Chapter Text
For as long as Fitz could remember, he’s had a sixth sense of sorts. It was something he’d never quite put a finger on but was constantly aware of, the lurking feeling in the pit of his stomach, bound to tip him off when things were due to head south. He remembered talking to Biana about it, and her calling him paranoid. She’d said something along the lines of that with that attitude things were bound to go wrong. He didn’t know how to explain to her it was more than paranoia, so had quickly ended the conversation in favor of asking her about school.
Due to the feeling though, it didn’t surprise him when he got invited into a meeting with the coaches and the heads of the organization at the end of August, well after his team’s disappointing playoff run. It was equally unsurprising as they spilled the news of his trade to Bosville, conversation cold and clinical. Fitz couldn’t even remember half of the placating things they’d said to him, little white lies about him contributing wonderfully to the program but not quite being what they needed at the moment.
Fitz had enough experience speaking to coaches that he knew that only translated to the fact that despite being first in the draft three seasons ago, he’d yet to do anything that made him deserve his paycheck since his first season. He only nodded numbly, signing the papers they asked him to sign, and started looking for plane tickets to Bosville.
Bosville was never a place that took up much thought in his brain. He had traveled there occasionally to play the Cavaliers, but they weren’t in the same division so it had only been once or twice a season. Of course then his sister went to college there, but he never visited quite as much as he promised to.
Now he sits in a taxi, his sadly deflated duffle bag tossed into the seat beside him. It had been arranged so that the rest of his things from his old apartment would be sent over in the next week or so, but Fitz was eager to get out of New Orleans before the buildup to the season started. Even if it meant packing an overnight bag and resigning himself to staying in an empty apartment for a few nights.
He’d asked to stay with Biana, but apparently she’d moved in with a decent portion of the hockey team rather than hunting for apartments since she was technically the team manager. She’d sounded appropriately apologetic, but Fitz didn’t have to try hard to imagine her drawn out sighs and eyerolls on the other end of the phone.
The taxi driver had remained miraculously silent throughout the drive, even despite the length of the drive from Charlotte. Bosville was a big enough city, but there wasn't an airport Fitz could fly in from New Orleans. So he’d rented a cab and eaten the asshole tax to get there as quickly as possible.
It’s the time of year where the trees are in the final bright green of the season, a final hurrah before the orange and reds start to consume the forest. Of all his mixed feelings about North Carolina, he had to admit the mountains were beautiful. He could only imagine how they’d look in full autumn fashion, leaves ablaze before they fell to the forest floor.
His phone has been mostly silent throughout the drive, his last message sent to his sister unread and unanswered. It’s a little sad, he thinks, that the only person he’s managed to have regular conversations with in the past few months was his sister. His half sister. He sometimes forgets that he and Biana weren’t full siblings, though maybe that was the reason they got along as well as they did. It’s not like he had the best relationship with his full brother. Maybe only sharing one parent made for a better relationship. He wouldn’t be surprised.
He’s resumed his forlornly staring out the back window of the cab, breath fogging the glass, when his phone buzzes on the leather seat beside him. He grabs for it, watching helplessly as it slips off the seat. Cursing under his breath, he reaches down, careful to not touch any of the peculiar globs of junk clustered on the mat beneath his feet.
The phone vibrates again, the ringtone starting to echo through the car. The driver seemed supremely unbothered, though Fitz remembers earlier, when he could see earbuds in the man’s ears, blocking out whatever ruckus Fitz could potentially make. Fitz fumbles for his phone on the floor, finally picking it up and looking at the caller screen. The number isn’t one he recognizes, though he admits he’s notoriously bad at putting contacts in his phone. He lets out a sigh before answering, shutting his eyes.
“Fitz Vacker.” he says by way of greeting, his PR training course almost as instinctual as putting the puck in the goal.
