Time change-y note: Okay, this starts off with Eric right where we left off, a day after the Sweden game, and a day before the Germany game. Are you with me so far? Then, when it switches to Ryan, that’s when he’s being confronted by Pronger. It’s a little confusing, but I’ll include the dates so no one’s horribly confused.

The Million-Dollar Question: How did Chris Pronger see Joe and Ryan kiss? I did say that Ryan went into Joe and Paul’s room, but not once did I say he closed the door all the way. >=D The title fits both Ryan and Eric’s situations. And just for fun, I’ll start with Eric again. <Dodges a bunch of flying jagged hockey sticks>

Salo: (my Muse) You deserved that.

Sasha: -_-; what do you want?

Salo: <smiles serenely> Nothing.

Sasha: <becomes worried> What did you do?

Salo: Me? Do something? Whatever gave you that idea?

Yzerman: <yelling from a small room somewhere in Edmonton> He’s LYING!

Sasha: <Raises eyebrow> You kidnapped Steve Yzerman?

Salo: "Kidnapped" is such a strong word…

Sasha: Give him back.

Salo: Do I have to?

Sasha: He’s out with a bad knee…but when he’s healed, you can kidnap him again so he can play for Edmonton, okay?

Salo: <SIGH> all right…

* * *

This sounds completely cliché and corny, but as soon as she looked at me, my mouth stopped working. And just my luck, Brett noticed it first. "What’s the matter, Brewer?" he asked, putting an arm around me. "Something distractin’ ya?"

"What? N-no, t-there’s nothing," I said, pushing him off of me. "Why would you play for the USA anyway? I mean, you’re Canadian, dude."

Brett smirked. "I wanted to be on the winning team, Brewer. Me and Yorky wanted an actual chance for gold."

I put a hand to my heart. "Dude, now that’s harsh. But just you wait, Hull. We’re going to kick your ass all over Salt Lake, and you’re going to WISH you were on the Canadian team. You too, Mike."

"Better watch it before these Americans start destroying property," the photographer —whom I had been fondly referring to as ‘Flash’—said, dodging Brett’s impending punch. "I swear, Hully, if you hit me I’ll sue you for all you’re worth!"

"But that isn’t much," I pointed out, now over my tongue-tied dilemma. Brett glared at me, and I grinned. "Don’t you guys have a game or something?"

"We do," Mike said, pulling a furious Brett away from me. "Come on, Hully. We’ve got to get ready to play against Russia." Brett nodded and followed Mike, but not before he punched me in the arm. Really hard, I might add.

Flash shook her head. "Brett’s a nice enough guy, but he’s got to have a little bit of a sense of humour."

"It’d help," I agreed, running a hand through my hair. I was glad we were playing tomorrow, against Germany. It’s going to be great to see Jochen, although not on the same side of the ice. "Y-you’re from Edmonton?" Seems like my stuttering problem has returned…

She nodded, grinning. "Sure am. I’m with the Edmonton Sun. I was with Terry Jones, but he seems to have ditched me. Then I found Brett and Mike, so I asked them for a quick photo. Also, my partner in crime, Martina Thatcher was supposed to meet me here—"

"M-Marti? You k-know Marti?" I interjected, surprised.

Flash nodded. "Sure do. She ditched me and went to the E-Centre to talk to you guys. I’m still pissed off about that, by the way."

I laughed. "Are you covering Hockey or another sport?"

"Hockey, of course," Flash replied, patting her camera. "This baby’s gotten some great photos of the Sweden/Canada game."

I groaned. "I’d like to forget that game."

"You got a goal," she said helpfully, patting me on the shoulder. "And a goal in the Olympics is huge."

"Thanks," I said, barely able to contain the grin on my face. "Hey, what’s your—" Cutting me off was a cell phone ring eerily similar to ‘O Canada’. "What’s that?"

