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Team Overview Located in a remote mountain town called Viremont, Switzerland on the French-Italian border, the Viremont Volt are a team that have been notorious for failure over the fourteen years of its existence. It is the youngest European team in the TCHL and it has always been shrouded in scandal. It never really launched because almost all of the players they picked up to begin with went crazy in one way or another, all of which was covered up by the team but not completely. No one knows if it was because of the remote, rural scenery, the team's collective failure, or something more nefarious, but they have been in rebuild mode for about nine years, never getting out of this point. The team history involves three first round exits in fourteen years of play, and one second round exit the first year of the team's existence, nothing further. The team colors are periwinkle, silver, white, and charcoal gray. Their primary rival are the Stockholm Halos due to some drama that has ensued throughout the various scandals. Facilities Overview The compound where the facilities exist is well-buried in the landscape of a local mountain, Mont Baroneau. The residential facilities and the training facilities are at a much higher elevation, while the main arena and the staff buildings are located in the small valley town of Viremont. It is roughly a fifty minute walk up the steep mountain roads to get from town to the facilities, although it is not an extremely lengthy distance. Three angular, charcoal gray, chalet-style buildings house the players, each player getting a private suite with floor-to-ceiling windows, minimalist gray and white interiors, biometric locks, and basic amenities. There are shared kitchens on each floor and lounges with strict noise and guest policies, with top floor reflection rooms with views of the town and the mountains below. It's a two minute walk to the nutritional facility, which is open 24/7 and offers individualized meal plans based on goals and devoid of any cultural comfort. It's a three minute walk to the training facility, which has a biomechanical lab, hyperbaric recovery rooms, isolation pods, a high tech gym, a physical therapy wing with a large swimming pool, a psychological performance suite, and the offices for the trainers, psychologists, and other essential team staff. It also has a private ice rink for training for individual goals, while the team meets below in their competition rink, Stormhold Pavilion, for team practice. Town Overview Viremont, known as Verémon, Viremünd, and Veramonte in the respective languages spoken by those surrounding it, is a quiet alpine village, more than an hour's drive to the nearest city in any direction through steep, winding, mountainous terrain. It is a historic village filled with two types of people: the townfolk and the outsiders. The majority of those living in Viremont are farmers, innkeepers, and others profitting off of visiting tourists. They are cold and distant, protective of their sleepy little town and the lore that follows it like a shadow. The other population residing there are individuals with extreme wealth, sent there to conduct research experiments in the laboratories on the outskirts of Viremont. The owner of one of the most famous scientific corporations in Europe is the owner of the Viremont Volt, causing the team to get some backlash from locals. They don't mind the people themselves, more what the team stands for. Some of the attractions in town include an inn attached to a famous local tavern, a historic cathedral, and a historic museum meant to protect the history of the town. There are also a local system of underground caverns and many hiking trails that cross through the area. Plot Plans To be added. Previous / Relevant Plot History To be added. |
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Transcontinental Hockey League (TCHL) Projected Standings Northern Division 1. Øslo Storm (midnight blue, ice gray) 2. St. Petersburg Spectres (crimson, black, gray) 3. Reykjavik Frost (arctic blue, white, black) 4. Helsinki Revenants (frost green, gray, silver) 5. Copenhagen Tide (sea green, white, slate) 6. Murmansk Howlers (ash gray, ice blue, black) 7. Nuuk Borealis (pale cyan, navy, neon green) Eastern Division 1. Warsaw Iron (steel gray, red, white) 2. Riga Strikers (burgundy, silver, black) 3. Kiev Storm (royal blue, gold, white) 4. Minsk Blades (ivory, forest green, bronze) 5. Bucharest Phantoms (black, teal, silver) 6. Sofia Crown (onyx, gold, blood red) 7. Belgrade Tempest (steel blue, crimson, white) Western Division 1. Montreal Dominion (red, black, gray) 2. Toronto Aces (pale blue, yellow, navy) 3. Boston Remenants (black, bronze, blood red) 4. Quebec Valeurs (navy, cream, red) 5. Detroit Forge (orange, steel, black) 6. New York Titanics (gray, indigo, teal) 7. Halifax Rooks (slate gray, sky blue, rust) Atlantic Division 1. Buenos Aires Corsairs (cobalt, crimson, cream) 2. Santiago Blades (gold, black, white) 3. Montevideo Serpents (olive, gold, black) 4. Bogota Talons (ruby, gunmetal, white) 5. Caribbean Levithians (aqua, white, canary yellow) 6. Paramaribo Thorns (jade, blood orange, white) 7. Lima Krakens (deep purple, mint green, black) Central Division 1. Zurich Saints (white, deep red, bronze) 2. Stockholm Halos (white, bright orange, pale yellow) 3. Geneva Owls (lilac, black, platinum) 4. Munich Reign (red, black, bronze) 5. Prague Menace (indigo, white, yellow) 6. Vienna Oracles (pale violet, silver, navy) 7. Verimont Volt (periwinkle, silver, charcoal gray) Outlier Division 1. Perth Whiptails (sand, steel blue, black) 2. Tokyo Ghosts (white, hot pink, electric blue) 3. Portland Predators (dark green, dark brown, sage green) 4. Auckland Gales (navy, pale gray, teal) 5. Cape Town Mirage (gold, indigo, teal) 6. Dubai Sandwraiths (tan, black, crimson) 7. New Mexico Nocturnes (black, orange, red) Preseason Power Rankings: tba Team Schedule / Plot Plans TBA - Elliot abduction Team Roster #11/RW Nicola Santori, 37, Bolzano, ITA (A) #13/RW Reese Halston-Vale, 18, Oakville, ON, CAN #17/C Elliot Hawthorne, 20, Stockholm, SWE #18/G Emil Tomaselli, 22, Ticino, CHE #25/C Stefan Grüber, 36, Innsbruck, AUT #27/C Matias Vauhkonen, 36, Kuorpio, FIN (C) #28/RD Augustine Weber, 34, Zürich, CHE #30/LD Johan Ekström, 29, Umeå, SWE (A) #35/G Ignacio Ferrera, 38, Punto del Este, URY #37/LD Tomáš Sedlák, 37, Brno, CZE #38/LW Olivier Montagne, 35, Grenoble, FRA #39/RD Cormac O'Driscoll, 33, Galway, IRL #40/LD Leandro Falco, 36, Naples, ITA #44/C Erik Varga, 35, Košice, SVK #51/LW Théo Lemoine, 34, Reims, FRA #55/RW Jonah Brückner, 36, Bremen, DEU #56/RW Brody Shearwater, 34, Thunder Bay, ON, CAN #61/RW Ilkka Nieminen, 36, Espoo, FIN #63/RW Luka Demalović, 33, Split, HRV #64/G Artyom Solovyov, 23, Yaroslavl, RUS #65/RD Pascal Vinet, 35, Dijon, FRA #68/LD Andrei Petrov, 35, Murmansk, RUS #70/LW Malcolm Tierney, 37, Glasglow, GB-SCT #75/LW Jasper Rook, 30, Anchorage, AK, USA (A) #96/LW René Fuchs, 35, Zug, CHE (A) Team Lineup 75 - 27 - 11 96 - 17 - 63 38 - 44 - 13 51 - 36 - 61 56, 70 / 30 - 39 68 - 28 40 - 65 55, 37 / 35 64 18 |
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Reese Halston-Vale | RW 13 | M: Charlotte, Elliot He hadn’t even known Charlotte was getting married. He found out through a family friend turned opponent at center ice. He was sure Elliot was probably concerned about why he spent the rest of the game fanning on one-timers and rendered unable to say the things he was thinking. He took the next flight out to New Jersey that night, not to ask for an invitation but to… well, he wasn’t really sure why. He spent the next eleven hours trying to make sense of his own actions, but none came. By the time he arrived on the porch of Charlotte’s tiny agrarian cottage, he should have been prepared to make amends. To say all of the things he hadn’t said to her growing up. To try to establish a relationship again that they both needed and wanted but that Reese couldn’t find the words to ask for. Instead, he said all of the things he didn’t mean, and none of the ones he did. He assumed a position of indifference, of neutrality, of every wall he always put up that couldn’t be taken down. Maybe he wasn’t capable of change. Charlotte should have slammed the door in his face. He got an invitation to the wedding anyway. He said he wouldn’t go. He wound up there anyway. The ceremony was small. Remarkably small, even by Reese’s standards. He thought of weddings as large and grandiose displays of fictitious feelings. Love wasn’t real. It wasn’t something meant for someone like him, anyway. If anyone deserved it, it was Charlotte. And, if he’d ever witnessed it, it was that day. They chose to get married at some sort of ecological sanctuary Reese hadn’t quite grasped the concept of, though he’d heard in passing from a few of the other attendees that Charlotte’s work had brought her to connection with this place. Apparently, she was doing something with the environmental sciences, or environmental engineering, or something like that. It only dampened Reese’s mood more to know that he had become so far out of touch with his sister that he didn’t even know her job. It wasn’t like he hadn’t wanted to be at her graduation. