Author’s notes: Heh, I knew some people would be a little miffed if I made Tommy put his hand up to block the kiss. But he’s a romantic at heart, and any kiss he has with the guy he loves is not going to be in front of thousands of people and on TV. Who’s going to be with Jussi IF Tommy does go for Jochen? For now, enjoy the fun and game Jochen and Tommy have at poor Ryan "mullet boy" Smyth’s expense!

Alex, you got your cameo! Hint: "Aaaaaanyyyyyyonnneeeee want some ice, cold, refreshing beeeeeeeeeeeer?????????"

<The Oilers burst into the room>

Salo: Are you on drugs? I mean seriously.

Sasha: Me? Drugs? Nooo…

Markkenen: You made me into a depressing little freak! I’m…I’m…

Smyth: Pretty much in character?

Markkenen: <glare>

Marchant: How come I’m not a major character?
Sasha: Because I don’t like you.

Marchant: <lip trembles>

Murray: Look what you did!

Sasha: You all need therapy!
Salo: No, you do.

Sasha: Buddy, I know I’ll be in therapy ‘till I’m 47.

Salo: Just as long as you know.

Smyth: Do I get to be with anyone?

Sasha: Do you want to? Aren’t you married?

Smyth: Isn’t Salo?

Sasha: Good point…how about Markkenen?

Smyth: On second thought, can I be straight?

Markkenen: HEY! What’s wrong with me?

Carter: Do you want the list?

Markkenen: The girls like me! And they think you look like a Jamaican reject!

Hecht: Hey, isn’t anyone going to ask my opinion?

Markkenen: YOU! You’re moving in on my Salo!
Salo: YOUR Salo??

Markkenen: Whoops… <blushes furiously>

Sasha: Umm…anyway, let’s just move on…

* * *

Ryan was tearing up his duffel bag, trying to find the missing medal. None of the guys, save Jochen and myself, knew where the elusive piece of gold was, nor did they know that Jochen and I were the ones who pilfered it. "Where is it?!" He demanded. "It’s not in my duffel bag, and I remember CLEARLY putting it in there!"

"Ryan, dude, first of all, calm down," Anson Carter advised, putting his hands on Ryan’s shoulders, stabilising the Banff native. Once Ryan’s breathing had stopped being so erratic, Anson continued, "okay, so you put it in your duffel bag. Are you sure that’s the last place you put it?"

"YES!" Ryan practically yelled back. Jochen and I glanced secretly at each other, trying hard not to grin. "Before the game, I kissed the medal, and put it IN my duffel bag, zipped it up, then went onto the ice. It was even in there when I came back, but then I noticed it was missing after I talked with Jochen—" he stopped right there, and looked at Jochen wide blue eyes. "YOU! You took it!"

Jochen pretended to be shocked, and did a pretty good job. "Me? Why would I want to steal your gold medal? It holds no meaning now that the Olympics are over."

"You had something to do with it!" Ryan accused. "Because after I finished talking with you, I came back and noticed that my medal was GONE!"

"Um, Ryan, I think you are going off the deep end," Jochen replied, shrugging. "How could I steal your medal when you were watching me the entire time? I don’t have octopus arms you know. I couldn’t have stolen your medal."

Ryan looked defeated, and frustrated. "But then who would have taken it…?" His eyes then widened, and turned, at whiplash speed, to me. "YOU!"

"Me?" I asked innocently.

"Yes, you!" Ryan confirmed, pointing a finger at me. "If Jochen didn’t do it, then you must have!"

I gave him a funny look. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," I muttered. Suddenly, I looked as if I had realised something. "Hey, it’s gold, right? And on a blue ribbon with ‘Salt Lake 2002’ on it, right?"

"Yes!" Ryan said desperately. "You know what they look like!" He then went on to describe the medal in extreme detail, and the rest of the guys had read Jochen’s lips, and were trying hard to contain their laughter.

Slowly, I meandered to my duffel bag, and held up the said medal. "Does it look like this?" I asked, keeping a straight face.

Ryan’s face darkened with anger and frustration. "I knew it was you! Is this payback for what I said at the practice before the Nashville game?"

