He was in the room, watching, when they cut the stitches from the C.

He had been told the day before that there was a chance he could keep it, but when the news went public early this evening they had shown up on his doorstep for the patch. Wilson had shaken his head and sighed as he lay an apologetic hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I know how hard this is, but...it's tradition, you know?"

He knew. The letter sewn onto his sweater was the same one that had been worn by Todd Gill before him. He hadn't been there when they'd taken the C from Gill, just as he wouldn't be there when they gave it to Ricci. He felt certain his long-time friend and teammate would inherit the captaincy, and he wished him well with it. He hoped that it would not tear him apart as it had torn Owen apart these past four years.

"When does your plane leave?" Zettler asked quietly, trying to make polite small talk.

"10 o'clock." Owen's attention did not waver. His ice blue eyes followed each snip of the scissors, each knot of the thread, until at last with a sharp tug the embroided teal C was torn free of the sweater. He felt a small, helpless noise rise in his throat and swallowed the sound down, blinking slowly against the hot prickle at the back of his eyes. Lombardi tucked the C into his pocket and turned towards the former Shark with his hand extended. Owen gazed steadily for a moment at the proffered palm, then lifted his eyes to stare at the group of small, tired men in business suits and ugly ties. One by one they wished him well, their parting words going unheard and unaswered as they walked away. Rob Zettler had the kindness and forethought to close the door.

Alone in his thoughts, Owen Nolan stroked his fingertips over the naked left shoulder of his sweater, and began to cry.