A personal comm/blog for me, mardia.
Abandoned WIP: the PK/Carey alien babyfic (Hockey RPF)
So ages ago, I was working on a PK/Carey alien babyfic where essentially PK Subban ended up raising a superhero from space and also getting back together with Carey after a really bad breakup, except it was taking forever, and then the Habs decided to blow up their team and reveal that Max Pacioretty was the goddamn worst, and right now hockey and I are on a BREAK. (A probably permanent break.) So here is the first 13k of a fic I'm likely never going to finish, full of adorable alien babies, PK Subban trying to be a good dad and a good ex-boyfriend, and Carey Price having a lot of feelings in the background!
Prologue:
“Thank God, we're all okay,” his mom says. It's the third time she's said it, but her voice is still wavering a little.
PK's ears are still ringing. He shakes his head a little, then glances down at his phone again, training the flashlight on it. “Still don't have a signal,” he says, and then, despite himself, shines his light through the window to the backyard, trying to catch another glimpse of the meteor.
When PK had heard the car radio talking about the meteor shower over Toronto that was coming in, he'd imagined some flashing lights in the sky, not <i>this</i>. The power's out in their entire neighborhood, no one in the house can get a signal on their phones, and there's a <i>meteor from space</i> in his parents' backyard.
PK blinks, and then turns to Natasha. “You wanna go out there and look at it?” he asks.
It's dark as hell inside the house, but there's enough light from the flashlights everyone's carrying for him to see her sudden grin. “Hell yes. Let's go.”
Their parents are off searching for more flashlights and candles, and Malcolm and Jordan refuse to go with them—as Malcolm puts it, “I'm staying inside where I can't get radiation from the giant space rock.”
“What he said,” Jordan says, and they high-five.
“Wuss,” PK calls back, and he grabs his shoes and heads out into the backyard, Natasha right behind him.
When his flashlight catches on the object half-buried in the backyard, PK expects some giant pockmarked hunk of rock, not for the light to catch on the smooth sheen of—metal?
“PK,” Natasha says, stopping in her tracks. It's not as big as PK was thinking, about the size of a motorcycle, and smooth all over, shaped like an oval, maybe. “PK, that's not—normal.”
“It's a meteor from space in our backyard, it's not supposed to be normal,” PK protests, but his own voice feels like it's coming from far away. He trains his light all over it and it's, it's--
“PK, that's not a meteor,” Natasha says, her voice urgent and coming from behind him. She's stopped walking, and he's still moving towards the, the thing.
“Yeah,” PK says, distantly. It looks so smooth, and there's a line, like a crack or a seam—like the seam to a door.
“PK, <i>don't</i>,” Natasha's saying, and from farther back, his dad's calling out, “What are you guys doing out there? PK?”
The metal is cool under his hand, and PK's index finger runs along the seam, testing it. There's a faint zap to his finger, like he's been shocked by static electricity. He holds his breath, waiting, and when the seam starts to open, brilliant white light shining through, he somehow isn't surprised at all.
Not until he sees what's inside.
*
“It was like you were in a trance,” Natasha says later, staring at him, and at the bundle in his arms. “I kept calling to you and you didn't hear me.” The electricity is back on, and his mom's on the phone with Natassia, with their relatives and neighbors, assuring them everything's fine, they're all safe—all while she's shooting worried glances at PK over her shoulder.
“Yeah, I remember,” PK says, distracted. His mom had found a blanket upstairs, one that Natassia had left behind last time she was here with the kids, and they'd wrapped the, the—<i>her</i> in it.
It's a girl. She hadn't been wearing any clothes inside the—the thing, the ship, Jesus Christ, a ship crashlanded in their backyard, a ship from space with a tiny baby in it, a baby that PK is now holding while she gurgles up at him and his family stares at them both like PK's holding a ticking time bomb in his hands.
“Pretty cute bomb,” PK says to himself, rocking her. She blinks up at him, her eyes huge and dark in her face. Brown skin, fuzzy black curls on her head, five fingers on each hand, five toes on each foot. He should know, he's counted at least three times by now.
She looks human. She looks like she could be one of his baby cousins, in fact. She does not look like she came in a ship from space. No tentacles, no green skin. Just a cute baby.
Malcolm comes up to peer at her over PK's shoulder. “Has it done anything yet?”
“She,” PK corrects, shifting her in his arms a little. “It's a girl.”
“It looks like a girl,” Malcolm says, and PK eyes him. Malcolm gives him a look he can't read, before asking, more warily, “How are you feeling?”
“I didn't get hypnotized by the baby,” PK says, exasperated. “Come on, man.”
“It's a fair question!” Malcolm insists.
“It really is,” Natasha agrees, and PK transfers his glare to her.
“Do you really think this baby is trying to turn me into a zombie,” he asks, putting as much sarcasm as he can into his voice. “Is that what you're really trying to tell me here?”
His mom finally gets off the phone and heads over to them. “Give your brother some space,” she suggests, and thankfully they back off a little.
PK can't quite read the look on his mother's face. He must be holding the baby a little too tight, because she starts to fuss, her face scrunching up in displeasure. PK starts to jiggle her a little bit, babbling nonsense at her until she settles down.
“She's cute, isn't she?”
“Yeah,” his mom agrees. “She really is.” When PK looks up again, his mom's watching him, not the baby, and she asks, “Can I hold her?”
“Okay,” PK agrees after a second, and carefully places her in his mom's outstretched arms. The baby fusses at this, halfheartedly crying until his mom settles her back down.
“Huh,” his mom says after a second.
“What?”
“She just...” His mom shakes her head. “I just keep thinking that she looks just like you did, when you were a baby.”
She gently taps the baby's nose with her finger, and the baby blinks and gives them a toothless smile. If PK wasn't listening for it, he probably wouldn't have caught the way his mom inhales a little at the sight.
“Just like you,” she murmurs, and when PK looks at her, there's a faint crease between her eyebrows.
His dad and Jordan come back in from the backyard a few minutes later. “We've been over every inch of that thing and couldn't find anything,” his dad says heavily. “We put a tarp over it, hopefully the neighbors won't start trying to look over our fence to look at the meteor in our backyard.”
PK's sitting in a chair now, feeding the baby with some leftover formula that Natasha managed to scrounge up. Thank God Natassia keeps leaving baby stuff over here. They've even got some diapers, which is a huge relief.
“Mom thinks the baby looks like PK, and we think she's right,” Malcolm blurts out.
His dad shares a glance with his mom, and then he comes over to look at the baby. “Well, your mom's definitely right on that,” he says after a second. “She does look like PK did as a baby.”
PK doesn't know exactly how he feels about that. Or how he's supposed to feel about that. “She's a baby, babies don't really look like anyone. They're too little.”
“This baby looks just like you,” his dad says, firm. “It's like going back in time, looking at her.”
PK studies her, stares down into the wide-set dark eyes that look, yes, exactly like his. “Dad,” he starts, and doesn't know how to continue.
“Can we <i>please</i> talk about how this baby is an alien from outer space?” Malcolm bursts out. “Please?”
PK slowly lifts his head to look at his brother, who only looks a little bit embarrassed. “I had to say it.”
PK takes a deep breath. “So what now?” he asks, not just to his dad, but to everyone. “She's—she came here, and now we have her, so now what?”
His dad doesn't say anything at first, and then says, “Whatever that thing is in the backyard, it's only big enough for one person. I've got to think that if every other meteor that landed in Toronto tonight had—if they were like the one in our backyard, it'd be on the news by now.”
“It would definitely be on Twitter at least,” Jordan says, waggling his iPhone. “So far there's nothing.”
“So it's probably just her,” PK finishes. She's nearly finished with the bottle, and she's blinking up at him sleepily. One of her tiny hands opens and closes, grasping on nothing but air.
She's so small, and she's alone.
“I think we should pick up some more diapers,” PK says after a second. “And baby clothes. She'll need baby clothes.”
There's a long stretch of silence, and then his dad says, “Okay. We can go make a run for supplies. You and your mom can stay here with the baby, think of some names for her.”
“Yeah,” PK says, letting it settle into his bones. They're really doing this. He's really doing this. “Yeah, okay.”
Chapter One:
Pacioretty's the first of PK's teammates to meet his new daughter. A week before training camp, Pacioretty texts him with <i>so you gonna introduce me to the new girl in your life now??? :)))) Come over for dinner, bring the kid.</i>
PK takes a breath and types out, only a little bit nervously, <i>Yeah, I can come over and bring miranda.</i>.
“It'll be fine, right?” he asks his mom later as she unpacks her suitcases in the guest bedroom she'll be using during her stay here.
His mother gives him a patient look. She's gotten a lot of practice at that over this summer. “PK, it's fine. Your teammates are going to see her eventually. Besides, if you wanted to keep Miranda a secret, you probably shouldn't have shown her picture on Intergram.”
