Survival Of The Fittest

Ross Miller was out of time. If he was going to make his move, he had to make it now.

So he did.

Shifting his weight onto his right leg, Ross pushed the blade of his skate into the ice and took off, his legs furiously pumping to pick up speed to cut through the middle of the rink. The left winger read the play perfectly and sent a hard, clean pass through the neutral zone. Already in stride, Ross accepted the puck on the forehand of his stick blade, the only sound a loud 'thwock' as he cradled the pass, trying to accelerate as he did.

Only one man to beat, now - the most important one of all.

He was one-on-one with the goalie.

((Ross Miller continued from Reflections))

As he pushed the puck ahead of him, gaining speed as he dug his blades into the cold surface, Ross was aware of shouting behind him. Obviously, the player's benches had gone up in arms - his team hopeful, and the opposition shouting words of warning as he'd made his move. As he saw the red center-ice line pass by in the corner of his eye, he was also conscious of what sounded like someone else picking up speed to chase.

Okay, so that time he had virtually none of? There was now even less of it.

Shit.

Three strides was all that it took from red-line to blue line, and as he was already near to top speed, the rest of the rink flew by in a blur. The sounds of the game fell away as his mind entered a state of hyper-focus, and the only things he heard were the pounding of his blades on the ice, the tell-tale signs of someone - likely the second, out of position defenseman - gaining on him, and his own breathing.

As he sped across the blue line, he saw the goalie take a step out of his net to challenge him. Okay, good. He was expecting a shot, which made sense. More often than not, Ross relied upon his shooting accuracy to pick a corner or two when sending the puck into the back of the net. No one would be surprised if he tried a shot. Less expected would be a fake shot and a deke. Not exactly known for his silky-soft hands, Ross still did possess a move or two that he'd pull out of his proverbial bag of tricks when the time called for it.

It seemed like this was one of those times.

Digging in a bit harder on his second stride so as to cut towards the right side of the offensive zone, Ross curled the puck back onto the toe of his stick as he reached the top of the faceoff circle. The goaltender matched his every move. Was there room to put his shot where he wanted? Ross didn't think so but continued to ready a shot anyway. The goalie saw this and tensed to make his own move. As he did that, Ross slowed slightly and transferred his weight from his back leg to his front leg and leaned on his stick, faking a quick wrist-shot. Expecting the move, the goalie bit, and he bit hard. Moving from his ready position, the goalie dropped down onto his pads in a classic butterfly position, glove up to where the puck should have been going.

But it never came.

Bringing the puck back with another toe-drag, Ross quickly pivoted and cut left. The goaltender realized far too late what was about to happen and abandoned his training, sprawling to his right across the net, blocker and stick outstretched. Ross had him; what happened next would be elementary: puck from forehand to backhand, shot, goal. So easy that Ross started to feel the beginnings of the thrill he got every time he scored a goal.

Unfortunately, sometimes life isn't that simple.

As he made his move across the net, Ross had slowed enough for the second defenseman to catch him, and he too had picked up on Ross' fake shot just a few seconds too late. In a last-ditch, desperation effort to prevent a goal, the other player sped up and did the only thing that he could: he gave Ross a hard shove from behind.

It may have been a desperation maneuver, but it worked.

The newfound additional momentum disrupted the teenager's hold on the puck, and instead of depositing a clean shot into the yawning cage in front of him, Ross felt himself speeding quickly past the net, his shot flubbing softly off the toe of his stick and into the corner boards area. He had barely a second to feel frustration as his feet shot out from under him, catching on the outstretched stick of the goalie. Flying through the air, Ross tried to brace himself as he landed on the ice with a grunt. Momentum still carrying him forward, his stick and hand caught underneath his body, Ross looked up to see a head-on collision with the boards in his future.

