Author’s routine ramblings: This chapter covers the span of the 7-1 demolition of the Belarussians, and of course, the 5-2 whipping of the United States in the gold medal round.

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Mario had given us a big talk before we went on the ice to practice, about how important this game was. We win; we go to the gold medal game against whoever wins between the USA and Russia. We lose; we go to the bronze medal game against the loser of the USA/Russia game. Russia had threatened to remove its players from the games due to some judging fiasco and that they were being penalised. Oh please. Do people have to complain about the stupidest things?

Russia wasn’t any of our concern at the moment. Not unless they defeated the Americans and we defeated Belarus to meet in the gold-medal game. Belarus won’t pull another stunning upset. We were going to make certain of that. They won a fluke, and we were going to make sure that they don’t do it to us. Martin would be starting in goal again, and I had a feeling since he started in the Czech game, he would continue to start to the end, although it did seem a little unfair to Curtis.

Our situation in the tournament seemed to be pretty good. Our two biggest problems had been eliminated: Sweden and the Czech Republic, who were eliminated by Russia. It seemed to be lady luck that granted us the game against Belarus, a sure-fire way to get into the gold-medal game. Sounds cocky, but come on. Canada against Belarus. Who would you pick to win?

Besides the hockey, my personal life seems to have quieted down substantially. Joe and I have kept whatever was going on between us quiet, and I was grateful. But Steve seemed to suspect heavily that something was going on. After our practice, Joe told me he wanted to talk to me. Alone.

I sighed, and after I changed out of my hockey gear, and went to meet Joe by our hotel rooms. I saw him with his back to me, taking in the scenery of the mountain range in Salt Lake City. Grinning, I walked silently up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Joe yelped, and jumped a good two feet into the air. "Now you know how it feels, Sakic."

"I guess I deserved that," Joe admitted, a smile on his lips. "Ryan, there’s something that’s been on my mind, and I just needed to talk to you about it."

"You’ve decided to be celibate?" I asked.

Joe blinked. "What?"

I grinned. "Never mind. What were you going to say?"

Shaking his head, Joe continued, "I…it’s about us, Ryan. There’s…there’s this definite connection that we have…d-do you…do you want to…"

"Want to…?" I urged gently, looking at him expectantly.

Joe took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then looked me square in the eyes. "There’s no way to say this without making it sound extremely bold. Do you want to be with me? Like…intimately?"

I was floored. For the second time during a conversation with Joe. "Y-you mean, for this time during the Olympics?"

"Maybe, or even after?" Joe suggested, looking even more lost that I was. And that was pretty hard to top, considering I was completely over my head in something that I hadn’t dared to go near for three years.

Biting the bullet, I nodded. "S-sure. I-I mean, it couldn’t hurt to you know… experiment, right?" I have to move on anyway, from him. Speaking of that, would I tell Joe about why I freaked out when he first kissed me? And why I demanded in a panic what would happen if the Captain found out? No. I couldn’t tell Joe that yet.

"Right," Joe agreed, swallowing and nodding. There was an awkward silence, and Joe cleared his throat. "We have to stop having such awkward silences."

I laughed a little. "Yeah, no kidding. What can we do? Start talking about the game against Belarus?"

"That works," Joe agreed. I opened my mouth to begin a conversation on said topic, but Joe quickly kissed me on the lips. As I stared at him in utter disbelief, he simply smiled impishly, something I wasn’t used to seeing. "I just wanted to do that."

"What if someone saw?" I asked worriedly.

Joe looked around. There was no one in the hallway, and all the doors were closed. "But there’s no one here."

"Sorry, but I’m getting a little paranoid. Pronger saw us kiss when I went in there to calm you down," I confessed, and Joe raised a surprised eyebrow. "The door was half-open still."

"Don’t worry about it," Joe advised. "We’ll just have to be more c—" Just as he was about to finish, my watch beeped.

I stared in horror at the time. "We’re late! We’re supposed to be at the E-centre already! Pat is going to have our heads!"

Joe put a hand on my shoulder. "Don’t worry, Ryan. The E-centre isn’t far from here. We’ll make in time to get on the ice with our gear on."

"If anything happens, I’m blaming your ass, Sakic," I warned, as the two of us sprinted out of the Village and to the E-centre.