“Instagram, Mom,” PK corrects automatically, and when his mom grins slyly at him, he breaks and laughs, just like she planned.
His mom's not wrong, either. Plenty of people have met Miranda by now—family members that aren't in the know, the pediatrician they had to take her to, PK's agent when PK finally called him with the cover story they'd all decided on. Every time it's been fine, Miranda's been adorable and calm and <i>normal</i>, a normal baby that everyone agrees looks just like her dad.
PK still has no explanation for why Miranda looks so much like him, but God, he'll take it.
“Go check on your cousin Celeste, see how she's settling in,” his mom suggests.
Celeste is busy putting up artwork on the walls in her room, right across the hall from what's now Miranda's nursery. “If you feel like painting the walls a new color or anything like that, just let me know,” PK offers. “Anything you want, I promise.”
Celeste tosses him an amused grin over her shoulder. “What if I asked you for a new car?”
“What kind of car do you want?” PK tosses back and Celeste huffs.
“Okay, you've gotta quit that,” she tells him half-laughing, half-seriously. “I'm happy to be here, PK. You're family and so's that little girl, even if she is an--Aries.” Aries is their codeword for alien, Malcolm's invention, and it's actually pretty useful.
“Besides,” Celeste adds, “--she's probably the most easygoing baby I've ever looked after before.”
“Think that's normal?” PK asks her, and Celeste huffs again.
“You're gonna give yourself an ulcer if you don't quit with all this worrying. She's healthy, she's happy, she's doing good and so are you. Relax.”
“People keep telling me that like it's easy,” PK grumbles as he turns to leave.
“We keep telling you that because you need to do it,” Celeste calls out after him, and PK waves his hand at her over his shoulder, heading into Miranda's nursery, where she's in her crib for her afternoon nap.
Miranda's nursery is becoming PK's favorite room in the whole house. He's got it painted various shades of purple and blue, constellations painted on the ceiling in a swirl of stars and colors. He figures there's time for Miranda to decide if she likes pink, and yellow and green are pretty overrated for babies as far as PK's concerned.
There's a chair by her crib, and PK settles himself in to look at his daughter. She's out like a light, her tiny chest rising and falling slightly with each breath.
He's not stupid. PK knows that some of his family are still waiting for him to throw in the towel, admit this is going to be too difficult, to decide that he doesn't actually want to turn his entire life upside down for the baby that literally landed right in his lap.
His parents have offered to take Miranda in, his sisters have pointed out that this doesn't have to be his problem, and his brothers keep waiting for Miranda to sprout tentacles.
It doesn't matter. PK still knows what he's doing, and he's not looking to get out of this.
*
As soon as they enter Patches' house, Miranda basically steals the show. She's all bubbly and vocal and smiling, and she only grabs at Katia's dangly earrings twice. Three times, tops.
“Don't worry about it,” Katia says, laughing as she ducks her head out of range of Miranda's hands. “They're all magpies at this point.” She beams at Miranda, who toothlessly grins back, like she wasn't just trying to snatch Katia's earrings off her head. “Aren't you just adorable?”
“Definitely didn't get that from your dad,” Patches jokes, and PK throws him the finger in response—he just makes sure to angle it so that Miranda can't see.
They all settle in for dinner, and it turns out okay—Enzo's there, and even if as a toddler he's not too interested in Miranda since she can't talk yet, he's still cute as hell. And it's nice, actually, having Patches and Katia tell him all about what he's in for, the different things he has to look forward to or to dread.
It's nice, getting to feel like a normal parent, with normal worries about his kid.
Patches keeps giving him looks though, and PK knows he's not escaping the interrogation that easily. So when Katia suggests that Patches show him around the house, look at the renovations they've made, PK rolls with it, takes Miranda in his arm and listens to Patches talk about tiles and woodwork, and waits for the shoe to drop.
It doesn't take long. “So you're a dad now,” Patches says, giving PK a sidelong look as he shifts Miranda in his arms, balancing her on his other hip.
“Yup,” PK says, knowing what's coming.
“And you decided to tell everyone by putting up the picture on Instagram? We didn't even rate a group text?”
PK lifts his shoulder, a little helplessly, readying himself to give the cover story everyone agreed made the most sense. “Look, I found out about Miranda this summer, and it was—you know, it was a lot to deal with. I didn't know where to start.”
That's actually true—in between the whirl of lawyers, doctors, stunned family members who weren't in the know and thought PK had just knocked up some random girl who'd left a baby on his doorstep—PK had literally no idea how to tell his friends and teammates that he was a father now.
He could've done it, PK knows. It's just that every email or phone call he imagined making to the guys, to Stammer or Johnny or fuck, <i>Carey</i>--they all started the same way. <i>Hey, guess what?</i>
PK had really tried. He just couldn't do it that way.
And then he'd finally given in to his sister's nagging and gone out for a family dinner with Miranda—and he'd run right into Matt Duchene at the restaurant, Duchene who'd stopped by their table and said hello, shaking everyone's hands and making small talk, right up until he shot a curious look at Miranda in her sling, strapped to PK’s chest, and asked, “Hey, who's the cute kid? One of your cousins, PK?”
“No, actually,” PK had said after a second. “She's my daughter.”
Duchene had laughed, right up until he'd seen PK's face, and then he'd asked, surprised, “Wait, man, really?”
“After that,” PK tells Patches, “--wasn't much point in keeping quiet. Not when Duchene's one of the biggest gossips in the league.” Patches hums in agreement, and PK says, “I just—figured it was better to get it all out at once.”
“It was a cute picture you put up on Instagram,” Patches concedes. “Hell of a shock for all of us, but a cute picture.”
“I know, I got your phone calls,” PK says dryly. His phone had exploded less than five minutes into posting the picture of Miranda staring right right into the camera, perfect and adorable as ever, a Habs knit hat covering her curls, with the caption underneath saying, <i>So glad to introduce you all to the best thing in my life, my daughter Miranda Subban!!! Thankful for her every day.</i>
He looks down at Miranda, stroking his hand over her back. “They just couldn't handle how awesome your picture was, honey,” he tells her, and she burbles up at him like she can actually understand what he's saying.
When PK looks up, Patches is looking at them, his face going softer now with understanding. “I wasn't trying to cause waves, man,” PK tells him. “But I'm not ashamed of her. I'm not going to act like I am.”
“I get it,” Patches says, gently knocking his fist against PK's shoulders. “Congratulations, PK, I mean that. She's great.”
“Thanks,” PK says, smiling.
Patches is still watching him, though, and he asks, more hesitant now, “And her mom?”
PK takes a breath, and tells the biggest and most important lie yet. “Her name's Sarah. We, uh, you know. We hooked up a few times, nothing serious. Next thing I know, I'm getting a call from her in July, saying I'm a dad and--” He takes another deep breath. “She doesn't want to be involved in raising Miranda. I do. That's where it's at.”
“Jesus, man,” Patches says, shaking his head. “That's a lot to deal with, I'm sorry.”
His skin prickling with guilt and embarrassment, PK looks away, shrugging. He touches one of Miranda's small hands, encouraging her to grab his finger, playing a little pretend game of tug of war. “It's what it is. And I got Miranda out of it, so no way am I complaining.”
Patches gives him a little smile. “Definitely won the lottery there, bro.” He wiggles his fingers in front of Miranda, who laughs at the face Pacioretty's pulling.
Without looking back up at PK, Patches asks, “Talked to Carey yet?”
PK gives himself a second before he responds. “I haven't heard from him, figure he's busy out in Anahim Lake. The cows won't rope themselves, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” Patches says, but in that tone where it's clear he's not buying any of it. PK and Carey did their level best to keep their personal shit away from the team, but people aren't dumb, they had to have noticed when PK and Carey started keeping their distance from each other. And God only knows what Carey's reaction was when he heard the news about Miranda.
But thankfully, Patches leaves it there, saying next, “Come on, I'll show you what we did with the deck.” PK follows him out, talking in an excited voice to Miranda the whole time, watching her dark eyes track everything around her.
*
The part PK can never find the words to explain—not to anyone really—is that he loves being a dad. It's something he wasn't planning on at all, something he didn't think he was ready for yet, but he honestly loves being Miranda's dad.
It's like—the closest comparison he has is that it's like when he was drafted by Montreal. Just being in the middle of this incredible moment, this incredible opportunity, and knowing in a flash how much work this would be, how it would push you and push you, demanding nothing but your absolute best, <i>always</i>—and knowing that you wanted it all the same, more than anything else in the world.