“Mr. Vacker!” The voice on the other end of the phone sounds relieved that Fitz had picked up the phone. “Wonderful, wonderful, give me a moment to get Mr. Astin on the line…” he trails off and Fitz can hear rustling in the background. “Ah! There it is…'' there's beeping which is eventually replaced by upbeat hold music. Fitz tucks his phone between his ear and his shoulder, using his now free hands to smooth out his hair and unwrinkle his sweatpants. He had been expecting a call like this since last week, since his agent had transferred his details over to the Cavaliers, his new team.
He isn’t quite sure how he felt about the fact he was moving. That’s a lie actually. He’s frustrated with the trade, irritated with the hassle, and exhausted, but the soup of emotions feels quite dull for the situation. Luckily, the other end of the phone line picked up much before he has much of a chance to examine that or feel sorry for himself. He’ll have plenty of time to feel sorry for himself, and he certainly had no interest in examining that.
“Mr. Vacker?” Fitz recognizes the voice on the other end of the line from press conferences and interviews he’d only been half paying attention to.
“Mr. Forkle.” Fitz responds politely, clearing his throat. “It’s good to finally get a chance to discuss with you.” What the two of them will be discussing exactly, Fitz isn’t sure. He’s never done the whole moving teams thing, not at this level. But it seems like the appropriate thing to say to allow Forkle to take control of the conversation.
“Of course, young man, of course.” Fitz ruffles a bit at being called a young man, though he doesn’t voice it, only making a face. He’s twenty two at this point, nowhere near as young as he was when he got drafted in New Orleans. Forkle either doesn’t hear Fitz’s chilly silence or chooses not to acknowledge it, continuing onward into his speech.
As he talks, Fitz forces himself not to tune out the general manager’s mix of placations and legalese, though nothing the man says is anything Fitz doesn’t already know. Finally Forkle trails off. “Oralie should be getting in touch with you soon, I look forward to seeing your contributions to the program.”
Fitz starts to prepare the canned response drilled into him by his PR training when the line went dead, leaving him holding a soundless phone up to his ear.
Well. That went as well as could be expected.
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Fitz’s apartment is nice. He’d scrolled through the photios of it back in New Orleans at his assistant’s request, but hadn’t absorbed any of them. It came mostly pre-furnished and Fitz is quick to throw his duffle bag onto his freshly made bed. He’ll unpack the clothes later, but now all he wants to do is lay on his brand new couch that still smells of plastic and watch some cooking show he could half pay attention to.
Of course then, his phone picks the least opportune time to ring, right as he’s flung it onto the opposing armchair. He stares at it for a moment, debating getting off the couch right as it stops ringing. He lets out a relieved sigh, cut short by the fact his phone starts ringing again, more insistently if it was possible.
He stands and lets out another sigh before picking up the phone and pressing it to his ear. “Yes?”
He flinches away from the phone as it crackles and his sister’s bright voice comes through loudly on the line. “Fitz! You lazy chump, you can’t just ignore my calls!”
Fitz lets out a breathy laugh. “Biana?”
“Yeah, duh, unless you’re ignoring some other poor girl’s calls in which I have words for you.”
“I’m not Bee. Trust me, I don’t get enough calls to ignore them.” he says dryly, leaning back into his couch. “What’s up?”
“Except for mine apparently.” Biana grumbles, and her line rustles as she adjusts something. “You in town yet?”
“Yeah I just settled into my apartment.” Fitz says, glancing around the boringly modern living room. “Why?”
“Oh I just saw your texts, I missed them because I was busy trying to organize team brunch. It was a miracle, I was able to get everyone to show up, even Rayni.”
Fitz makes a positive noise as if he knows who Rayni is. “That’s great Bee.”
“Yeah, but I was wondering, would you want to catch lunch with me? Practice is wrapping up in half an hour or so, you can meet us at the rink and we can go get some late lunch.”
“Oh I don’t know…” Fitz says hesitantly. “I have unpacking to do.” The lie is lame, but he isn’t the most pumped to grab lunch with his sister’s hockey friends. He’s still not clear on how she even got hockey friends in the first place.
“Pfft, as if you don’t have someone to unpack for you. Come on, I never see you!”