"You’re a smart one," I praised, dangling the medal in front of him. Ryan reached to grab it, but I pulled it away, and he nearly fell face first onto the ground. "You’re not getting this back that easily."

Eric raised an eyebrow towards me. "Wait, I recognise this kind of trickery," he mused, and looked at me, with a grin. "Sasha put you up to this, didn’t she?"

"Maybe," I said evasively. I turned my attention back to Ryan. "I am going to make you work to get this medal back."

Ryan made a frustrated noise, brushing his long bangs out of his face. "I already worked hard to get it in the first place!" he complained. "What else can I do to get it back a second time from a Swedish net minder?"

"Beg," I replied simply.

"Beg?" Ryan echoed, with wide eyes.

"Beg," I repeated.

"BEG?"

"Beg."

"Beg???" He wasn’t grasping the concept as well as I had hoped.

"For the last time, yes. Beg." I dangled the gold medal in front of him, keeping it just out of his reach. Had he not been wearing his skates, this wouldn’t have worked. But, lucky for me, Ryan doesn’t take off his gear from the feet up. "You do want this back, don’t you? It would look nice on my mantle." There had been a flash when Ryan stumbled forward to grab his medal, and I looked to the right by the door, where Sasha stood, camera in hand. "You shutter-bug, you came back here?"

Sasha grinned sheepishly. "Of course. The prank I came up with being executed is a good enough reason for me to come back here and take pictures." Around her neck was Eric’s gold medal. "I nicked one of my own."

Eric got up and grabbed her around the waist. "Give that back. You didn’t play on the men’s hockey team in Salt Lake to deserve that."

"But I am dating one," Sasha chirped. "That counts. Now let go." Then she and Eric began to argue playfully about his medal, and I turned back to Ryan.

Ryan grunted, looking to the other guys for help, but they offered none, just merely shrugging. "Would you be able to live with the fact that you stole that, and that you didn’t deserve or earn the medal?" he demanded.

"Yes," I replied, further infuriating the young forward. "Hey, after the Belarus goal that bounced off my head, I think my conscience flew out the window." I dangled the medal again. "Now beg, little Ryan…beg…good boy!"

Jason, Mike G, Mike C, Anson, Steve (Staios) and Todd were doubled up with laughter, unable to control it. "I’m not used to seeing this from Tommy, but damn, I think I could get used to it!" Jason exclaimed, holding his sides tightly.

"I will not beg," Ryan said firmly.

"Then you won’t get your medal back," I replied. "It’s that simple, Ryan Smyth."

"You can’t do this!" Ryan exclaimed.

"But I am," I pointed out.

"Give it back!"

"Beg."

"NO!"

"Then you won’t get it back."

"Please?" Ryan pleaded.

I frowned. "You have to do better than that."

"Pretty please?" Ryan tried again. "With a cherry on top?"

My frown deepened. He wasn’t getting off this easy. "How old are you?"

"Twenty five."

"Then beg better."

"It’s degrading!"

"I know."

"TOMMY!"

"RYAN!"

"Give it!"

"Beg."

Ryan made a frustrated noise as Jochen and the other guys watched on amusedly, if they weren’t doubled up with laughter. "Tommy, don’t you think this is going just a bit too far for just a simple joke?" Ryan asked, growing desperate.

"Probably, but now it’s just for fun," I replied, causing his jaw to drop. "Now beg like a good little Canadian if you want your medal back."

Defeated, Ryan sighed. "What do you want me to say?"

"I LOVE YOU!" Janne supplied loudly, to Ryan’s murderous glare. "Um, ‘I admire you greatly’? Or what about ‘You’re so awesome Tommy!’ Oh wait, I got a better one! ‘You are the greatest, bestest goalie ever Mr. Salo sir!’? How’s that?"

"And that’s enough out of you," Eric instructed, as Janne pouted.

I pondered this for a moment. What would I make him say? To be honest, I had never been in this position before, so I had to think about this for a minute. Then I got it: "I, Ryan Smyth, swear not to make any derogatory comments to the goalie that continually pulls my backside out of the fire, in order to get back the medal he deserves."