It was like that with Miranda. It's always been like that, even when he was brand-new at all this and finding out the hard way that Miranda had already hit the stage where a full night of sleep was no longer in the program, for her or for everyone else within earshot of her wailing. He'd learned how to change her diapers, clean up her messes, have that constant gut awareness of where his kid was at all times--and all this while he was training with Chance for the start of the season, and putting the cover story together with his lawyers.
It was hard, and it didn't ever <I>stop</I> being hard--but going back was impossible, unthinkable. Even on the days when he was operating on no sleep and convinced that literally anyone in the world could handle this better than him.
His mom and sisters assure him that's normal, and Celeste—as she keeps reminding him—is here to help with whatever he needs.
“You're paying me to help you out here, PK,” she keeps saying. “Nobody's expecting you to be Superman.”
He knows that, he does, it's just—Miranda's his kid, his responsibility. She's been his responsibility since the moment he saw her face. PK doesn't really think it's a coincidence, that he was the one to touch the spaceship and Miranda ended up looking so much like him, like his family.
Even on the roughest days, when Miranda's fussy and cranky and crying at the drop of a hat, PK can't imagine anything being different. He can't imagine a time when she's not his kid, and he's not her dad. He doesn't even want to try.
*
PK doesn't hear anything from Carey right up to the first day of training camp.
He's not surprised, and he refuses to be disappointed—disappointment is where complications come in, and the last thing PK needs right now is complicated. Miranda, as much as he loves her, is complicated enough on her own. His whole—thing with Carey does not need a second act, not right now.
That's what they agreed on anyway, when Carey ended things. Keep things clean and simple, stay friends, and keep it all out of the locker room. Carey's kept up his end of the bargain, and PK's not going to screw it up now.
Besides, PK's always been on good terms with his exes. Landeskog, Johnny off and on, he's even managed to stay cool with Seguin after they hooked up that one time, and Seguin's practically the definition of messy.
So he can be cool with Carey now. He has to be. And so when PK goes into the locker room that first day at training camp, he dials it all the way up, clapping everybody on the back, smile on his face, asking everyone about their time off, their vacations, their families. He breaks out the phone and shows everyone his photos of Miranda, laughs when everyone comments with a variation of “she's just like you, except actually good-looking,” and when Carey walks in, PK keeps the smile on his face and calls out, “Hey, Pricey!”
Carey's eyes flick towards him, and PK knows he's not imagining how it feels like half the room's watching them now. “Hey, PK,” Carey says, and if Carey's not exactly smiling at the sight of PK right now, he's not scowling either, so PK will take it as a win.
“Have a good offseason?” PK asks as Carey heads to his locker.
“Yeah, it was all right,” Carey confirms as he starts to strip off his clothes. He looks good, clean-shaven, and in his shirt, PK can see the bulk he put on this summer.
He looks good, really good, and PK is not supposed to notice that about Carey anymore.
Next to him, Gally pokes his shoulder. “Hey, when are you going to introduce us to Miranda anyway? Patches already met her, it's our turn now.”
PK gives him an elaborately skeptical look, more relieved about getting to turn away from Carey than he should be. “What, are you looking to babysit? I don't think that's going to work, buddy.”
“Why not?” Gally asks, puffing his chest out. “I'm an awesome babysitter. I can change diapers and everything.”
“Yeah, no,” PK says, and Chucky calls out from his stall, “That's a good call, PK. You should have me babysit instead.”
“You?” Gally calls out, in mock disgust. “You would lose that baby in like, five minutes,” and with that, the Gally and Chucky show is on. PK sits back, eggs them on when necessary, and he doesn't look over at Carey even once.
He can’t expect anything from Carey now. That’s what PK has to remember.
*
The amount of free baby stuff that has been sent to PK lately is just beyond belief. So much stuff from his friends, his family, sponsors--if he let it pile up, he could fill an entire guest bedroom with baby clothes. PK doesn’t let it get that far, of course. He sends his thanks and donates a lot of it to charity. Some of it he keeps, even if it’s just so he can take photos of the tiny Islanders onesies that Johnny keeps sending and send him Snapchats with the caption of “Not a chance, Tavares.”
“Look,” Johnny argues over the phone one night. “There’s no rule saying your kid <i>has</i> to root for just Montreal.”
“Uh, you mean aside from how I play for Montreal, my family roots for Montreal, and how my kid lives with me in Montreal?” PK retorts. “Be glad I’m not burning this, bud. Islanders gear, <i>pfft</i>.”
His phone buzzes with a notification; PK pulls the phone away from his ear and frowns a little when he sees who’s texting him. Not that he’s complaining about Sid Crosby getting in touch with him--they were friendly during Sochi, and they’ve stayed friendly every time they’ve run into each other since--at least, off the ice they have.
And it’s not like Sid’s text--<i>hey, how are you and Miranda doing?</i>--is anything out of line. It’s just...surprising, that’s all. Especially since Sid already sent him a congratulatory text when the news about Miranda broke.
“PK?” Johnny says, and PK snaps back to attention, and back into the conversation. They talk for a while about their respective teams, give each other a little grief about the first game they’re scheduled to play against each other. It’s comfortable and easy, the way it’s always been between them, and PK wonders if he and Carey will ever get to this point, if they’ll ever get past the careful distance between them now.
He wonders about it, but not for long, because thinking this way is pointless. Either it happens or it doesn’t, but he can’t do anything else but what he’s doing already.
After PK gets off the phone, he goes around to check on everyone before he goes to bed. Celeste is out for the night, and Miranda’s sleeping in her nursery, but his mom’s in the chair by Miranda’s crib, watching her sleep.
PK steps into the room. “You’re still awake?”
“Mm,” his mom says. “I used to do this with you, you know. Watch you when you were a baby, sleeping away in that old crib.”
“Yeah?” PK says, smiling a little.
His mom’s smiling too at the memory. “Oh yeah. You’d think I wouldn’t, I’d already had your sisters, you were the third baby, but--each one of you felt like a miracle.” She eyes him up and adds, “Not to say that you didn’t also drive me up the wall, because you <i>did</i>, all the time--”
“Of course we did, it was fun,” PK says, and his mom flaps her hand at him in mock irritation.
“--but still, there were times it didn’t feel like there were enough hours in the day for me to spend time with you. So I would do this. I would watch you sleep, and know you were safe.”
“Mom,” PK says, and she smiles at him.
“I’ve been proud of you every day of your life,” she tells him. “But I’m so proud to see you doing this. You’re doing a good job, honey. She’s gonna have a good life because of you.”
PK’s throat is tight, too tight for him to speak, so he goes in to hug his mother, kissing her on the cheek in a silent thank-you.
His mother hugs him back, her arms warm along his shoulders, and his daughter sleeps on in her crib, safe and sound.
*
PK still isn't sure how every time he feeds Miranda baby food, more of it ends up on her face than inside her belly. It's amazing. The spoon is tiny, so there isn't much food to start with, his hands are steady as hell thanks to hockey, and yet every time, her face is smeared with food. Just covered in the stuff.
"You're doing this on purpose," PK says to Miranda in her high chair, wiping her face clean of puréed carrots. "I know you, Sunshine, you are doing this on purpose, and I'm not falling for your innocent act."
By the end of this little speech, PK's pointing his finger at her, just his dad used to do to PK and his brothers when they were small and he was trying to get something to sink in.
It didn't work then and PK's damn sure it won't work now, he's mostly just confused about how he's literally turning into his father.
Of course, Miranda just thinks this is the funniest thing since PK blew raspberries on her tummy this morning, and so she's gurgling with laughter, and so PK hams it up some more, and by the end of it, both of them are laughing, the jar is empty, and most of the food is smeared on Miranda's face and the tray to her high chair.
"Good morning," Celeste says as she comes into the kitchen, looking amused. "Did you get any of the food inside of her this time?"
"I got, like, a solid half of the jar inside of her this time!" PK defends himself, grabbing more of the wet wipes to clean the food off Miranda's round cheeks, her small chubby fingers.
"Mmhmm," Celeste says in that patented sarcasm she's had down since she was twelve. PK would know, she's been pulling that on him for just about that long.
As Celeste is filling up a mug full of coffee, she asks, gently for her, "Don't you have practice today?"
They both already know he does, just like Celeste knows why PK hasn't made a move for the door yet.
"Yeah," PK says. "Should probably get going, don't want to get caught in traffic."
He still isn't getting up out of his chair. This is always the worst part of his day, but you'd think he'd be getting better at it. You'd be very wrong if you did think that, but PK could see how anyone would make that mistake.
"Come here, baby," he says, gently lifting Miranda out of her seat. He kisses her cheek, murmuring, "You're gonna be good for Grandma and Aunty Celeste while I'm at work today? Yeah? Yeah, I know you will."
He holds her for a minute, until she starts to squirm and fuss, before kissing her one last time on the top of her head.
