Author’s notes: I know, I know, I shouldn’t leave you all hanging with such a mean cliff hanger…but TOMMY MADE ME DO IT!

Salo: I did not! It was your fault for listening to my nonsensical rambling late at night.

Sasha: -_-; Anyway, this could or could not be the ending of ‘The other Olympic Experience, or it could not be. We’ll just have to see, now won’t we? Um, the song belongs to Serial Joe, and I thought it just fit perfectly with the chapter. And Tommy suggested I try it with Joe’s P.O.V or something…so here it is! But we have to start in Ryan’s P.O.V on the plane with Eric and Tommy.

* * *

"We’re playing WHO?" I demanded, gripping the armrests in death-grips.

Tommy’s face didn’t change at my tone. "We’re playing the Colorado Avalanche. It’s the last game before we go back to play Washington. I guess you were so wrapped up in your debate to phone Joe you didn’t hear that we were flying to Denver and not Edmonton."

I slammed my back into the chair, causing Mike Comrie to kick back in annoyance. "It would be just my luck for this to happen," I muttered.

"Look at it this way: at least now you can tell Joe in person, and not over the phone. It has more impact that way," Eric opted.

"It’s also more difficult," I pointed out, sighing heavily. Absently, I kicked my shoe against Janne’s seat.

"Stop kicking my seat, Canuck!" Janne yelled, craning his neck to glare at me. I muttered an apology, and Janne sat back down.

Tommy put a hand on my shoulder. "Take it from me. It might seem like the most difficult thing in the world right now, but you have to tell Joe how you feel. Consider it like a playoff game: Game 7, triple sudden death overtime, with 34 seconds left. Only, the opposing team is your feelings for Joe. We’ve been in that situation before."

He had a point. It was a good analogy. "That’s good advice," I murmured, staring down at the floor. "Who gave it to you?"

"Sasha did, when she came over to help me with my cold before the St. Louis game," Tommy replied. "She was the one who gave me the courage to tell Jochen how I felt. You never know what’s going to happen unless you tell him exactly how you feel."

Eric had stayed silent during Tommy’s advice, and finally spoke. "Tommy’s right, Ryan. There’s probably something in your past that’s preventing you from doing this, but whatever it is, you’ve got to overcome it." He turned from staring out the aisle to face me. "I’m not one to make assumptions on your life, but from what I can tell, you feel something for him. The only thing you’re going to accomplish is causing yourself is more pain by not telling him."

"You guys are right," I said finally, after taking all of this in. "You, Boyd and Steve are all right. I’ve got to tell him. But I don’t know if I’ll have the courage to say it. To say those three little words…"

Tommy smiled. "Ryan, think about this: if I can suck it up and say ‘I love you’ to Jochen Hecht, then I’m sure you can tell Joe Sakic the same thing."

I smiled, and gave him a hug. "Thanks, Tommy. It means a lot."

"Think of this as my way of saying ‘thank you’ for helping me out in Salt Lake," Tommy replied, patting me on the shoulder. I nodded, and took a deep breath, leaning back into my seat.

I drifted off into my own thoughts, nearly falling asleep, but the P.A. system drew me out of it. "Welcome to Denver, Colorado. We hope you enjoy your stay in our fine city." Here we go…

** Joe’s P.O.V. **

They were coming here. Edmonton was playing their final game of their seven game road trip here in Denver. That would mean Ryan would be here. I couldn’t think about anything but him since we came back from the Olympics. What I asked him on the day of the closing ceremonies was too much. And I don’t know why those words came out of my mouth. I never suggest anything like that.

I had totally fucked up any chance of a relationship with him by asking him that. For the two weeks we had been back, I had been beating myself up for ruining possibly the best thing that could have ever happened to me. My game hadn’t suffered, thank God. It was the only thing that could keep my mind off the pain.

Ryan’s face when I told him he was beautiful was one of fear. What the fear was, I don’t know. It was like there was something contained in those words that held nothing but fear and hurt. He avoided me like the plague for the rest of the games, and when we were walking out with the rest of the athletes at the closing ceremonies, he made it a point to stay far away from me.

Was there something there that I wasn’t seeing? I asked Steve if he knew there was something going on that I didn’t know about, and he said he didn’t know. There was something in his eyes that told me otherwise. If there was something, something that hurt Ryan, he didn’t tell me, for fear of what? That I would spazz out on him? I groaned. "I have single-handedly fucked up my life."

"What did you do now, O’ Captain my Captain?" Rob asked, walking over to me.

I groaned again. "Nothing, Blake," I muttered, burying my face in my hands.