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice. He was too young to make decisions for himself or to bypass the influence of his parents. Still, he had every choice in the world. If he were a stronger man, he would’ve defied them and showed up for her. Someone should have. Instead, it’d taken him until this long, and he was too late. Nothing in the world shows you how alone you are like a wedding. Reese would have been lying if he said he didn’t usually drink, but he’d been cutting back in accordance with the diet plan, enough that his extensive consumption felt like a relapse. He kept going until the warm lighting of the outdoor reception seemed fuzzy, and the redundant small talk of the ceremony faded into a haze of phrases he couldn’t string together. Even in that state, he knew it wasn’t a good idea to text anyone. He knew their devices were being monitored back at Viremont, and he knew it was a matter of time until someone came looking for him to drag him back to hell. He was disciplined until he wasn’t. All it took was a bruise. Nothing life-threatening, nothing that was even inconveniencing, just a simple drunken mishap between some unfamiliar partygoers. It barely even hurt. But it was enough to send Reese down a long, misguided rabbit hole of loneliness, want, and utter devastation. It really could have been anyone that had been the object of these feelings. In that moment, Reese would’ve leaned into any feeling of softness, of tenderness, of warmth that was given to him. He had only been shown love as an iron fist and an objective neutrality. Parenting was a career, and family was a means of getting a political edge. Reese used to think that the only people the Halston-Vale children were capable of loving were each other, but looking at Charlotte in that moment, all happy and whimsical and something out of a fairytale, Reese realized that if he looked into a crowd of people capable of loving him, an empty space would be staring back at him. He could stare that truth directly in the eye, but what he couldn’t seem to manage was Elliot. If Elliot were here, his bruise would be gone. He would feel out of place, here with a teammate–maybe a professional acquaintance, maybe someone who never complained about reaping the benefits of Reese’s stress cooking, maybe someone who wouldn’t have spared a second glance at Reese if it weren’t for all of the things he could do and be, inside of his family legacy and outside of his true self. It would be uncomfortable. He would have to attend to the needs of a second person and not simply vanish out of thin air when the moment felt right. He would have to stand by the same person all night, not simply lost in his own thoughts and musings. Yet, all of those horrible things were also things Reese found himself doing anyway, day in and day out, with his teammate by his side. And while they felt horrible, they didn’t feel outright nauseating and impossible to keep up like they did in Reese’s thoughts. He didn’t let that mean anything, because everything was pointless to Reese, and nothing had the potential for hope. Reese couldn’t be saved. The following morning, Reese woke up on a cold hardwood floor in a dimly-lit room. It wasn’t like the movies, he hadn’t found a body to keep him warm in his loneliness and distract him from the pain of what he felt inside. That would’ve been too easy. Instead, he was on the floor of the house he’d reserved for the night, in the dark, with a piercing migraine and an ache in his chest that felt something like remorse. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to be anywhere. Everything and everyone around him caused him pain, mainly because he was the source of all of his own misery. In a fog that resembled something of his own past, he could vaguely recall how he’d ended up here. Charlotte said that he should swing by their home the next morning before he left, that they should talk things out. He said he was leaving that night. He was lying. She called his bluff, saying if he really couldn’t stay an extra day that they could talk things out after the party was over. Reese felt uncomfortable with the fact that she was being so sacrificial, and the idea that his presence at the wedding was ruining what could’ve been a happy moment. He couldn’t see that it would’ve been miserable if he was absent, too. He didn’t remember what happened next. He remembered how he felt, overwhelmed by self-pity and self-hatred and all of the feelings that he could only inflict on himself. He remembered leaving, promising Charlotte a conversation that they both knew would never come. What he didn’t remember was taking out his phone to text three words to Elliot that he wished he could’ve had back. Slowly feeling around the darkness to find the source of the device that was vibrating the floor, Reese noticed that what had woken him up was the notification from the airline sending him a reminder for his flight. Below that was a notification for two messages: Elliot: Did you send this to the wrong person? Elliot: I always miss you The second text had an ominous heart at the end, staring back at him to his unimaginable horror. Internally, the only dialogue was the word no being repeated over and over again. There was a strange feeling in his chest, a jittery warmth he felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable with. He couldn’t shake it, no matter how much he tried. He was too much of a nihilist to call it butterflies. He didn’t reply to it, couldn’t. But his only thoughts and his only anxieties from New Jersey to Switzerland involved himself, the Swede, the words exchanged between them, and what fell beneath. … It would’ve been easy to take Elliot’s out. He could’ve said the text was meant for someone else, which would’ve implied there were people in Reese’s life for him to miss. But Reese had chosen a very inconvenient time to start being honest and continue to defy vulnerability at all costs. He avoided his teammate like the plague, not that he thought he could keep it up forever, but he could sure as hell try. And, well, it was easy enough to avoid Elliot when Reese had ended up in a dark cell in a discreet location not unlike a blacksite, having unimaginable horrors done to him in the name of some motive he couldn’t quite identify. He’d stopped counting the days after eighty, which felt like quite some time ago. No one was coming for him, no one cared. He wasn’t surprised. Yet, his physical condition was getting worse and worse, and the exact teammate he had been trying to avoid turned into the one he needed. When his body wouldn’t heal itself without the touch of another, even the shallowest cuts turned into slow bleedouts, and less-than-ideal conditions turned deadly over the span of months. While they hadn’t specifically done anything to end his life, it wouldn’t be long now. |
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William Elliot Hawthorne | C 17 | M : Reese, Charlotte, Websy The dark surrounded him, the silence, it was deafening. The bed felt so familiar and yet he hadn't laid in this bed for quite some time. His eyes laid open, staring up at the ceiling, watching the fan as it lazily circled above. He could feel pressure building on his eyes from the start of a headache. Why was he awake at this hour? He couldn't be sure. He rolled over onto his side. The clock on his bedside table read 2:14. He groaned and ran both hands over his face before using his palms to put pressure on both of his eyes. He felt so tired and yet, he couldn't sleep. He'd never had problems sleeping through the night, except for in the recent weeks that they'd been back at Viremont. It made Elliot want to smash his head into a brick wall. He sat up, it wasn't like he had any blankets to remove considering that they already laid on a heap on the floor. His legs swung over the bed as he blindly reached around for the lamp that he knew was right there. The light chased the dark away as Elliot made himself a cup of tea. He had deep, dark bags under his eyes, and at times it felt like a lot of effort to even speak. When that happened he found his speech slurred, or his reactions sluggish. That's how he was feeling as he stood by the window staring out into the mountains, his finger tracing the rim of the cup. “Hmm.” He said without realizing as he zoned out. He closed his eyes as he stood there, swaying like a sunflower in a field. He knew what changed. Reese had left in the middle of the night. Elliot hadn't heard from him that he was leaving. He sat down for breakfast, buzzing with excitement to see the Canadian, a small smile, and a look of hope at everyone who came through the door. Yet he never came. Elliot walked out without touching his food, head down, feeling as if something were wrong. He'd flagged down Websy, “Is Reese alright?” He asked, panic striking him, flipping through three languages for those three words. His coach stared at him confused. “What is wrong, Hawthorne?” Elliot took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. “Where is Reese?” He asked in English. His coach shrugged, “I dunno.” It was like lightning hit Elliot's face from the way it warped with worry. “You are a good kid.” The man said as he patted Elliot's shoulder before walking off. A few days later he was changing in the locker room after a particularly difficult one on one training with Websy. Tears streaked his cheeks, sweat dripped off the red hair falling into the floor as he leaned his weight on his knees as stared at the floor. He wanted to go back to the days before this was a job, before he got paid. He tried to stop the tears he felt coming. He wanted this, and the whole reason he'd stayed was due to the fact that ten year old Elliot would be jealous of his day to day life, but especially the games. He knew that his daily life was someone else's dream, so he wasn't going to throw it away just because he was tired. He'd wished on all of the shooting stars for this, but now he felt beaten down, and useless and exhausted. His phone buzzed on the bench next to him. He picked it up, staring at those words. Those damned words. “I miss you.” There was a period at the end. He sniffled and smirked as he read those three words again. His shoulders relaxed, and he let the tension out of his body. “I miss you too.” He whispered into the empty room. He closed his eyes, suddenly hit by how lonely he truly was. He was surrounded by people he liked, but nonetheless he was so fucking lonely. No one knew him like Reese. His life felt empty with the man gone. He picked up his phone, biting his lower lip, chuckling to himself as he typed up his response. “Did you send this to the right person?” He teased. He sent it. A minute or two later he wrote another response. “I always miss you Curly.” Hmm. Curly. That wasn't right. He deleted Curly and replaced it with a heart. He sent it. Truth hid behind a joke, hopefully it looked like a joke anyways because he did always miss Reese's presence. His phone screen went black and the room was suddenly heavy. The rest of the day he kept checking his phone for a response and every time he grew more and more disappointed. He sat up in bed, waiting for a response, watching