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carpehistoryandthepens · 13 days

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Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 12

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three, four, Five, six seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on last season, OCs?, realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

Kris was swearing as he leaned on the boards near the benches of the practice rink. Not even under his breath. That was a thing. The swearing. That was. Definitely happing.

It was something Zhenya should have been preventing because Marisol was on the bench, watching her brother intently, but Zhenya couldn't stop Tanger. Mostly because Zhenya happened to agree with the swears. The curses might be all in French, but Zhenya had been in the league long enough to know Quebecois profanity when he heard them, and Kris was swearing. It was not as if Zhenya could blame him. If it weren't for the stick Zhenya was leading on, he may have fallen over at the revelation before him.

Mike could fucking skate.

There was no fucking way this kid wasn't on a prep team. He was too good. His edge work was something that Zhenya had seen with defencemen two or three years older than Mike was.

Sid had asked if Tanger and Zhenya could stay to skate with Mike and him after practice. It was well after the press left to write their end-of-camp articles, so the rink was nearly empty. It was the first time since Mike and Marisol arrived that there was a free moment just to skate.

The skates Mike had brought with him still fit, Sid had told them, and the equipment guys had found a few pieces of gear that could be adapted for Mike's size. The skates were not the top of the line, but they were well cared for.

One thing was for sure, though, Zhenya thought as he watched Mike and Sid chase after a puck; Mike did not skate like a mini-Sidney Crosby.

The boy was a defenseman through and through, but his edges and speed were very impressive for barely being a teenager. Mike had an excellent sense of his place on the ice and was trying to steal the puck from Sid with a vigor that said he had nearly forgotten that he hadn't skated in over six months.

A few rusty spots in Mike's game made the gap in time he spent off the ice clear, but there was also something natural in his movement. Zhenya would put money on Mike being just like him rather than just like Sid. Talented but determined enough to ensure dedication and hard work would develop skills.

Mike stole the puck from Sid and took off toward the other goal. Sid outpaced him and got the puck back.

"Of course, he won't go easy on the kid," Kris muttered as he watched the puck battle.

"Our Sid?" Zhenya said, arching an eyebrow the best he could in his helmet. Sid was one of the most completive men Zhenya had ever met, which was saying something considering their world.

They settled down to watch the game of keep-away going on.

"He's good," Kris said, leaning on his stick. "Like. He's as good as some of the kids in juniors right now. How wasn't he scouted?"

Zhenya shrugged. Tanger knew the answer. Mike's family wasn't too well off. He might not have had the chance to develop the same way some of his age group would have. Hockey was expensive. That was a universal truth they all knew too well.

"Has Sid figured out who his coach was?" Tanger asked.

Zhenya nodded. "Brisson's office reaching out. Get more details sometime soon."

Mike stole the puck and streaked up ice in a breakaway, Sid a second behind him. The brutal practice that marked the end of the camp was catching up to Sid. Mike flung the puck to the empty net, making the shot just below the top bar.

Mike's celly transformed his whole attitude. He pumped his arm twice as he skated around the goal. Some of the embedded sadness that Mike carried from in his frame was gone. He looked like the thirteen-year-old he was rather than a world-weary man.

Marisol cheered and jumped up and down on the bench, nearly knocking over Mike's always-present shaker bottle. Zhenya reached over and ensured she didn't fall over as she overbalanced slightly.

Zhenya was glad to see the boy in him rather than just the man he could become. Mike deserved to have some of his childhood protected.

Sid had slowed down to watch as Mike called, a faint smile on his face. He looked proud, so proud. Mike grinned up at Sid. To be honest, there wasn't much of a height difference. Based on the few photos Zhenya had seen, Mike's mother was just a little shorter than Sid.

Tanger sighed. "He's just as obsessed as Sid is, isn't he?"

"Isn't yours?" Zhenya snorted. "I've seen Alex's workouts. He try to copy you."

Alex wasn't doing Tanger's workouts – mainly because Tanger put his foot down, explaining that Alex's frame wasn't big enough for it to be safe. Still, the kid insisted they work out together sometimes, so Tanger had gotten a trainer to put together a workout that would be best for Alex.