Fitz pinches the bridge of his nose. “If I come now, can I turn you down for a future invite to do something?” he asks, trying not to sound too hopeful at the prospect
“You want a rain check to not go out with me?” Biana asks, sounding slightly incredulous that Fitz could possibly not want to spend time with her..
“Yes. Exactly. That.”
Biana snorts. “Sure whatever. You have one get out of hanging out with your ultra awesome sister free card. Not that I can imagine why you’d want it. Now get your butt down to the rink. I don’t think Sophie believed that you were coming here.”
Fitz winces at the mention of Sophie, allowing Biana to hang up on him, and stares at the ceiling. He had never been able to say no to his sister, and that didn’t seem to have changed. Chances were he’d never use the “rain check.” It was nice to have though.
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The ice complex isn’t particularly hard to find, much to Fitz’s relief. He could see the banners through the tall windows of his apartment, advertising various players on the Cavs as well as some from the neighboring colleges. He hadn’t realized he was this close to the rink, but as he hadn’t arranged himself a car in Bosville, he isn’t too angry about it.
He walks through the entryway's big glass doors and into the lobby, and while he gets a few odd looks from security guards, no one moves to stop him. It’s one of the few things he thanks his father for, an air of importance that led very few people to question his presence anywhere, much less a hockey rink.
He reaches a hall of trophies before realizing he has absolutely no clue where he’s going. The complex isn’t as nice as the one in New Orleans, but it’s certainly busier, buzzing with students and workers in the Cav’s organization alike. He finally spots a helpful looking person wearing a baseball cap with the cavs logo on it and examining the various trophies in the case.
Fitz walks in a direct line, brushing his hair back and clearing his throat, doing his best to look appropriately lost and non-intimidating. “Excuse me…” he starts, watching the person turn.
The boy- man, really- can’t be much older than fitz, with straight strawberry blonde hair falling just above his periwinkle eyes. Freckles splatter his face and raise his eyebrows. Recognition doesn’t seem to spark in his eyes, which Fitz is fine with. He doesn’t need to explain what he’s doing here, he just needs to find the right rink. “Do you know where to find rink 3? I think the Cape Luna women’s team is practicing there?” He checks his phone to make sure he’s asking after the right rink, shoving it in his pocket.
The man looks at Fitz for a moment, eyebrows pinching together before he exhales and turns to point down the hall. “There’s a staircase on the left, head down two flights of stairs and it should be on your left.”
“Thank you.” Fitz says gratefully.
“No problem.” the man says, stepping aside to let Fitz through though he doesn’t break his gaze away from Fitz. Fitz ducks his head and walks in the direction the helpful dude had pointed, checking his watch. According to Biana, the practice would be ending in fifteenish minutes. Hopefully he’ll be able to find his way there before it ends. He’s not sure if he could take Biana’s ribbing if she thought he couldn’t find his way around an ice rink.
Thankfully the instructions he had received seemed fairly reliable, and he was able to find rink 3 without a hassle.
This rink, rink 3, is smaller than the rinks Fitz has grown used to practicing in, though the main difference was the lack of bleachers aside from some stands that look like they may collapse any minute. The sound of metal scraping along ice bounces off the low metal ceiling, and Fitz can see a line of players in front of one of the goals, doing some sort of drill.
He walks up to the glass wall separating the ice from the walkway, hands still shoved in the pockets of his generic gray hoodie. No one seems to notice that he’s there, and he takes the moment to watch the drill.
Despite the echoes of advice from various coaches throughout the year in his head, he hasn’t been on the ice in almost a week. He hasn’t been since the news had broken about the trade, not needing journalists speculating about what he was spending his ice time on and ambushing him with questions about his thoughts on whether the trade was fair in the first place. He watches the drill, the practiced ease of the shots taken and the grins and teasing jabs exchanged out of Fitz’s earshot. He almost misses it, though a week without hockey is no time at all and it’s not the sport he even misses.
