American Football: Domination

For the first time, Lance thought himself foolish.

He didn't know what to say. Every word felt weak, empty. Any encouragement, any comfort, came out sounding distant and hollow. In front of illness and death, he was useless.

So clumsy. So powerless. So damn foolish.

Half-conscious, Felix stirred and looked at the medics in the ambulance. His lips curled faintly.

"This is Lance. Our rookie, Lance."

One of the medics glanced at Lance. "Yes, I know. He's Kansas City's pride."

Felix let out a satisfied smile. "And I'm Lance's friend."

That little boast drew smiles from both medics. "Yes, we noticed. We're jealous, too."

One moment Felix spoke clearly, the next he mumbled incoherently, drifting in and out of light and dark.

"I have to fight. Like the rookie. I won't give up easy."

"But… it hurts. It hurts so much."

"I'm sorry."

His voice sank into muffled sobs.

Lance sat helpless, glancing at the medics. They shook their heads. "We have to wait for the meds to take hold."

"Rookie… rookie…" Felix whispered.

"We'll win, right? In the playoffs?"

It took Lance a moment to follow. Felix thought the divisional game had already happened.

"Tell me… the game against Indianapolis. Did we win? How'd it go?"

Lance couldn't bring himself to tell the truth.

"…It was tough. But you know us Chiefs. We never quit, never surrender. At Arrowhead, we fight to the last whistle. We always show our grit…"

Slowly, Felix's face eased, tension fading.

Panic stabbed Lance's chest until one medic leaned in, voice low. "The meds kicked in. Keep talking."

Lance exhaled, steadying himself, and went on. Felix lay quiet, brow smooth at last, as the ambulance roared into the hospital.

Everything blurred into chaos—doctors, nurses, orders barked and machines wheeled in. Felix was rushed into a room, and then nothing. Lance was left in the waiting area, his body still taut with strain, unable to relax.

After what felt like an eternity, Karen emerged from ICU. Exhausted, dragging herself step by step, she spotted Lance and saw him spring to his feet.

Only those who had lived it could know: the patient suffers, but the family suffers too. And Lance—he never should have been here, never should have faced this.

Karen's feelings tangled into a storm—gratitude, guilt, fear, anger. Some part of her, unfairly, even blamed him. Felix had done this on his own, but still… if he died, she couldn't stop herself from searching for someone to hold responsible.

But at last, she opened her arms and pulled Lance into a hug.

"Thank you."

It wasn't his fault. And without him, it could've been much worse.

Lance stiffened, unused to such closeness, but Karen held him tight, trembling, terror still thrashing in her chest. Finally, he gave in and hugged her back.

She was the one to let go first, wiping her eyes though they still shone red.

"How is he now?" Lance asked.

"He's fighting. It's bad. His blood pressure's very low, and his heart…" She stopped, swallowing hard.

"What did the doctors say?"

"They need to watch him, see how he responds to the meds before chemotherapy. We… we have to take it step by step." Her breath broke, and she pressed on. "Step by step."

"Oh, God."

Her tears spilled at last. "When it came back, they said ten months at most. It's been over eleven now. I've stolen a month from Death. He's still here with me."

"But… I want more. I'm not ready to lose him. He's seventeen. His life just started. He doesn't deserve this…"

She faltered, shaking.

Lance clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. "Karen, he's still fighting, isn't he? Felix has never stopped. Even knowing the end, he's never quit. We should stand with him. Fight with him. Like a team."

Karen looked up at him, tears shining but her mouth curving into the faintest smile. "Like the Chiefs?"

And for the first time, Lance felt it—how a team tied to a city, to the people who lived and died with it, became more than just sport. A lifeline. A faith.

He nodded. "Just like the Chiefs."

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Powerstones?

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