Without a moment to think and react, survival instincts took hold. Ross dug his knee into the ice and threw himself as hard as he could to the right. Taking a hard tumble into the boards on his side would probably leave him sore and maybe with the wind knocked out of him, but going in neck-first could be a potentially catastrophic injury. It was one of the first things that every hockey player was taught, and the reason that so many leagues around the world enforced stiff penalties for hitting someone from behind. There were too many examples around the world of people being paralyzed or severely concussed because of someone else's negligence. Ross had no intention of living his life in a wheelchair; a fate he'd spared himself as his pivot was successful. Instead of the boards coming at him head-first, the impact would come where he'd hoped it would: his side. He hadn't been able to extract his stick from underneath him, so he just held on with his left hand. Ross braced himself and hit the boards with a heavy thud. All was well, except-

Pop!

That was a new sound. Grimacing, Ross took a second to gauge himself. He heard the whistle blow as he checked himself. Everything seemed in order, so he rolled over, dropping his stick as he did so. His first look went to the referee, to see if there was a penalty call on the play. Glancing up at the stripe-shirted man coming to a stop on the half-boards, he was floored to see that the man's arm was not up to indicate a penalty. In Ross' eyes, that was a crystal-clear example of an infraction, and so his face flushed with frustration as he started to yell at the official.

"Come on, stripes! What the fu-"

As he cursed at the referee, he stopped mid-sentence as he tried to push himself back to his feet. Arms extended in a push-up to the ice, his breath was taken away as his entire left arm crumpled underneath him, sending Ross face-first back into the ice. His cage hit the surface, bouncing slightly and leaving about an inch between his face and the frozen ground.

Oh, no.

The sudden sharpness of surprise pain took him by surprise, and as Ross started to understand the reality of his situation, he expressed the explosion of frustration in the only way that he could. He kicked his skates up and down on the ice, as though he were having a tantrum. Out loud, it probably sounded similar.

"Shit, shit, SHIT SHIT SHIT. FUCKING FUCK, FUCK!" The curses were barely separated into different words, and as he screamed, Ross carefully rolled onto his side, his dead arm of absolutely no help to get him to his feet. This was bad. Ross Miller knew bumps, he knew bruises, and he knew what it felt like to break a bone. The problem was?

This was a brand new feeling, and that could only have been bad.

A few of his teammates appeared over him, along with the official that'd he'd about to bark at, concern radiating from all of them as they slowly surrounded him. One of them; Tyler, the team captain, leaned down and asked an incredibly obvious question.

"You okay, Miller?"

Grimacing as he realized that the weight of his arm was causing his shoulder some pain, Ross shucked the glove of his right hand quickly, grabbing his elbow and lifting to try and ease some of the tense pain radiating down his shoulder. It worked, and that just filled Ross with even more dread. Something was seriously wrong, and it very likely wasn't going to be a quick fix. In his soul, he was devastated. Ross knew his own body fairly well, and he knew then and there that his hockey season was likely over. Grunting up at Tyler's question, he carefully propped himself on one knee and slowly rose to his feet, careful not to jostle his arm too much.

"Help me up. I'm done."

Tyler, seeing the care with which Ross was favouring his left arm, did the smart thing and grabbed hold of his hockey pants, helping him up by the hips. Pained, Ross slowly skated to the bench as the sportsmanlike stick tap from all of the other players on the ice matched the applause from the crowd that he was seemingly okay. While a small part of him was still outraged that there was no penalty call, he knew that he now had far bigger problems. Problems that would expand outside of the purview of this game, in this rink. As he reached the bench, he scooted over to the end and tried to compose himself. Adrenaline was still running high, and he had a decent tolerance for pain, but this wouldn't last long. He'd have to get out of his gear and take a trip to one of his least favourite places in the whole city.

He was going to have to go to the emergency room.

In the stands of the rink, the smattering of spectators muttered to one another about the injury they had just witnessed; mostly platitudes, hoping the injured player was all right. All, of course, except for two individuals. One was a teenage female who had been holding her hands to her mouth the entire time that Ross was on the ice. The other was an older male, looking on with concern, brow furrowed and hand on his pocket as if to feel the car keys that he knew he was about to need.

From afar, the duo watched as Ross shook his head at a teammate, and retreated down the tunnel towards the dressing room, moving slowly and favouring his arm as he went. The older man turned to the teenager and shook his head, his faint Irish accent sounding downtrodden.

"That doesn't look good. I'd better go check on him. Best be ready to meet us out front."

