime a mere memory. "Do you want ibuprofen?" Sarah asked, pushing herself up to do what she knew was best for her.

"I think I might need three." Kalty muffled into the pillow loud enough for Sarah to hear.

*

It was Kristýna's pick for the movie that night so some new flick off of Netflix was thrown up on the TV for her to relax while Sarah attempted to burn off some of her remaining emotions.

As soon as the opening credits ended she was kissing up and down Kristýna's neck, careful not to leave marks as she knew that had a skate the next day. She had to be cautious when their relationship was on the down-low to the rest of the team, even when neither party particularly minded keeping it private. It was nice to have something for just themselves., but that had the drawback of maintaining a certain level of formality.

After she'd had enough trying to pretend to focus on the movie, Kalty turned her head to catch Sarah's lips in her own, kissing her slow and lazy, reflecting her tired state. Before too long into this make out session Kristýna parted as her eyes felt too heavy to put up a half decent fight. Sometimes she wondered if her body was actually running on Czech time, it felt like she had just stepped off the plane from seeing her family.

Sarah continued to dote over her, kissing down her neck and leaving a few hickies by her collar bone that Kristýna was too tired to complain about, basking in the feeling instead.

She half focused on the movie, understanding little that was going on. She tried to read the subtitles but between the distractions and her vision going in and out of focus, she accomplished little. Sarah might've guessed Kalty was asleep the way she seemed to lean into her and slump back a bit, opening up her neck just a tad. Sarah didn’t exactly mean to when her teeth grazed the skin of Kristýna’s neck, lightly biting her over a kiss. Kalty made a small noise that morphed into a sort of whine as Sarah pulled away a few inches. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No it’s alright,” Kristýna said, half whispering as her voice seemed to fade with the passing hours. “….I kinda liked it.” She admitted after a second of deliberation, not quite sure whether or not to make her stance clearer to Sarah; she determined it was, indeed, the correct choice of action when Sarah leaned back in, mumbling something she couldn’t quite decode and laughing lightly as she sunk her teeth in just forcefully enough over the taller girl’s jugular, and a noise she didn’t quite want to admit to leaving her body.

Sarah held on for a while, putting her arm around her girlfriend and pulling skin away from muscle, lightly applying pressure as the last dying embers of her fury burned out, slowly. Kristýna seemed awake if not purely from her occasional squirms and deep breaths whenever the shorter girl would find a new— seemingly always more sensitive spot to attack. Her eyes fluttered from being half closed to fully attentive as Sarah continued her ministrations. If she hadn’t left hickies before, she definitely did now. With one final bite, Sarah sunk her teeth right where Kristýna’s neck met her shoulder near the collar of her shirt, biting down harder than before as Kalty exhaled, screwing her eyes shut as Sarah’s left hand began pulling at the shorter hairs on the back of her neck, forcing her head back a tad.

As much as it was difficult for the normally reserved girl to let go of her control and comfort for a moment, she knew she could. Back in Czechia everything seemed a bit more rigid, taboo even, especially coming from the mental side of things. But Sarah knew about psychology, and in Newark, in her shared apartment, Kristýna was free from those unspoken conversation topics and fear. She trusted Sarah, she knew her.

When Kristýna pulled her eyes open, her face softened from a formerly hard expression as she understood the caliber of what she had just done, as she realized too, that she enjoyed it. Sarah took one last nip just below Kalty’s ear and pulled away, staring her in the eyes. “Still angry at all?” Kalty asked, genuinely. Sarah shook her head.

“I’m just glad I’m with you…” she mumbled, kissing Kristýna. Putting their foreheads together, Kristýna felt a warm trickle down the side of her neck, she ignored it for just a moment but soon the Canadian spotted it.

”Oh my god.” Sarah half laughed, seeing that it wasn’t left over spit, but indeed a slow leak of blood. She wiped it off with the warm palm of her hand.

“What?” Kalty asked.

“Nothing you’re just bleeding out.” She exhaled sharply to stifle another laugh as she brushed her fingertips over the small mound of blood that had replaced the first one. Sarah turned to get up, “Lemme just get the first aid—“

“Then let me.” The Czech replied. Sarah felt a hand against her chest pushing her down on the couch. Kristýna’s chain dangled between their chests as the taller girl changed to gently bite at Sarah’s neck.