"Good job, Tommy," Jochen praised. "Most of it is true, too." I blushed slightly, but not enough for him to see. I caught Sasha’s knowing glance, and then I blushed even more.

Ryan muttered some obsenity under his breath, then sighed. "I, Ryan Smyth, swear not to make any derogatory comments to the goalie that continually pulls my backside out of the fire, in order to get back the medal he deserves," he recited, glaring at me heatedly.

"See? That wasn’t so hard," I said, tossing the coveted gold back to Ryan. Ryan grabbed the medal and hung it around his neck, glaring at me all the while.

Sasha turned to Eric. "I should make you do the same thing if you want to get your medal back."

"Oooh, no way are you getting me to do that!" Eric denied. "I will not beg to get my medal back. I’ll find some way to get it back!"

"Beer! Would any of you tired, thirsty young men want some beeeeeeeer?" a young voice called, and we all looked to the door, where Alexandra Comrie, Mike’s twin sister, which he constantly reminded us was only six minutes older than he was. In her arms was a tray of Molson Canadian beer, in the clear plastic cups branded with the Oilers logo. She worked the refreshment gig in Skyreach; something that Mike was sure would get her to be ‘more active’.

Todd chuckled. "Well, if it isn’t ‘Alex the lazy’," He laughed. The rest of the guys laughed as well, a nickname we had chosen for her the first day Mike brought her to practice. She wasn’t very energetic, but did sit around in the stands writing psycho little stories making fun of the Detroit Red Wings. "How did you drag your lazy butt out of bed this morning?"

"Stuff it, Marchant," Alex snapped, blowing a raspberry. "Any of you guys want some beer? Being Canadian and all, you should want beer."

"Would we have to pay for it?" Jochen asked.

"Duh," Alex retorted, tapping her foot. "Why don’t you get one for you and your little boyfriend over there?" I froze. Was she talking about me? I caught myself, realising she meant it as a joke.

Jason shrugged. "Sure, we’ll have some, but we’re not paying for it. If I recall, you’re not on working hours right now." Alex muttered something under her breath, said hi to Eric and Sasha, and then distributed the drinks to everyone. She tapped her foot, as if awaiting something. "Yes?"

"Pay up, Cap!" Alex replied brightly.

I raised an eyebrow. "But you’re not working. And besides, we’re the team, you can’t charge us for drinks after the game. It’s…not ethical, not to mention not nice."

Alex stared at me with wide eyes. She looked to Jochen. "Does he usually talk this much in the dressing room, because I ain’t never heard him talk so much."

Jochen laughed. "Yes, Tommy does talk. He just doesn’t like to do it a whole helluva lot, like, let’s say Janne."

"Oh shut up!" Janne ordered, throwing his glove at Jochen, nailing him in the head. "Anything else you want, you little lazy Canadian brat?"

Alex grabbed the glove that Jochen had, and threw it at Janne, hitting him square on the forehead. "I can see I am not wanted here! Just you wait and see, Niinimaa, I’m gonna make you a loudmouth idiot in the next of my fics!"

"And that would make him different how?" Ryan joked, receiving a shot to the shoulder in response to that. "Ow!"

"I’m out of here!" Alex declared dramatically, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the dressing room, while the guys laughed and chugged down the beer.

As Alex stalked out of the dressing room, I turned to Jochen. Sasha mouthed to me that I should work fast and tell him soon before we had to get out of the arena. Gathering up all the courage I had summoned up in the post-Olympic media bash on the Belarus goal and turned to Jochen. "Jochen?"

He turned to me, chucking his plastic cup into the trashcan. "Yeah Tommy?"

"I…I want to talk to you about something," I began. "Something important."

Jochen seemed conflicted, but nodded, swallowing. "Yeah, of course. C’mon, let’s go into the seats somewhere and talk about it privately." I nodded, and followed him out (we had changed completely by this time), up to the seats in section 124. "What do you want to tell me, Tommy?"

Brace yourself, Jochen Hecht, this one is going to be one hell of a bombshell.

-TBC-