It's not until he's heading out the door, gear bag slung over his shoulder, that Miranda starts to wail unhappily, drowning out Celeste's soothing noises. PK steels himself and heads out, ignoring the unhappy twist of guilt in his stomach, how his shoulders want to hunch in on themselves, hearing his baby girl cry like that when he leaves.
His bad mood carries over to practice, where his teammates share looks over his head they think he can't see when he's short in his replies, when he's not joking and smiling the way he usually does.
Markov's the first to ask, coming up to him during a lull. "Everything okay, PK?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," PK says, but at Markov's skeptical look, admits after a second, "It's stupid. Miranda was crying when I left her this morning, got me in a bad mood. I'll get over it."
Markov nods, but doesn't give PK the speech about leaving personal stuff away from the ice or whatever. Instead he just says, sympathetic, "It's gonna get easier. For both of you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Markov assures him. "Until they start moving around on their own. Then you're in deep shit."
PK huffs out a surprised laugh. Markov punches him lightly on the shoulder and says, "You're gonna be fine." And in that second, PK can believe it.
*
PK knows how to work with the media. Being a player for the Montreal Canadiens, with this fanbase, in this city, means he doesn't have any other choice. He's always known that, and he's always looked at it as one more part of his job, like going to practice on time or wearing a suit on game days.
Today is not a good day. Miranda couldn't settle down all night, and no matter what his mom and Celeste say, it still doesn't feel right for PK, letting his daughter cry in her crib and leave it to other people to handle.
So now he's operating on not enough sleep, which has him being sluggish at practice, and so the coaches are snapping at him to pick it up, and PK knows what they mean, he's got an A on his chest and knows he has to set the pace, set an example.
It still doesn't have him in a great mood, and neither does the sight of Carey averting his gaze when PK catches his eye during a drill. By the time he's off the ice, PK's more than ready for the day to be over already, and that's before he gets a question from one of the reporters, probing into if PK's prepared for the start of the season, how he's dealing with the “distractions” that have happened lately. For a second, PK has a wild thought that the media's picked up on the tension with Carey, and then it drops. They mean Miranda. They're talking about his <i>kid</i>.
And for the first time in God knows how long, PK doesn't think about what he's going to say into a microphone.
“I'm not sure what you mean by distractions. Of course I'm ready to start a new season with my teammates, I think we've got a great thing going here and I'm ready to be a part of it. But I haven't had any distractions this summer. I have a <i>daughter</i>. I don't think of her as a distraction, and no one else should either.”
There's a beat of silence, and PK doesn't paper it over, doesn't make it any less awkward. He just looks at them, until someone asks him a different question, and PK can get to do his actual job.
“You all right, man?” Prust asks him later, as they’re walking back to their cars in the parking garage.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” PK says, but it takes an effort to smile back.
Prust doesn’t look like he’s buying it, and offers, “Come out to dinner tonight. Mariper and I were thinking about trying this new Indian place.”
“Can’t,” PK says after a small pause. “I appreciate it, bud, but I’ve got to get home tonight.”
“You sure?” Prusty asks, a little crease between his eyebrows.
PK would have a good time, he knows. Prusty and Mariper are always good company, and the food would be delicious, and it would be a break from everything right now. He’d have a good time, but it’s not where he needs to be.
“Yeah,” PK says. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
*
“So, do you want to talk about why you’ve been freaking out so badly?" Natasha asks him as they walk through the store.
“I’m not freaking out,” PK says. “Am I, baby?” he asks to Miranda, strapped to his chest with a sling, and Miranda blows a spit bubble in response.
“PK,” Natasha says, fixing him with a look, and like he has their entire childhood, PK caves in front of his big sister. Five minutes later, they're in the section for baby clothes, and PK's surrounded by hangers full of pink onesies as he complains about the preseason schedule and the road trip he's about to go off on, about dealing with the media, and Malcolm constantly texting him with questions about if Miranda's started growing tentacles yet.
“Sorry,” he says eventually, once he's got a hold of himself. “I know I shouldn't be complaining like this.”
“No, it's okay,” Natasha says. “You're under a lot of stress lately, and to be totally honest, Natassia and I were expecting you to explode way before now.”
“No, but I shouldn't be,” PK argues. “I have you and Mom and Celeste helping out, Miranda's healthy and happy, and I'm lucky. I know I'm lucky.”
Natasha stops flipping through the hangers and looks at PK. “You can be lucky and still be stressed out. You're a new dad, you've got hockey to deal with, and--” Natasha's voice drops, even though there's no one within earshot, “--you're constantly dealing with your ex-boyfriend--”
“Nat,” PK says, “Carey wasn't my boyfriend. We're just friends.”
He can see the effort it takes Natasha to keep from rolling her eyes at that. “Okay, what else am I going to call him? It's not even like you two are friends right now, anyway.”
“Sure we are,” PK tries, although his voice doesn't sound convincing, not to himself, and certainly not to Natasha, who just raises an eyebrow before she goes in for the kill.
“Okay, if you're still friends, then where's he been?" PK stares at her, and Natasha continues, her voice level, "Has he ever called you about Miranda or asked about her? Did he ever send you presents like Johnny and Steven did? Have you two even talked since you got back into town?”
She's completely right about all of it, and that's what has PK saying, his voice sharper now, “Natasha, can you just leave it alone, please?”
Natasha purses her lips, but says, “I just—I don't want you to feel like you have to paper everything over and pretend like it's all perfect. You can be stressed right now, just like you can be mad at Carey for disappearing on you.”
She's saying everything PK has been trying so hard not to think about, and PK can't answer it, he just looks away and focuses on the stuff in front of him until Natasha lets out a little sigh, and says, “Okay. What if we put Miranda in this?”
Nat's holding up the frilliest dress that PK's ever seen, in a shade that reminds him of Pepto-Bismal. He doesn't even have to think twice before saying, “No. My baby's not wearing that.”
“Nothing wrong with the color pink,” Natasha says lightly, and PK knows, he <i>knows</i> she's goading him into his now legendary rant on the lack of options when it comes to baby clothes, but he's going ahead anyway.
“I have no problem with the color pink,” he says, warming up to his subject, even as he maneuvers to keep Miranda from grabbing at any of the clothes. “I <i>like</i> pink. I will wear pink whenever I feel like it. I just don't want my daughter to be stuck wearing <i>only</i> pink every single day. Give me some options, you know? Some choices that aren't just pink, yellow, or green. My baby deserves <i>variety.</i>”
Natasha's openly smirking at him now. “You could go for white. That's a nice neutral.”
“I could go for a white wardrobe if I wanted to tempt fate every damn day,” PK retorts.
By the time they leave the store, PK has several bags full of clothes and toys, and neither one of them mentions Carey again.
PK does think about the rest of it, though. About why he hasn't looked forward to this preseason like he has all the others, about what it'll be like, being off in some other city, some hotel room, fretting about being away from home. About the worry that he'll be far away at the exact moment Miranda will need him there, in case something goes wrong.
It sucks. He's been warned about it, by his mom, his sisters, Celeste, pretty much everyone he knows with a kid. He's been warned, but God, it still fucking sucks.
Later that night, when Miranda starts crying, PK sleepily heads into her nursery, and once he's made sure she doesn't need to be changed or fed, instead of putting her down in her crib, he settles down into the rocking chair, letting her curl up to her chest until her sobs quiet down. “That's it, that's it,” PK slurs, feeling his eyes fall shut.
“Need help?” Celeste asks from the doorway, yawning.
“Nah,” PK says, slowly getting up to his feet, keeping Miranda secure against his chest. “Gonna have Miranda stay with me tonight.”
“Hmm,” Celeste says, and it's not until the next morning that he finds out Celeste snapped a picture of them together on her phone, Miranda sleeping soundly on PK's chest, the two of them dead to the world.
“Oh man, I have to put that up,” PK says, and within half an hour of posting the photo to Instagram, his phone is blowing up with replies, and Gally's texting him all indignantly, wondering when PK's going to introduce the squad to his kid already.
PK snickers and once he's done feeding Miranda breakfast—or really, once she's done trying to fling sweet potato all over the kitchen—he texts back, <i>it's not like I can just show up to practice every day with a stroller.</i>
<i>So invite us over then!!!!</i>
PK laughs and is about to reply when he pauses, fingers hovering over the screen. He actually kind of likes the idea, having some of the guys over. So he sends a quick text not just to Gally, but to Chucky and Prust and Larsy, inviting them over after practice to hang out, meet Miranda and his family.
It's not until he sends the text that he realizes he didn't invite Carey. He didn't even think about inviting Carey.
PK stares at his phone for a second longer, then puts it away in his pocket, without texting anyone else.
*
When the doorbell rings, PK's expecting Prusty to be the first to show up. So he gets up off the floor where Miranda playing with one of the squishy balls she loves so much, dropping a kiss on her forehead before answering the door, smile already on his face.
