(no subject)
seeing black
Elise
g
Buffalo Sabres/San Jose Sharks
Ryan Campbell? Brian Miller?
Ryan Miller/BRian Campbell
total angst
a/N: depressed mood about the season. Got bit by this snapshot of Miller... well this is a one shot. It's weird but is an exercise in Ryan flipping out and showing the relationship between Lindy and Ryan (non sexual, dear god people... im not that sick!)
I wrote this and posted it. forgive me.
the time line to this fic is the 2008 playoffs- if Buffalo got in.
Side note: to my hat, to my trick - i have a fic coming your way, it just might take a week or so.
He’d rather have seen red in this moment, but Ryan Miller, after losing in game seven, stormed into the locker room, seeing black. Overwhelmed, and angry, his fingers gripped his hockey stick. He saw his teammates sitting. Some of them held their heads, some of them were undressing, others were looking forward in a daze, but all were silent. Ryan took a few steps before his locker space. He blinked, his eyes burning. Everything in his life had led up to this moment, and it was gone. He paused, staring at the equiptment table, the water bottles stacked in the corner, the glass displays meant to inspire them, full of memorabilia. Ryan had failed them all. He stared into the faces of Martin, and his french connection, Tim horton, Matt Barnaby, and Hasek, there was Danny Briere with Chris Drury, and the Great One, Wayne Gretsky. He no longer let his tears stay in, the burning liquid dripping silently down his face. His chest panged, tightening, and the anger returned. He had failed everyone. Blinking, Ryan felt the final goal over and over, the puck hitting his glove and flying into the goal. He heard the booing, the crying, the screaming, the sinking in his stomach. He could hear his own teammates moaning, seeing their disappointment, their own angers.
Ryan snapped, lifting his hockey stick and smashing it into the glass display. Shards went flying and everyone’s head snapped up. Ryan could feel the tension in his face, scowling, a permanent frown, and creased eyebrows. He glared as he saw the old style Buffalo Sabres symbol, glaring at him through the broken glass. Ryan lifted his hockey stick again and began to swing it, repeatedly, against the display, smashing every picture, destroying anything he could. He heard yelling and soft words in his ears. His stick was taken away from him, feeling hands holding him back. Ryan opened his mouth and screamed. He could feel his voice tearing, the breath leaving with such a force he began to cough, the tears not stopping. He thought to his year, as he struggled against the hands, reaching for his stick to hit, to just hit something, to break it, to make it look like him, act like him, feel like him. He had buried too many loved ones, said good bye to too many friends. He’d been pushed and pushed, and like a rubberband, he was snapping.
He saw a face in front of him but he couldn’t recognize it, or wouldn’t. He saw black. He reached forward, grabbing what felt like skin and cloth. Ryan began to scream again, the sound hoarse and breathy. He shut his eyes and threw his fists, striking out at everything he could. His frustration bubbled from his and he felt his fists connect a few times before Lindy’s voice cut through it all. “Stop, son.” Said the voice, calm but serious, and full of authority.
Ryan felt his body go limp. He released whomever he had been punching. He dropped to his knees, breathing heavily and feeling his face burn with exhaustion and anger. He shook his head, slamming his fists against his own knees, his chest, his body and anywhere on himself that he could. His bunched fists slammed into his temples, words rushing from his mouth, but he couldn’t understand them, control them. He saw black. Suddenly arms grabbed him around the chest, hauling him to his feet. He struggled but looked up, seeing that his assailant was his coach. Ryan croaked out an apology. Lindy had been there for him since he started with this club. He had helped him grow from a boy to a man, working hard. Lindy always had faith in him and his abilities. Ryan’s body froze and he stared into his coach’s eyes. Ryan trembled, looking into Lindy’s face that was angry and red. Lindy grabbed him by his jersey, practically dragging him to the massage room, and almost throwing him inside. Ryan fell down to the ground, choosing to remain there. He looked up through his tears and his anger, and heard Lindy tell everyone to leave them alone for twenty minutes.
Ryan listened as he heard the players move from the locker room, before silence once again returned to the locker room. Ryan backed up, thinking about is goal again. He shook, thinking of all the loved ones that he’d disappointed, all the fans that he’d ruined with his terrible skills. He began to shake again, when he saw Lindy’s face. Faster than he could think, Lindy had gripped his jersey again, hauling him to his feet. Ryan effortlessly pushed at Lindy, his hands falling and creating no true resistance to Lindy’s fists. Lindy looked into Ryan’s face, seeing the goalie’s eyes focus on him. “Ryan... Ryan, can you hear me?”