He’s so taken with watching the drill, the movements of the puck, that he doesn’t even see one of the players break away from the drill, spraying ice as she stops in front of him. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Fitz glances up, blinking as Sophie pulls her helmet off, shaking out her sunshine colored hair. Fitz feels a lump in his throat and he freezes, watching Sophie as she runs a hand through her hair and looks expectantly at him.
Fitz finally remembers how to speak around the cotton ball that his tongue has miraculously turned into and he flushes, looking away. “Sophie. It’s good to see you.” he says flatly, staring sharply at a seam in the concrete floor.
Whether Sophie is put off by his lack of eye contact and clipped tone, she doesn’t show it. Glancing back at the drill, she tucks her helmet on her hip. “Finally decided to grace this shithole of a place with your presence?”
“I got traded Sophie. I don’t exactly have a choice of where I go after that.” Fitz says dryly, finally looking back up at her.
“Oh I know that. I’m just shocked you’re here instead of feeling sorry for yourself in your apartment. Why are you-” Sophie cuts off as she spots Biana making her way down the bleachers and towards them. “Biana made you, didn’t she?”
Fitz had always been surprised at how well Sophie was able to read him. They’d only been in touch a few months after Biana introduced the two of them before they shifted back into being strangers, yet Sophie always tended hit the nail on the head with a hammer when it came to Fitz. of course it made the final thing she’d said to him before going back to Bosville sting all that much more, but Fitz forced himself to not think about that. Sophie miraculously didn’t seem to care to mention that, looking at him expectantly.
Fitz’s cheeks still feel flushed as he glances up, clearing his throat. “Yeah. Um. Yeah she did.”
Sophie snorts at that. “Figures.” Someone calls her name from across the ice and Sophie glances over her shoulder. “Listen, I’m sure we can catch up when Bee drags us to lunch, I’ve gotta get back to the drill.” She gestures over her shoulder and Fitz nods, finally noticing the C sewn onto her jersey.
“You’re captain?” Fitz asks, perhaps sounding a bit too genuinely surprised. “I didn’t- There are just so many seniors. I didn’t think they-”
Sophie clears her throat, rescuing him from himself. “Yeah. I got it at the end of last year. I’m surprised Bee didn’t tell you.”
Fitz swallows. “We haven’t been able to talk a ton. I didn’t think to ask.” The excuses are lame, but Sophie’s draw to the drill was enough to get her skating backwards.
“Cool, I can make fun of you for that later, but I’ve really got to go.”
Fitz lifted a hand to wave goodbye as she turned, slipping her helmet back on and rejoining the drill.
He is able to breathe for a single moment before Biana tackles him. “Broskarooney!”
Fitz is so shocked by the tackle from behind that Biana – who is several inches shorter than him with shoes on – is able to get him in a headlock, aggressively picking through his hair and brushing it to one side or another. “What is this haircut my dude? I thought it looked bad on TV, but Jesus, it’s even worse in person!”
He finally wriggles out of her grasp, running his own fingers through his hair. “Hey. Don’t insult my hair. The hairdresser recommended it and charged steeply for it.”
“Well, I think someone needs to revoke her hairdressing license, ” Biana retorts. “And sorry not sorry but if that haircut cost more than like three dollars you got fuckin’ scammed.”
Fitz laughs at that, pulling Biana into a hug. “I missed you.” he says honestly, more vulnerable than anything he’s said to her over the past few weeks.
“Uh huh. That’s why you tried to avoid leaving your apartment.” Biana says, squirming in Fitz’s arms. “Ugh why do you have stupid big hockey arms? Hockey isn’t even an arms sport!”
Fitz laughs at that, a real laugh, finally releasing Biana from his hug. “What can I say?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders.
Biana makes a face in his direction. “Butthead.” she says, though her tone lacks any real malice. “Also, I should thank you, Trella straight up thought you wouldn’t come. She owes me five dollars now”
Fitz nodded, glancing over Biana’s shoulder at the players on the ice. He couldn’t tell which one was Trella, nor had he ever met the girl, but he felt a twinge of envy that his sister felt comfortable enough with the team to make bets on his arrival. “Five dollars? You’re paying for lunch then right?” he teases, causing Biana to raise an eyebrow.