Tommy phoned my cell after we defeated Belarus 7-1, and told me he saw my thunderous fore-check on Vladimir Kopat in the second period. It still hadn’t sunk in yet, that we were going to the gold medal game. And it was against the United States. Gary Betman finally got the match-up he wanted. But we weren’t going to have another "miracle on ice". We were going home with the gold. We couldn’t settle for any less than that.

"Good job out there," Steve congratulated me on my assist on Eric Lindros’ goal. "You’re getting the hang of the ice pretty well."

I grinned. "Thanks, o’ teacher of mine. I checked Kopat into the boards for Tommy Salo, but I made it look like an accident. Just like you taught me."

Steve laughed, and clapped me on the shoulder. "Don’t let them hear you say that. I don’t want to be held responsible for things like that." I made a face, and Steve’s face lit up, like he remembered something. "You coming with us to the Women’s gold medal game?"

"Hell yes!" I agreed, tugging on my red and white striped scarf. "Of course I’m going to go and support the girls! What kind of Canadian would I be if I didn’t do that?"

"Not a very good one," Steve said, grinning, and we left the Village to go to the arena where it was the classic showdown in women’s hockey: Canada vs. the USA.

The game was great. Wait, better than great, unbelievable! Canada defeated the US 3-2, even though there were 13 penalties called against the Canadians. The referee was American, and the guys and I figured that was the reason for so many stupid penalties. Nevertheless, our women came out on top, and it was great to see Cassie Campbell so happy. And Hayley Wickenheiser, as she was talking to Don Cherry, told him how the Americans put a Canadian flag on the floor of their dressing room and stomped all over it. I couldn’t believe they would do something like that. But was it even true?

"Do you guys believe that? That the Americans put a Canadian flag on the floor of their dressing room so they could walk all over it?" I asked to no one in particular.

Paul looked sceptical. "I don’t think it’s true. It could be just a tale the coach told them to get riled up. That’s what the reporters seem to think, anyway."

"But the rivalry between the Canadian and American women is very volatile," Joe pointed out. "It could very well be true."

"One of the American women players said that it was to remind them that Canada would always be a threat," Brendan spoke up. "I don’t buy that though."

I shrugged. "Whatever the reason was, all that matters was that they won. And they deserved to win against the USA." The guys agreed wholeheartedly. "Now, all we have to do is beat the United States and it’ll be a golden day for Canada in hockey."

"Isn’t it funny," Chris began, looking at the medal ceremony, and the Swedish women getting their bronze medals, "that Sweden is getting their hockey medal from their women and not from their men?"

Joe Nieuwendyk nodded his agreement. "That’s certainly something I didn’t expect to happen. I thought it would be a Sweden/Canada rematch. Not that I’m complaining that we got Belarus or anything."

Mario chuckled. "The ceremony’s over, and we need to get some rest before the game tomorrow against the Yankees."

"Sir, yes sir!" the guys chorused, and as the ceremonies ended for good, we left the E-Centre and went back to the Olympic village.

It was the biggest game of my life. The biggest game that I would ever play in my career so far, and it was for the Gold medal. Talk about pressure. Pat shuffled the lines around, but I stayed on the line with Eric Lindros and Owen Nolan. I was psyching myself up in the dressing room when Joe (Sakic) came over. "Hey Joe."

"Hey," Joe greeted, sitting down beside me. "How you holding up?"

I exhaled. "I’m doing just fine. It’s not sinking in, you know? That we’re going to the GOLD MEDAL game, ya know? It’s just too unreal. Like it’s not even real. Like I’m dreaming that I’m here, but I’m really back in Edmonton."

Joe grinned, and put a hand on my shoulder. "It’s no dream, Ryan. We’re here, and we’re playing for gold." He squeezed my shoulder gently. "Just don’t get nervous. Go out there and play the best hockey you can. We’re guaranteed at least a silver."

"But we can’t settle for Silver," I told him. "No one remembers who won silver. If you ask anyone who one gold in Nagano, they’ll say the Czech Republic. You ask who they beat, you don’t get an answer. We can’t go back home with Silver. We came here to win gold."

Joe looked almost affectionately at me. "You’re very focused. That’s exactly what we need to win. Everyone focused solely on the game, and not anything else. We’re going to win Gold, Smytty. No one’s going to deny us of that dream."

I nodded, remembering what Steve told me before he went out for breakfast with Theo and Rob. He told me that we were going to win gold. There was nothing less we could settle for, and that he had to smash Brett Hull into the boards for refusing to play for the Canadian team. "No, they’re not. We’re going to demolish the Americans, Joe. I can feel it."

