And I borrowed an idea for the after-Sweden thrashing from Almighty Chrissy, see if you can find it! ^_~ It’s told in Ryan’s P.O.V unless otherwise stated. MariaOrange88, you’ve got one sharp eye to see the Lindros insult! ^__^ I like Lindros, but it just seemed like something Yzerman would say, no?

* * *

The ice was definitely something to get used to. Pat Quinn had us go through drills to get us accustomed to the large ice surface, and to be aware that there was no red line. Brendan had seen this large ice surface before, but Owen Nolan and of course myself had not, so he spent a good deal of time telling us how much more time you have with the puck. The three of us were a line, and we were waiting for Pat to tell us when to get on the ice.

Eric and Ed Jovanovski, who were defensive partners, were passing the puck between each other trying to lose Jerome and Joe (Sakic) in the passing, then Eric fired it the length of the ice, where Curtis hopped on it as Steve was on the doorstep. "I am not going to get the hang of this any time soon," I quipped.

"Ah, don’t say that," Joe spoke up as he skated over to the bench with Jerome and Steve. "You’re going to get used to it, and if not, well, then you’re going to have to get used to it by the time we play the Swedes."

"Nothing like a little bit of pressure, Joe," I said sarcastically, grabbing my stick and heading to the face-off circle, where Brendan was going to take it against Paul Kariya. We played straight up like that for a good half-hour, as if we were playing a regular game. Curtis and Martin were sharp, and Curtis would be starting in net against Sweden.

After our little game, Pat divided us up, and set up the drills for the extremely long rink-wide passes keeping Marty and Cujo in net. I made life a little miserable for Marty, sticking my backside in his face, while Brendan wristed the puck into the net. "Thanks for the lovely view of your butt, Smytty!" Martin called, scrunching up his face.

"Not a problem, Marty!" I called back, grinning as skated over to where Eric Lindros and Paul were talking with Theo. "What’s up, guys?"

Theo made a face. "Aw, who invited the kid into this conversation?" He asked, half-whining.

I looked indignant. "Well, if you’re going to be like that, I’ll just tell Al who was the one who made all his whites turn pink."

"You wouldn’t!" Theo exclaimed. "The last thing I need is for that big booming shot of his to be aimed at my head! I don’t want to be concussion boy! Eric’s already taken that job!"

Eric cleared his throat. "I’m right here, short stack."

Theo ignored him and looked at me. "You don’t say a word to MacInnis, all right?"

I nodded. "All right, I won’t say a word." Theo looked relieved. "Yet." That got me a glare, and Steve skated over and tapped me on the teacher. "Yo?"

"Come on, I want to show you something," Steve said, and I nodded, following him on to the ice. As soon as I skated over to him, he swung his stick, taking my feet out from under me.

"HEY!" I yelled, falling on my butt. I propped myself up on my shoulders and looked up at Steve. "Correct me if I’m wrong, my dear teacher, but are you supposed to trip your students unknowingly?"

Steve held up a gloved finger. "Rule number one: Always be aware. I may be your team mate, but you never know what can happen on the ice."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you teaching me international hockey or conspiracy theories, Agent Mulder?" I asked, getting myself back on my feet. Steve raised an eyebrow and tried to trip me again, but I hopped, avoiding the trip.

"You are learning, young Jedi," Steve said wisely, and I cracked up laughing.

Joe (Sakic) skated over and tapped Steve on the shoulder. "Hey, Obi-Wan, do ya mind if I steal Anakin for a moment?"

"Hey, why can’t I be Luke?" I asked, but was promptly ignored by Steve and Joe. "Okay, fine then. Ignore the young, potentially dangerous Jedi."

"I want to borrow Anakin here because there are reporters that would like to talk to the two of us," Joe explained.

"Where are they from? Toronto?" Steve asked.

"Edmonton," Joe replied.

"Really?" I asked, breaking the two of them out of their debate. "Well, let’s go then, Qui Gon Jinn!" Joe laughed and we skated over to the press box, where Eric Brewer and Paul were talking with a young woman about 21 with short blond hair dressed in Roots Canadian wear. "You know her, Brew?"

Eric turned to me. "Ryan, this is Martina Thatcher, she’s a reporter for the Edmonton Sun." I waved hello and she waved back energetically. "She’s a friend of mine from—"

"Band camp!" Martina exclaimed cheerfully.

I raised an eyebrow. "YOU went to band camp? Did you play the trumpet by any chance?"

"Oh shut UP, Smytty," Eric commanded. Pat yelled something to Paul and Eric, and he turned to me. "Well, that’s the call of the coach. You two have fun, and Martina, no exploitation of these two guys, okay?"

Martina made a face, but grumbled her agreement. As soon as Eric left, she brightened up. "So, Ryan, how do you feel being here with all these hockey greats? It must be a little intimidating, your first time being here with so much pressure."

"Well, you just answered the question for me," I joked, and she laughed. "But seriously, it’s amazing to be chosen to represent your country on the biggest stage in the world. Sure the pressure’s on us to bring back the gold, but we’re here to have fun and do Canada proud." I leaned in; "just between you and me, Sakic shaves his legs!"

"I do not!" Joe denied, turning red in the face.

