Owen Nolan was sitting alone in the locker room brooding contentedly when the shrill ring of his cell phone shattered the silence. Already burning with frustration, he just managed to flick open the phone without breaking it in two and all but roared at the unknown caller.

"WHAT do you want?"

"Fuck you too."

A sigh. "Stevie."

"Hey."

"We lost, Stevie. Game seven. We fuckin' lost."

"You played a great series."

"Fuck that. We were supposed to win. We should have won at home and ended this thing in six. This was supposed to be our season."

"There'll be other seasons."

"Not like this. We gave it our all, and we weren't good enough."

"Patrick Roy is a great goalie."

"We should have been better. I should have been better."

Miles of phone cable away Steve Yzerman sighed. "You played your heart out, Owen. It isn't your fault. It just wasn't your year. You were good, they were just better."

Silence. Then, quietly--"You're really annoying when you're being sensible and pensive, you know that?"

Steve's low, soft chuckle rumbled through the line, so real the Sharks' captain glanced around the empty locker room just to make sure he wasn't there. "So I've been told." Then, more seriously--"You'll get over this."

"I know. It just really fucking sucks, you know?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah," Nolan echoed tiredly. A pause. The rakish Irishman grinned and a playful note crept into his voice. "Would it ruin the moment if I asked you what you were wearing right now?"

There was a surprised burst of laughter on the other end of the line. "Completely," Yzerman confirmed, chuckling softly. "But then, you just lost a game seven in the second round, so I might take pity on you and make an exception."

"Is that a promise?" Nolan teased.

"Maybe. After the playoffs are over."

"Pah," the younger man said dismissively. There was a long silence, both men lost in their own thoughts of the future. Nolan spoke first. "Win for me, will you, Stevie?"

"I'll try," the older man replied.

"You'll win. I know it. You're on fire."

"I hope so. The Avs are tough this year."

"They're tough every year. You're better."

"Guess we'll see."

"Do something for me?”"

"What?"

The Sharks' captain grinned, a slightly alarming expression that bared double rows of even white teeth. "Check Forsberg into the glass?"

The other captain just laughed. "Sure," he agreed. There was a low murmur of background voices, Steve's slightly louder as he replied, hand cupped over the mouth of the phone. "Hey," he said when he returned. "I gotta go."

"Yeah, okay," Nolan sighed, trying not to sound disappointed. "I'll see you, I guess."

"You still in Denver?"

Nolan glanced around the darkened locker room, defeat sharp and bitter in his mouth. "Yeah.

"You've got nowhere to be, right? Hang around for a few days. See the, uh, sights." They shared a laugh. "I'll be there in a little over a week. We can get together."

"Okay," the love-struck younger captain agreed readily, feeling his spirits lift just a little with the idea. "Good luck, Stevie." Then, gruffly, "Love you."

"I know," Yzerman teased, eliciting a harrumph from the other man. "Love you too."

"Stevie?" Nolan asked, just as he was hanging up the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Kick their asses."

Yzerman laughed and shook his head. "Okay," he promised. "Okay."