"What score?" Joe asked.

I looked thoughtful. "At least two or three goals ahead of them. We’re not going to hold anything back."

Joe leaned in and kissed me softly, and held the kiss for a few moments before breaking it. "You’re so beautiful when you talk like that."

I froze. That’s exactly what he said three years ago. The exact same thing. "Th-thanks," I stammered, blushing slightly. "W-we should get onto the ice…everyone’s waiting for us for our pre-game skate." Before waiting for Joe, I jumped up, and ran (as fast I could with skates on) to the ice, joining the guys with the pre-game warm-ups.

This one was in the bag! We were going to win GOLD! I was on the ice with Eric Lindros and Owen, and I had the puck on my stick and with the seconds ticking down, I fired it the length of the ice, and the buzzer rang. "WE WON!!!!!!!!" I yelled, and threw down my stick. The arena erupted, and furiously, I searched for a Canadian flag, and found one, wrapping myself in it. Joe skated over to me, and I grabbed him in a hug. "Joe! We won Gold! We beat the States!"

Joe hugged me tightly and knocked his helmet against my own. "You did good, Smytty. You did real well!"

"You did a great job too, Joe! You got two of the biggest goals of the game!" I exclaimed, my helmet and my gloves joining the mass that was accumulating around our end of the rink. I turned to where Marty was buried by the rest of the players. "Shall we?"

Joe nodded. "We shall." We joined the massive dog pile, and when I got up, I saw Doug Weight. A lump formed in my throat, and I could’ve sworn he gave me the dirtiest glare that could have ever been given. I could have sworn he mouthed the words ‘faggot’, and skated off to the part of the arena where the US would be getting their medals. "Ryan?"

"Huh?" I turned to Joe, surprised. Did he see what Weight mouthed to me? God, I hope not. This is too good of a moment to be ruined by my former Captain.

He gestured to where the other guys were standing, awaiting the official to hang the medal around their necks. I followed him to our spots in the line, with Joe in front of me beside Steve, and I was beside Paul. As the medal was hung around my neck, the tears flowed freely. The flags began to rise up to the rafters, with Canada’s right in the middle, flanked by Russia’s and the USA’s. I sang along to the national anthem, along with the other guys. "O’ Canada; our home and native land; true patriot love; in all thy sons command," I sang softly, gripping the yellow flowers tightly. "With glowing hearts we see thee rise; the true north strong and free; from far and wide; O’ Canada, we stand on guard for thee; God keep our land, glorious and free; O’ Canada, we stand on guard for thee; O’ Canada, we stand on guard for thee!"

The arena erupted into cheers, and Steve’s camcorder that had been in Owen’s hands for when Steve received his medal, captured most of the reactions, and the fireworks. "C’mon, Ryan, get the lead out of your skates, we gotta go and take the impromptu team photograph started by Wayne!" Steve called to me, and I skated over. We all sat in an impromptu pose, and I was put next to Joe Sakic and Jerome Iginla.

"We did it," Jerome whispered. "We did what we came here to do, Ryan."

I nodded. "We’re going down in history, Jerome. The team that broke the 50-year-old gold medal curse of Canada’s Olympic Men’s hockey…"

"Man, this is just…" Jerome trailed off.

"Amazing," I finished for him.

I saw Eric talking to Sasha, now removed of her ‘Flash’ title, and they looked to be getting a little close. Joe was standing beside me as I watched them talk and Eric blush like I’ve never seen him blush before. "This is the end, I guess," I muttered, taking a drink of the beer that was in my hand.

"It was a great way to end it, Smytty," Joe whispered in my ear, holding my hand loosely.

"Joe…someone’s going to see," I fretted, getting my hand out of his loose grip.

"So? What are they going to do about it? It’s the end of the games, and everyone’s doing their own thing," Joe countered, sighing a little. His arm snaked around my waist, and I didn’t fight it this time. But when Joe said this next sentence, I freaked out: "Do you want to go back to the hotel room?"

I jumped out of his embrace. "J-Joe, I—I can’t…" Before Joe could do anything, I turned and ran. I just ran away from him and went as far as I could without making a big scene. I didn’t get far enough however without running into someone I knew. And that person was Steve Yzerman. "Steve?"

"Why did you run away from Joe, Ryan?" Steve asked, pulling me into our hotel room. He looked serious, as if he knew something.

"He just…you wouldn’t understand," I muttered, moving to the door, but Steve blocked me.