He raised an eyebrow. "Now that’s a lie. It’s normally something when you look like your best friend just died. Spill the beans, Joey. What happened?"

I looked up at him, and debated internally whether or not I should tell Rob my problem with the Edmonton Forward. "If I tell you, will you promise on your mother’s grave not to tell a single soul?"

Rob looked a little confused, but he nodded. "Yeah, Joey. I promise. What’s been bugging you for the past two weeks since we came back from Salt Lake?"

Slowly, but surely, and with lots of pauses, I told Rob everything that happened in Salt Lake. From the first kiss, to what happened before the closing ceremonies. Throughout my tale, I kept my eyes focused on the ground, and not Rob’s face. "There you go, Blake. That’s what’s been eating away at me since we came back."

"So after you blurted out that invitation to go back to the hotel room, he’s avoided you like you were the black plague?" Rob asked. He seemed unusually calm about all this. I figured when you find out that your Captain is in love with a younger player from Edmonton, you’d flip out. Guess I was wrong on that thought too.

"Yeah," I muttered, running a hand through my dark hair.

Rob put a hand on my shoulder. "Joe, don’t beat yourself up over it. Yes, it was the dumbest thing you could say to him at the time, but you have to move on. Ryan’s a young guy, and being at the Olympics, winning a gold medal and being involved with you has got to have scrambled his mind a little. And there’s got to be another reason why he ran away."

"But I don’t know what that other reason is," I said, noting how my voice was close to resembling a whine. "It’s been eating me alive, Robby. I don’t know what could have scared him so badly."

Adam Foote entered the dressing room from the door leading to the ice. "Hartley’s having a coronary trying to find you two," he said, and noted my solemn face. "What’s the matter, Joe?"

I waved a hand. "It’s nothing. Just reflecting and stuff. We better get out there before Hartley sends out the National Guard." Rob and Adam nodded, and followed me out onto the ice. As soon as we stepped onto the ice, I saw Ryan. He was discussing a play with Mike Comrie and Anson Carter, as the rest of the Oilers were doing their pre-game skates and drills. "Ryan…"

** Ryan’s P.O.V **

I saw him. I saw him come out onto the ice with Foote and Blake. He looked about as bad as I felt. Anson noticed that my attention was elsewhere, and tapped me. "Ryan? Smytty? Hello? Earth to Ryan Smyth? What’s so interesting over there, man?"

"What? Nothing," I lied, turning back to him. "What were you saying, Anson?"

Anson shook his head. "Never mind, man. You were too busy staring over there at the Avalanche that I don’t have the breath left to repeat myself. Man, the way you were looking you’d think you were in love with Sakic or something."

My eyes widened, but luckily, Anson didn’t see. "Yeah, you’d think so…" The horn sounded, signalling the game was going to start soon. "C’mon, let’s get to our dressing room…" Mike and Anson turned to each other and shrugged, but came with me as we skated off the ice and into the dressing room for the last minute prep.

I was half-listening to Craig, and half psyching myself up to tell Joe how I felt after the game. I played with the idea of telling him during a face-off to see what the outcome would be. But then I decided that would be too cruel and what if the cameras picked that up? That would not be good. So that plan was out the window. It would have to be after the game. The game that we needed to win badly to leapfrog over Vancouver and Dallas. Funny how that sounded. Dallas fighting for a playoff spot, and not at the top of the food chain. It was certainly amusing. I was getting off track from my original thought. I was going to—

"Ryan!" Jason Smith yelled into my ear, causing me to yell and jump a good five feet into the air. "Let’s get on the ice, man! I don’t know if you were dozing or what, but we’re playing COLORADO. You can’t be sleeping!"

"Sorry!" I exclaimed, getting right back in my beloved Captain’s face. "I’m awake now, O’ captain my captain!" I followed Jason out of the dressing room onto the ice, where the Pepsi centre greeted us with a mixed reaction of boos and cheers. It was game time.

The face-off was held in the Colorado zone, and Todd was waved out of the face-off circle against Joe, and the referee called me in. My chest tightened, but I skated over, and stared straight into Joe’s eyes. I opened my mouth to say something, but the Referee dropped the puck, and I won the draw, passing the puck to Mike Comrie. Alex Tanguay was covering Mike, and Anson was dancing his way out of the grasp of Rob Blake.

Suddenly, the puck came to me, and I saw Joe coming towards me. Quickly, and without thinking, I wristed the puck to the net, and it banked off Patrick Roy’s shoulder, and into the net. I hadn’t expected the puck to go into the net, and the next thing I knew, Anson and Mike’s arms were around my neck, congratulating on breaking a 17 game scoreless slump. "Congrats, Ryan!" Eric congratulated.