"And I've seen Nikita on the ice." Tanger shot back with a smirk, "He's got the one-legged goal celly down pat."

Zhenya shrugged, his voice deliberately light. "He's into football more right now." Nikita was on both a hockey team and a football team, although the school where he was on the team insisted on calling it "soccer." Nikita's interest was definitely in football more than hockey at the moment.

Maybe that would be a good thing in the long run, Zhenya thought. It's hard to live up to a parent's legacy. He had seen many teammates and other players struggle under that burden. Kappy was one of them. If Nikita chose not to deal with Zhenya's legacy, how could he blame him? And Nikita was happy playing "soccer." It was cute. If that was his future then that's what Zhenay would support him in. No matter how much he would have to learn.

Once Mike had recovered the puck and sent it past where he and Zhenya had been standing, Tanger took off like a shot, easily controlling the puck. Mike was fast, but Tanger, as a far more experienced defenseman, was faster.

Zhenya raced into the play. Mike was grinning hard. So was Sid.

They played back and forth for a while, all the adults keeping an eye on the time. The opening game was soon; they couldn't be too exhausted. But Mike was having such a grand time, and Geno was incredibly reluctant to bring the session to an end.

Eventually, one of the trainers stepped out of the office and next to Marisol on the bench, signaling that it was time for them to get off the ice.

Mike's smile didn't dim as they got off the ice, with Marisol trailing behind. Mike carried the bucket of pucks; Tanger had called him a rookie and said it was his turn. Mike had laughed.

Geno hoped it was because he knew he would be skating again soon. Once they figured out his former team, Sid could get him into a team. Nikita's hockey practice doesn't start for another three weeks. Maybe they would be able to skate out of the same rink.

Well maybe. Nikita wasn't as excited to skate as he was to go to soccer practice, which started at the end of February. Anna assured him that Nikita really did like hockey. He just liked soccer more for now.

As they got changed and ready for the showers, Tanger showed Mike where to dump his gear so it could be cleaned; Zhenya turned to Sid. "He is your kid."

"There is no way he isn't," Sid said, satisfied with the workout and seeing Mike on the ice. Mike and Tanger had changed out of their gear quickly. Tanger had a photo shoot and interview he had to be ready for, and Mike had made faces about staying in the sweat-soaked pads and under armor. Apparently, he and Sid did not share the same superstitions.

"Have you figured out if he wants to skate with a team?" Zhenya asked, and he watched Tanger show Mike into the changing room and where the showers were.

"He really wants to," Sid said. "I'm just waiting for Pat to tell me the info for his old coach."

"Is he having trouble finding the guy?" Zhenya asked, turning to face Sid in surprise. It was unusual for Brisson to have that type of trouble. Most coaches who worked in U16 teams would fall over themselves if an agency like Brisson's called.

"The guy apparently retired and moved just after Mike stopped skating," Sid said in English, shrugging. Zhenya read between the lines; the coach didn't see the bruises that weren't from hockey. "Mike's team was just slightly more than a rec team. To be honest, we have to figure some stuff out. Even if we don't talk to the coach, Mike is good enough to be in most of the U13 and U16 teams around here would take him."

"Pat will find him," Geno said before being interrupted by a stifled wet gasp, directing their attention to the corner of the locker room. The sound was of a panicked child, and Zhneya hated that noise.

Marisol had been there in the corner of the locker room, messing with the bucket of pucks they had just taken off the ice. She had been occupied by taking the pucks out of the bucket, stacking them, and creating a pyramid with the pucks. Zhenya thought she wasn't paying attention to anyone in the room.

She had been excited when Mike stepped on the ice, a delight that made Sid smile so wide it would split his face. Zhenya was positive that Sid would buy her a pair of skates when he could, just by the way he smiled.

Marisol wasn't smiling anymore. She was now looking around the room, back and forth, searching for something, or Zhenya realized as she hyperventilated, someone. The panic that crossed her face wasn't faked, and Geno was up and moving toward her the moment he processed the expression. Sid wasn't far behind.

