Post Olympic

Ireland

Bit of an FYI- 

I pushed this story a bit into the future, as hockey helmet cages haven't made it to the NHL yet. I'm not entirely sure when they might, or if they will at all. I pushed this ahead just because I'm not a fan of the masks, and, well, Fen's teeth (that's next chapter ain't it...)

-rabid 

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After sleeping for a good long time in the plane, I hear the warning for landing, and peel open my eyes. Hadley has fallen asleep next to me, and I'm terribly worried that I'm going to have to wake him up.

We fall into the airport, the plane coming in at a yoke to make up for the crosswinds. I run my fingers over the grubby passport that happens to be my only form of identification. Its corners are folded, and my picture barely looks like the mess I am now. My hair is cut short, I did it myself, probably not a good idea.

"Welcome to Regina." The PA says, and I let out a long sigh. I've never really left Boston before.

"Mr. Hadley?" I turn to him, he's still out cold, and I poke his shoulder. I watch him wake up.

"We're here?" He rubs an eye. "Well the game plan is that you meet the team after their practice, and then we're going to put you in one of the singles apartments in the arena," He takes a big yawn and stands up. "Then you start with them tomorrow, so I guess try to work on practice plans tonight."

"Cool." I sigh.

We get off the plane rather slowly, and then make our way through customs. By the time we reach the rink, it's twilight, and the guys are just wrapping up, sweaty and tired.

"Boys, gather around," Hadley yells to them, nobody bothers paying attention, instead, just keeping to mill about and mess around. Hadley looks defeated, but I'm not about to give up that easily. I pull my hands up to my mouth and let a whistle loose. My coach used to say that my whistle could bring back the dead. Hadley cringes away from it, and the cafeteria area goes completely silent.

"This is," he looks over to me.

"They can call me Nico." I growl.

"This is Nico, she's replacing Devon for the off-ice training portion of coaching." Hadley looks to me. "Do you want to go over who you are, or," I nod, hopping off the chair I'm standing on and working my way into the crowd, looking around.

"You're the homeless girl aren't you." A guy with blazing red hair says. I give him a long glare, deciding what he's going to have to do.

"Low plank, now," I command. He doesn't budge.

"Do you know who I am?"

"I don't care who you are, Ireland, I gave you a direction, I expect you to follow." He raises his eyebrows. I stand my ground. We have a mild staring contest. "I'm waiting,"

"You're going to wait all day, sweetheart." I lean forward and pull a stick off a kitchen table. It's got a name on it, Osling. This is one of their best players, and he's not going to sass me. I examine the stick, then flip it grip side toward him. "You picking up my sticks for me already?" He laughs.

"Never." I give a slow cold response and jab my arms forward, hitting him in the stomach with the butt of his own stick. He's doubled over, caught by surprise. "I gave you a direction," To my absolute glee, he gets down on one knee, his elbows fall to the ground, and he falls into a plank. His eyes come back up to mine, glaring at me.

"This doesn't mean anything."

"Zip it, Ireland." I snort. I turn to the rest of the boys, they look stunned, exactly the effect I needed. "So, I've heard coaching you guys is like coaching a trash peewee team, am I right?" Someone snickers behind me and I whip around, pointing Ireland's stick at him. "Plank." The guy gives me a look, but thankfully, falls quickly. "I've been put in charge of whipping you guys into shape, physically, and mentally. You're going to go into this season ten times as strong as the other teams because from what I've heard, you don't have the skills to match them."