“Yes...” Ryan said, his voice scratchy.
“I’m sorry.” Lindy said, his voice a whisper, looking at the goalie like a son.
Ryan broke down into tears, the sobs erupting from his body, his chest heaving. Lindy wrapped his arms around Ryan and gently rocked him. Ryan let himself be comforted, letting out his frustrations and tears. He let out the torture of the long season, the personal issues, the loss in front of his home team. He let out all of his frustrations until he seemed empty. Soon, Lindy stood, gently stroking his back, the two of them silent, except for the occasional hiccup coming from the young goalie. Ryan whispered, “Next year... we’ll do better.”
“You did amazing this year, and next year, we’ll try again.” Lindy said, “I need you to not blame yourself.”
“I lost it...” Ryan said, his voice barely audible, “I lost it for us. We’re the losers.”
“No,” Lindy said, bringing Ryan’s face to match his, “Son, you just didn’t win it. That’s ok. We’ve got next year.”
“I’m so sorry...” Ryan said, his bottom lip trembling, his body tensing.
“Me too, Ryan,” Lindy said softly, “come on, get dressed and get out of here, ok?”
Ryan nodded his head, and Lindy stood up, although Ryan didn’t follow him. Lindy sighed and said, “I’m going to bring in someone for you, ok son?”
Ryan looked up from the floor, eyebrows creased. Lindy smiled sadly and raised a finger, leaving the room. Ryan looked at his hands, his heart still racing, but calming down. He was thankful that Lindy was so understanding, and always supported him. He just wished he could return the favor by winning the game. The Stanley Cup once again left their grasps. Ryan felt the emotions rush him again and he pressed his palms into his eyes, taking deeper and deeper breaths. He felt hands, this time gentle and reminiscent of the past, circle his wrists. Ryan opened his eyes, letting his hands drop, and stared into the face of Brian Campbell. He reached over, wiping away the tears from Ryan’s eyes. Ryan slumped into Brian’s arms, wrapping around him and crushing their bodies together. Brian whispered into Ryan’s ear, “It’s ok... I’m here. I love you, Ryan, I love you. You’re incredible.”
Ryan stuttered in response, “I...lo...love....”
“I know,” Brian said quickly, shushing him, “I know. It’s ok, Ryan, It’s ok.”
Elise
g
Buffalo Sabres/San Jose Sharks
Ryan Campbell? Brian Miller?
Ryan Miller/BRian Campbell
total angst
a/N: depressed mood about the season. Got bit by this snapshot of Miller... well this is a one shot. It's weird but is an exercise in Ryan flipping out and showing the relationship between Lindy and Ryan (non sexual, dear god people... im not that sick!)
I wrote this and posted it. forgive me.
the time line to this fic is the 2008 playoffs- if Buffalo got in.
Side note: to my hat, to my trick - i have a fic coming your way, it just might take a week or so.
He’d rather have seen red in this moment, but Ryan Miller, after losing in game seven, stormed into the locker room, seeing black. Overwhelmed, and angry, his fingers gripped his hockey stick. He saw his teammates sitting. Some of them held their heads, some of them were undressing, others were looking forward in a daze, but all were silent. Ryan took a few steps before his locker space. He blinked, his eyes burning. Everything in his life had led up to this moment, and it was gone. He paused, staring at the equiptment table, the water bottles stacked in the corner, the glass displays meant to inspire them, full of memorabilia. Ryan had failed them all. He stared into the faces of Martin, and his french connection, Tim horton, Matt Barnaby, and Hasek, there was Danny Briere with Chris Drury, and the Great One, Wayne Gretsky. He no longer let his tears stay in, the burning liquid dripping silently down his face. His chest panged, tightening, and the anger returned. He had failed everyone. Blinking, Ryan felt the final goal over and over, the puck hitting his glove and flying into the goal. He heard the booing, the crying, the screaming, the sinking in his stomach. He could hear his own teammates moaning, seeing their disappointment, their own angers.
Ryan snapped, lifting his hockey stick and smashing it into the glass display. Shards went flying and everyone’s head snapped up. Ryan could feel the tension in his face, scowling, a permanent frown, and creased eyebrows. He glared as he saw the old style Buffalo Sabres symbol, glaring at him through the broken glass. Ryan lifted his hockey stick again and began to swing it, repeatedly, against the display, smashing every picture, destroying anything he could. He heard yelling and soft words in his ears. His stick was taken away from him, feeling hands holding him back. Ryan opened his mouth and screamed. He could feel his voice tearing, the breath leaving with such a force he began to cough, the tears not stopping. He thought to his year, as he struggled against the hands, reaching for his stick to hit, to just hit something, to break it, to make it look like him, act like him, feel like him. He had buried too many loved ones, said good bye to too many friends. He’d been pushed and pushed, and like a rubberband, he was snapping.