“Need I look up your net worth on google?” she asks drily, crossing her arms. “I am but a broke college student, you make at least six figures a year.”
Fitz snorts. “Broke college student. Sure.” he says, leaning back on the boards. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
His focus slips back onto the practice, the rhythmic click of blades on ice filling the silence of their conversation. He feels Biana brush behind him, toward the nest she’s made herself in the bleachers consisting of several stacks of books and a not insignificant amount of blankets
He debates following her, but in the end remains where he is, goosebumps raised on his arms. He hates sitting behind the plexiglass fogged with the spray of ice, reflections of light rippling each time someone brushes against the boards. It feels like watching animals in a zoo, except Fitz wants nothing more than to jump into the enclosure. After what seems like an eternity, the players filter off the ice and the [ice mop thing] drives out, the rumbling of the engine filling the rink.
It’s another short eternity until Sophie emerges from the locker room, bag of gear in tow. She’s surrounded by a clump of laughing players, similar bags in tow, and she offers Fitz a wave as the crowd walks past him. She pulls away from the center of the clump, slowing her pace as he starts to follow. “Hey. I just need to toss my stuff in the car, Tell Bee I’ll meet you two in the entryway alright?”
Fitz nods and Sophie drifts away again, caught up in the rush of players. He waits for Biana to finish clearing her nest from the bleachers, a bulging backpack slung over her shoulders. “Did Soph just ignore us?” she asks as she walks up to Fitz.
“No, she's just tossing her gear in the car. She said to meet in the lobby.” Fitz says, offering an arm. Biana gratefully passes him a bag, rolling out her shoulders. “Wonderful.” she says with a small smile, heading towards the doors with a lightness in her step Fitz nearly envies.
Fitz had known of Biana for most of his life. They’d not grown up together, with Biana being born a year after his parents had separated for good. Fitz’s custody had been given to his father and his mother, heiress to a cosmetics company and semi-famous model, had dropped into regular civilian life. Well as much of a regular civilian life as possible when one’s hair had its own insurance.
Even when he was a child, he only saw his mother and Biana a few times a year, on major holidays and whenever his two parents happened to be invited to the same banquet. It was an unspoken rule in his house to not mention them unless absolutely necessary, so for the first 16 years of his life, Fitz knew very little about his half sister and his mother.
Alvar had always done the best to keep Fitz away from Biana at aforementioned banquets while he was in the house, so Fitz could count on one hand the number of conversations he’d had with his younger sister. That was true up until she had messaged his instagram out of the blue, asking if they could talk.
Fitz had just started preseason at the Q and for lack of a better descriptor, wasn’t doing well. The potential he’d been drafted into juniors for had seemingly evaporated as quickly as his semblance of a proper sleep schedule had. The prospect of failure seemed to lurk at the edge of his vision, growing ever closer whenever he shut his eyes to try to sleep. He’d stared at the message for a moment, breath caught in his throat.
Clicking through to Biana’s profile, he scrolled through her top ten or so photos, trying to align the few pictures of Biana herself, laughing with friends, with the silent girl who always stood behind their mother at dinners, head ducked.
She looked like Fitz’s mother and that was almost the most crushing part, that despite the fact Fitz had inherited the light bronze of his mother’s skin he still had his fathers face. That his mother who he rarely talked to shared that with his sister, the two of them together like a perfect half of a family without Fitz.
So Fitz had hesitated another moment before replying. What’s up?
The call had come through moments later.
The fact that he and Biana had talked into the wee hours of the morning- awkward conversation soon dissolved at more than a decade of catching up to do- likely didn’t help with Fitz’s sleep schedule, but his chest felt lighter than it had in a long time.