Flash grinned. "That would be my cell phone." She clicked it on, and said ‘hello’ energetically into the phone. "Marti? That you? You bitch! You ditched me to talk to Sakic and all those guys at the E-Centre leaving me here? Your ass is mine, you hear? What? Oh, so you want my help now? But I’m—oh, fine…yeah, I’ll be there. You owe me." She turned to me. "Sorry, I got to go. Marti’s beckoned me."

A sense of urgency washed over me. "H-hey w-wait, w-what’s your—?" I couldn’t say anything as she had already begun to walk, lost in the busying crowd. "Fuck."

"That’s not the kind of mouth a representative of Canada should have," a voice said behind me, and as I turned around, I saw Theo. "Man, do you kiss your mother with that mouth of yours?"

I glared at him. "You’re one to talk."

Theo held a hand to his heart. "Man, that’s a little harsh, don’t you think? What’s eating your pants? Never mind, I don’t want to know. Pat sent me to find you. We’re going to practice like we’ve never done before. The coaching staff’s pissed, as we already know, so more drills and the like for us."

Sighing, I nodded. "All right, let’s go." As we walked, Theo stopped, and turned to me, grinning. "What?"

"Dude, I saw you talking to your little shutter-bug over there, and I must say, you’re one sorry son of a bitch!" Theo finished, grinning from ear to ear.

I growled. "Say that again when my foot’s up your ass Fleury!" With that, I began to chase no. 74 through the Olympic Village, back to the hotel.

** Ryan **

Must these kinds of things always happen to me? I was standing with Chris Pronger in the hallway and he just told me point blank that he saw Joe Sakic kiss me. Right now, this is the best that I can come up with: "What?"

Chris says it again, slower, "I saw you and Joe kiss." Oh man, it sounds even worse coming from someone else; and in slow motion no less.

I bit my lip, trying to think of a way to play this off on Chris’ imagination. Unfortunately, I came up with nothing. I guess it was time to face the proverbial music. "How did you see?" I whispered, making sure we were staying at the very back of the line.

Chris scratched the back of his head. "I was walking down the hall, and I heard Joe murdering the wall, cursing Tommy Salo and Mats Sundin, so I went to see what happened. By the time I got there, Joe had calmed down, and you two were kissing." I looked at him blankly. "The door was half-open still," he finished.

Groaning, I put a hand to my head. How do I explain something to someone else that I’m not even clear about? "Look, Prongs, I don’t want you saying a word of this to anyone, you hear me? I honestly don’t know what’s going on, and I can’t explain to you something that I’m not even clear about…what happened…I’m not sure…but—"

The St. Louis assistant captain put a hand on my shoulder. "It’s all right, Ryan. I won’t ask anymore. Besides, we need you to focus on the game, and not what happened between you and Joe."

I nodded, and as we continued to walk, I whispered, "thanks, Prongs."

He looked confused. "What for?"

"For not questioning me anymore. I’m so confused right now," I said, swallowing. Chris smiled and nodded, then I pointed to the slightly far away line of our team-mates. "We should get going, or else, we’re going to get left behind."

"They couldn’t survive with out us," Chris said confidently. I laughed, and we began to jog to keep up with the guys. He turned to me, and grinned, pointing to Mario, making a gesture of spooning something into his mouth. I immediately caught on, and tried to keep from laughing. "Hey, Mario!"

"What?" he asked, turning around, stopping the line.

"Before we play, Ryan and I have something to ask you," Chris said.

Mario raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

I cleared my throat. "Did you eat your Chunky Soup?" I asked in my best ‘Mario’s mom’ voice. Mario blinked twice, and then he and the rest of the guys broke down into fits of laughter.

We’re slowly coming together. Which is good. But all the guys, while they were happy to win after Sweden, thought that we would be able to pummel Germany. But we came away with a one-goal win. Being on the Oilers, you come to appreciate any win you get. But, since this is only the round robin, wins in the first three rounds mean nothing, except to boost the team’s ego and playing ability. Next, we play the Czech Republic.