planes fly by cloaked in the night sky and yet nothing ever came through. Should he have sent that? Anxiety began to eat at him. Fuck, he should have sent something different. He put his head in his hands. He was so fucking stupid. He should have said something else, he had overstepped a boundary. What an idiot. He began to chew on his cheek as he stared out the window, tears falling down from his eyes. Elliot had caught a whiff of Reese's ever so familiar cologne one morning. He'd perked up, staring around, looking for the Canadian, his heart hammering in his chest. But every time he tried to approach Reese, the man suddenly became busy. The Swede would watch him go, a confused look on his face, hurt showing clearly in his eyes. “But, Curly, I miss you.” He whispered, watching Reese's form retreat. “What did I do wrong?” He asked himself. After that, Elliot didn't go out of his way to see Reese. He found himself avoiding him, terrified that Reese was mad at him. At times Elliot would come aware of his surroundings on the ice to find himself idling. Simple tasks seemed difficult. Right as a plane passed the window Elliot came to, suddenly bold. He was going to talk to Reese. He was going to do it. He glanced at the key on his counter. It was a spare he'd stolen from Reese. He picked it up as he set his cup down. He was going to do it. He stood outside of Reese's door, hesitantly. What if he didn't want to see him? So many what if's flashed through his mind, but he unlocked the door anyways. The room was empty, and a mess. The door clicked behind Elliot as he stared around. This wasn't Reese's doing. He was too neat to have done this. His heart rate spiked as he stumbled back towards the door, feeling unnerved and like his back was exposed. He frantically called an elevator. It couldn't come soon enough. He felt sick as he sprinted across the campus, his breathing heavy as he began banging on Websy's door. When the tired man opened the door Elliot bursted him. “He's gone! He's gone!” Websy looked confused. “Who?” “Reese! He's missing!” Elliot yelled, panicked. Suddenly his knees gave out and he woke up on the floor to Websy booting him. “Get up you idiot.” Elliot then spent the next three hours talking to the police, who claimed that they couldn't do anything because he hadn't been missing for 72 hours. When Elliot called 72 hours later with no signs of him they disregarded him. “But I'm telling you sir, he's in trouble.” “How do you know?” “Because it's a gut feeling.” Four months later it seemed like the world was progressing without him. Elliot was numb. He'd been playing well, but at what cost? He was housed alone, Websy apparently felt bad enough to not replace Reese. When he got back to Viremont from his travels he got a strange text. “Meet me here. 13:00. Don't be late.” Elliot perked up. Was it Reese? It wasn't Reese, much to his disappointment, but instead his sister Charlotte, who he'd met briefly at the gala. “I had hoped that you'd heard from him.” She said, distressed as Elliot sat across from her, feeling exhausted. “I don't know.” Elliot said, defeated. “He sent me a strange text, so I teased him a bit and-” His voice broke as the last four months of holding it together snapped. Tears flowed down his face. “I'm sorry.” He said, but the tears weren't stopping. “I-I believe I made him mad, and I'm afraid this is my fault.” Charlotte gave him a look of pity. “I think this is something different.” So the two began looking. Elliot started with Lars' office. He found nothing to note, except for passwords and usernames. Fine. He could use those, and he did. Elliot weaseled his way into Lars database, was it illegal for him to be going through cases like this? Absolutely, but he was desperate. As he went through offices he paused, these coordinates, he'd seen them on a calendar in Lars’ office on the same week that Reese had gone missing. He was quick to put them into a map. It was marked in the middle of the ocean off of the coast of Japan. How strange. He called Charlotte from the airport and filled her in. She met him in Japan and together the two managed to make their way towards these coordinates. The sea air slapped Elliot in the face as they sped towards the empty sea. He wanted nothing more than to wake up next to Reese's side, to follow him around the city as they fed the pigeons. He knew that Reese couldn't live normally, after all, Elliot was Reese's life support. His heart felt heavy as they approached what appeared to be an abandoned warship. Reese was dead, he knew it. “Stay here.” someone instructed him as men flooded the deck. Elliot shook his head as he turned towards Charlotte, “They aren't going to find him.” She looked at him with the same questioning look that Reese wore so well. “Because I know they won't.” He responded, rolling up his sleeves as he dove into the icy water. He came up for air, sputtering. He did ice plunges, this was nothing. “Are you mad?” Charlotte yelled. “Oh my god, someone stop him!” She yelled as Elliot dove back under the rough waves. His eyes stung as he swam towards the ship. Something caught his eye. One of the windows had a small crack in it, and a red star on the glass. He counted fourteen windows, making this one the fifteenth. He was running out of air, and he desperately fought the water to get to the surface. He gasped for air as he went for the ladder. With shivering arms he hauled himself up to the deck. “What are you doing here?” Someone hissed in his ear as they grabbed his arm. “You shouldn't be here sir.” “Follow me.” Elliot said, with a confidence he didn't feel. “You could risk your life.” Elliot nodded, “That's how it should be.” He said, picking up a jog towards the stairs. “I don't have much time!” The rest of the time was a blur that he couldn't remember. What he did remember was the way that the door creaked, and how his legs shook underneath him. The way that his heart pounded in his chest, the fear that almost seemingly paralyzed him, but he pushed through it. He wasn't positive that Reese was even here, but he needed to find him. He wasn't going to go back to Switzerland empty handed. When the room was empty his heart sank and his knees felt weak as he stumbled into the room, tears running down his face as his knees hit the ground. His hands were balled as he sat back on his heels. He had been so hopeful and yet that hope was snatched away in an instant. He closed his eyes, “I can't leave without you Reese.” He whispered, listening to the drip of water coming through the window. He felt blind, what was he missing? A small noise that could have been passed as a mouse caught his attention. His head snapped towards it, suddenly alert. He slowly got up and walked towards the wall. His hand ran down the molding wall paper. Was that a door hinge he felt? “There is nothing here, sir.” A man said behind him in broken English. Elliot chuckled as he shook his head. He could feel the heat of Reese's back against his as they laid at night, the photos of Reese saved in his phone, his laugh that filled the room. A sudden burst of anger rushed through his body, why did he have to relive those memories of Reese? Why couldn't he simply have amnesia, his life would be so much easier if he could just forget about the stupid little things. With that sudden burst of anger he shoved his hands into the wall, expecting his wrists to break, except the wall gave in and he tumbled into the dark. Confused, hearing a yell of concern from behind him Elliot stood up. Where was he? A faint whimper in the dark made his heart flutter. He knew that sound. He'd heard it in the hospital when his hand was clasped with Reese's as he slowly died. As his eyes adjusted he could see a person. At first it spiked fear, was this a stranger? The person weakly lifted their head. It was hard to see, but Elliot knew who it was. He rushed forward, hands extended as he bent down to the man's height. He cupped Reese's face in his hands, “Oh you idiot.” Elliot cried, “Please be alright.” It was scary how cold the man felt to the touch. “C'mon Curly.” He said, pulling Reese's head to his chest, his hands intertwined with his matted hair. Elliot's tears dropped down on Reese's hair as he openly sobbed. “I thought you hated me.” He said softly. “You are such an ass.” Elliot muttered as he closed his eyes tightly, his arms firmly wrapped around Reese. He wasn't about to let go. Elliot couldn't remember what happened after that. He had a dream of being dragged off Reese by the collar of his blue dress shirt, he'd fought and screamed for them to not take Reese away, but no one had listened, at least he thought it was a dream. |
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Reese | RW 13 | Charlotte & Elliot The following days passed both quickly and slowly. Reese slipped in and out of consciousness and experienced the world in brief flickers, each gone as quickly as it had come. One moment he was alone in the dark, damp cell, fully and devastatingly alone. The next he imagined he was being cradled, held gently in a way that he could not comprehend in a moment where he could barely comprehend his own existence. The next time he opened his eyes, it was bright. Too bright. It sounded like rain was pouring down from somewhere nearby, yet there was an immense amount of light streaming in compared with the black hole that he’d been trapped in for the last months. He could hear the blaring of what felt like a thousand machines, and he was being whisked somewhere on what he imagined was a white cloud. There were a group of strangers around him, speaking in a language he couldn’t understand. This was not how he imagined what came after death, and the pain was still unbearable. His body was a massive weight he could no longer carry, his muscles were weak, and he didn’t have the strength to keep his eyes open. He decided he was in hell before he blacked out just seconds after waking. The next time he opened his eyes, it was dark. Raining once again, if the cracks of thunder and brief flashes of lightning were any indication. He didn’t know how many days it had been, or that his body had rejected every transfusion that had been put into it. He didn’t know that Charlotte had worked tirelessly