Date Posted: 8-14-04
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these people, nor the "Miracle" concept. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent of profit.
A/N: Wow! Thank you to all who have reviewed! I very much appreciate it!! :)
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Christina– Awesome job…I like how you decided to do one of the players instead of relationships…
Thank you! I must admit, that I'm not much of a great writer when it comes to those types of fictions where an original female character is put in, but I'm willing to write anything, I s'pose!...Thank you again, though! :)
Kellie - …I heard that when the real U.S. hockey team had to do Herbies one time Mark Johnson got so mad that he took his hockey stick and slammed it against the glass wall. Maybe you could put that in your story or not, thats fine. I just wanted to give you that information.
Yes, I remember hearing that on one of the extra options on the DVD of Miracle. But, you know what?...You just gave me a good idea!! Thank you! :)
Also thanks to: Darkdestiney2000, Mark of CTown, scorpio111, Jenny, Racer38!
A/A/N – [another author's note] – Thanx to Kellie for giving me an idea for this chapter! Mucho huggies! :-D
When Mike Eruzione reached the goal line, he knew that someone had not made it back with the team. It was almost as if he could hear 1 less pair of skates, 1 less ragged draw of breath.
He closed his eyes.
Everything in his body was blazing with heat. Mike's heart pounded furiously in his chest; his lungs hammered against his rib cage trying to draw as much air in as possible.
"Looks like we've gotten ourselves our first quitter, boys." Coach called, almost as if he was mocking the team. Mike shook his head and squinted, trying to see who the figure was that lay motionless on the ice…
O'Callahan
17
[shit, O.C…get up] But the boy did not move. Mike looked around frantically, seeing if anyone besides him would defend the sick player. Seeing that all his teammates were concentrated on just catching their breath, Mike shouted out to the Coach.
"Not," Wheeze, "A quitter!" Mike flinched as Coach's cold gaze fell upon him, "He's," Pant "Sick!"
But Herb broke his gaze when, out of the corner of his eye, saw Doc rushing towards the fallen player.
"Jack's fine, Doc!" Herb yelled, "He's old enough to get up on his own," Doc almost gawked at his behavior, but nodded slowly and walked, with his head down, back to where he originally stood.
"Again!" Coach said. Patrick's eyes never left their coach, while his fingers fidgeted with the whistle in his hand, "Again!"
Mike forcefully pulled one foot in front of the other; but this time, he had no intention of skating back to the goal line. Sliding next to the still player, he placed his hands on O.C.'s shoulder; turning him on his back.
He was immediately greeted with a slack face and closed eyes.
"Eruzione!" Mike flinched again at Coach's furious shout, "Get back on that damned goal line!"
Ignoring the sinking pit in his stomach, Mike whispered, "Hey, O.C…can you hear me, bud?"
Rizzo's heart thumped widely in his chest as he looked for any signs that O.C. might have heard him. He looked over his shoulder to Doc, who was standing; worriedly, "Doc! I think he's passed out!"
[Wake up, O.C.] He stared at his friend's face for only moments, when he saw O.C.'s eyes flicker.
"Mike," O.C. rasped. Rizzo nodded,
"It's alright, buddy. Doc's comin', alright?"
Mike made a small wince as Jack wheezed for breath, " 'nt…breathe,"
"Just hold on, everything will be fine," He looked over his shoulder to see Doc running over with his medical bag. Doc dropped down beside them, placing a hand on O.C.'s shoulder,
"Jack?"
Mike studied O.C.'s face with worry as his eyes started to slowly close,
"Jack, can you hear me?" Doc persisted, "Jack?"
"O.C.!" He tried, "Listen to me! C'mon buddy, stay awake," Dread was filling Mike with full force; he felt lightheaded and his hands shook with concern, "O.C.!"
For one fleeting second, Mike saw panic in O.C.'s gaze, but then…his eyes closed.
"Again!" He heard from across the ice rink.
[Are you kidding me?] Rizzo thought to himself. But he was going to stay put with his friend.
"Blow the whistle, Craig!"
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mark Johnson slam his hockey stick into the boards, "No!"
All eyes turned to the furious boy. There was a pause before Coach spoke softly,
"…What did you say, Johnson?"
"No!" He repeated, holding his broken stick in a tense grasp, "…I – " He paused, briefly closing his eyes, "I won't,"
Herb nodded, making eye contact with the all boys who looked back at him, before walking across the ice, and out the door.
Mark sighed, dropping to the ice and placed his head in his hands.
Mike turned his attention back to O.C., whose head was turning back and fourth – eyes now faintly open, but dull and glazed. Doc had already written down, on a pad of paper in his hand, numbers with various meanings.
"What's wrong with him?" Mike asked with fret, staring
"He's showing signs of heat exhaustion. His pulse is rapid and weak," Doc studied O.C.'s face carefully, "He has an incredibly high fever…"
"He wasn't feelin' that good before the game."
"Yes, that was what I anticipated. We're not going to bring him to the hospital immediately – but if he gets any worse…I'm going to have to say – he'll probably miss a game or two…"
Mike nodded.
It had been exactly an hour after Mike watched O.C. collapse, and since he had been moved by Doc and Coach Patrick to the Med. Room. Rizzo watched as his friend was disrobed and placed onto the cool, metal cot in the center of the space. O.C. had awoken half-way during the process; alert and attentive to the things going on around him, yet he did not speak.
After being covered with a white sheet, dosed with cool compresses, given dreadful tasting salt beverages, having his feet elevated, and spoken to like a 3 year old, O.C. was as good as ready to sleep. He felt embarrassed and exposed, and since he never had felt like this before, O.C. just let the others fuss over his body and argue how to assist the situation.
Now Mike sat at his bedside with dark circles splashed under his eyes. Placing his head on his elbow, which was positioned on the cot, he stared into space, thinking.
"You know, you don't have to stay here," O.C. said, breaking the almost uncomfortable silence. He didn't glance towards Rizzo, but instead, kept his eyes locked to the ceiling.
Mike sat up straight, looking to his friend, "What makes you think that?"
O.C. shrugged.
Again, the two teammates were left with nothing to say, and the silence covered them both awkwardly. Jack sighed, finally looking at his drowsy friend,
"Thanks for today,"
"You don't need to thank me, O.C. –"
"Rizzo, yes, I do. Just…," O.C. sighed again, "I just appreciate it, alright?"
"Yeah," Mike smiled.
"You can go now, if you want,"
"Nah, it's fine. There's an empty cot over here…besides, I missed my ride home with Craig,"
"…Oh,"
Mike nodded slowly, "But…I think I'm gonna go to bed. You gonna be okay?"
"I told you, I'm fine,"
"That's what you said last time," Mike smiled. O.C. laughed,
"Of course I did,"
"So?"
"So?" O.C. repeated, "This time I just have to make sure Craig gets hit in the head with a hockey puck,"
Fin.
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Author's Note: Wow – this chapter was incredibly hard to write. I kept getting writer's block, and all that. I was actually expecting to be this multi-chapter story, but I was blank with ideas!
But anyway, thank you all so much who reviewed – I am so thankful for you wonderful people! :) Keep looking for another story about O.C., alright? I'll be posting on soon!...If you'd like to give me ideas, I'll certainly think about the plot – because I don't have one at the moment! :)