I grinned at Martina sheepishly. "Looks like the interview’s over, gotta jet!" I took off just as I finished saying that, with Joe right on my heels. We circled the large rink five or six times before I swerved in between Mario, Simon, Paul, and Steve, causing Joe to collide with Mario, ultimately creating a tangled mess with the Captain and Assistant Captain. "Look what I can do!"

"Aren’t you talented," Paul said, handing his stick to Simon, and helping Mario get his legs untangled from Joe’s. "You okay there, Mario?"

"Yeah, I’m all right," Mario confirmed, shaking some of the cobwebs loose in his head. "Would anyone care to tell me why you were chasing Ryan, Joe?"

Theo spoke up, "Ryan said to the reporter chick from Edmonton that Joe shaves his legs, and Joe then began to chase Ryan around the rink then you know what happened."

"You shave your legs?" Mario asked, astounded.

"NO!" Joe denied, clearly getting frustrated.

Al and Chris skated up, along with Jerome. "He’s red in the face. I say he’s lying," Chris said, grinning.

"Better watch out before he wraps that stick of his around your head," Jerome warned.

Chris looked to me, for what reason, I don’t know, for help. "He’d do it, if the five or six laps around this rink in pursuit of me meant anything."

Pat blew the whistle. "All right you guys, that’s our time for today. Make sure you’re rested for the game against Sweden in the afternoon." We nodded and headed off the ice. Pat turned to Ken Hitchcock. "How do you think they’ll do?"

Ken shrugged. "We don’t know until game time. They’re a good bunch of guys, but it’s going to take some time for them to get used to playing with each other, and not against each other."

Pat exhaled sharply. "It better not take too much time, because we don’t have that much time to put together a golden team, Ken."

"Just have faith in these players that Wayne chose," Ken advised. "And hope they’re ready to face Sweden."

We’re grounded. We are so fucking grounded. After that pathetic game against Sweden, we were told by the coaching staff to "rest up". That meant they were pissed at how poorly we played. It wasn’t the way we were supposed to enter the Olympics, but we couldn’t change anything. Joe took it the hardest, and stormed into his and Paul’s room. I turned to Paul. "Are you venturing in there?"

He shook his head. "Anything I say won’t help him." Paul’s eyes lit up and he turned to me. "Ryan, why don’t you go in there and calm Joey down? If you calmed down Joe once before, I’m sure you can do it again."

I raised my eyebrow. "What am I? Team Canada’s peacemaker? Sure, I’ll try, but I’m not guaranteeing anything here." Paul nodded and opened the door with his cardkey, and I tentatively stepped in. "Joe?"

I found the Colorado Captain currently attacking the wall with his shoe, muttering, "stupid (thwack) Mats (thwack) fucking (thwack) Sundin! Stupid (thwack) fucking (thwack) Tommy (thwack) fucking (thwack) Salo!"

This is going to be harder than I thought. "Joe, leave the wall alone. It’s not Sweden, and attacking it to death isn’t going to help."

He whirled around and glared at me. "It’s not like the wall feels, it, Smytty. It’s not going to go anywhere, just like Tommy (thwack) fucking Salo."

"He’s what keeps us in the games most of the time," I said absently, remembering all the times Tommy’s bailed us out against teams in the NHL. "But it’s only the first game, Joe. It takes time for a team to come together."

"They came together quickly," Joe countered. He had a point. "We should have at least stood a chance against them. Not a 5 (thwack) to 2 (thwack) deficit!"

Okay, this wasn’t going to work. I walked over to him, and pulled him away from the wall, and pushed him onto a sitting position on his bed. "Yes, they did come together quickly, and yes, their style of playing beat Curtis. And yes, we did play shitty. But we can’t change that, Joe. All we can do is do better against Germany."

The angry flare in his eyes went away, as he took regular deep breaths, calming down. "I guess I’m not used to this kind of situation…being at a three goal deficit."

"Be an Edmonton Oiler for a season and I’m sure you wouldn’t feel that way," I joked, and Joe laughed. "Seriously…I’m used to being in dire situations, and the only thing that helps get through it is not to murder the wall cursing Mats Sundin and Tommy Salo. It’s getting back off your ass and playing your heart out."

"You’re wise for your years, Smytty," Joe said, taking another much-needed deep breath. "Are you sure you’re not Yzerman’s age?"

I shoved him, narrowing my eyes at him. "You better not let him hear you say that. I don’t want to be the one to pick up the pieces of what once used to be Joe Sakic."

Joe snorted. "Like Yzerman could do that anyway." I rolled my eyes, knowing I couldn’t change Joe’s views of the Red Wings’ Captain anytime soon. "Thanks again, Ryan. You’re like my personal shrink."

"Glad I could help," I said, smiling. "Are you sure you’re not going to have any more spaz attacks?"

Joe laughed. "I’m sure." What happened next, I’m not sure, because the space between us closed, and Joe’s lips were on mine. Joe Sakic was kissing me. Suddenly, he tensed and broke it. "Ryan, I’m sorry, I—"

I practically leaped out of my seat and made a sprint for the door. "I’ll see you later, Joe!" And with that, I hastily left the suite, and slammed the door. "What the HELL just happened?"