He is not expecting to open the door and see Carey standing behind Prust, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Hey, guys," PK says on autopilot. "You're, uh, you're right on time."
"Glad to hear it," Prust says breezily, stepping into the house past PK. "About time we all met the mini-you."
PK's nearly sure he's imagining the faint stress on the word “all” there, but it almost doesn't even matter with Carey standing here at his door for the first time in--well. A while.
Carey doesn’t move to come inside, just stands outside with his hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey,” he says. “Prusty had me tag along, hope that’s okay.”
He still isn’t really looking PK in the face. “It’s fine,” PK says. “Glad to have you, buddy. Come in.”
He opens up the door a little more and steps back, gives Carey room to come inside.
Miranda's set up in her little jumper swing in the living room, and Prust is already greeting PK's mom and Celeste, shaking both their hands.
PK's mom catches sight of Carey first, and she stops and stares at him with a look PK can't read at first. "Carey. I didn't expect to have you over tonight."
Oh shit. Celeste, standing behind his mom, raises her eyebrows at PK, confirming that it's not just in PK's head, his mom is not pleased right now.
"Kind of stopped by last minute," Carey says, and even if his voice is in its usual monotone, PK can see from the stiffness of his shoulders how uncomfortable he is right now.
"Been a while since we've seen you," his mom continues, and holy shit, this is really happening, but then his mom catches sight of PK's face and finishes smoothly, "--but we're glad to have you over now."
"We've got plenty of food, so that's no issue," PK says quickly, even as he grabs his phone out of his pocket, sending a frantic text to Natasha.
<I>Tell me you didn't say anything to Mom about me and Carey.</I>He's ready to run interference if necessary, but his mom is always going to be a good hostess, even if she's still eyeing Carey like he keyed her beloved car in a parking lot.
It almost doesn't even matter anyway, because Carey's attention is so clearly split, he keeps staring down at Miranda bouncing in her jumper. He's not trying to get her attention the way Prust is, he isn't bending down on his knees or waving his fingers in her face, he's just...staring.
PK's phone buzzes, and he looks down at it to see Natasha's reply. <i>Don't be stupid, of course I didn't say anything. Why?</i>
<i>he showed up with Prusty and Mom's glaring at him like he brought in the plague.</i>
Natasha's reply comes immediately, but the speed is just about the only reassuring thing about the message. <i>Damn...take a video for me, I want to see the fireworks.</i>
<i>Nat!</i>
<i>Look, I didn't say a thing, but with you moping around all summer and never mentioning Carey even once, I didn't have to. Mom's not dumb, and she's not crazy about seeing you unhappy. So he finally showed up, huh?</i>
<Yeah, he showed,</i> is all PK gets to send before the doorbell rings again.
It's Larsy, along with Gally and Chucky, and at least here there aren't any surprises, PK welcoming them in with relief.
Gally and Larsy play it cool when they see Carey there with Prusty, but Chucky’s eyebrows shoot up when he sees Carey there, although he thankfully doesn’t say anything. PK sighs to himself. It'd be nice to at least be able to pretend like the team hasn't noticed how weird things have been with Carey.
Miranda's stopped jumping in her swing, and is looking at the room full of strange people with a very dubious expression on her face. When she sees PK, though, she immediately holds out her arms, asking to be picked up, and PK heads over straight away. "Yeah, I got you," he assures her as she settles against his chest.
PK glances over at Carey, and if PK's feeling a little freaked out, that's nothing compared to how freaked out Carey looks in this exact moment.
PK looks away and says to the room at large, "So, everybody, this is my kid. Miranda, honey, you want to say hi?"
Miranda's feeling shy today, though, refusing to lift her head off PK's shoulder, even when Prusty smiles and ducks his head, trying to catch her eye.
That's not as bad as her reaction to Gally--when he approaches, waving a hand, Miranda actually hides her face away in PK's shirt, much to the room's amusement.
"One look at your face is enough to scare her," Prust teases.
"She's got good taste," Chucky says, and Brendan gives him a betrayed look.
"It's normal for her to be nervous, she's wary of strangers at this stage of her development," he insists, sounding lofty and defensive at the same time.
PK raises an eyebrow at him. "How on earth do you know that?"
"I know things about babies," Gally insists. "I totally kicked your ass in that diaper changing competition, remember?"
"Uh, excuse me, I think I won that."
"By cheating!" Gally insists, his voice rising and Miranda letting out a whimper of distress in response to the loud noise by her. Gally looks instantly sorry, lowering his voice as he says, "Crap, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare her for real."
"No, she's fine," PK says, assuring him and Miranda at the same time, using the same low, soothing voice he does when she's crying late at night. He rubs her back to settle her down, saying, "Yeah, it's okay baby. We both know I won that competition, don't worry."
He accidentally catches Carey's gaze while Miranda's quieting down, and it's a mistake--Carey's eyes are wide as he's looking at PK, at Miranda, that air of surprise he's had since stepping in here stronger than ever.
PK sets his teeth and bites the bullet, heading over to Carey next. "Hey sunshine, want to meet our goalie next? He's quiet, won't freak you out like the Gallys over there."
"I did nothing," Chucky insists.
Miranda's at least looking Carey over, staring at him like he's utterly fascinating. Of course, PK's seen her contemplating her own hand with even more concentration, but what's killing him is the way Carey's looking back at her, that wide-eyed stare of surprise, like whatever he was expecting when he came in today, this wasn't it.
"See?" PK says, more to give himself something to say rather than anything else. "Goalies aren't scary, are they? My girl's not scared of any old goalie."
"Can I hold her?" Carey asks him, abrupt. "If that's okay," he adds after a second of PK staring at him.
"I--sure. Yeah, that's fine," PK says finally, pulling himself together. He carefully leans in and shifts her into Carey's arms, holding his breath until Carey's got a firm grip on her and PK can pull back.
He tells himself he's prepared for anything, Miranda bursting into tears at being held by a stranger, anything--but he's not prepared at all for what actually happens.
He's not prepared to see Carey holding Miranda, looking for all the world as if he's every bit as fascinated with her as she is with him. It's a lot to take in, a lot to handle, seeing Carey holding his daughter, smiling softly at her as he says, "Hey there."
He gently bounces her a little, and Miranda chuckles as her feet kick in the air. Carey grins back at her, clearly delighted, and it's--it's just a lot. Too much.
"Here, let me get her back from you," PK says. "Got to let everyone else get a look at her."
Carey's face actually seems to fall a little, but he doesn't wave PK off, just hands her off into PK's arms and takes a step back. "She's cute," he says, still looking at Miranda, his face soft.
"Way, way cuter than you, PK," Gally says, and PK almost jumps--it's stupid, but for a second, he'd forgotten about everyone else in the room.
"Please, everyone, take a seat," his mom says, and if she's raising her eyebrows at him as she's saying it, well, PK just has to hope nobody else is paying attention.
But it’s fine, it’s okay at the dinner table--PK can’t remember to be self-conscious when he’s got Miranda in her high chair next to him, her tiny hands reaching out to grab at the food on his plate. “Sweetheart, you need teeth to eat steak,” PK gently chides, trying to feed her pureed bananas instead.
Miranda disagrees with this, loudly, and Larsy chuckles on the other side of him. “That kid’s going to have you wrapped around your finger.”
Celeste, who’s been fairly quiet so far tonight, snorts. “She’s got him there already. You should see the amount of toys he’s bought.”
“Every baby needs toys!” PK insists, defending himself. “It’s good for their development.”
“You bought out an entire store, PK,” Celeste says, which is just blatantly untrue--he left the store with only two shopping carts’ worth of toys that time.
Amid the general laughter, PK almost doesn’t hear Carey’s question. “How’d she get the name Miranda?”
PK blinks, not at the question, but at Carey entering the conversation. He’s been silent as the grave so far tonight, seemingly content to quietly watch everyone joke around and jockey to get Miranda’s attention.
“PK is the one that picked it out,” his mom offers, and everyone turns to focus on him.
PK could brush it off, say he found the name in a book and liked the sound of it. But--Carey’s watching him, really looking at him in a way he hasn’t since last season, and it just--if PK can’t tell the truth, he can at least stick as close to it as possible.
“Well, uh--I got custody of Miranda in July, the same day that meteor shower happened in Toronto, you guys remember that?”
“Of course, it was all over the news,” Prust scoffs, and Chucky says, “I still can’t believe that nobody died in that.”
PK nods, trying to stay cool, stay normal. “Yeah, so it just seemed like a sign, you know? And so we’re going through lists of names on the Internet, and I decide I want to name her after a star or a constellation. That’s actually easier said than done, though, and I couldn’t settle on anything--”
“I can confirm that,” PK’s mom interjects, and everyone laughs.