behind the scenes to advocate for him, calling their childhood doctor and requesting records that she couldn’t find. He didn’t realize that Charlotte and Elliot had both recognized that his disappearance bled way deeper into his past than he realized, and just how lucky he was to be alive. He was just a half-corpse in a hospital bed, waiting for a death that wouldn’t come. His lungs burned and he wheezed with each breath, his body filled with weakness and frailty at every turn. He could’ve stayed awake for longer that time, but he was alone, and fearful, and none of these feelings could be placed in a brain that was so jumbled with the effects of medications and physical trauma. What worried him more was how little he could remember about his life, about who he was, about the things he enjoyed. Every experience and every memory felt like a dream that was slipping away from him the longer he was awake. Hours passed, and Reese found himself awake again. Unfortunately. This time, the sky outside was dark and ominous, but it was much brighter. The last time, he must’ve awoken in the night. The clock read 16:47, but it hurt his eyes to focus, so he let them shut once more. He let out a sharp breath at the feeling of his lungs burning once more, but he could breathe better this time. His body still felt like it was under the weight of a thousand bricks, but there was a strength behind it that he had lacked in the past. It wasn’t a significant improvement, but it was something. Charlotte. He thought the name over and over in his head. He wanted to ask someone to get her, but he couldn’t find his voice. Couldn’t find the strength to speak and be ignored, or worse. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten there, but the feeling of frailty just barely eclipsed the anxious feeling in his core. He shut his eyes again, and then opened them. He forced himself to study the room, his pale gaze illuminated by the gray light. His arm twitched involuntarily, and was met with resistance. He flinched, surprised, and slowly twisted his head to the left, whimpering softly with each movement. A pale arm was next to him, a sweater folded neatly on the arm of a chair. The skin was pale, a man’s frame, more muscular and strong than the last time he had seen him. He didn’t recognize him, and he hadn’t gathered the strength to lift his head to catch his face. Before he could reach his way up to look, the door slammed on the other side of the room, causing him to make a weak little noise somewhere between awareness and fear. He couldn’t find it within himself to turn all the way back over, although the concern of danger was imminent. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he had a visitor,” the woman said, in broken English. It was unrecognizable, and nothing was said in response. A minute later, he heard the wheeling of a cart, then another pair of footsteps. “Two visitors,” she said softly. “Reese,” he would’ve recognized that voice anywhere. He found a strength he didn’t know he had to move his head ever so slightly, breathing a sigh of relief at the woman before him. Same hair color, same eyes, but a silent confidence about her that he wished he could’ve found. “Char…lotte,” he swallowed, coughing and wheezing, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar to himself. He hadn’t used it in months. There was an urgency within him that his body couldn’t connect with. “Char…lotte.” “Hey, hey, hi, easy,” she said rapidly, hand coming up to cradle his face. It was a welcome relief from having to hold it up himself. “I’m right here, we’re right here. Elliot’s here too, okay? Don’t talk if it’s too painful.” Elliot. Elliot. The name jumbled around his brain like marbles on a wood floor, something tangible that he couldn’t place for a minute. Or two minutes. Maybe even three. Tears were welling up in Reese’s eyes, a mix of fear or medications or yearning for the softness his sister was giving him that he didn’t deserve. They spilled down his cheeks, and then Charlotte was crying too, wiping the water off his cheeks and her own in rapid intervals. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, but he didn’t even remember why he was sorry. He just felt sorry. It was coming back to him in glimpses, slowly and painfully. “...the wedding…I…” “Hey, we have plenty of time to work it out, alright? I’m not leaving, I’m going to go get the nurse to see if they need to do anything for you.” “Everything…hurts,” he choked out, “...can’t…move.” He instantly regretted saying anything with the way his words turned her glance pitiful and her eyes even glassier, but the guilt was short-lived as she disappeared from his vision with a kiss on the forehead. In her absence and with a newfound strength, Reese turned his head back to the left, whimpering and struggling like a wounded animal the whole way. He found the ability to tilt his chin now, weakly observing the figure beside his bed. Familiar hair, familiar face, but stronger now, looked more like a man. It was clear that he had been spending more time in the gym, regardless of whether it was for conditioning or blowing off steam. He filled out his white t-shirt in a way that was only noticeable to a trained eye, someone that had spent time observing his figure through hotel mirrors and stolen glances on public transport. He looked exhausted, and if the fact that his sweater was folded neatly was any indication, he had been here a long time. It wasn’t like him to be organized. Elliot. The name came back to him, though it had floated through his memory and back out nearly as soon as Charlotte had said it. “Good to see you are doing better, Curly,” he said with an ease that Reese couldn’t have even faked in that moment. He was smirking. The teammate that Reese had left behind months ago was less confident, more apprehensive, more private. This version of him was different in a way that Reese didn’t have the cognitive bandwidth to process. “William,” Reese mumbled, with slightly more ease than he had his sister’s name. His gaze flickered down to where the Swede’s hand rested on his wrist, warm and stable. On his way back to meeting Elliot’s face, his eyes caught on the tattoo that was partially visible beneath his shirt sleeve. He let them linger, he couldn’t pull his eyes away, no matter how bashful or exposed it made him feel. Lazily, he let his pale green eyes float around Elliot’s frame, then back up to his face, wincing as he tried to keep his eyes at the Swede’s face and failing. He felt like hell. |
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William Elliot Hawthorne | C 17 | M : Reese, Charlotte It had been merely days since Elliot had seen Reese, but suddenly he couldn’t do anything except for idle. On practice ice he found himself standing in one spot, his thoughts running wild as the rest of the team skated by. A gentle tap on his shoulder made him turn his head as he blinked slowly, coming back to the world and out of his own delusions. Rook stood there, eyebrows knitted together. “Everything alright, Red?” The older gentleman’s helmet was in his hands, hinting that practice was over. Elliot’s eyes glanced down at it before noticing the beats of sweat drip down his face. “Yeah,” Elliot hesitated, too tired to hide his face of distress, too beaten down mentally to put on his mask. “I’m…” He paused to draw in a deep breath, but he couldn’t find his voice. He pressed his lips together, nodding as his eyes closed for a moment before his forlorn gaze turned to the ice. He needed to get away from this interaction. His hands shook as his fingers slowly balled, his fists slowly retreating into his jersey sleeves, gripping the edge of the sleeve as he stared just off to the right of Rook over his shoulder, his mind suddenly blank as the silence in his mind weighed heavy on him. “I need to go.” He whispered, being direct for once in his life. That was all he said, he didn’t give Rook a reason why unlike his usual self who had a habit to explain every small choice that he made. He stepped off the ice, his blades leaving a small clump of ice every step as he hurried back towards the locker room. He brushed shoulders with Websy in his hurry to exit the rink. - The distant beeping of machines and that ghastly haunting hospital smell overwhelmed Elliot as he leaned down towards his knees as he sat in the waiting room. He had been sitting here for hours every evening since he found Reese. He was spineless, and was frightened to see the Canadian. Elliot always knew what he needed in life, and he knew that he absolutely needed to see Reese, but what if he still didn’t want to see him? What if Elliot had pissed him off? What if Reese didn’t like him anymore? His fingernails unconsciously dug into the thenar region on his right hand. He smelled of old cigarettes and alcohol, his hair messy and his eyes sunken. He was wearing casual clothes, ripped black jeans and a black hoodie. His vans were scuffed and the watch on his wrist was broken but he couldn’t remember how it broke. He lifted his head from where he was counting the squares on the floor over and over and over again to see a nurse walking by. She stopped, and looked at him for a moment. “It’s you again.” Her German was broken, but he could understand it. His green eyes looked up at her. Blonde hair fell around her shoulders, her blue eyes kind and she had smile lines next to her eyes. She looked like she had a great laugh. “Umm, room 304, correct? You can go in.” She prompted. Elliot silently shook his head as he quickly flashed his hand up, showing his palm in a stop gesture. “I’m good here, thanks.” She walked off, leaving Elliot to listen to the machines and his own thoughts. About ten minutes later, based on the ticks from the clock on the wall, footsteps were coming back down the hall. Elliot sat up straighter, leaning back against the chair. The same nurse walked in, a cup of black coffee in her hands and a TV remote. The TV flicked on and she handed him the cup. “I hope that you’ll go in to see him.” She said softly. He raised an eyebrow at her as he gave her a side eye. “He doesn’t want to see me.” He responded, shortly. “So why are you here?” She questioned. Why was he here? That thought echoed in