Though he’d never admit it to his sister, her stream of texts and cracked jokes, along with reconnecting with -nope fitz would swallow his pride and attribute it solely to his sister. His sister had helped him turn his season around and banish the looming ghost of possible failure only to the darkest of night.
Fitx snaps back out of his train of thought as he nearly trips up the stairs. Biana turns, dark eyes dancing with amusement. “Watch your step. I can’t have the wrath of the Cavaliers management bearing down on me because you broke your face falling up the stairs.”
“My face is not necessary for my playing hockey.” Fitz reasons.
“Yeah but it’s necessary for all those eye candy ads you do. My boss would quite literally murder me. She’s scary.” Biana says, snatching her backpack back. “I don’t trust you with this anymore, I have too many unfinished papers on this laptop.” Fitz lets her take it, finishing the stairs and rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie.
“Papers already?” he asks, incredulous. “When did the term start?”
“Like three weeks ago at this point. Some brother you are, not remembering that. I invited you to a party at the start of term!”
“I was busy and also still in New Orleans!” Fitz protests weakly.
“Busy feeling sorry for yourself more like it.” Biana says, not completely inaccurately. “Come on, I see Sophie.”
Fitz follows Biana through the crowd, sure to keep his head ducked. He doesn’t expect to be recognized, not in the way he was after his first year or even before the draft. It’s before preseason, and after last season no one is dying to see him outside the rink.
The lobby is more crowded than it was before, bustling with the transfer of the various rinks to different teams. It takes him another moment to see Sophie, and when he does, she isn’t waiting for them. Instead, she’s nearly toe to toe with another girl, doing her best to hush whatever angry words the two of them were exchanging. The girl is an inch or two shorter than Sophie, though the way Sophie had her shoulders hunched and the way she seemed to shrink into herself evened out the disparity. Fitz doesn’t recognize the other girl, though he recognized the jewel green of her jersey as belonging to the other nearby college, the one Biana would constantly complain about. The green didn’t match her pale ginger hair, making her look a tiny bit like a christmas elf. That being said, with the anger on her face Fitz was perfectly fine to keep that comparison to himself
As the two of them draw closer to the conversation, Biana holds her arm out, slowing Fitz.
“-can’t believe you!” the other girl said, brandishing a finger at Sophie. Sophie looks as if she’s about to respond when a voice calls out from across the hall.
“Mare! Come on!” Fitz turns to look at the speaker, a girl in a similar green jersey with curly brown hair pulled into a puffy ponytail. She holds a bag of gear behind her, propping it against her leg. “You’re gonna make us late!”
The ginger girl, Mare, hisses one final thing at Sophie before storming off, her own bag in tow.
Sophie lets out a long sigh, looking absolutely exhausted. Biana holds her arm in front of Fitz for another moment before stepping forward, making their presence known to Sophie. “Redek? Again?” she asks, tone sympathetic but lightly scolding.
“I didn’t even do anything this time! I promise!” Sophie protests, holding her hands up. “She just-”
Sophie’s cut off as another player walks up to the two of them, brown hair pulled into a speckled braid. “Picking fights again Soph?”
The new player looks slightly older than Sophie, with light brown skin and sympathetic eyes. “No Calla I’m not.” Sophie says grumpily.
“Let me guess then, fights are picking you?” Calla asked, tone teasing.
“Something like that.” Sophie grumbles, crossing her arms and tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.
Sensing that she won’t get much further with Sophie, Calla turns her attention to Fitz. “I don’t know you, do I?” she asks, tilting her head slightly and meeting his eyes. She’s nearly as tall as him, so can meet his gaze straight on.
Fitz awkwardly rolls his shoulders. “No, I’m-”
“He’s my brother.” Biana interrupts, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Fitz, meet Calla. She’s our goalie.”
Fitz holds out a hand. “It’s good to meet you.” he says with a small smile.
Calla smiles warmly. “It’s good to meet you too. Bee does a great job managing the team, only the highest compliments for her.” she says, with a knowing wink in Biana’s direction.