"Th-thanks," I managed, still dazed for some reason. Patrick had always been a goalie that haunted my dreams, but I beat him and didn’t even know it. This was definitely on the list of things that contributed to the weirdest week of my life. One of the few good things in that week, mind you.

The period went on, slowly, except for the fight that broke out between Chris Drury and Jochen Hecht. It was an odd pairing, but Jochen beat the tar out of him, and Drury had to be held back by Joe and Eric Messier. It ended in a 1-0 lead for us after one period. But we had our work cut out for us in the second. As I skated off, I looked back almost longingly at Joe, and could have sworn he had the same look in his eyes. Was I seeing things? I probably was. Joe probably doesn’t want anything to do with me after I ran like a bat out of hell on the last day of the Olympics…

We had done a good job of protecting our lead until this point, until Joe, Mike Keane, and Brad Larsen came flying down the right wing, and Keane fed a perfect pass to Joe, but I fore-checked him into the boards. That still didn’t stop Larsen, who, after Joe got his skates untangled from mine, fed the pass to Joe, who stuffed it under Tommy to tie it up.

Tommy complained to the referee that Keane knocked into him before the goal had been scored, and that there should be a penalty called on goaltender interference. The referee didn’t make a call, but Keane got into Tommy’s face arguing with him, and Tommy shoved him a little, and Keane fought back, and suddenly everyone, including myself got involved. "Get out of my face, Tanguay!" I yelled.

Patrick then joined into the fray, and pulled Keane off of Tommy, then those two went at it. The pads, gloves and masks flew off, as Tommy surprisingly had the advantage over the larger Patrick. All the players backed off, and gave Patrick and Tommy some room to fight, as if we were back in grade school. Tommy used his right leg to trip up Patrick’s left, and Tommy pulled him down to the ice, slugging away at the Quebèc City native. They went at it; for the most part Tommy dominated, actually cutting Patrick’s left cheek. "Okay, that’s it," Joe said over the yelling. "Let’s break this up, you two!"

"Come on, Tommy, let him go! You drew first blood!" I added, pulling my goaltender off of Patrick. "Hey, man, calm down. You totally kicked his ass, and now, I think you should calm down before you get a penalty too." Tommy nodded, still glaring at Patrick, who was being held back by both Joe and Alex. He leaned on me as the referees sorted out the mess, and it ended up that we would get a 5-3 on the mess, giving Keane and Roy fighting penalties, but Patrick would get a fighting major. We couldn’t do much in the dying minutes of this period, but we would have the man advantage for a good minute thirty in the third.

The lead was being protected once more, and I found myself on the ice more and more against Joe Sakic and his line. This was either some kind of celestial punishment for what I did back in Salt Lake, but our top line did seem to nullify Joe’s line. I looked over to Eric, who was handling the puck past the blue line with Janne right beside him. Keane and Tanguay tied up Anson and Mike, so it was just the three of us, against Joe and Rob Blake. Eric faked a pass to Janne, and fired it to me, and I rifled it over Patrick’s shoulder. Janne had jumped, causing Patrick to lose his focus, and giving me the chance to rifle it.

We had given ourselves a two-goal lead with just a minute thirty-two left in the period. This was definitely our best game so far of the road trip, and against our division’s leader. And I had gotten my second goal of the night. "Genius, pure genius, Eric!" I praised, as I gave him a hug.

"Think of that as an early birthday present," Eric grinned, patting me on the head. "And a bribe to give you confidence for after the game." I shook my head, smiling, giving him a hug, and we went our separate ways for the face-off.

We won the game, 3-1 against Colorado. It was almost un-heard of for our bunch, but we gladly took the two points. We desperately needed them. It was definitely a great way to end the road trip to go back home and face the Caps. I skated over to Joe, who was trying to calm down Patrick Roy. "Hey, Joe?"

Joe turned around at almost whiplash speed, and looked at me with wide eyes. "Y-yeah, Ryan?"

I took a deep breath. "I want to talk to you about something. Meet me up in section 214 after you’re changed?"

He looked completely surprised, but nodded. "Yeah, sure." I held up my hands in a surrender gesture to Patrick.

"What did I do?" I asked, questioning his glare.

"Tell your little Swedish net minder that I own his ass the next time we play, if it’s in the playoffs!" Patrick said angrily.

I blinked a few times, but nodded. I didn’t want to upset Patrick even more at this point, so I just nodded. "Y-yeah, sure thing, Patrick…" I turned to Joe. "Get that guy some anger management classes, okay?" Joe laughed, and I turned around, skating back to the visitor’s dressing room.

