#(he can't)

Cooper had been captain for a long time, and he had been on the Metros for even longer. Long enough to watch the team go from routinely making the playoffs, to a years-long drought. Was it really unreasonable for Shane to assume that Cooper would want to build the team back up? Maybe. Maybe it was, because every single time Shane had put forward an idea or a suggestion he had been mocked at worst, ignored at best.

It was infuriating, but still. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

If Cooper had just listened, for once, then this wouldn’t have happened.

Shane had gone out to dinner with his parents after an embarrassing game in Ottawa, tied 0-0 until the second round of OT when Ottawa had managed to get in a lucky shot. 

“You really need to assert yourself more,” Shane’s mom had said, “they made you alternate captain for a reason. I don’t want you to waste this opportunity. A lot of kids are looking up to you and-”

“I know, I know, mom,” Shane had cut her off before she could really get going with all the ways that Shane’s personal failures would inevitably have repercussions for the entire Asian diaspora. It wasn’t the time for that. Especially not after Shane had tried to assert himself, only to be all but laughed out of the room.

The worst part is that watching the game, Shane was sure that his plan would have worked. If only they had listened.

At the end of the day, though, it’s not like management didn’t have faith in him. They did; they gave him the A.

That’s just one of the reasons that this didn’t need to happen.

There are others. Many, many others.

Management had believed in Shane for months, the guys in the room didn’t dislike him in any special way, and so it had been easy for Shane to see what the problem was. Cooper. For whatever reason, Cooper just didn’t like him. Didn’t trust him. 

Shane had gone to the man’s house with a six pack of beers and a plan to make everything right. Clear the air, move past whatever problem Cooper had with him, and go home. That was the plan. 

Shane really, honestly, genuinely, didn’t mean for this to happen.

He had walked up the driveway of his captain’s house fully ready to bury whatever hatchet he might find inside.

Hah.

Cooper had opened the door with a confused little “Hollander? What the fuck?”

The speech Shane had carefully planned out in his head went out the window.

He stepped into the house before turning around to face the older man. “Do you hate me, or do you just love losing?” he asked. 

Cooper’s face went through a multitude of emotions in a very short span of time. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Fuck that,” Shane had scoffed, “you absolutely do. Every time I have a half decent idea, you mock me like I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Look, Hollander,” Cooper sighs, “sometimes, when you’ve been at this for as long as I have, you reach a point of clarity.” Cooper runs a hand through his hair. “You look at this game, and what it’s done to your body, and what the rest of your life looks like, and you realize, it’s not great.” 

What the fuck? Shane hadn’t understood. Not right away.

“You can’t tell me you’re tanking our playoff chances because you’re, what, wanting to retire?” he asks incredulously. 

Cooper shakes his head. “No. No, not that. I just… my body isn’t going to last forever. They can’t pay me enough to make this all worth it. For my family, I have to, you know.”

“No,” Shane says coldly, “I don’t know.”

The only thing he could have imagined Cooper admitting to was intentionally throwing the games. For money, maybe. Maybe he was betting against them, and then ensuring they lost. 

What he had actually said was worse.

“I make sure we don’t run the most dangerous plays. Especially against teams with strong enforcers. I can’t risk getting hurt. My wife, she’s pregnant, and-”

“Hold on,” Shane says, deathly calm, “are you telling me that you’re throwing games because you’re scared?”

“If you had a wife, you would understand.” 

“No I wouldn’t,” Shane replies, and this might be the angriest he’s ever been. “What the hell are you thinking? Does management know you’re doing this? Do you even realize how insane this is?” Shane takes a step closer to his captain. “You are the leader of an original six team, and you really thought you could get away with just not trying your best?”

Cooper had probably realized at around that point that Shane had not been the right choice of confidant for this particular secret.

“Hollander-”

“No. I don’t-”

“Hollander, you can’t tell anyone,” Cooper’s scared, now. Just a bit. Shane can see it in his eyes.

“Why not? If I do, they’ll demote you and maybe we can actually start winning shit.”

“There is more to living than just wining fucking hockey games!” Cooper shouts, the words exploding out of him, “My God, kid, I’ve got a year or two left until I retire. You’ve got your whole career, can’t you just-”

Then, before he can stop himself, Shane is moving. He walks forward, pushing Cooper until the man is pinned against his own front door. He dresses his forearm against his captain’s neck to keep him there. “There is nothing,” Shane bites out, “more important than hockey. If you only have a year left, you should be making the most of it, not giving up like some sick dog waiting to be put down.”

“Kid-”

“I’m not a fucking child, Cooper.”

Shane presses his captain into the door as the other man struggles in his hold. He isn’t thinking, not really. Not beyond the sheer indignation at Cooper’s acceptance of mediocrity.

So, it wasn’t supposed to happen, but here they are.

At some point, they’ve passed the point of no return. Somewhere between Shane’s arrival in this home, and the increasingly panicked fighting of the older man against Shane’s youthful strength, a line had been crossed. 

Cooper’s eyes are too wild, now, his face too blue, for them to  ever go back from this.

If Shane lets this end any other way, Cooper will tell management, and Shane will lose his A, and maybe even be put on waivers. He’ll lose everything. He can’t lose everything. He can’t, and so he doesn’t  let up, and he keeps pushing. 

Cooper’s nails claw at his arms and face, but Shane doesn’t let up. He can’t afford to. He’s come too far to quit now.

The man goes limp, eventually, and Shane really didn’t mean for this to happen, but it has, and there’s only one way to go from here: onwards.

It’s easier than Shane would have thought, getting the body in the trunk of his car. He drives north for a while, until he’s half way out of gas.

It’s like being on ice, a little bit. Shane doesn’t think about what any of his limbs are doing, just the overall picture. Just the goal.

He already has a shovel in his car, because he’s a safe guy like that. You never know when you might need one. 

The section of woods he chooses is nice. Calm. Peaceful. Cooper will be okay here. Nobody will bother him.

Shane makes sure that the final resting place is prepared with love and care, because even if the man was an absolute traitor, he deserves that. Everyone does. 

He makes something of a pillow using leaves from nearby trees, and tosses the body in the hole. 

By the time the sun starts to rise, Shane is almost home again. He stops for a coffee and tips twenty-four dollars at the drive through. 

At home, he showers off the dirt and grime, paying special attention to the beds of his nails.

He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, but maybe it’ll be a good thing. Maybe, without Cooper in the room, people will finally listen to him. 

Maybe he’ll be made captain.

Wouldn’t that be something - captain before the end of his second season. Captain before Rozanov. That’s the stuff of dreams.

Cooper doesn’t make it to practice that afternoon. 

obi-wan: ah, just a flesh wound. it will heal.

cody: that’s what you said last time, and we spent two hours in medbay.

obi-wan: it’s nothing serious this time, dear.