Fitz let out a short laugh, elbowing Biana. The conversation is nice, partially because if Calla knows who he is, she doesn’t seem to care. “I’m sure she does fine. Though I’d love to know how you conned her into getting involved with hockey. Anytime I tried to talk with her about it she’d threaten to suffocate me with my own hockey pads.”
Biana snorted. “Yes because I know you do hockey, I could google it and I’d know twice as much as you do! I care about the other stuff more from your mouth.”
“And also because she loves me and wants me to be happy so when I asked, she said yes.” Sophie says, wrapping an arm around Biana.
Biana squirms away, still grinning. “I said nothing of that sort.”
“That doesn’t mean it isn’t true” Sophie says, straightening her posture and watching Biana with a soft expression.
“Oh my god eww, Trellsy, you need to tell them to stop flirting!!” Another player of the team walks up, second player in tow. The one being dragged, Trellsy apparently, looks very put out, though Fitz couldn’t tell if it was because she’s being forced into the conversation or because of the flirting.
“We are not flirting Shay, flirting implies romantic intent. Been there done that got the tshirt, now I just extoll the virtues of my bestest bestie!” Now it was Biana’s turn to wrap an arm around a furiously red Sophie.
Shayda- Fitz remembered her name from a game he’d put on in the background one night the last season- looked unimpressed, raising an immaculate dark eyebrow. “I swear to God, I almost understand why Rayni hates you two so much.” she says, tossing her glossy hair over a shoulder. “Now I believe Bee promised us lunch paid for her by her rich as fuck brother and I missed brunch this morning. So can we take this flirt fest on the road?”
Trellsy, still beside her, nods in agreement. “I’m starving.” she says, tugging at the strings of her Cape Luna College hoodie. “And also cold. Who controls this thermostat?”
“Trella! You play hockey! How are you cold?” Shayda exclaims, turning to face her friend with a betrayed expression on her face.
Trella shrugs, brushing a strand of dirty blonde hair away from her face. “Well if you had eyes, genius you’d notice I’m not in hockey pads or gear. So duh, of course I’m cold.” she says, though the sarcastic words lack any real venom
“Sounds to me like you’re just letting your Georgian roots get to you. It’s not even that cold.” Biana says, separating herself from Sophie. “Where do people want to grab lunch from?”
Before anyone else can answer, Trella jumps in. “Texas Roadhouse.”
Sophie makes a face. “Ew. Why?” she asked, tone dripping in judgment.
“Listen, don’t knock it ‘til you try it. And the one near the abandoned Sears just reopened after the gas leak!”
Biana’s face twists, nose wrinkling and lips pursing in concern. “Are we sure we really want to go somewhere that just had a gas leak?” she asks, echoing Fitz’s concern he’s not nearly comfortable enough to share.
“It was like two months ago. Plus, their dinner rolls are to die for.” Trella says, glancing at Shayda for support.
“Listen I’ve never been but if Trells says it's good…” she trails off, shrugging. “Might as well try it, right?” She looks at Sophie, who looks slightly confused as to why she’s looking at her. After a moment, she clears her throat and brushes her hands together.
“Let’s do Texas Roadhouse. But if I’m stuck eating another garden fucking salad I will be commiting a murder.”
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Fortunately for Sophie, the menu does have other vegetarian options than a salad. Unfortunately it means she has a pile of sides around her that better resembles a guide on fifteen different ways to cook a potato. Sophie is now surrounded by potatoes and a single slice of strawberry cheesecake.
When Sophie had ordered the cake, Shayda had shot her a sideways glance. “Are you sure that’s nutritionist approved?”
“No, but it’s not like the season’s started. Plus, It has strawberries on it! That’s fruit, right?”
The table had then devolved into arguing about what qualified as a fruit, leaving Fitz to sit there with a slightly bemused expression. He’d ordered a salad, much to the judgment of literally everyone around him. He had protested that at least it had shrimp on it, but they only insisted that that made it worse.