PK grins, as he concedes, “I’m a picky guy, what can I say? I was actually thinking about the name Bellatrix for a minute--”
“Like that evil chick in Harry Potter?” Gally asks, looking horrified. “Dude, no.”
“--but then I remembered about the evil chick in Harry Potter,” PK finishes, “--so I scratched that off the list, and then I saw that Miranda is the name of a star.” He shrugs. “It just seemed to fit her.”
“Good call,” Chucky says, nodding his head wisely. “Your kid is way too cute to be named after the evil chick in Harry Potter.”
PK inclines his head. “Thank you, I appreciate that.” He grins over at Miranda, tickling her under her chin, and she beams. “Miranda appreciates it too, don’t you?”
“Miranda’s a good name,” Carey says, and PK looks at him, but Carey’s looking down at his plate.
“Who wants sorbet?” his mom asks the table, and as always, her timing is perfect.
*
PK feels a little bad about hinting that everyone should leave around Miranda’s bedtime, but Carey’s the one who addresses it, saying at eight-thirty, “All right, let’s get out of here so you can put Miranda to bed,” Carey says, getting out of his seat and shooing everyone towards the door.
PK laughs but doesn’t try and deny it, saying his goodbyes with everyone at the door. Despite his words, Carey’s the last to leave, lingering in the doorway until everyone else has left. PK adjusts Miranda onto his hip, saying, “Thanks for coming over tonight.” He means it, mostly.
“Thanks for having me,” Carey says. He looks at PK and says after a second, “You’re good with her.”
“I’d better be by now,” PK retorts, chuckling. He can’t help but smile when he looks over at Miranda. “She makes it easy, though.” He drops a kiss on top of her head without thinking, but feels almost self-conscious under Carey’s gaze.
“Yeah,” is all Carey says, but then he ducks his head a little and smiles at Miranda, taking her tiny fist in his hand to shake it. “See you later, kiddo.”
PK swallows, and makes himself smile as Carey heads out to where Prust is waiting in his truck.
“Your teammates are nice,” Celeste says when he comes back inside.
“Yeah, they’re good dudes,” PK says. “I’m gonna get this rockstar to bed,” he says, nodding his head down at Miranda. “I’ll come down to help clean up once I’m done, okay?”
“All right,” his mom agrees, and PK heads up to the nursery.
*
When Celeste shakes him awake in the middle of the night, PK’s first thought is the fuck, and his second thought is Miranda.
“What,” he croaks, wiping at his face. “What--”
“PK, get up,” Celeste snaps out, and that’s what wipes the last of the sleepiness from PK’s head. “It’s Miranda, she’s--you need to come and see this."
PK didn't know it was possible for him to move that fast. He pushes past Celeste and rushes into the nursery, his heart pounding--
It takes a minute for him to process what he's seeing. His mom is there, her hand over her mouth, gaping at a still-sleeping Miranda, who isn't in her crib, but floating in the air a good foot above it.
"Holy fucking shit," PK says, for once in his life not worried about swearing in front of his mother.
"Yeah," Celeste says faintly from behind him. "That about covers it, I think."
Chapter Two:
(Conversation with Malcolm where PK snaps at him for not taking this seriously enough)
"I'm coming up to Montreal," his dad says firmly over the phone.
PK swallows what he wants to say, which is <i>oh, thank God,</i> and says what he should, which is, "You don't have to."
"Oh, I don't have to come," his dad says sarcastically. "I got a granddaughter who's floating in her crib at night, I got you and your mother on the verge of heart attacks, and I don't have to come up to check on you? Please."
PK closes his eyes, for a moment so relieved that he can't even talk. "Okay. Okay. Thanks, Dad."
"Floating," his dad says again, and his exaggerated, flat disbelief has PK laughing ruefully in spite of himself. "You know Malcolm's never gonna let this go."
"I've got a million texts from him already, so no, no he's not," PK agrees, glancing through his car window at the team bus, waiting to take them to their preseason game against Ottawa. Going on this road trip right now, with everything that's happening with Miranda—PK has never looked forward to a road trip less than he is right now.
So far they've figured out that if Miranda's sleeping with someone in a bed, she won't float. Otherwise, she'll start to rise up in her sleep and just hover above the crib, only descending when it looks like she's about to wake up. PK, his mom, and Celeste have all been sleeping in shifts to keep watch, in case Miranda gets too close to the ceiling or starts to move around in the air or anything.
They're doing their absolute best, but it still doesn't feel like anywhere close to enough.
PK's startled at a knock on the window; he jumps and looks over to see Prusty standing there, eyebrows raised. “You ready to go, man?” he calls out.
PK nods quickly and says, “Dad, I gotta go, we're heading out.”
“All right, PK. Take care of yourself, try not to worry. It's gonna be all right.”
PK swallows, turning away from the window so Prust can't see his face. “Thanks, but—Dad, you don't actually know that.”
“I believe it'll be true,” his dad says, steady as ever, as he's been throughout PK's entire life. “You should believe it too. It's gotten us this far, right?”
“Yeah,” PK says, voice a little smaller. “Okay. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
PK hangs up, swallowing once to get himself under control, push everything down, before he gets out of the car. “Hey man, sorry about that, just talking with my dad.”
“Yeah, how's he doing?”
“Good, good,” PK says, briskly, getting his gear and his bags out of the back. “Coming up for a visit, actually.”
He puts a good face on it until he's on the bus, but once they're on the road, PK puts his headphones on and shuts everything out. He just—he's not up for putting a good face on things, not right now. He keeps his headphones on and texts with Celeste, talking about putting cameras up in Miranda's nursery.
<i>It's a good idea</i>, Celeste texts him. <i>We won't be able to watch her every single second, not forever.</i>
<i>Yeah okay</i>, PK finally responds.
The game in Ottawa goes fine. The team's rusty, working out the kinks, and PK gets booed every second he touches the puck, but that's no surprise. Carey is, as ever, a wall in net. They end up winning 2-0, and even in the middle of celebrating in the locker room, it's as if half of PK's still in Montreal, still worrying about his kid, unable to wish for anything except that he was home, right this second.
Once they've boarded the plane that'll take them to Toronto, PK moves to put his headphones back in, and he's startled when Gally takes the seat next to him. “Hey,” PK says.
“Hey, you all right?” Gally asks. “You've been like, a ghost all day, half the guys are thinking you might be sick or something.”
“No, I'm fine,” PK insists. “Just tired.”
“Bullshit,” Gally says, skeptical. “Come on, tell me.”
PK's torn, because he genuinely doesn't want to talk—but he's well aware that he needs to give an explanation for his bad mood. If Gally's already approaching him, it's only a matter of time before other people start, and PK's not up for being grilled over his mood this whole trip.
So he does what's rapidly becoming second-nature to him; he lies while sticking as close to the truth as he can. “Miranda had a fever when I left home this morning,” he explains in an undertone. “Celeste and my mom are keeping an eye on it, but. You know, I get worried.”
“Shit,” Gally says, all sympathy. “That sucks. Is she going to be okay?”
“It's a low-grade fever, she'll be fine,” PK says quickly, his stomach twisting as he says it. “Just, you know. First time she's come down with any kind of bug, and I'm not at home. Not a great feeling.”
Gally nods. “That sounds rough, I get it. But like, your mom and Celeste are there, and we're only going to Toronto and Pittsburgh, you won't be so far away.”
That doesn't actually help very much, but PK nods. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, man.”
PK hopes that's the end of it, but as they get into their hotel for the night, it's clear that Gally's spread word around the team; Patches offers to have Katia look in on Celeste and PK's mom, Markov gruffly offers to get the name of his kids' pediatrician if PK wants a second opinion.
PK waves them off and heads to his hotel room, where he immediately pulls out his phone to call his mom, and frowns with surprise as he sees another text from Crosby.
<i>Good game tonight. We should meet up when you're in Pittsburgh.</i>
PK honestly is surprised by this. Yeah, he and Sid were friendly in Sochi, but they've never been that close. He's not going to turn the offer down, obviously, but it's a surprise all the same.
<i>Yeah, definitely!</i> PK sends back after a second. <i>Sounds like a plan, I'm in.</i>
Crosby's response comes immediately. <i>Good. See you soon.</i>
PK just looks at his screen for a moment before shaking his head, and opening up his contacts to call his mom.
*
The Toronto game goes well, a 4-1 win and PK gets an assist. It's good, it's encouraging, PK just—wishes he could feel like he was really present, wishes there was nothing on his mind except hockey.
Miranda is still floating in her sleep. His mom and Celeste finally ran an experiment, put her back in her crib one night while they kept watch, and sure enough, Miranda started floating again.
“She doesn't move when she's floating,” Celeste offers over the phone. “She just hovers, like a hummingbird.”