With that, Patrick Miller sighed and stepped down from his spot in the stands, beelining towards the dressing room area to check on his son. Her face radiating with concern, Ariana Moretti remained for a moment as the hockey game continued in front of her, everyone in the stands forgetting about the injury - and the scoring chance, that had just occurred. The game went on. For all of them.

But not for Ross.

Ariana hugged herself as she tried to will good vibes across the rink to wherever Ross was sitting, feeling the extra layers she'd put on to keep herself warm as her mind tried to avoid imagining the worst-case scenario. She hoped that he'd be okay. She hoped that it would be a minor sprain, he could toss it in a sling and he'd be good to go. It was all she could do to keep hoping for the best.

After all, the timing wasn't exactly ideal.

She stepped out into the aisle of the stands and slowly made her way up the stairs, mind racing as she tried to understand what this might mean for the immediate future. Ross had better not be seriously hurt - he couldn't be hurt. Neither of them could afford that; financially or emotionally. Ariana didn't know what she'd do if this was serious. That would mean he wouldn't be able to go on the trip.

The trip that left for DC tomorrow.

"Come on, take it slow. C'mon, hun. Almost there."

Ariana Moretti carefully lead Ross up the stairs towards his bedroom, the boy slowly taking one step at a time, gingerly keeping his sling-wrapped left arm as immobile as he possibly could. The sling was blue and tightly confined, with a second back-strap to keep everything from moving around too much. As Ross reached the top step and slowly continued on down the hall towards his door, Ariana glumly watched him go for a moment before continuing on after him.

As far as moments went, this was a tough one.

((Ariana Moretti continued from don't go wasting your emotion))

The entire time from the hockey rink to the hospital, Ariana had admired the brave face that her boyfriend had put on. It had taken some time for his teammates and eventually, his father, to help him change out of his hockey gear and all the while Ariana had pensively paced the lobby of the arena. She had repeatedly walked the same odd rubber flooring, installed so that the players could walk on it without fear of dulling their skates. It felt strange on her feet. It was all she could do to focus on that to keep the sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. Looking at that same strange floor. Around and around she had circled the lobby until finally Ross and his father had made their way out of the players' area. Ross had his coat loosely draped overtop of him, still holding his arm and had obviously not showered. Yet he still wore a weak smile, fighting through the pain he was obviously feeling. He'd seen her and had made a silly remark. Ariana couldn't even remember what he'd said. All she could recall was his weak smile. For her benefit.

Catching up to him down the hall, Ariana gently cut around him and opened the door to his bedroom, entering first and leaning over to flick on the light switch. The room illuminated and was punctuated by the gentle whirring of the ceiling fan, only obtrusive as it started up. The clicking disappeared after a few seconds as the spin reached full power, sending a gentle breeze over the room. She let Ross shuffle slowly in, focusing all of his energy on getting from point A to point B as she quickly started to prepare what he'd need. Fixing his bed was easy, all he would need would be a pillow to brace his elbow on while he slept, and so she adjusted it accordingly. Grabbing his sheets and throwing them aside to allow him easy access to the bed, she moved out of the way as he gently used his right hand to pull his track pants down, slowly shedding them down to his boxer shorts. The t-shirt would remain, as the sling was fastened properly over it and any movement seemed to cause him some moderate distress.

Moving out of his way, Ariana held out her arm as a steadying force, which Ross slowly took as he climbed into his bed, and lowered himself down, slightly leaning up on his pillows. As his back touched the mattress, he sighed and visibly relaxed more than he had for nearly the entire time he'd gotten off the ice. Pensively, she stood at the side of his bed, watching him try and get comfortable. Shifting a bit to his right and left, he ended up settling in a prone position, laying on his back, more or less staring straight up. It wasn't the way he usually slept, and she could sense his frustration already.

"Not really the way I was hoping to spend my Sunday night, y'know?"

It was classic Ross, putting on a brave face in front of everyone - his doctor, his parents, his girlfriend - joking around even while dealing with a substantial injury. Pulling the office chair over from Ross' desk, Ariana sat down beside the bed and placed her hand on his leg, careful to avoid the left side of his upper body. She was still concerned but allowed him a smile at the flippant remark.

