Ice Time
by Alexis
*I swear, I could pummel that kid.* Robbie Miller curled tighter under his blankets in his dorm room as his alarm blared at him. He felt like he'd been slammed into the boards by a two-hundred and fifty pound goon without any pads on. "eshushhh!" He sneezed into the comforter, groaning. The kid sitting behind him in his history class had sneezed on him for the entire ninety minutes several days before, and this was clearly the result.
"Yo, Robbie!" There was banging on his door. "You alive in there? If we're late, you're the one I'm going to throw under the bus." Now that he was more awake, he could hear his suite-mates in the common room, getting ready for practice. It was a rare Saturday without a game, which probably meant coach was going to kick their asses in practice, something that Robbie was not entirely sure his body could handle at the moment. He looked at the clock again. It was only nine. Practice wasn't until eleven, and his dorm was literally next door to the rink. What the hell was Jackson going on about?
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, blearily rubbing a hand through his spiky brown hair. Clad in only pajama bottoms, he was chilled by the air, but he got up and headed out to the common room anyway.
"What the hell, Jackson, it's only nine." He stared at his best friend, who was already dressed in sweats and had a half-eaten muffin in one hand. Jackson Bailey was tall, dark-haired, and had what could only be described in cliche terms as rogueish good looks. Whenever they were out to a bar, it was always Jackson who attracted the girls. That's not to say Robbie wasn't attractive- he was tall and muscular from years of hockey, but he didn't have the same magnetism his friend seemed to possess naturally.
"Shit, man, you're not even dressed? Coach is going to tan our hides." Jackson stared at him as Robbie looked at him blankly. "The Captains' meeting? You drunk or something?"
"Damnit!" Robbie almost forgot how terrible he was feeling. How could he have forgotten? Coach had mentioned he wanted to meet with Robbie, the captain of the team, and Jackson and Eric Stone, the two assistants, before practice today.
Fifteen minutes later, the two boys were jogging down the hall to Coach Callahan's office, Robbie clutching a piece of toast and trying not to cough. He'd never gotten dressed so quickly in his life. They slid into the chairs waiting for them with a minute to spare. Eric, a fellow senior, looked at them with raised eyebrows. Robbie shrugged and grinned, taking a bite of his toast. He wished he'd had time to grab orange juice, as well. His head was pounding and felt completely congested. He shivered, even in the warmth of the office. He hadn't felt this bad since a bout with the flu his freshman year. If he could get through the meeting, he was pretty sure he could get through practice without anyone noticing how sick he was, but he'd have to get through the meeting to begin with.
He immediately straightened up and stashed the toast in a pocket when Coach Callahan walked into the room. There was no one in the world Robbie respected more than Coach. He'd played for a lot of men in his twenty two years, but no one could command the respect and complete determination of a team the way that Richard Callahan could. Rubbing a hand unobtrusively under his nose, he made sure it wasn't running visibly. Coach would pull him off the ice if he thought he was too sick to play, and they had a game the next night."So I'm going to get right to the point, boys." Coach said as he sat down. "What did you think of the game last night, Robbie?"
Robbie flushed instantly, and it wasn't because he was sick. In all honesty, he didn't want to think about last night's game at all. "We didn't play our best, sir." Knowing that wasn't enough, he clarified, "Communication was terrible, and we weren't following through on our checks or committing to plays." Robbie took his job as captain very seriously, and these things were something that he should have corrected on the ice during the game. He should have done more to motivate the team, and he knew it.
"That's right. And that starts here, with the players in this room." Coach levelled looks at both Jackson and Eric, letting them know they weren't off the hook in this scenario, either. "Now today's practice is going to be a full contact scrimmage, and I want to see the best communication this team has ever seen out there. Robbie, you'll captain one team, and Jackson and Eric will co-captain the other. If I'm not happy with how things look out there, we're going to be ending the day with a no pucks, no sticks practice that will make it perfectly clear the level of effort I expect out of you tomorrow. Got it?"
The three boys murmured that they did, and the coach motioned that they should go to the locker room.
"Whooie." Jackson said in a low voice to the other three, "That could have gone worse."
Eric snorted, and Robbie just shook his head. "We'd better have a talk with the guys. I don't want to see those no-puck drills." Frankly, he wasn't sure he was going to make it through practice, let alone a longer skate. "Eshuh!" He stifled a quick sneeze, making his ears pop. He glanced at Jackson and Eric, but they had pulled ahead, talking. He risked a cough, feeling his raw throat protested. This was not going to be fun.
Robbie, Jackson, and Eric got dressed quickly, despite the fact that they had plenty of time before practice actually began. Once the rest of the team assembled in the dressing room, Robbie made it through a quick pep-talk before heading for the bathroom connected to the locker room. He spent a good minute in the toilet stall, debating whether or not throwing up would make him feel any better. Finally he walked out and splashed cold water on his face. He bent over the sink, feeling extroadinarily nauseaus, and looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were glassy, his nose was red and irritated from rubbing, and he had dark circles under his eyes. Frankly, he looked like shit and he was astonished no one had said anything to him about it.
"Ehhhtshoo!" The sneeze was out before he could stifle it, and he grabbed for the paper towels, hoping the noise in the locker room was enough to cover his sneeze. He bent over to blow his nose thoroughly, and nearly jumped a mile as he felt a hand clap onto his back. He looked up into the mirror, meeting Jackson's eyes.