his mind as he absentmindedly stared at the TV. He knew why he was here, he just didn’t want to admit it. “He’s my only friend.” Elliot whispered, his voice breaking as tears began to roll down his cheeks. But that wasn’t why he was here. He covered his face with both hands. He took a trembling breath. That night at the gala, when he found Reese sitting on those stairs, seeing the man with such a defeated look on his face, the open sobs had resonated with Elliot. He’d taken the Canadian’s hand in his own, “Hey, hey.” Elliot said softly, “You're alright, let’s get you back to the hotel.” Elliot helped his teammate up, one arm around his waist. When Reese was leaning against Elliot, movement at the top of the stairs had caught his eye, and he lifted his head to catch the eye of a man that looked starkly like Reese. This man was clearly powerful, and Elliot knew who he was without a doubt. His feet were planted in place as he caught this man’s eye with his own. Elliot’s shoulders were square as he didn’t back away from the withering glare that reeked of self-made success. He stared up at the man, a disgusted look on his face. He wasn’t sure what Reese’s relationship with his father was, but from the glare Elliot could infer that it wasn’t great. “Let’s get you out of here.” He whispered as he turned his back to the man, helping the disabled Canadian away, the lights from the gala casting their shadows in front of them, lighting up Elliot’s path. “Maybe he needs a friend.” The nurse’s voice startled Elliot, causing him to jump. “Sorry, sorry.” She said quickly. Elliot looked over at her, a deeply saddened look on his face. Voices on the TV drew his attention away from the blonde. It sounded so familiar, but it wasn’t Reese’s. It was simply just a TV program. “I should go home.” He said slowly as he got up, feeling a rush to his head. His hand flew up to cover his eyes as he dropped down to a crouching position, his other hand gripping the seat of the chair. “Maybe not, love.” The nurse said. “I’ll get you a cup of water.” “No need.” Elliot said as he stood up again, this time with better results. The hospital’s cafe was dark as he walked through it. There wasn’t another soul as he headed towards the exit. A flashing open light caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He stopped and turned to see an older woman sitting behind a desk in the gift shop. A bell rang overhead as he stepped into the shop. Her eyes lit up. “Welcome.” She said in English. Elliot nodded. “Hi.” He said simply, his eyes cruising the shelves. He was pretty positive that Reese had disposed of the smiley face cup that he’d gotten him last time. Elliot picked up a pair of fuzzy socks and headed up towards the counter. He stopped at the flowers, one making his pause. The vibrant green of the green roses made him think of Reese’s eyes, the way that they reminded him of a summer meadow. He froze in place, the last time he’d seen the man’s eyes that hadn’t been full of life. “Stop!” He yelled, fighting the pair of strong arms dragging him away from the man’s limp body. “No!” He kicked the air, attempting to break free, “What are you doing?” He shouted, helplessly, “You can’t do this to me.” He sobbed, watching Reese leave his sight. “He’ll die without me!” He picked it up and took it to the counter. The machine chirped as he tapped his card and retraced his steps back towards the elevators. He stood outside the thin wooden doors. He could hear the gentle sound of a heart monitor and the steady sound of Reese sleeping. This was wrong, he shouldn’t be here. He rested his head on the door, closing his eyes, syncing his breathing with Reese’s tranquil breathing. His hand reached for the door knob as he slowly turned it. The door creaked slightly as Elliot stepped into the room. He didn’t close the door behind him as he slowly walked towards the hospital bed where the man slept. He looked like hell. Elliot tilted his head to the left and then to the right as he examined him. “Oh Reese.” He whispered, leaning down to remove a lock of hair from the man’s forehead. “I’m glad you are alive.” Elliot stood there, his hand resting on Reese’s cheek, flowers in his other hand as two small flower petals drifted down, landing on the paper thin blankets. “What did I do?” He asked softly, counting the man’s breaths. In, out, in out. Over and over again. The counting was the one thing that quieted the anxiety that had begun to build up, and it was the only thing that stopped him from chewing the shit out of his cheek. He placed the flowers on the bedside table with the fuzzy socks and pulled up a chair next to Reese, counting the breaths in pairs of four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Hours it went on like that until a nurse came in to take his vitals. “Oh!” She said, drawing back from the doorway, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he had a visitor.” Elliot simply glanced over at her, Reese’s hospital band gently in his grasp as he zoned out in an exhausted state. He’d since then removed his sweater and sat next to him on the chair, his white t-shirt showing off the tattoo on his triceps brachii along the long head muscle. It was the roman numerals XVII. The clock read 06:01. He’d been there all night. The door closing forcefully behind him made him jump. He saw a change in Reese’s eyes. He saw a look of familiarity pass over Reese’s face as a familiar perfume wrapped its sticky arms around Elliot’s neck. He didn’t have to turn around to know that she had arrived. The woman stood next to Elliot, her hand resting on his shoulder. He felt painfully out of place as the two locked their identical blue eyes. “Charlotte.” Reese said weakly. Elliot’s face dropped as he glanced up at the woman who stared down at him. “Elliot’s here too.” But his name didn’t seem to ring a bell. Elliot was suddenly lost when the pair got teary. He felt as if this were something he shouldn’t be witnessing, but he didn’t let go of Reese’s wrist. The wedding, Charlotte had told him about that over one of their many coffees. She’d been the only thing helping keep him grounded and sane. When the whimpering started after Charlotte left Elliot felt as if they’d been here before. “Oh, don’t sound so sad.” Elliot whispered as he stared at the bed-ridden man with an adoring, soft gaze. When Reese turned his head, staring him up and down Elliot suddenly felt lighter, happier. Was Reese finally going to acknowledge his presence? “Good to see you are doing better, Curly.” Elliot chuckled as he stared down at the man, unable to help the smirk arising to his face. The smirk fell off his face when he noticed the man’s gaze. Elliot instinctively moved his arm to hide the marks on it. He’d gotten that tattoo during a night out with the team in Berlin. The night had started with shots and ended up with him in a tattoo client’s chair. 17. That number was his jersey number, and had also happened to be the day his sister was born, but it’s proven lucky for him in the past and so in his jumbled state, he thought that maybe it would make him lucky yet again. It hadn’t worked but the press seemed to like it. “Hey.” He said softly. “If it’s too much, close your eyes. Don’t overdo it.” He gently set Reese’s wrist down and his hand moved to gently cup Reese’s cheek as he stared into the man’s emerald eyes. |
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Reese | RW 13 | Charlotte, Elliot Reese huffed, struggling to get a full breath but feeling stronger than he had. Of course, he still felt like he’d been hit by a freight train, leveled, then hit again going the other direction. But his strength seemed to be accumulating, and it wasn’t a wonder why. Elliot’s touch was healing him despite his body rejecting everything that wasn’t his teammate. “Bet-ter…is a…strong…word,” he said weakly, able to track Elliot’s movement to hide his tattoo. He lifted his lip in the weakest smirk imaginable, though he couldn’t maintain it. He lifted his arm to try to keep Elliot from hiding the tattoo but his arm started shaking immediately and it fell with force, crashing into the bedrail with a loud thud. “Fuck me,” he mumbled, wincing and retracting his hand. He took several loud, wheezy breaths in and out, regaining the stamina to speak before continuing. His eyes never left where Elliot’s arm was covering the mark on his pale skin. It wasn’t like Reese had never seen a tattoo before, but typically he found them distasteful. Most of the time, he found them to be too public, and too much of a cry for attention. Seeing as he kept most of even his simplest thoughts inside, like his opinion about the weather, Reese found tattoos to be a form of oversharing information to strangers who didn’t have a right to know anything about a person. But there was something about seeing Elliot with one that did something to him, something he wouldn’t admit to even in his weakest hour. He saw Elliot as a lawful, too-good-for-this-world type, the kind of individual who would avoid getting into trouble at all costs or make a citizen’s arrest. He wouldn’t have imagined Elliot was capable of making an impulsive decision, other than maybe dying his hair. But even that had stayed the same for as long as Reese had known him, despite the lingering yearning somewhere deep inside of him to see the Swede back in his natural blond hair color. It was probably for the best that Elliot hadn’t done anything about that, and Reese hadn’t mentioned it. Some thoughts were better left inside. “Was thinking…of getting…tattooed…Roman numeral thirt…een…tramp stamp,” he laughed softly, amused at his own joke, smiling for the first time in months no matter how weakly it came out. “You…know…anyone?” He never thought he’d smile again. The laugh turned into coughing, which turned into more wheezing and gasping for breath. It didn’t stop for a while. Elliot’s touch was gentle, loving as he cupped Reese’s face in his hands. Once again, it kept him from having to hold his head up himself, and it relieved the weakness and tension in his muscles. He leaned into the touch with a gentle sigh. There was more physical contact now, and maybe it was a placebo effect, but Reese could have sworn he felt even better. Now Elliot’s eyes were burning a hole into Reese, and he couldn’t help but pull his eyes away. “What happened…to me? Did you…do…this?” Of course, that would explain why Elliot was here. He probably got a nice hit on Reese at practice, and he had some sort of head injury. