Work Text:
“That shootout attempt?”
“Yeah?” Danny didn’t look up from his duffel bag.
“Was shit,” said Claude, striding across the locker room to stand next to his teammate. “You phoned it in. Phoned it in! Like the fire’s gone out of you. What the fuck happened?”
Briere said nothing, could feel his stomach turning to lead and his heart growing colder.
“Danny,” he repeated, “what’s happened to you?”
“I- I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Though he had dealt with the press so eloquently after the game, right now he felt like Bryz surrounded by mics—lost for words, and unwilling to find them. He hadn’t been doing well this season, everyone knew it, and trade rumors were buried in the tiniest little nooks of the room.
The silence hung between them while the rest of the team buzzed happily, Scottie and Wayne throwing towels at each other, Coots calling home, the Schenns organizing a night out. Just one win, and a shootout win at that, but what a difference it made to the morale.
Giroux took a deep breath. “It’s like you don’t even want to be here anymore. Like you’ve already given up. Like you’re waiving your no-trade clause. Do you even want it anymore?”
“Want what?”
“To be a Flyer anymore! You’ve always said it was your intention to retire as a Flyer, and now you’re playing like you want to retire in St. Louis. They’re interested, Danny! They want you. Any team in the league would be lucky to have you, but we’re the one who does. Do you even want it anymore?”
Memories flashed before Danny’s eyes of the time he’d spent in Philadelphia—every playoff series, the Finals with Chicago, Christmas Eve dinner at Scottie’s, the Winter Classic, playing host to Coots, and, heart-swellingly, G. What a happy family they’d been. They weren’t in love, but they did love each other, the kind of love any teammates would grow for one another, and especially ones who’d spent time living together and playing abroad in a new country together. His best friend on the team, his captain.
“Of course I do. Of course I do!” The fire started to burn in the pit of his stomach and warm up his heart.
“Fuck yes you do, and I know it. Because I—” a brief pause. “We can’t afford to lose you.”
“Damn straight,” said Danny, brightening. Claude smiled, gave him a smack on the back, and walked back to his locker to finish packing up.
“Oh, and Danny?” he said, almost out the door.
“Yeah?”
“Ich liebe dich.” Both men cracked up laughing and bade each other goodnight.