"No, hun. Me neither. How's the pain?"

Squeezing his eyes closed for a moment, Ross seemed to brush away another wave but allowed himself another weak smile; an expression that didn't match his words.

"Fuckin' sucks. It's okay now, but... every time I move at all I can feel it throb."

Ariana's grimace was punctuated with another feeling of guilt. There wasn't much she could do to help her boyfriend now, and they both knew it. Raising an eyebrow, Ross gently gestured to her purse with his head.

"Speaking of... what would I have to do to get one of those Percs off your hands?"

Her eyes lit up in remembrance, and her hand immediately went to the purse that she'd placed on the floor. The doctors hadn't been able to do much for Ross at that moment - his injury was that which required only time to heal, but he'd been prescribed a small number of Percocets to help manage the pain. Fishing the bottle out, Ariana popped the top and retrieved one capsule.

"Remember what they said. These are super addictive, so don't take too many at once."

He nodded weakly.

"I know. I'll probably avoid 'em once the pain settles down, but for right now?"

Ross closed his eyes once more, but as he opened them after a few seconds, his shields finally fell; they were glassy, full of tears from the pain.

He didn't need to say anything to follow it up - she got the message. Ariana had a bottle of water at the ready and handed him the pill, followed by the bottle, both of which he gingerly accepted with his right hand and quickly swallowed. Feeling the immediate placebo impact of swallowing the pills, he blinked the tears away and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Ari. I should have been more careful."

More careful? Ariana had seen the play in question, she scoffed at the insinuation.

"What? That's bullshit, R. You got hit from behind, how the hell do you avoid that? It wasn't your fault that some asshole doesn't know how to exercise restraint."

He didn't say anything, but grimaced, conceding the point. She continued on, knowing that he was barely in any condition to argue.

"So you sleep, get some rest. Tomorrow I'll check in after school, and-"

He cut her off, suddenly a bit more awake and forceful than he'd been a moment ago.

"Tomorrow? No, Ari - the trip is tomorrow."

She blinked in surprise, and shrugged at him, holding her hands out in front of her, palms up.

"I know that. If you're not going, I'm not either."

Shifting uncomfortably from his prone position, Ross shook his head. He'd had a suspicion that this would be her attitude; part of the reason that he'd been feeling so guilty was that the trip had by and large been his idea. It would have been a fun thing for the two of them to do as a relatively recent couple before the end of school. He'd talked her into prom, and that had been fun, and she'd warmed to the idea once the money to go had been a reality. But as he'd sat in the emergency room and the words grade two AC joint separation had echoed from the doctor's lips to his own ears, he instantly knew that there would be no senior trip for Ross Miller. Maybe if he'd hurt himself the week prior, but days after sustaining such an injury? It wasn't likely. The prognosis was good - hell, it was a lot better for Ross than dislocating the shoulder would have been, even if the recovery time for that particular injury would have been far less. A separation wouldn't recur, a dislocation would. A separation would heal and regain its strength.

So now he was faced with a separation of another kind, but this was one that he was trying to talk Ariana into. As he'd sat in near-silence on the way home, trying to fight off the waves of pain, he'd been trying to put together how he'd talk Ariana into going. He'd known that this would have been her reaction to the injury almost as soon as he'd realized how serious it was. The whole reason she'd agreed to go was for him.

Ariana had been doing Ross a favour - and so now it was Ross' turn to repay it.

"No."

Her eyes narrowed, and she frowned. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean no. You're going on the trip."

"The hell I am! What would be the point? The one person I'd prefer to walk around the city with is all messed up here in bed." Her tone was strong, and in most situations, this would be enough to win an argument.

But this wasn't most situations, and Ross Miller spoke back up with a firmness that surprised Ariana.

"That isn't fair. Just because I get fucked up doesn't mean that you need to miss out, too." He sighed as he felt the pain slowly begin to subside. That likely meant that he'd need to make his point sooner, rather than later.