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a memory of being chained up somewhere in the dark, but it felt more like a bad dream than a recollection of something that had actually occurred. It would make sense that, even if Reese hadn’t had his head up and should’ve skated better, Elliot would’ve felt guilty and gone to the hospital with him anyway. The man followed him around like a golden retriever, it may not have even been Elliot’s hit. Before he could answer, he heard the door creak open again. Charlotte was back with a nurse, or at least he assumed it was a nurse based on her dress and the fact that she was wheeling a cart into the room with her computer and medical instruments on it. “Hey there, I’m Nurse Lotte, okay? I’m going to ask you some questions to see how you’re doing. If it’s too hard to speak, I can get you something to write with, or I can come back later, okay?” Reese nodded weakly. “Okay, do you know where you are?” He shook his head no, turning to Charlotte because she was tall, easy to make eye contact with, and standing beside the nurse. She didn’t help him answer. “Okay, do you know what year it is? What date?” He shook his head. He reached out his hand for Elliot, shaking all the while. “Do you know who is here with you?” “You…my sister…Char…lotte, my,” he paused, pondered with a blank expression like his brain was buffering, then recovered, “William…” He looked up, briefly, shamefully, and uncomfortably. He returned his gaze back to the nurse. “What’s your name? Where are you from?” “Reese…Halston…Vale. From bum-ass…south…east…Canada,” Charlotte laughed a brief, surprised chirp, Reese’s sarcasm taking her by surprise. That was an indicator to her that he was getting his strength back. “Good. Do you remember what happened to you?” “No,” he replied fearfully, the more he tried to think, the more he was spiraling and struggling to stay composed. “No, no,” he looked to Charlotte, “what…happ..ened?” “Okay,” Lotte replied, moving on at Reese’s visible distress, and not giving Charlotte time to make it worse. She moved into a series of physical exams, causing Reese to yelp in pain or croak at the physical exertion from time to time. “You’ve got some significant muscle weakness due to malnutrition and keeping your body in a fixed position for a long period of time. Your lungs show significant irritation and signs of pneumonia, probably from being in a cold, damp place for too long.” Reese’s mind flashed a brief memory, and he was so lost in his own mind trying to form the right words that he failed to hear what came next. “And you’ve got a bad contusion on your wrist, along with some cuts and bruises that haven’t seemed to be healing.” “Was freezing…burn-ing…up…bad fever. Sweat-ing…through…clothes…” He replied, lost in his own mind at the recollection. He looked to Charlotte again. “What…happ…ened…to…me?” “If you’re already remembering things, that’s a good sign. Sometimes, when something traumatic happens, our brain tries to block out the memory to protect us. Sometimes it comes back in flashes if it’s triggered by things. Words, sensations, movements, little things may help you to remember over time. It’s important not to overdo it right now, okay? The best thing you can do is get some rest and let your body recover. I’ll be back in to check on you soon. If you need anything in the meantime, don’t hesitate to call.” “Thanks,” he mumbled, but it was overshadowed by Charlotte’s own gratitude. When the nurse left, Charlotte revealed a cup of pudding and a cup of gelatin from each hand. “I got you two things I know you hate, but it’s not exactly like you’re able to eat the quality of food you’re used to cooking anyway. Which of these two things sounds less horrible to you right now? Which would you like?” “Neither,” he grumbled, eyeing the two foods like they were going to kill him. “Pudding it is,” Charlotte replied, opening the lid and putting some onto the spoon. “Open your mouth, Reese,” she said softly but forcefully, so much so that he looked at her with a glaring side eye but acquiesced with little pushback. “Is…child-ish,” he pouted, frowning and giving his sister a death stare. |
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William Elliot Hawthorne | C 17 | M : Reese, Charlotte Elliot smirked gently when Reese began to crack jokes. He rolled his eyes before staring at Reese, his eyes narrowed slightly, “Now now,” He said, a chuckle escaping him, “You’re making it sound like you want to copy me.” Reese’s talking was slow, and hoarse and it made Elliot think that perhaps this man shouldn’t be speaking as he was. But his laugh was full of life and that gave Elliot hope. That was until the laugh turned into a bitter cough. “Ah, you took it too far, love.” He said, reaching for a plastic cup of water on the bedside table next to the Canadian. “Perhaps you ought to drink something.” He had acknowledged the fact that the man was indeed hooked up on an IV, but the IV wouldn’t help the soreness in his throat. It was odd, normally Reese would have moved away from such physical contact, but both of the men had changed over the course of four months. Elliot had to face the reality that he was frowned upon in the press. His ratings were low and there had been threats to remove him from the team if he didn’t practice well. He’d been holding onto a burning anger towards Reese for leaving without a word, with no goodbye or warning. He had been so willing to follow this man off a cliff, and he thought that Reese would be different than everyone else in his life, but it still hurt when he left. He’d walled up and froze and now that he was finally getting back out of his box again here Reese was, right in front of him, and yet he felt as if he hadn’t been away from Reese’s side for four months. There was something about seeing Reese tied up and defenceless that made his anger melt. This was different from the other times he’d been left behind. Everyone else had been ablebodied, they had consciously chosen to leave him, but what if Reese didn’t choose that? But what about the cold shoulder? And that text? I miss you. He’d be a liar if he said that he hadn’t screenshotted it and used it as his background. It’d kept him afloat, a small reminder that perhaps he wasn’t alone in the vicious world. “I don’t know what happened to you.” Elliot said softly, “All that I know is that you fell off the face of the earth.” He wanted to be pissed off at the man, to tell him off for giving him the cold shoulder, and to question why he was still here next to the man's bed even after all that, but seeing his helplessness made him stop. How could he be mad at Reese? He had so many sleepless nights thinking, worrying about Reese. He had so many imaginative conversations with the man instead of sleeping, and somehow he hadn’t imagined this. “I didn’t do this to you,” He chuckled, “I couldn’t bring myself to hurt you. You are too fragile.” He shrugged, “All that I know is that-” He stopped, there was a look of distress on the man's face. “What happened isn’t important, what is important is the fact that you are alive.” The door opened behind him, causing him to flinch and pull his hand back from Reese’s cheek. He turned around, locking eyes with Charlotte and the nurse, Lotte as she introduced herself. Elliot’s eyes flicked from the women standing behind him to the bedridden man in front of him. It was distressing to him just how weak Reese was as he nodded. Elliot saw the way that his hands shook. He wasn’t positive that he would be able to write either if his voice gave out. Reese should have been sleeping instead of talking with Elliot, but here they were. He wasn’t sure if Reese would even go to sleep while he was here. Elliot observed the way that Reese looked to his sister for help with answers. It was clear that he looked to her for comfort, and he felt a stab of jealousy. That was until the next question when Reese reached out for his hand. Elliot took it, remarking in his mind that Reese’s expression was that of a terrified rabbit cornered by a fox. Reese’s hand trembled extensively as Elliot clasped it in his, his narrowed eyes not leaving Reese’s face. William. Always William in his mind. What drew Reese to that horrible name? He glanced away when Reese spoke out his legal name, a look of disgust on his face, his nose wrinkled as if he smelt something truly awful. Elliot’s eyebrows were knitted together tightly for the following parts of Lotte’s examination. He kept looking at the nurse, shaking his head, wanting to tell her to stop. Please stop. He begged in his mind, He can’t handle this. He thought desperately. His own hands began to tremble seeing Reese in such a panicked state. Elliot left the thanks to the siblings as he sat in his wooden chair silently, thinking about nothing and everything all at once. He didn’t turn around to see what foods Charlotte was offering him, but based on his face, Reese wasn’t a fan of them. “Oh, c’mom Reese.” Elliot encouraged, “You need to eat something.” His gaze was still on the bed, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at how exhausted he felt. His entire body was stiff, and he had an ache deep in his lower back. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel tired for some time, and now that was catching up to him. He zoned out, gently rocking back and forth as he fought to keep his eyes open. His hand holding Reese’s loosened as his body relaxed all of his muscles. He jumped when Charlotte reached around him to try and feed Reese some of the chocolate pudding. His reaction was that of someone who had just been woken up by someone tapping on their shoulder. He studied the spoon for a minute. “Oh, Reese, it’s just pudding, it could be worse. It could be blodpudding.” His heavy accent grew light as he spoke of the dish in his native language. He turned around to look at Charlotte, “Is the pudding the childish part, or is it the fact that he is refusing to eat it?” He teased, a small smirk on his face. “If he won’t eat it, can I?” He questioned, glancing back over at Reese. A playful look lit up his eyes as he stretched in his chair. “Fine, fine, if you won’t eat, I’ll go and get my own breakfast.” He huffed, standing up, gently laying Reese’s arm next to the man on the bed. He hoped that Reese wouldn’t want him to leave, and would start to eat, such as he did with his sister when they were younger when he was left to care for her himself for weekends. That trick always worked when he would step out of the house after an agreement that she could go somewhere with him, but wouldn’t eat her breakfast. He would stand on the porch until she opened the door to show him the empty plate. Would this work on Reese? Most likely not, but either way it would be good for him to leave the pair of Halston-Vale’s alone in each other's company for a bit. He smiled down at Reese. “I’ll be back, and I’m hoping that when I return you’ll have eaten.” He turned and smiled at Charlotte. “Good luck.” He whispered as he took his leave. |
