Brett Hull: 
Brendan Shanahan: 
Notes: Yeah, yeah, the usual as of late. Short, written in 20 minutes, and I'm not entirely sure I like it. But I'm half-venting anyway, so you can ignore it if you want.
Brett Hull sat against the wall, fingering his silver medal, and not feeling the cold.
"What's wrong?" Brendan Shanahan materialized next to him, his gold medal glinting in the moonlight.
"Go away," Brett sighed, turning his head. "I don't like you right now."
"What'd I do?"
Brett didn't bother to answer, just rested his his forehead on his arms and sighed. Brendan sat down on the ground as well, putting his arm around him. "It isn't that bad."
Hull raised his head again, his normally bright eyes somewhat dulled. "What isn't that bad about it?"
"Well...you got silver."
"We fuckin' lost, Bren. It isn't a consolation."
"Yeah, but..."
"And it's my fucking fault."
"Oh, for-"
"I was so close. So close, and the game would've been tied."
"Come on, Hully, it was a great save by Marty-"
"Then I should have made a better shot! I know what he's capable of stopping and what he isn't! I was supposed to score! They were counting on me to score."
"You can't bring that all on yourself, Brett. No one person was responsible for your loss."
Brett sighed, obviously unconvinced. "Whatever, Bren. Can you leave me alone now?"
"To mope? No."
"Go bother Cheli or something."
"Stevie's doing that."
"Figures. You guys think that since you won everyone should be ecstatic for you and shouldn't be allowed to be down for not winning. And I am happy for you, Bren. Just not right now."
"But for Mario and Stevie and-"
"Christ, Shanny, I fucking let down the country! We had a 70 year Olympic home win streak going, 'til we fucked it up. I probably won't make another Olympics. Cheli's done. Housley's done. Richter probably won't play again. I let them down."
"Quit switching from 'we' to 'I'. And we've been 50 years-"
"Big deal. You don't have to prove that Canada's a hockey power, Bren. They just are. They invented the sport. You will always be a hockey power...you don't have to win gold medals to prove that. We...we have to win gold medals."
"You're half-Canadian, Brett."
"This week, I was 100% American."
Brendan didn't say anything in reply. He stood up, though, and pulled his reluctant teammate with him. "Come on, Brett. Your hands are freezing."
Brett didn't move. "Bren..."
Brendan realized he was still holding Hull's hands. He looked up, and realized that Brett was noticing the same thing. A smile appeared momentarily on the forward's face, which was enough for Brendan. He stepped forward and leaned down to kiss his friend. Brett relaxed into it, some of his depression drifting away. Brendan broke away, and watched for his reaction. "I thought we weren't doing that anymore?" Brett said, asking more than stating.
Brendan shrugged. "Extenuating circumstances. And I never really wanted to stop."
Feeling a little bit of the cold invading him flee, Brett smiled. "Ok."
Slowly, the two made their way back to the athletes' village, Brendan's arm still draped over Brett's shoulders.