"I saw you two kiss before you came on the ice for the pre-game skate," Steve said bluntly, and my eyes became as wide as saucers. "I came back to see who was left in the dressing room, and saw you two. I quickly left because I didn’t want you to see. It was incredibly rude of me to barge in on that—"

I groaned, and flopped down on the bed. "I suppose you want to know what’s going on with that, right?"

"It’d ease some suspicions I’ve been having," Steve admitted, sitting down beside me. "Were you two…a couple?"

"Sort’ve," I confessed, my hands clenched together. "We had decided to be something like that the day of the Belarus game…but he just said something that totally freaked me out… it reminded me of something that happened three years ago in Edmonton."

Steve didn’t look grossed out, but calm. "With who? Do you want to talk about it? It’ll make you feel better, and plus, clear out your head."

I nodded. "This is going to be hard."

"Take your time," Steve advised. "You don’t rush the things that are important in your life."

"Back in the 1999/2000 season, I was…um, involved with another player," I stammered, biting my lip. "You, um, know him very well."

"Who was it?" Steve asked, genuinely concerned. "How well do I know him?"

I stared down at the peach carpet. "He’s on your team."

Steve looked thoughtful. "I’m out of guesses. Tell me, will you? I’m getting old and my memory’s not what it used to be."

Softly, I laughed, but stayed serious. "Boyd Devereaux." Steve’s eyes widened in shock, and I looked back down at the carpet. "It happened sometime in the middle of the season, I’m not sure…but we were together. Intimately, and Boyd was scared that Doug Weight was going to find out, and throw us off the team. I tried to assure him that Doug wouldn’t find out, and that he wasn’t going to throw us off the team. It wasn’t anything immensely serious, but it was something, you know?" I close my eyes, and swallowed, and I found the strength to say the next part, "but then Doug found out."

"What did he do?" Steve asked, his voice soft.

I sighed, and shook my head, my eyes still closed. "At the time I was an Assistant Captain, taking over Grier’s position since he was out with an injury. Weight walked in on us kissing. He closed the door immediately, but we both knew he was pissed. Boyd was barely a rookie, and was scared out of his mind at what Weight would do; after all, I was an AC, and he was just a…rookie. Weight called him out to talk to him. I found this out from Boyd afterwards…Boyd told him that he had kissed me out of no where. He thought he could take whatever Weight had to say…but he was wrong."

Steve’s eyes clouded with slight anger, but he remained calm. I began to shake, and Steve put a hand on my shoulder. "Just tell me what happened."

"After that, he wouldn’t let Boyd into the locker room. Said he didn’t want any queers in there. It was horrible, and I didn’t hear any of this because I was always out of the room when Weight confronted Boyd. One time…Weight took out Boyd’s clothes from his locker and left a note, asking him how it felt to be exposed…because that’s what he was doing to the team…H-he then gave Boyd a big swollen bruise from a backhand.

"Boyd came to me afterwards, the bruise swelling up pretty bad, and told me what happened. I tried to tell him that I would explain to Weight what was going on, but Boyd said it wouldn’t matter. Then, he got the concussion. When I visited, I saw the card Weight sent him, saying that everything was his fault that he was a fucking queer that screwed up the team…and that he didn’t want him back in Edmonton…then, Boyd was traded to Detroit." I sighed. "I never wanted to be in that same position again. Weight was traded a few months later, and I was glad."

Steve was silent. I had just poured out my entire fear of being with another man, and I don’t know what he’s going to say. "Ryan, what Weight did was wrong. He has no right to call himself a Captain, not even a man. Boyd didn’t deserve to be treated that way, and it’s not your fault. But you have to do one thing before we leave Salt Lake."

"What?" I asked, almost too afraid to hear the answer.

"You got to tell Joe about this. You can’t leave on such a bitter note," Steve told me.

"Steve…I can’t. I just can’t say this over again. It’s too hard," I whispered, the tears flowing down my cheek again. "It’s my fault Boyd was treated as badly as he was, and my fault he was traded to Detroit…I can’t tell Joe. Ever."

Steve looked out the window. "It’s a shame, Ryan. You two could’ve had something special."

Yeah right. Not after what I did to Boyd. I can’t do it again.

Author’s notes: Whoa, this was 5 pages long in MS word! Thank you Almighty Chrissy for letting me steal the idea from "Beautiful Child" I hope I did it some justice in this fic.