“Jesus,” PK groans, slumping in his seat before he notices Carey watching him. PK nods in acknowledgment before getting up out of his chair, moving to a place in the small airport where he won't be overheard. “Nowhere in my parenting books did it cover this.”
“Yeah, floating wasn't exactly covered in my child development classes,” Celeste says dryly. “Maybe this <i>is</i> normal for her.”
“I'm not ready to deal with that,” PK mutters. “Fuck, how do you even babyproof a ceiling?”
“I can check on the internet?” Celeste offers doubtfully.
PK tries to imagine the kind of website that would have advice on this, and his brain fails. “Yeah, I don't know about that.”
He says his goodbyes to Celeste once it's time for them to board, and once he's taken his seat, he pulls out his sketchbook on reflex before thinking better of it—most of the sketches he's done recently are of Miranda, and that's just not a headspace he can be in right now.
Maybe he'll just watch a movie instead. Before he can even make a move towards his laptop, Carey's there, standing by his seat and asking, “Cool if I sit here?”
A year ago that wouldn't even have been a question. “Yeah,” PK says after a second. “Yeah, sure.”
He moves his bags so Carey can settle in next to him, face feeling oddly hot. Once Carey's sitting down, he asks quietly, “How's Miranda doing?”
“She's fine,” PK says. Carey just watches, waiting him out. “Temperature's still a little high,” PK says at last, giving in.
“Has she seen a doctor?”
“Yeah,” PK says, trying to keep the sharpness out of his voice and mostly succeeding. “Yeah, we've just got to keep her hydrated, wait it out. She'll be fine.”
“That's good,” Carey says, and PK wonders if it's just always going to be like this between them now, just so <i>stilted</i>. PK's done his best since they got back, but he can't—he can't fix their rhythm on his own, and he's too worn down with worry over Miranda right now to make his usual effort at smoothing things over.
So instead of searching for a topic of conversation, instead of asking Carey about his family or how his summer went or anything at all, PK just lets himself fall silent, resting his head back against his seat.
He's still so aware of Carey, is the problem. His sheer presence, how close he is to PK, the way his knee is bouncing up and down like he's got too much energy to hold still. That last part is unusual for Carey, and PK watches until Carey says, abruptly, “I have something for you.”
PK blinks. “Uh. Okay?”
“Should've given to you sooner,” Carey says, and those are nerves in Carey's voice, in the way that he can't keep his knee still. “Maybe it's bad timing or whatever, but—I saw it in the store, and I thought she might like it, or it might be useful or whatever.”
“Carey, what are you talking about?” PK asks. Carey goes into motion, grabbing one of his bags and searching through it until he pulls out a package, clumsily wrapped with a bow on it, and shoves it in PK's direction.
PK holds it in his hands, the gift that Carey clearly bought for PK's daughter, and instead of saying thank you or even opening it, he looks up at Carey and says, without thinking, “So now we're friends again?”
The stunned expression on Carey's face doesn't make PK feel better, or vindicated—it just has him feeling worse, his stomach twisting unhappily, but he can't—he can't take it back, not when it's the truth.
“PK,” Carey says at last, sounding like he's been punched in the gut.
He can't take it back, and he doesn't want to. So PK swallows, looking away as he says what he needs to say. “You disappeared on me, man. We've had our issues, but—my entire life had changed and you were just <i>gone</i>.”
There's more to say, about that entire summer of PK staring at his phone, hoping for a phone call or text that never came, about those months of trying to put that last, awful morning in March out of his head.
He can handle Carey not wanting to sleep with him anymore. But the way Carey's shut him out since—PK's tired of pretending like he's okay with that.
But they're on a plane with their teammates, and even if they're keeping their voices low, and even if nobody's sitting nearby, this is not the place for them to talk about this. “Never mind,” PK says, shaking his head as he looks out the window. “We'll deal with it later, okay?”
PK is sure that Carey will take the out, so sure that it comes as a genuine shock when Carey says, voice rough, “I was a dick this summer. I knew I was being a dick, and I'm sorry.”
“Okay,” PK says after a moment. “Thanks for the gift.”
“It's a baby blanket,” Carey says next, glancing down at the package.
“Way to ruin the suspense, Price,” PK says, cautiously teasing, and Carey snorts.
“Somehow I think you'll live,” he says, glancing over at PK, and PK smiles a little, patting the gift with his hand. When he looks back up, Carey's still watching him, and PK feels his stomach twist again.
“How's your family doing?” he asks.
Carey's mouth quirks, but he answers. “They're fine.” They keep going on like that for the rest of the short plane ride, cautious small talk, still feeling each other out. It's not perfect but it's something, still a million miles better than before.
He doesn't open up the gift until he's in his hotel room for the night. The blanket's got van Gogh's Starry Night printed on it, a swirl of golden stars against the night sky. PK swallows, holding the soft fabric in his hands, before he lets it fall away, grabbing his phone so he can make his nightly call home.
*
They end up losing to Pittsburgh, 3-2 in the shootout. PK's half-convinced that Crosby will have forgotten about his offer, but sure enough, there's a text on his phone from Crosby, and Crosby's waiting outside the locker room for PK, hands shoved in his pockets, looking incredibly tense.
Chucky's right behind PK, and he says, “Uh,” at the sight of Crosby there. “Hey Crosby.”
“Hey Galchenyuk,” Crosby says. “Nice goal in the shootout.”
“Thanks,” Chucky says, still sounding confused, and looks over at PK.
“Sid and I are hanging out tonight,” PK explains. “I'll see you at the hotel, okay?” Chucky raises his eyebrows, but says, “Sure thing.”
“How's Miranda?” Crosby asks as they head over to Crosby's car.
“She's good, she's good. Back in Montreal with my mom and cousin,” PK explains, getting into the passenger seat.
“Any photos?” Crosby asks next. When PK looks at him, Crosby laughs and says, “Every new parent I've known has a million photos of his kid on his phone.”
PK has to admit that's true, and hands his iPhone over with a smile. Crosby seems really interested, flipping through the photos of Miranda in her crib, on the couch, in her high chair, with a look of concentration on his face.
Finally he looks up and asks, his tone oddly urgent, “Any videos?”
PK blinks, but says slowly, “Yeah, sure, it's here.” He'd known, vaguely, that Crosby liked kids, but wow.
One of the videos opens up, nothing huge, just Miranda laughing and bouncing in her jumper seat, but Crosby—he exhales at the sight, like he just took a punch, and PK officially has no idea what's going on right now.
“Sid?” he asks, but Crosby doesn't say anything, just replays the video over again, the expression on his face like someone who's just seen lightning strike right in front of him.
At last Crosby presses pause, sitting back in his chair. “Can I have my phone?" PK asks.
“Yeah,” Crosby says, voice faint, but he hands the phone back without any hesitation.
Then he looks at PK, directly at PK, and he asks him, “So what did you do with the ship?”
PK's entire body goes cold. His mind is filled with static, torn between laughing it off, punching Crosby in the teeth as a reflex, or grabbing him by the shirt and demanding to know what he means.
Laughing it off is the smart move. It's the only move, so PK blinks and says, in a voice that he hopes sounds believably confused, “What ship?”
Crosby's just looking at him, steady, like he already knows PK's lying and it's irrelevant, just a pit stop they need to get to on the way to wherever the fuck this is going. “The ship Miranda came in, the night of the meteor shower?” PK just stares at him, the panic rising in his throat, and then Crosby adds, “My parents buried my ship in our backyard.”
Now PK's the one feeling like he's just seen a lightning strike. Or been hit by one. “Your ship.”
“Yeah,” Crosby says, nodding, and PK had noticed the nerves from him earlier, he'd noticed how odd Crosby was being, but he hadn't seen this—the hope in Crosby's face. “The ship I came in, when I was a baby. In a meteor shower a lot like the one that brought Miranda here.”
“Oh my God,” PK says softly, staring at him. “Oh my God, you—you're like--”
“I'm like her,” Crosby says, smiling a little, and maybe he's crazy, maybe Sidney Crosby is a lunatic, or maybe PK's the one that's lost his mind, but looking at that hopeful smile, PK wants nothing more than to believe him.
*
“I'm not saying I believe you,” PK says later, watching Sid as they drive back to Sidney's house. “I mean, this sounds crazy.”
“Yeah, I don't hear you actually denying that your kid's an alien like me,” Sid snarks, but he's still got that smile on his face, which makes sense, PK figures. If Sid's telling the truth, if this is really happening, then he's spent his entire life thinking he was the only one in the world, maybe in the entire universe like him.
“I haven't admitted to <i>anything</i>,” PK insists, but goes on, “--but like. Say I did believe you.”
Sid glances at him. “Yeah?”
“How could you tell? About Miranda. How could you tell about her?”
