Chapter Text
Liam was aware of everyone around him. Two defensemen were closing in behind him. The guy in front of him made a try for the puck. He twisted to block with his body, and passed, without looking, to his team captain. Brett Talbot was always where he needed to be, so why waste time looking?
Brett should have caught the pass, would have caught it, but that bastard Theo Raeken jabbed his stick right into his skates. The captain went down. He sprawled on the ice. His head slammed into the boards. The whistle blew.
Liam seethed with anger. That was a dirty hit. The medics were already checking Brett. It looked like he would be missing the rest of the game. They were worried about a concussion.
"That's Raeken's second bad hit this game," he complained to his team.
"Come on, ref," Gabe said, "blow your whistle penalty Coyotes 83, two minutes tripping. It isn't that hard."
That didn't happen. The referee signaled for the game to continue. Liam felt his lip curl into a snarl. His eyes locked on that smirking jerk, Raeken. The coach said his name, an order. He nodded. "Got it."
Everyone took their positions for the face off. "That was a cheap shot tripping our captain," Liam said as he leaned in.
Theo Raeken grinned. "There was a cheap shot? When? I didn't hear a tripping penalty called."
The announcer's voice filled the stadium. "The gloves have hit the ice! Dunbar and Raeken circle. Looks like the refs are going to let them fight it out."
"I don't think the refs have a choice here," the other announcer replied. "They didn't call that hit on Talbot. The Cyclones can't let a hit like that go unchallenged. The fists are flying. Raeken is going for a headlock, but Dunbar twists out, and pulls Raeken's sweater over his head."
"They're stepping in to separate these two, and for the second time this game both will be heading to the box for five minutes. As long as these two are in the rosters I don't think we'll see a Coyote v Cyclone game without a fight."
"A game? I'm wondering if we can go a full period."
---
Liam looked around the new pre-furnished apartment. It was all cool colors and earth tones, a big comfortable couch and a giant TV. He wanted to hate it, but it was perfect, exactly what he would have picked for himself. There was even a fruit basket on the kitchen counter. The card read "Welcome To The Team! Feel free to join us for summer workouts when you're ready." There was a gym schedule below that and it was signed, Scott McCall.
Next to the fruit basket was his new sweater. For the last two years he wore the cherry red and black jersey of the Cyclones. With the five year contract he signed he thought he would be wearing it for a long time, still. One call from the coach had changed that. "We traded you to Beacon Hills. They expect you in California within the week."
He guessed he should be happy they traded him in the off season. He had a week to get ready instead of an hour.
The new jersey was maroon with two grey stripes on the sleeves and collar. A big snarling grey wolf with a hockey stick and a puck was on the front. Dunbar and a big 9 covered the back. At least he got to keep his number.
---
Theo grabbed his gym bag from the back seat of his truck. First days didn't usually make him nervous, but those were normally clean slates. This wouldn't be.
"I was surprised you left Arizona right after they made you captain," Scott said.
Theo turned to see his former/new captain. "Would you believe that's why I left? I finally got put in charge and I hated every second of it." He extended his hand. "Sorry I was such a dick in the juniors."
Scott shook his hand. "I do believe that, and apology accepted. No permanent damage was done. I can let the past be the past. Stiles on the other hand…"
Theo winced. "It's been ten years. Is he still holding a grudge?"
"He agreed to be civil, but I doubt you'll ever be friends. He thinks you pretended to like him so you could hurt me," Scott stated, then paused at the face Theo made. "You didn't."
"I was attracted to him, but… back then I usually had more than one motivation for everything. I've matured since then. Now, I try to only use my powers of manipulation for good, not evil."
"Well, honesty might get you some points." Scott patted the other man's shoulder.
"I wouldn't count on it," Stiles growled. He slammed his shoulder into Theo's as he passed.
---
Liam tightened the laces of his skates. This was crazy. Did they really think he could play on the same team as that jerk? Theo Raeken was across the locker room joking with one of the twins. Liam watched him settle his shoulder pads on his broad muscular chest and adjust the straps over his impressive biceps.
"Forget how hot he is. He's toxic," Stiles warned. "Trust me, you do not want to hit that. Well you can hit him, just don't HIT THAT."
"What? No! I wasn't- I know he's toxic. I was wondering how we are supposed to play with the bastard. He practically cheats," Liam said in a rush. Stiles didn't look convinced.
"Listen up, losers," Coach Flintstock said as he stood in front of the team, "don't expect me to go easy on you just because this is our first practice. Danny, work with the new kid on goal."
"My name's Corey," said the new kid.
The coach didn't look up. "Don't care until you win us a game. Practice lines! Stilinski, McCall, Lahey; next Greenburg, Boyd, Karlsson; then Dunbar, Whitmore, Raeken."
"Do you really think that's a good idea Coach?" Stiles asked.
"Stilinski, if I wanted unsolicited criticism I would have invited my father to practice, but you don't see a shambling corpse with a bottle of gin and a cigar, now do you?"
The coach continued with practice assignments, but Liam didn't listen. He finished gearing up and glared at Theo Raeken. The cocky jerk just smirked at him.
Stiles shook his head. "Yeah, put our three angriest players in the same line. What could go wrong with that?"
---
Blood splattered across the ice. Liam swung for another punch but someone, two someones were holding him, pulling him back. He could taste blood in his mouth. Raeken tried for one more hit to his stomach, but another teammate got a hold of him. A shrill whistle filled the air until both men stopped fighting against those holding them. They turned to face their coach.
