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Sid shifted awkwardly on the couch. He shot a glance over at where Geno was sitting at the other end, his arm still in a sling.
He forced his eyes back to the TV. They were watching hockey highlights, but well, they were Sid's collection of highlight tapes: he practically had them memorized. He bit his lip, and watched as Stevie Y deked around a D-man and passed seamlessly to Federov. Even on Sid's fuzzy, well-worn tape, you could tell that Federov had slammed the puck home faster than the goalie could react.
At the other end of the couch, Geno cheered softly. His voice sounded nice in Russian. When he spoke English, Sid had to focus all his attention on what Geno was saying, but like this, during a quiet afternoon with nothing to do but rest and heal, with Geno speaking a language Sid didn't know, Sid could just focus on the sound of Geno's voice. It was nice.
Sid was reminded once again of how lucky he was that Geno was here. That Geno had come after a whole year, had escaped to play here, because he wanted to play NHL hockey so badly and to play it with Sidney.
Sid bit his lip. He squirmed. He shot a glance down at their empty plates on the coffee table, with only crumbs remaining of the massive sandwiches they had loaded them up with. Geno's Gatorade bottle was half-empty, but his water glass was still mostly full, so Sid probably couldn't offer to refill it yet.
Right, well, conversation it was then. Sid glanced back up at the TV. Stevie Y was showing off his puck handling on home ice, Toronto's defenders skating to meet him. Sid only had a few minutes left in this tape to think of something appropriate to say. Something cool. Something that would make Geno glad he'd come to play in Pittsburgh. Something that would make him like Sid. But also like, he needed a conversation starter not just a statement. A conversation starter he could speak clearly, so he could be sure Geno understood. And one that Geno could answer easily, too. Sid knew Geno knew more English than he usually spoke, but that didn't mean Sid wanted to make it hard on Geno.
Sid's tape of Stevie Y's stick handling highlights faded into static. Sid grabbed the remote and set the tape to rewind. He swallowed. He still wasn't sure what he wanted to say, but he needed to say something now, he was out of time.
"Soooo, do you like playing hockey?" Sid tried. His face flushed as soon as he said it. What kind of stupid question was that? Geno had climbed out of a bathroom window to come play in the NHL, of course he 'liked playing hockey'.
"Yes." Geno replied, his lilting accented voice perfectly genial. "You like play too? Hockey?"
Sid swallowed. "Yeah. It's uh, it's the best."
"Yes." Geno agreed, nodding emphatically.
Sid relaxed back into the couch a little for the first time in an hour. Good. This was good.
"Do you, uh, I mean, I'm really excited I'm getting to play with you, uh. Do you like playing here? So far?" Sid forced his mouth closed.
Geno squinted at him, his mind clearly whirling. He had a nice face.
Geno opened his mouth slowly, his tongue pushing along his bottom lip before he spoke. "Yes. I'm like. Nice city. Is like, not Magnitogorsk, but little bit like home? Can be home?"
"Yeah." Sid breathed. "I mean, I'm glad you feel that way too."
Geno nodded. "Is little scary, like, injury, my shoulder hurt. I miss Mama and Papa, miss home, like, worry. But Pittsburgh still nice."
"Oh." Sid breathed he stared down at his own hands. He wondered what it would be like to get injured in a place where you barely spoke the language. Not like Quebec, because while Sid had spoken only a little French at first, it was still Canada. And lots of Quebecois spoke a little bit of English too, enough that Sid could get by in an emergency.
Hardly anyone in Pittsburgh spoke Russian. Just Gonch and George Birman and their families, and Max the skate coach. Geno could get lost somewhere and be in real trouble.
"That's, uh." Sid fumbled. "You're really brave." He forced himself to look up and meet Geno's eyes.
Geno was blinking at him, surprise clear on his face. "Not feel very brave."
Sid frowned, his mind set. "Yeah, well. You are, okay? And you'll heal up soon, and your English is going to get even better, and we're going to play together in Pittsburgh for the rest of our lives, okay?"
A slow smile was creeping over Geno's lips. "Okay, Sid. If you sure."
Sid crept a hand out to poke at Geno's thigh. They were nice thighs. "I'm sure."
"You have Federov tape? We play next." Geno suggested.
"Oh!" Sid said, happily. "It's mostly Detroit stuff, but yes! One sec, I'll grab it."