"Dude, you look like hell. You sure you up for this?"
Robbie started to answer, but coughing interrupted him. "I'm fine." He managed when they subsided. "My team will kick your ass." He grinned, and Jackson grinned back.
"Oh yeah, candy ass? We'll just see about that."
Once on the ice, Robbie skated quickly through the warm ups. His chest was tighter than normal, but all in all, he didn't feel as bad as he thought. The freedom he felt on the ice more than made up for the physical discomfort.
"Okay guys." He looked at his "team" once they had been split and headed to their respective benches. With the exception of one junior, Coach had given Robbie all of the underclassmen. "This is going to be tough, but we can manage it. Alex, I want you to keep on Jackson at all times." He looked the burly defensemen in the eyes. "Do not let him get a shot off. Ever. And keep everyone out of Adam's crease." At least Coach had given them Adam Jenkins, the star freshman goaltender. They could always rely on him to keep most goals out. "Hank, Tom, and Jeff, you guys will take the first shift. I'll stay paired with Alex, and we'll rotate from there." Robbie coughed, holding an arm in front of his mask. He took a couple of short breaths, and then nodded to the rest of his team, "Let's go."
The first shift was almost tolerable. Robbie's team of overeager freshmen and sophmores kept the puck in the offensive zone, so all Robbie had to do was man the point, cycle the puck, and shout instructions when necessary. If his nose hadn't been running badly, he would have felt encouraged and eager to play.
Twenty minutes into the scrimmage, however, was another matter. Jackson's team had turned the tables on them, and Robbie felt himself rapidly running out of steam. Every time he came off the ice, he was shivering so badly he felt like it must have been obvious there was something wrong with him, but no one said anything. His sniffles were getting more obvious, and he'd had to snap open his mask a couple of times to try to stauch the steady stream coming out of his nose.
"Tckhh!" He stifled a sneeze, and felt his ears pop. He couldn't take much more of this. His breathing was becoming labored, and his head was starting to swim.
"You're fine." He muttered to himself. "You're a hockey player, not a chess player. You can take this." He hopped the boards for his next shift. He'd last. They were at least halfway done. He'd be fine.
The puck came into his end, and he collected it, backpedaling a little as one of the forwards, Ryan, came in on the forecheck. He dished it to Alex, who played it up the boards just as Ryan came in on Robbie. He ducked to the side so that Ryan would miss him, but he was a shade too slow and Ryan hipchecked him, hard.
Normally Robbie, a good skater, wouldn't have even been put off balance, but he wasn't himself and he went down hard. Dizzy, less from the fall then from feeling ill, he stayed on the ice for what felt like an eternity before he heard a whistle.
It was comfortable on the ice. He felt much cooler, and he didn't think he had the energy to get up.
"Robbie!" Robbie looked up and realized that the team trainer, Coach Callahan, and Jackson were all suddenly next to him. He struggled to his knees, feeling dizzy, weak, and nauseaus, but the trainer, Mike, put a hand on his shoulder. "Hold up there, Rob. Did you hit your head?"
"My what?" Robbie looked at him, confused for a second, before he realized what they though. "No, I." He swallowed, suddenly feeling like he was going to throw up. He was shivering visibly now, the sweat on his body rapidly cooling.
Mike looked at Coach Callahan. "I think he might have a concussion."
Robbie shook his head. "No," He choked back a cough, "I-eh. ehh-chh." He sneezed, his nose running freely again. He pulled off his helmet, holding a sleeve to his nose. "Dot a codcussion. Sig." He sniffled, and tried to stop shivering, but he was suddenly feeling much, much worse. He wasn't sure he could stand, let alone skate off the ice.
Jackson, who had been standing behind the coaching staff the entire time, looked at him with narrowed eyes, and suddenly pulled off his glove and felt Robbie's head and neck. "Shit, Coach, he's burning up."
Robbie's teeth were chattering, and he didn't even argue when Jackson and Mike hauled him up gently and supported him off the ice. The rest of the team, who had been hanging back, looked alarmed to see their Captain escorted off the ice not under his own power, but Robbie didn't even notice.
Mike grabbed the arm of one of the student trainers on the way to the locker room. "Kayla, grab me the thermometer out of the first aid kit, will you?"
"Echtchoo." He pulled up an arm to sneeze wetly into it as he was settled on a bench in the locker room. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, grunting a thanks as someone put a blanket around his shoulders. Kayla returned with the first aid kit and a cup of water, and Robbie drank it slowly as Mike stuck the thermometer in his ear. It beeped, and the trainer frowned as he looked at it, then looked at Robbie.
"102.4" He announced, glancing at the Coach, who was still standing in the doorway. "I'm sending him home."
"Robbie, why the hell did you think it was a good idea to skate this morning?" Coach Callahan looked incredulous. Robbie stared at the ground, feeling awful in more ways than one. He'd never missed a practice. "The game last night..." He mumbled, but the Coach just shook his head, dumbfounded.
"Robbie, go home, get in bed, and don't come back until you don't have a fever." He ordered.
Robbie nodded. It wasn't like he had an option. He could barely stand, let alone skate. He allowed Mike to help him take his gear off, and listened to the stern instructions that he was to drink plenty of fluids, take ibuprofen, and get rest.
Fifteen minutes later, he was back in bed, curled up, and cursing the kid from history class. "Tshchh! Ehhcth! eshushhh!"