In Zhenay's experience, this wasn't a moment to let a kid calm themselves; instead, she needed help. Marisol was trying to say something, but it was such a garbled mix of Spanish and English that Zhenya had no hope of translating.

She looked around, panicked.

Zhenya couldn't figure out why she was so frantic. Maybe it was a tantrum? Was that different in girls? Nikita didn't have meltdowns like this. But Zhenya didn't know if there was a different temperament for girls.

Sid looked as panicked as Zhenya had ever seen him. However, he didn't hesitate when Marisol looked at him, eyes wide in panic and red with tears.

"Marisol. Marisol." Sid said consolingly, his voice tight with emotion and worry. Marisol struggled to breathe correctly, still looking around. "Can you tell me what's going on?" he asked, kneeling down. He reached out to her, and Marisol went with a bit of hesitation. She ended up sitting on his lap while Sid sat on the floor.

Zhenya didn't know if Marisol would be able to respond. She was breathing hard, and most of what she said was Spanish –as Geno could tell.

Thankfully, the proof that Sid would be a good father was already present; he waited her out and didn't rush her or panic outwardly. Zhenya saw in his eyes that Sid was afraid, but none of that showed on his face.

She stuttered out, in between gasps of breath, "¿Dónde está Mike? Quiero Mike. Dónde está. Prometió no dejarme!!" Tears started to fall down her face, and Sid took one of the corners of his jersey because they hadn't even started pulling off their layers of pads and gear yet, and wiped her cheeks. Marisol leaned into the touch. "Mike?" She said louder.

Mike's name was the only thing Zhenya understood from her words. At Sid's panicked glance at him, Geno was up and moving towards the showers.

Mike beat him, racing out of the shower area and appearing at the doorway, half-undressed. His face, pale and upset, entirely changed from the happy look before. Tanger was half a pace behind him. Mike scooped Marisol into his arms and cradled her close to his chest.

Mike stayed close to Sid, and Zhenya watched as Sid put a tentative hand on Marisol's back. Marisol hiccupped and sobbed, but the sheer panic in her movements and voice faded. She didn't flinch away from Sid's touch.

Mike was muttering softly in Spanish as Marisol calmed down and eventually fell into an exhausted sleep. They stayed like that for a long while.

Zhenya usually hated missing the post-practice shower, but now he didn't want to leave the three of them alone. Tanger dipped off to take a quick shower. When Tanger returns, he and Tanger eventually change into their street clothes.

Tanger pulled Zhenya aside when he was done getting changed, keeping an eye on the little family sitting on the floor of the practice rink's locker room. "G, I got an interview. Are you busy this afternoon? I don't want them to be alone completely." His worried eyes met with Zhenya's. He didn't want to leave Sid and the kids, but they both knew they didn't have a choice.

Zhenya nodded, going over his schedule in his head. Just Nikita. Anna is out. There were no interviews or meetings today. "I'm free all afternoon. Just pick up Nikita from school. I'm be with them after all day, if they want."

Tanger nodded again, saying that would work, and gave Zhenya a bro hug before leaving. Sid and the kids hadn't even noticed either of them moving.

"You change, Sid," Zhenya muttered quietly when it was clear that Marisol had gone down for the count. "She'll sleep for a while."

Sid glanced down at the siblings, concern written all over his face. He gave Marisol one last gentle head pat before standing, and she snuggled further into Mike's chest.

Sid got changed rather quickly and didn't even seem to take his eyes off the kids. When he was done, he handed Mike some clean clothes.

Mike stared blankly at the pants for so long that Zhenya thought he wouldn't take them before transferring Marisol to Sid's grasp. Sid took half a step back to give him space, Mike's face tightened, but he didn't stop Sid. He just changed faster.

When Mike had stripped out of the sweat-covered gear and was dressed in clean clothing, he held out his arms to take Marisol back. Zhenya was only a little surprised to see Sid hand Marisol back to Mike.

Apparently, they can't be separated, and Sid wouldn't try.

#'sid has a teen he didn't know about' au #sidgeno #8771 #i write?#this will take a while to write #working title: Legacy (what is a legacy?)

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