The five of them had chosen the circular booth in the back of the restaurant, despite their small party size. Calla had made some excuse about biology homework, and the rest of the team had filtered off pretty quickly after practice. Now it was just Fitz, Biana, Sophie, Shayda, and Trella. Fitz is glad though, for the small size. He’s not sure he could take the full women’s hockey team crammed into the Texas Roadhouse.
Fitz watches Sophie, who is caught up in an argument about something that had happened during practice, across the table, perhaps with what his sister has dubbed his “pensive expression where you could be thinking about the meaning of life, or boobs.”
Sophie looks better than the last time he saw her. Not that Fitz had ever seen her in a way close to romantic, not then and not now, but she looks healthier. He’d say she looked happier, but she was currently involved in a very intense battle that involved throwing peanut shells at Trella and Shayda, so not a hint of a smile was on her face.
Even still, the shadows under her eyes had softened and she’d cut her hair just above her shoulders, letting her waves fall naturally around her face, bangs curling at the tips. She has a color in her cheeks that Fitz isn’t sure he’s seen naturally and her shoulders have melted from her ears where she had tended to keep them hunched, even during train rides and flights when the two of them were alone.
Fitz is still thinking when Biana elbows him in the shoulder. “Hey. Dorkface. You look like you’ve swallowed a butterfly. Or like, a particularly beautiful guinea pig.”
At that, Fitz has to laugh. “A guinea pig?”
“Listen I dunno man! I started talking without really knowing where I was going and we ended up on particularly gorgeous guinea pigs.”
Fitz laughs, shaking his head. “As one does.” he says, brushing his hair back. It’s only when he looks back at the table that Shayda is giving him a weird look.
“Say that again.”
Fitz blinked. “Say what again?”
“I don’t know, anything? Your accent sounds weird.”
Fitz swallows, cheeks flushing, eyes flitting away for a moment. “Anything? Hello? Particularly interesting guinea pigs?”
Trella and Shayda exchange looks, and Fitz- not for the first time in his life- wishes he could read minds.
“Listen, don't take this the wrong way…” Shayda starts, causing Trella to cradle her face in her hands and mutter something unintelligible. “But are you French?”
Fitz blinks, that question not being quite what he was expecting. “Huh? No. I’m Canadian. I speak Quebecois though?” he offers, not quite sure if that’s the answer Shayda was looking for
Biana looks like she’s about to explode with laughter. Sophie looks equally bemused, though not quite as hysterical.
Shayda turns her attention to Biana. “You didn’t tell us he was Canadian! Why aren't you Canadian?”
Finally, Biana can’t hold it in anymore and bursts out laughing. Sophie joins her, though she hides her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with silent giggles.
“He’s my half brother guys.” Biana finally manages to get out, doing her best to wipe her eyes without smudging her mascara or eyeliner. She doesn’t continue the sentence, and Fitz realizes that aside from Sophie, no one Biana has talked to about him knows who exactly he is. It’s odd, it’s not exactly like his name is common, but it makes sense. No one thinks the people they know are closer than the average six degrees of separation to professional athletes. He makes a vow to ask Biana about it later, whether it was intentional or not. He didn’t want to wreck some elaborate practical joke a year in the making, and this felt like something she would pull.
“Yep. parents divorced, she got mom, I got dad. Go figure.”
Shayda nods in interest, but Trella looks as if she’s moved on. “Oh my god Sophie, did you hear they already scheduled us a scrimmage against the fucking trees?”
Sophie’s spoonful of mashed potatoes stops halfway to her mouth. “No. stop. When? I’ll be sick!”
“Sophie, you’re the captain. You can’t fake being sick to miss a preseason scrimmage.”
“Yeah, well I’ll be for real sick if we have to face them one more time this goddamn season!”
With that, the table devolved into another semi-argument, spotlight off of Fitz again. He has to give it to his sister, coming to lunch was nice. Certainly better than his previous plans of watching cooking shows in his apartment. Not that he’d ever admit that to her of course, but it didn’t stop it from being any more true.