"Look, Ari. I'm going to be asleep, drugged up on Percs, or laying here watching reruns of Star Trek. I won't be much fun. I'm going to be bored stiff. I'm stuck in this sling for at least a week, which means I'm probably not showering... for a week." He repeated it for emphasis and grimaced at that thought; he knew he already smelled terrible.

Ariana opened her mouth to retort, but Ross cut her off.

"I got you something."

That derailed her argument train as it was leaving the station, and she tilted her head, curious.

"I don't - wait, you what?"

He gestured to the other side of the room with his head.

"It's in the... top drawer, I think? The small one to the right, with all the socks." Ariana narrowed her eyes at Ross, who simply smirked. "Don't worry. There's nothing overly terrifying in there."

Still ready to argue the point of her attendance on the trip with her injured boyfriend, Ariana rose from the chair and walked over to his sturdy brown Ikea dresser. While going through someone else's sock drawer was usually among the last activities she'd ever want to contemplate doing, she didn't hesitate and pulled open the right section of the split drawer on the top, glancing in. Shockingly, the drawer contained socks, none of which were matched and all just splayed out every-which-way. Reaching in, she rummaged around and quickly found a small box near to the front. Pulling it out, she saw that it was a green and blue gift box, and her eyes widened. Examining the box, she closed the drawer and walked back over to the chair, lowering herself in as she held it up in front of her.

"Yeah, that's it. I wanted to give it to you on the trip, but..." He trailed off, his voice weaker than before. "Go ahead, open it."

Ariana was speechless. She hadn't had any inkling that Ross was going to make any kind of gesture, let alone get her a gift. Her birthday wasn't remotely close, and through the course of their relationship, she hadn't pegged her boyfriend as the type to get sentimental over any particular anniversary milestone (of which she didn't even know when theirs was).

So to say that this was unexpected was an understatement.

Carefully sliding the top off of the gift box, she placed it on the desk beside her, and slowly pulled out the contents. Her eyes widened as she saw what it was.

"Oh, Ross... what did you do?"

He smiled weakly as she held the small object in her hand. The gift was a circular silver pendant, one that matched the other chain she usually wore around her neck. This was larger and thicker though, and as she could see as her fingers turned the object, it opened up. Mouth slightly agape, she undid the pendant to reveal the secrets within. Her other hand went to her face to stifle her gasp.

Inside of the pendant was a photo depicting two people, and her own face was one of the ones that stared back at her; stared may have not been the right word, as in the photo her eyes were crossed and her tongue was sticking out. The second person was Ross, of course, and his own expression was just as silly, face scrunched up and contorted as he kissed her on the side of the cheek. She knew the photo - it was a silly afternoon that they'd spent together little over a month after they'd first started dating. They'd been discussing the ridiculousness of Snapchat filters - of Snapchat at all, really - and eventually it had lead to a myriad of ridiculous selfies. It was still one of her favourite days they'd spent together, as in that afternoon none of the other problems of the world had mattered. Her eyes took to the left of the photo, to an engraved inscription on the lid of the pendant.

"Taking it on together. Heart, R." Ariana read it aloud and looked up at Ross, lost for words of her own. "It... it's beautiful, Ross. How could you afford-"

Blushing a little, Ross tried to shrug but winced as he was reminded of his current predicament.

"I saved up. Mostly."

Ariana shook her head at him and closed the pendant. It truly was beautiful. This was such a nice gesture, and it was one that she hadn't expected from him. This whole thing was so unexpected. Never in a million years did she think she'd feel this way about-

"Guess I should say this while I'm still awake and can blame it on drugs if it goes wrong. But, uh..." Ross blinked a few times, trying to stave off the medicine for a few more moments. "Ariana, the last few months have been so much more fun for me since we met. Everything we've been doing together has been better, because... well, like it says. All the high school crap, we're taking it on together, you know?"

Her hand still at her mouth, Ariana nodded. She felt her emotions welling up beneath the surface.

"I was gonna say this in DC, but I guess I should stop beating around the bush. I just really wanted to say that I love you, Ari. You're so fucking cool and I'm so lucky," he paused, allowing himself a smile at his current state, "most of the time, anyway."