Flintstock glared at them, his whistle still held in his teeth. Raeken opened his mouth to speak, but before a sound could come out the whistle sounded again. He was quiet for another long minute, before he said, "I haven't seen this much blood on the ice since a squirrel crawled in the zamboni. Unbelievable! I don't care what kind of beef your old teams had." He pointed at Raeken. "I don't care if he stole your girlfriend." He pointed at Dunbar. "Or if he left in the middle of the night and didn't call you after a night of drunken buttsex. You're teammates now. If you ever pull shit like this again I will bust you both back to the minors so fast…" he stumbled for words, his frustration building. "It'll be fast!"
The Coach turned and waved at one of the assistant coaches. "Get a bucket, and two scrapers. Small scrapers, the smallest ones you can find," he said, and turned back to his now embarrassed looking players. "Now, clean my ice, and when you're done with that you can pass to each other until I say otherwise." He blew the whistle again, and let fly sever short sharp tweets until the team was back to practice.
Liam got to work as soon as the assistant came back with the scrapers. He thought it looked more like a screwdriver. The taste of blood still lingered in his mouth from a split in his lip. A rip in the shoulder of his practice jersey caught his attention. "You ripped my shirt," he said.
"You bro by doze," Theo replied.
Liam was confused, until he noticed the tissues pushed up the other man's nostrils. He was fairly sure most of the blood came from his nose. "I didn't break it. Your nose is still straight." Theo rolled his eyes.
They scraped their blood from the ice in silence, until they went for the same spot. Liam shoved Theo out of the way without a word. Theo sat on the ice, and gently pulled out the tissues. When no blood flowed he asked, "What the hell is your problem? Are you just the human version of an overly aggressive chihuahua or is it personal?"
Liam gritted his teeth. "My problem is you are the worst kind of hockey player. You don't care about the rules of the game or who gets hurt, unless of course you hurt them on purpose."
"You've been talking to Stiles haven't you?" he asked as he watched Scott skating drills with the rest of the team. "Or are you referring to the concussion I gave Talbot last year? Yeah, I tripped him, but if he had rolled with the hit like a normal player he never would have hit the boards. I wanted to take him out for one play, not the game, and not for the month he sat out."
Jackson came in fast and sprayed them with snow. "You missed a spot." He pointed to a sliver of blood left over from a bigger splash. "You guys ever make me look that bad in front of the fans and I'll make sure Coach follows through with his threat. Our team has a real chance for The Cup this year so how about you two just fuck and get over it already."
They finished cleaning the ice and passed the bucket to the ice maintenance crew. "I admit, I have a bit of a short guy complex, but I don't think I qualify as an overly overly aggressive chihuahua." Liam offered a smile.
Theo laughed. "You're the shortest guy in the league and you're in the top ten for fights, most of which you won. How does that make you anything but an overly aggressive chihuahua?"
"Chihuahuas don't win." He offered his fist. Theo bumped it and they started passing drills.
It was another two hours before the coach let them go back to the locker room. Everyone else had already gone home.
"I'm exhausted," Theo complained. "I want a shower, food and to sleep for a week."
"That sounds good." Liam chewed his lip for a moment. "You know once we started to actually play and not fight, we worked really well together."
Theo nodded. "Sometime, when we aren't so wiped out, we should hang out, maybe try to be friends and not just teammates."
Liam's face lit up when he smiled. "That sounds good, too, but not today I'm getting take-out and going to sleep."
---
It was the first game of the season and everyone was deep in their pre-game rituals. Theo thought his routine was fairly tame in comparison. He took a shower. That was it. Take a shower, get dressed, go play.
He took a look around the locker room. Stiles was already dressed and taping and retaping his stick. Scott was singing Uptown Girl. It was the same thing he did ten years ago, starting at whisper trying not bother anyone else, but by the end he would be belting it out at the top of his lungs, dancing and using his stick as a microphone.
Theo didn't know what Liam's ritual was, but he was showing his chihuahua side again. This time more a nervous little dog than the crazy aggressive one Theo had thought he was. Over the last few weeks of practice and hang outs he'd realized Liam was more like a labrador, loyal, cute, probably cuddly, but Theo hadn't tested that out, and most of all very protective. His fights were always about protecting his team. Now, he was naked, frantically digging through his duffle bag and complaining about socks.
Theo untied the the towel from his waist and hung it up in his locker at the same time Liam stood up holding brightly colored tie-dyed socks and briefs. "Found them," he exclaimed. He held out a fist. Theo bumped it, gave a small laugh, and got dressed.
---
There were fifteen seconds left in the second period. The time for one more play. Theo crouched on Jackson's right. He watched the puck, ready to move. Whitmore won, slapped it left to Liam. Theo moved down the ice closer to the goal. The puck was coming towards him. That cocky jerk Dunbar passed without looking. He couldn't keep the smile off his face as he flicked his wrist and sent the puck past the goalie's glove. The howl they used to celebrate goals sounded the same time the buzzer that ended the period.
"What a shot by Theo Raeken," the announcer cheered. "They'll be taking the lead onto the third."
The other announcer spoke up. "That whole play was incredible. Dunbar and Raeken must really be in sync for those no look passes to work."
"I really have to give some credit to Coach Flintstock. If i was given two players that in two games racked up twenty six penalty minutes including four fights, I probably never would have put them on the same line, but these two work."