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Reese | RW 13 | Charlotte, Elliot, Rook To the surprise of no one, Reese didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do. The pudding was still in the cup when Elliot returned, upon Reese’s insistent claims that Elliot should have it if he wanted it so badly. Charlotte gave up, opting to avoid the power struggle and allow the nurses to deal with her petulant younger brother. It went on like this for several days. Elliot and Charlotte coming to and from the hospital, setbacks, progress, more setbacks, more progress. Reese slept a lot during the day and found himself up most nights, afraid and unable to wrestle with the truth that something had happened to him and he didn’t know what. Investigators came to interrogate him while Charlotte and Elliot were out, and that only resulted in more distress and less certainty that Reese would ever retain his memories. A week passed. Teammates started to come by to wish him well, and Charlotte returned to New Jersey. They still hadn’t spoken in much detail about their relationship, or the wedding, or anything of much importance. Charlotte told Reese to call her and keep in touch. They both knew he wouldn’t. It was more likely that Elliot would keep up his deal of this arrangement, if it had been asked of him as well, and that wasn’t saying much. Reese was suspicious of the closeness shared between his sister and his teammate. He was a private person, and he was almost absolutely certain more had been shared about him between the two of them than he would have liked to know about. He probably should have been bothered by the fact that his parents knew of his disappearance and subsequent return and did nothing, but there was a relief in being ignored, forgotten, and invisible. At least it meant he didn’t have to perform. Charlotte had informed him that their mother was too busy at some sort of fundraiser event in Bali to come and see her sickly son, but that she wished him well. She’d tried calling their father too, but he still wouldn’t speak to her or acknowledge her existence, and her number was blocked in his phone. When she used Elliot’s phone, he hung up as soon as he heard his daughter’s voice. She called their grandmother too, but Reese requested that Charlotte tell their mother’s parents not to come to avoid making a big scene. They had never had a relationship with their father’s parents, from birth they had been told that their paternal grandparents hated children and refused to meet them, so there wasn’t anyone to inform on that side of the family. This was normal life for the Halston-Vale children, save for the fact that Elliot had a front row seat to the information being shared between the siblings. Reese feared what he would do with this information, and worse yet, what thoughts were running through the Swede’s head. He knew it would come up at some point, but Elliot had been good thus far about keeping Reese from the embarrassment of vulnerability. It was surprising, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. Eventually, after regaining some strength back, Reese was discharged from the hospital. Due to continued weakness from malnutrition and some muscular issues that would take time to improve, he was walking with a crutch. He didn’t enjoy this much at all, but it was quite temporary, and more of a precaution than a necessity. A cane would’ve sufficed, but given the issues with his wrist, which was now covered with a brace, he’d gone for the more practical option. The most inconvenient part was that it was his dominant hand, limiting what he could and couldn’t do. Still, he refused to ask for help. So much so that he took a taxi from the hospital to the facility, surprising everyone on his return. He returned to a plain, sterile room, the exact one he’d left behind but more organized. Someone had gone through his things, which wasn’t a huge shock considering his disappearance. It was irking, however, as Reese had a system. He had a way of doing things that few understood at risk of being referred to as a psychopath by friends and family. He didn’t spend much time on fixing the appearance of the room yet, more focused on getting himself in order. He felt disgusting after not having a shower in a long time, and his hair and facial hair were far overgrown for a man who was never anything other than immaculately kept. He struggled to shower but managed, using his less dominant hand to shampoo his hair and wash all of the grime off of him. He felt better after, but couldn’t help himself from picking up a razor to shave his face. He didn’t even recognize himself, and he had resisted the urge to do anything about it while in the hospital. What was more truthful, Charlotte had denied his repeated requests to get him what he wished for while he was in such a fragile state and had instead requested that he practice the virtue of patience. And, well, she was right. Having a sharp object in his non-dominant hand was in no way a good idea, and ended exactly how one would expect. Reese had sliced his neck a bit deeper than he would’ve liked, and though he avoided major arteries or any injury of substance, the fact that he was wearing a white shirt and his hair was dripping water down his neck made it look a thousand times worse than it was. He held a washcloth to it for a while, but he knew the bleeding wouldn’t stop on its own, and he drove himself crazy looking for his medication from before he knew Elliot, all the while dripping blood and water everywhere. He finally gave up as he started to feel more lightheaded, taking a familiar route to Elliot’s room in dim lighting. It was late December and although it was early evening, the darkness enveloped the outside world and the snow on the ground. “Reese, you good?” Rook’s familiar voice echoed down the hallway. He jogged to catch up to him. Reese sighed. The rest of the team was traveling for a game except Illka and Rook, who were both injured and hadn’t made the trip, and Elliot, who had been healthy scratched for performance related issues for a while. It was very inconvenient that Rook happened to be leaving his hallway at that exact time. “Fine,” Reese replied, though he felt a bit lightheaded from the blood he knew was not enough to cause harm, but was enough to make him anxious. “Knicked myself shaving. No big deal.” “You going to see your buddy?” “Yeah, see if he has a bandaid,” Reese lied. A bandaid wouldn’t heal anything. “Oh, alright. If you need anything, give me a call, alright? It’s good to see you back. We’re all rooting for you.” “Thanks,” he replied weakly, impatiently, waiting for Rook to leave the floor so he could knock on Elliot’s door. Finally he did. Weakly, shakily, and with a feeling of discomfort that he always felt regarding asking for help. When Elliot finally opened, Reese looked at him with hazy green eyes. “I fucked up,” he mumbled, his face showing an apology his words didn’t. “I tried not to intrude, but it won’t stop bleeding. Got worried. I’m sorry.” |
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William Elliot Hawthorne | C 17 | M : Websy, Reese He had been disappointed to say the least when he came back and Reese still hadn’t eaten anything. He stared at the man before sighing deeply. “You ought to eat something.” He begged. Nothing worked, the man was as stubborn as an ox. He’d gone back every night since then, accompanied by Charlotte, just as he had done every night since Reese had been extricated . This time however, it was lighter, Charlotte took most of the hits and the two bickered such as siblings did. Elliot would simply sit in the corner with a book, glancing up every once in a while to check in on the pair. From time to time he’d reach out and simply gently place his pointer finger on Reese’s arm, trying to figure out how much touch the man needed to heal. Right before Charlotte left to go back to New Jersey she found him sitting in the hospital Cafe with a cup of coffee and the morning’s paper. He glanced up, and at first had thought it was Reese, but his smile didn’t falter when he realized it wasn’t, why would it be? “Can you…” She hesitated, “Can you tell me how he is?” Elliot nodded silently before standing up to wrap his arms around her shoulders in a hug. “Safe travels.” He said softly in her ear, “He’ll be safe with me.” Elliot had then driven her to the airport, and waited there until her flight took off. Had the nurses informed Elliot of Reese’s discharge? Yes, they had because he had been put down at his way of transportation. Had he been waiting for a call to come and pick up his teammate? Yes he was, but it never came. Much to his disappointment he had stepped out of the library to see a taxi pull up. He knew who it was, so there he stood, book tucked under his arm as he silently watched Reese get out, his green eyes narrowed as he examined the way that Reese stiffly moved about, it was clear that he was still weak, and that his wrist brace was giving him a few concerns. He frowned as he took his phone from his pocket, snapping a photo of Reese as he struggled to get a bag out from the trunk. He shot it at Charlotte. This idiot. Was all he said, shaking his head