The words hit her not like a ton of bricks, but like a warm hug on a cool winter's afternoon. Internally she tried the words on for size; they fit. She felt likewise for him. It hadn't been something she'd needed to tell herself, but she'd known. A gesture like this? It was relatively out of character for him, and that told her all she needed to know about how earnest it was. Her heart beat just a little bit faster now.

"Aw, you big goof. You know I love you too."

Carefully, she leaned over and kissed him, careful not to jostle his shoulder or cause him any more undue pain. As she sat back down on the chair, they both smiled at one another, though Ariana's smile was a bit sadder than her boyfriend's. She knew exactly what he was going to say next, and she knew it would be an argument that she couldn't win - nor did she entirely want to. She made a superficial attempt.

"I should still stay here with you this week."

Eyes drooping a bit more, Ross shook his head, his voice more insistent than the rest of his body language.

"Ari. No. You paid to go on the trip. I know your dad made a sacrifice or two to find you the money." A pang of guilt shuddered through her body. On that, Ross was correct. Money had been scarce lately, and her father had worked overtime several weekends in a row to help her pay for it. She opened her mouth to respond, but he quickly continued, his voice quieter.

"You should go. Have fun. I want Snapchats, I want Instagram stories. Hell, video call the heck out of me. I'm not going anywhere. I want a play-by-play of the whole thing." His eyes were warm, and she knew he was asking this as much for her sake as he was for his own. "Your mission, Ms. Moretti, is to show your disabled man a good time. From afar."

Shoulders sagging, she nodded. The trip would undoubtedly not be as fun for her if Ross wasn't on it, but if she had something to put her mind to, that might make it easier. Besides, Ross was a fairly well-known kid around school, so maybe she could have some of his friends record testimonials or messages for him while they were there. The corner of her lips drew into a small smile as she started to put together a plan. He'd surprised the hell out of her with the beautiful pendant and the lovely gesture, and so perhaps she would return the favour.

Defeated, Ariana nodded her acceptance.

"Deal. But you'd better be up and about by the time we get back."

Ross was barely conscious now, the Percocets having done their job. He was able to muster a thumbs-up with his right hand as his head started to settle back against the pillow, his eyes barely open to meet hers. Smiling down at him, she watched as his body relaxed, allowing the medication to subdue him into unconsciousness. Her hand still resting softly against his leg, Ariana reached over and pulled the covers up as high as the middle of his torso, allowing his arm to sit on his chest, held in place by the sling.

Sitting back down in the chair, Ariana again took a closer look at the pendant she still held in her hand. It was an incredibly thoughtful gift, and as she pulled the necklace she already wore out of her shirt to affix the pendant to it, she replayed the moments back in her head. He loved her. She loved him.

Ariana smiled. For a long time, she had been cynical enough to believe that love wasn't something worth pursuing; that people weren't worth trusting. It had taken her years to trust her mother again, and outside of her father, she barely let anyone in. Even her closest high school friends were little more than strong acquaintances. Maybe that was her fault, that she hadn't allowed it. Maybe she'd just been waiting for someone to come along to show her just how valuable love was.

He did, and he had. She considered herself the lucky one.

Slowly rising to her feet, Ariana grabbed her purse from the floor. So she'd see the trip through. She would go, and she would show the person who had brightened her life like few before just how many people around actually cared about him. Ross had never considered himself popular, and often figured that he was more of a wallflower than anything, but Ariana knew that his kind and easygoing nature lent to him having more allies than he knew. He might miss the trip, but she knew that he would be missed, and what better way to let him know than to have his classmates tell him?

She smiled as she leaned over and kissed his forehead. He would be embarrassed to all hell, of course, but that would be half the fun. Turning around, Ariana reached up and pulled the cord on the ceiling fan, cloaking the room in darkness as she headed towards the exit. As she opened the door, the hallway light illuminated Ross' bed and in it, his sleeping form - wounded but on the road to recovery. Absently rubbing the pendant, she took one last look and closed the door behind her.

She hadn't gone anywhere yet, but already Ariana Moretti couldn't wait to come back home.

((ARIANA MORETTI CONTINUED IN THE DC TRIP))
((ROSS MILLER PREGAME CONCLUDED))