"Man, we got the Czechs next?" Brendan asked, while we were getting out hockey gear off. "I’m going to have nightmares again about Dominic Hasek again."

Steve looked up. "If you mention missing that shot one more time, Brendan, I’ll—"

"You’ll what?" Brendan asked, seemingly challenging his NHL captain. "What will you do, Stevie Y?"

Steve smirked, and stood up to Brendan, so that they were face to face. "I am going to take that stick, and sh—"

"Hey now!" I exclaimed, jumping up. All the guys looked at me with a bewildered look on their faces. "There’s no reason for that to happen, Steve. He’s only said it about eleventy billion times. A few more wouldn’t hurt."

"Thanks Smytty," Brendan said. Then he thought about it. "I think…"

Mike Peca laughed. "But, the good thing about all this is that we’re coming together as a team. Slowly, albeit, but we’re coming together. That gold medal is as good as ours."

"We should wait until the elimination rounds start. Then we’ll start claiming medals," Mario spoke up, now in Olympic Captain mode.

Theo exclaimed something and pointed to Joe, who was pulling off his red and white leggings. "He really does shave his legs!"

Joe glared at him. "Don’t make me shove my stick up your ass, Fleury," he threatened, practically ripping off the leggings.

Theo looked to me. "How come you didn’t stop him?"

"Because, you deserved that," I explained, shrugging. I folded my arms. "You know, I better get paid or something for being the peacemaker."

"We’ll pay you in keeping you on this team, how about that?" Mario asked.

I snorted. "While I am honoured to be on this team, you have no right to wave around my position on the team like that."

"Ryan, don’t know if you noticed, but he’s the Captain," Joe Nieuwendyk piped up. "He can do what he wants."

Defeated, I threw my hands up in the air. "Screw it," I declared. Promptly, I sat down and took off the rest of my gear, getting dressed in our designated Canadian garb. After that, I left the dressing room to get some fresh, absurdly cold air. I looked up at the mountains, and at the tall office buildings, and began to walk to one of the many food concession stands that were littered throughout the grounds.

As I was enjoying my hotdog, someone’s hand was placed on my shoulder, and I yelled (albeit muffled with hotdog in my mouth), and whirled around at whiplash speed to find Joe Sakic standing behind me. "Sorry about that," he apologised.

I swallowed, giving him a mild glare. "That’s the second time you scared me shitless, Joe. Ever hear of calling from a distance to give me some warning?"

Joe laughed, although I didn’t find this the least bit amusing. "And again with the sorry. I just wanted to finish what we started before Pat called us out for the Germany game." I exhaled sharply; I knew this was coming, but I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Then again, I was curious as hell.

"S-sure, l-let’s finish that, s-shall we?" I stuttered, knowing now I had no control over my mouth anymore. This was going to be a dandy conversation, I just know it. Joe led me to a bench, and we sat down. Almost immediately, I began to fidget, my right leg going up and down, most of the pressure on my tiptoes, and it looked like my leg was full of Jell-O, while my left stayed stationary. It was a bad habit, but it always happened when I was nervous. "W-why’d you k-kiss me, Joe?"

Joe inhaled and exhaled slowly, taking in the crisp mountain air. "You’re asking me why I did it, and in all honesty, Ryan, I don’t know. It’s just one of those things that just… happened, and it was like I was barely conscious that I was actually doing that. That was, until you responded. It snapped me back to reality."

It snapped me back too, and I think I might’ve gotten whiplash. Cerebral whiplash…there’s a new condition to add to the medial list. "So you didn’t really mean for it to happen…it just…did?" This was as clear as mud.

"Y-yeah," Joe confirmed, taking in another shaky breath. He turned to me. "Did you like it?"

"WHAT?"

Joe’s gaze didn’t waver, and he asked it again: "Did you like it?"

My mouth opened and closed several times, no coherent words coming out. What was I going to say to that when I’m not entirely sure myself?

-TBC-