Sidney licks his lips and doesn't respond at first, before saying, “I was in LA the night of the meteor shower, and I couldn't—I couldn't sleep. The whole night, there was this...buzzing in my ears. Like a siren was going off somewhere, and I was the only one who could hear it. Next thing I know, it's in the news—meteor shower over Toronto. I was following the news like crazy, hoping for any kind of word, and then...then you posted that photo to Instagram, and the timeline matched, and--” He stops, then says with an effort, “And the second I saw her, Miranda, it was like I knew her. I wasn't totally sure, though, not until I heard her laugh, heard her voice. Then I knew for sure.”
“How does that even work?” PK asked, voice hushed. “You get a signal in your brain and you can identify my daughter from her voice—I mean, how the hell does that work?”
Sidney just shrugs. “Don't ask me,” he says. “I never got a user manual with the spaceship. My parents probably would've appreciated it, especially when I was floating around in my sleep.”
“Holy shit,” PK blurts out, “--you float too?”
Sidney looks over at him, eyes wide. “What, you mean Miranda--” At PK's emphatic nod, Sidney just stares at him for a second longer, then starts to laugh, shoulders helplessly shaking.
PK joins in after a second, because really, it's either laugh or wait for his brain to implode.
When Sidney's laughter dies down, he looks over at PK again, beaming, and says, “This is incredible, you know that?”
“Yeah,” PK says, smiling back at him after a second. “It really is.”
*
“Crap,” PK says as his alarm goes off, blaring in his pocket. He pulls out his phone to double-check the time, and yeah, it's time for him to leave if he wants to make it back to the hotel before curfew.
“You have to go?” Sid says, knowing, and PK nods.
“Yeah. Gotta set a good example for the rookies,” he says, and they get up. “You'll give your parents my phone number, right? And my email?” PK asks again.
Sid smiles, easily. “Yeah, of course. I promised I would, didn't I? Trust me, they'll be thrilled to hear from you.”
“Not as thrilled as I'll be to talk to them,” PK says, and means it—God, he can't even really wrap his head around it yet, the idea of talking to people who have been through the exact same thing he's going through, who can tell him what to expect--
“PK?” Sid asks, gently prodding, and PK realizes he's fallen silent.
“Sorry, just—I'm relieved, you know?” he says, clearing his throat. “I'm not fumbling around in the dark anymore.” All this time with that fear in the back of his mind, worrying that he'll screw this up, that they'll get caught out and someone will come and take Miranda away—and now here Sid is, a living breathing example that this can work, that he can keep his daughter safe and that there's a shot she'll grow up and be absolutely fine.
Sid's watching him like he knows exactly what PK's thinking, and says, “Yeah, I get it. And--” he stops, then continues a little awkwardly, “--maybe I could stop by and visit. Next time we play you guys, I mean.”
“Are you kidding?” PK asks. “You realize that once I tell my parents, there's no way they're not having you come up to Toronto in the offseason for a visit. No way you're getting out of that, man.”
Sidney snickers. “Yeah, I think I can survive that.”
The car ride back to the hotel seems to go by in a flash, maybe because they spent the whole time going over information, what Sidney remembers of his childhood—which is a lot, apparently he remembers everything from the crash onwards, which is alarming when PK thinks about some of the language he and his brothers have used around Miranda, particularly when changing her diaper.
“You're doing fine, you know,” Sidney says as he pulls up to the hotel. “She's happy and she's safe. Trust me, that's the part that's important.”
“Yeah,” PK says. “And the floating'll stop when she's about five?”
Sidney shrugs. “It did for me.”
“Okay,” PK says. Five years of floating. He can totally do that.




I don't blame you for taking a break from hockey but THIS FICCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC. PK AND A BABY AND CAREY HAVING ALL THE FEELINGS AND WEIRDO SID BEING HELPFUL.
The best part is that in this fic, it would turn out that Carey was the one who broke off their Friends-With-Benefits setup because he'd caught feelings and didn't know how to deal with it, and now PK has a baby and Carey does the math in his head and realizes whoever the mom is, PK must've been with her when he was also messing around with Carey. Which is TOTALLY FINE. So fine. Except PK has a baby that looks just like him and she's a total sweetheart and it just. Seeing PK with her is a lot to handle.
I figured there was some timeline nonsense and of COURSE Carey freaked out because he caught feelings. OF. COURSE. and he loves PK's baby and everything is not ok with poor CP.
Carey is kind of a mess. He starts slowly slipping back into PK's life, dropping by PK's house, offering to give PK rides back from practice, etc. PK tries to explain that he can't be going out at all hours, he's got a kid, he needs to be at home when he can but--Carey doesn't seem to mind having the baby around, at least. And if PK's aching every time Carey picks his daughter up and smiles at her, nobody needs to know.
Carey just being around and helpful! and bonding with the baby, while PK tries to deal with feelings and hide how she's an alien. Just you know, the usual.
The worst is that PK can't let Carey hang around when it's bedtime, because what if she starts floating or another weird thing starts happening--it's just a lot to ask of someone to keep this kind of secret, especially when it's not just PK's secret, there's Sid involved in this too.
Meanwhile, Carey has noticed how tight PK is now with Crosby and like, what the hell? It gets even worse when they go to Pittsburgh for a game and Crosby whisks PK off as soon as the game is over. Are they DATING? What the hell is going on?!
and then when the Pens are in town and Crosby apparently has an invitation over to PK's and is like, immediately best friends with Miranda. (Is Carey more jealous about how tight Sid is with PK or how easy he is with her???)
Man, Carey is jealous about BOTH, he can multitask like that.
It's just really hard on Carey because he broke things off with PK both because he thought his feelings were one-sided and because he thought PK wasn't ready to settle down, that he was enjoying his life as a big shot NHL player in Montreal and there's nothing wrong with that, Carey never wants to shame PK for enjoying his life and being who he is--but seeing PK with Miranda, how good he is with her, how dedicated he is--it's every domestic fantasy Carey's never admitted to having starring the guy Carey still wants, and Carey has no idea how to handle it. Or to handle the idea that maybe it wasn't that PK wasn't ready to settle down, maybe it's just that PK didn't want Carey. Not like that.
And now Sidney fucking Crosby is walking into PK's apartment, greeting Celeste by name and picking Miranda up out of her high chair, lifting her up in the air and cooing at her while Miranda shrieks in delight. What the fuck. What the fuck.
And PK is just so confused about everything. Carey never looks happy but he keeps coming around, and Miranda loves him, and PK's pretty sure he likes her but it's all just so fraught and weird. And his beautiful baby alien just keeps throwing a wrench in things.
Things kind of come to a head around Miranda's first birthday party--his family's laughing at him because PK is making such a big deal over something Miranda won't even remember, but PK doesn't care, he just wants to make sure that Miranda can look back at her entire childhood and know she was wanted and adored. He mentions it casually, and some of the team does show up, with their kids in tow, but it's Carey who's there all day, Carey who helps with the setup and helps PK's mom and sticks around all day, even right around bathtime, and Miranda is obviously so tired but still fussing, so PK has to sit with her in the rocking chair and soothe her to sleep. Even then Carey doesn't leave, just stands in the doorway watching, his face shadowed.
Finally, once Miranda's settled down and is dozing against PK's shoulder, PK looks to Carey and says, "Carey--"
But that's all he can get out before Carey's leaning in over him and brushing a kiss against PK's mouth.
YES. ok, but then is there good makeouts or freakouts? because PK wants it but things are weird, or do they go for makeouts but then Miranda starts floating.
Wow. This is amazing. ♥
Thank you!
yesssssssssss
THANKS BUD
omfg i love this! OMG! Sidney Crosby is an AAAAALIEEEEN!!!!
But on the real, I love how real PK and Carey's relationship feels. It's just so vivid. This is fantastic.
IF ANY NHL PLAYER WOULD BE AN ALIEN, IT WOULD BE SIDNEY CROSBY. And thank you!
Jesus, I'm going to set hockey ON FIRE for driving you away (not that you're not totally justified) because THIS FIC I might have ACTUAL TEARS in my eyes EFF YOU NHL.
The Habs are absolutely determined that we can never have nice things. And aww, thanks buddy!
waves tiny fist
This is such catnip for me - aliens and PK with a baby and pining! And bonus Sidney Crosby! I can understand why it's abandoned, but I am glad you're posting what you did have.
I'm generally in favour of any fic where people are either a) secretly in love with PK and hiding it or b) openly in love with PK and not hiding it.
(Did I ever tell you my Sidney Crosby Was Taken By Fairies not-fic?)
Thank you! And man, I am of the opinion that the more people are in love with PK, either secretly or openly, the more that the world makes sense.
And oh man, NO YOU DID NOT, I want ALL the details pls and thank you