He saw a face in front of him but he couldn’t recognize it, or wouldn’t. He saw black. He reached forward, grabbing what felt like skin and cloth. Ryan began to scream again, the sound hoarse and breathy. He shut his eyes and threw his fists, striking out at everything he could. His frustration bubbled from his and he felt his fists connect a few times before Lindy’s voice cut through it all. “Stop, son.” Said the voice, calm but serious, and full of authority.
Ryan felt his body go limp. He released whomever he had been punching. He dropped to his knees, breathing heavily and feeling his face burn with exhaustion and anger. He shook his head, slamming his fists against his own knees, his chest, his body and anywhere on himself that he could. His bunched fists slammed into his temples, words rushing from his mouth, but he couldn’t understand them, control them. He saw black. Suddenly arms grabbed him around the chest, hauling him to his feet. He struggled but looked up, seeing that his assailant was his coach. Ryan croaked out an apology. Lindy had been there for him since he started with this club. He had helped him grow from a boy to a man, working hard. Lindy always had faith in him and his abilities. Ryan’s body froze and he stared into his coach’s eyes. Ryan trembled, looking into Lindy’s face that was angry and red. Lindy grabbed him by his jersey, practically dragging him to the massage room, and almost throwing him inside. Ryan fell down to the ground, choosing to remain there. He looked up through his tears and his anger, and heard Lindy tell everyone to leave them alone for twenty minutes.
Ryan listened as he heard the players move from the locker room, before silence once again returned to the locker room. Ryan backed up, thinking about is goal again. He shook, thinking of all the loved ones that he’d disappointed, all the fans that he’d ruined with his terrible skills. He began to shake again, when he saw Lindy’s face. Faster than he could think, Lindy had gripped his jersey again, hauling him to his feet. Ryan effortlessly pushed at Lindy, his hands falling and creating no true resistance to Lindy’s fists. Lindy looked into Ryan’s face, seeing the goalie’s eyes focus on him. “Ryan... Ryan, can you hear me?”
“Yes...” Ryan said, his voice scratchy.
“I’m sorry.” Lindy said, his voice a whisper, looking at the goalie like a son.
Ryan broke down into tears, the sobs erupting from his body, his chest heaving. Lindy wrapped his arms around Ryan and gently rocked him. Ryan let himself be comforted, letting out his frustrations and tears. He let out the torture of the long season, the personal issues, the loss in front of his home team. He let out all of his frustrations until he seemed empty. Soon, Lindy stood, gently stroking his back, the two of them silent, except for the occasional hiccup coming from the young goalie. Ryan whispered, “Next year... we’ll do better.”
“You did amazing this year, and next year, we’ll try again.” Lindy said, “I need you to not blame yourself.”
“I lost it...” Ryan said, his voice barely audible, “I lost it for us. We’re the losers.”
“No,” Lindy said, bringing Ryan’s face to match his, “Son, you just didn’t win it. That’s ok. We’ve got next year.”
“I’m so sorry...” Ryan said, his bottom lip trembling, his body tensing.
“Me too, Ryan,” Lindy said softly, “come on, get dressed and get out of here, ok?”
Ryan nodded his head, and Lindy stood up, although Ryan didn’t follow him. Lindy sighed and said, “I’m going to bring in someone for you, ok son?”
Ryan looked up from the floor, eyebrows creased. Lindy smiled sadly and raised a finger, leaving the room. Ryan looked at his hands, his heart still racing, but calming down. He was thankful that Lindy was so understanding, and always supported him. He just wished he could return the favor by winning the game. The Stanley Cup once again left their grasps. Ryan felt the emotions rush him again and he pressed his palms into his eyes, taking deeper and deeper breaths. He felt hands, this time gentle and reminiscent of the past, circle his wrists. Ryan opened his eyes, letting his hands drop, and stared into the face of Brian Campbell. He reached over, wiping away the tears from Ryan’s eyes. Ryan slumped into Brian’s arms, wrapping around him and crushing their bodies together. Brian whispered into Ryan’s ear, “It’s ok... I’m here. I love you, Ryan, I love you. You’re incredible.”
Ryan stuttered in response, “I...lo...love....”
“I know,” Brian said quickly, shushing him, “I know. It’s ok, Ryan, It’s ok.”