before walking towards the locker room for practice. He had been the first one in the locker room. As he entered he flipped the lights. It smelled musky and like years of sweat. He opened his bag and stared at his gear. His mind wandered effortlessly to Reese. Why hadn’t he asked him to come pick him up? Instead he had to pay a taxi to come all the way up the mountain. Was he unapproachable? He’d thought he’d made it quite clear to Reese that he’d be happy to pick the man up when the time came, after all, he’d spent countless hours sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair with the smell of chemicals lingering on him even after a shower or two. He rubbed his eyes as the locker room doors opened. The team slowly began to file into the small, dark room, lifting the air and filling it with laughter. The practice had gone well, or so Elliot had thought. Websy apparently had different thoughts. Elliot knew what was coming from the withering glares from across the rink as he locked eyes with the short man before scoring a goal in the scrimmage. He’d gotten off the ice with five goals total in the scrimmage, and six assists. He had been feeling quite good about his performance. He felt great; he had energy, felt fit and was happy to be on the ice, but was that enough? “Hawthorne, come with me.” Elliot looked up from where he was wiping down his blades. They desperately needed to be sharpened for the weekend. He glanced at the other players in the locker room, how they laughed and joked with another while he sat silently in the corner. There hadn't been much effort on their end to include him, and he hadn't ever wanted to intrude. He silently nodded as he got up and followed his coach into the bleak, white office. Websy closed the door and drew the curtain. “Take a seat.” The Swede did as he was told. The pair settled into their seats in a deep silence for a bit. Elliot watched the clock over the man's shoulder. He knew what this was about, but he'd be damned if he spoke first. Websy finally sighed. “William, I think it's time for our bi-monthly review.” Elliot's eyes met the man's who leaned on the desk with his arms. White heat stains from his coffee mugs over the years stained the old wood. “Yes sir, I'd agree.” Elliot chewed the inside of his cheek, promising himself that he wouldn't cry this time. “Your performance has tanked, yet again. You are just in a steady decline. You've been attending your weekly psychiatrist visits, following all of your workout plans, diet plans, practicing well, but yet, you can't play.” Elliot simply stared at the man. What was he to say? He'd said the same thing time after time, “I'll do better.” But every time he said that, there was a shadow in the doorway as he fed Websy what he wanted to hear. Both knew that those three words were nothing more than Elliot handing him something wilted on a pretty platter. “Speak.” Websy's loud voice startled Elliot, causing a whole body reaction as he curled away from the man. His eyebrows knitted together with a look of fear on his face as he stared at the man. “I don't know what to say…” He hesitated. “I want to do well, I want to stay on your team, but I just-” Elliot rubbed his face with both hands, frustrated by the whole conversation. “I'm stuck Webs, I'm just fucking stuck.” He admitted truthfully. His coach nodded slowly, “Stay home this weekend, and we’ll see about next time. How about you speak about being stuck at your next appointment, hmm?” Websy closed the scheduling book on his desk, Elliot had watched him scratch his name from the list of players. That hurt like a knife. He silently walked up the stairs that would lead him right to his door. The light from the sunset filtered in through the double panes, casting the white staircase in an illuminated orange color as if it had been painted just for this brief time. His shoulders were slumped as he paused to look out the window. He had no place here, and yet he’d fought tooth and claw to stand where he was today, and yet he was still left behind, three games in a row. This was it, he’d passed his peak. He continued up the stairs and unlocked the door to step into his organized chaos. He’d dropped his bag at the door and numbly walked into the light room. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He needed to do something, but what? He glanced towards the dining room table as he stood in the middle of the room. His thoughts circled, and he wasn’t sure what to do to get it to stop. One anxiety trigger one after another, again and again until he was sitting on the floor, absentmindedly picking at the skin around his fingernails. He wondered what Reese was doing, was he asleep? Was he cleaning? Elliot had attempted to clean his room for him after the police had thrown things around, screwing up Reese’s system. The knock had woken him up, he’d fallen asleep on his couch, slumped over, arms crossed over his chest while he was watching the birds outside the window. Elliot sat up straight. What was wrong? Who needed him? He felt adrenaline shoot through his system as he stumbled to his feet, dazed. What time was it? Slowly he went for the door. Who would it be? Reese clearly wanted nothing to do with him, perhaps Rook? The door clicked as he unlocked it. The sight on the other end of the door was a mess. Reese stood there, looking like he’d walked through hell and back, blood pouring down from his neck. Elliot followed the trail of blood down his neck to his chest and then to the floor. He sighed and shook his head. What had he done, and why did it look like a murder scene? Elliot held the door open for him, gesturing for the Canadian to come in. “Intrude? Nonsense.” Elliot closed the door before pointing him towards the bathroom. “What did you do?” He laughed as he followed him. His laugh was light, airy and a hundred percent genuine. Reese’s words, though having a hint of a playful manner still held venom to them, it was clear that he wasn’t happy with Elliot asking him what he did. “Do you always stop to ask questions when teammates show up at your door covered in blood and freshly shaved at odd hours? What does it look like?" Elliot chose to remain playful, hoping to get the man’s walls to fall. “I mean, I always ask what happened when someone covered in blood shows up at my door, just in case I am assisting a murderer. You never know who’s blood they may be drenched in.” Elliot watched the way that the man leaned against the doorframe into the bathroom. “"I assure you it is my own." Suddenly Elliot was done teasing him. His face grew serious as he watched the man use nearly all of his strength to hold himself up. “Alright, alright, I believe you.” His smile dropped from his face as helped the man into the bathroom. He sat him down on the toilet, his black t-shirt getting sticky from blood. The silence ate at him. “Why didn’t you call me?” He whispered. Reese stared Elliot in the eye, it seemed to be the first time in a while that it had been Reese catching Elliot’s eye. “Don’t you think I’m tired of asking for help?” Reese was clearly struggling. Elliot’s gaze dropped to the tile floor, watching the scarlet drops hit the floor. “But you don’t ask for help.” He responded, bitterly. His gaze came up to Reese’s, anger hiding behind a gentle look, “You fucking never ask for help, you simply show up when you need something. Am I nothing more than a drug for you to abuse?" Elliot balled up a tissue in his hand, pushing Reese down onto the toilet by his shoulders. He wanted to take those words back, but they were out there now. He ran the tissue under cold water for a brief second before gently pushing onto Reese’s neck, wiping away the blood to see how superficial the cut was. "I keep waiting for you to finally figure out that I'm not worth the effort, but you never do." Reese’s cologne infused the air, making Elliot feel as though he were high. He crouched down to examine the cut, running his thumb over it, mumbling a sorry as Reese hissed from the pain. “Stop it.” He said, sternly,but Reese continued. “If you want me gone, just say it.” Elliot’s jaw clenched as he gazed up at Reese, a forlorn look on his face. “Don’t turn me into some addict clawing at your door.” Elliot shook his head as he pressed the damp towel back to his neck. “When will you figure out that you are worth everything? When will you fucking realize that-” He cut himself off. He looked away, towards the ground. I love you. But those words remained in his head. “That you don’t have to walk this world alone? I want to be with you, I want to help you.” He pleaded. “So just let me.” A look of desperation crossed his face as he looked back at Reese. These were the words he had never had strength to say. It came out of nowhere. One second Elliot was gazing up at Reese’s knick on his neck, the blood finally slowing and the next his back was hitting the bathroom wall. He sucked in the wind, caught by surprise as his entire body tensed. He closed his eyes, looking away from Reese, tucking his face in towards his left shoulder. “Ahh.” He cried out as his back hit the plaster. His head cracked back, hitting the wall behind him. He could feel trembling but he wasn’t sure if it was Reese or himself. He stared at Reese with a frozen, terrified look. When Reese released his shirt Elliot gulped in air. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. What was that? His face twitched ever so slightly as he processed what had happened. Seemingly he shut down, staring idly at the tile. His trembling hand reached up to touch Reese’s face, but with a flinch it went back down to his side. “Yeah.” He said softly, “Let’s go outside.” He muttered, picking up the bloody towel and tossing it into the trash can behind Reese. “It’s alright.” His voice was soft, as he tried to deescalate the situation. Elliot followed Reese outside, the stars shining brightly in the night sky, the crescent moon didn’t provide much light as Elliot kept an eye on Reese, alert and watching the man closely. His gaze would flicker from the Canadian to the sky above, feeling the tension he’d caused in his bathroom releasing from his shoulders one breath at a time. |
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Winter Month: 1 
Night 