I waited for Joe up in section 214, fidgeting like mad, wearing my team Canada jersey, and a pair of Levi jeans, and of course, the sneakers that had been through hell and back with me back in the 2000/2001 season.

Okay, I can do this. I can tell Joe Sakic that I love him.

Or can I?

This wasn’t the time to be second-guessing myself as I saw Joe walk up the steps to where I was sitting, wearing his Colorado jersey over a blue shirt with black jeans and boots. This was a sure sign I had it bad for him. I could pick apart his wardrobe in seconds. "H-hey, Joe."

He smiled, and sat down in the seat beside me. "Hey," he greeted shakily. "How have you been doing?"

You cannot imagine, Joe. You can simply not imagine what I’m feeling right now. "I can’t give you a straight answer. I’m anxious, scared, depressed, angry…my mind is so scrambled right now, I think you can serve it as an omelette," I told Joe, sighing. "But there’s something I need to tell you, Joe."

"…What is it?" Joe asked quietly.

I took a deep breath. "Back in the 1999/2000 season, I was…um, involved with another player," I stammered, biting my lip.

Joe’s eyes widened, but he stayed calm. "Who was it?"

"Boyd Devereaux." Joe’s eyes widened in shock, and I looked back down at the soda sticky ground. "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?" Joe asked, his voice still 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."

Joe’s expression was unreadable, and I began to shake, but Joe tentatively put a hand on my shoulder. "Just tell me what happened. It’s all right, Ryan."

"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." I turned to Joe. "That’s what I failed to tell you in Salt Lake. That was why I couldn’t handle being in another relationship with a guy…"

Joe put his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned against his chest, like a child would do to his mother. "Weight is lower than whale shit for doing that to Boyd. But you weren’t to blame for any of that. I…I want nothing more than to make all that pain go away for you. I’m—I’m sorry for what I said in Salt Lake…it was completely uncalled for, and—"

"You don’t have to apologise," I whispered, looking up at him. "I should apologise to you for running off like that without explaining anything. But Joe, there’s something else I want to tell you."

"What is it, Ryan?" Joe asked me quietly, looking into my eyes with his dark blue ones.

This is the moment of truth. Don’t screw this up, Smyth. "Joe…I…I-I love you."

** Joe **

Did I just hear what I think I just heard? Did Ryan Smyth just say he loved me? Were these not the words I had wanted to hear since I got back to Colorado? My mouth opened and closed a few times before anything coherent would come out. "Ryan, I—you can’t imagine how that makes me feel…I…I love you too."

Ryan’s face lit up and he bit his lip, smiling sheepishly. "Tommy was right."

I raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"About gathering the courage to find the words," he told me, looking out to the rink. "You never know what’s going to happen unless you just say what you feel. I don’t know where to go from here. We’re both on different teams…in different countries…how do you work with that?"

I smiled, and entwined his hand in mine. "We’ll figure out something," I assured him. "After all, I’m sure two Canadian Olympians can come up with something."

Ryan nodded, and took a deep breath. "Joe?"

"Yeah?" I responded, looking at him.

Ryan didn’t say anything but grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me passionately on the lips. I responded, but just as I did so, he broke the kiss. He grinned impishly. "I just wanted to do that."

"Okay, I see, this was payback for what I did in Salt Lake," I concluded, shaking my head. "I should do things like that more often if this is the payback."

The Edmonton forward shoved me playfully, and laughed. "Just like the great Joe Sakic to come up with something like that!" He grinned at me, and kissed me again lightly on the lips. "I should go. The guys are waiting for me, and this time we’re going back home for sure to play against Washington."

"When am I going to see you again?" I asked, standing up with him. "This was our last meeting of the season."

"There’s always the playoffs," Ryan said, winking. "If not, then we’ll just see what happens in the post-season." He looked off back to the rink, and smiled. "Man, this was just the weirdest Olympic experience of my life."

I laughed. "It’s the other Olympic Experience that CBC doesn’t advertise," I joked, and Ryan laughed. "I think the same thing happened to Yzerman and Shanahan last time."

Ryan’s eyes widened. "Did it really?"

"Yes, it did," I nodded sagely. My watch beeped, and I turned to Ryan. "You’re going to be late."

"It’s so sweet you’re worrying for me already," Ryan said, grinning. He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and picked up his bag. "See you later, Joe."

"Yeah…later," I said, watching him walk down the steps back to the visitor’s dressing room.

This was definitely the best Olympic Experience I’ve ever had.

And the medal wasn’t a part of it.

Author’s notes: I wanted to make it an even numbered chapter. Like 10. The next chapter is going to feature Jason Wade’s "You belong to Me" from the Shrek soundtrack.