The Procrastinators loss had been... unceremonious.

	It had been their first time back on home ice following three weeks on the road. During the trip, they had been met with success; winning six out of seven games on the road. They were almost certain that the next game would be a breeze. Home ice advantage, a weaker offensive team to play against, and a few days rest before hand. Everyone was pumped for a good game.

	No one would have predicted that Slashers would have beaten them in a 4-0 shutout. It had been flat out embarrassing.

	They had come into the first period like they were on fire; they had plenty of shots on goal, they were keeping the puck out of their zone, and when they did manage to let a few plays slip through the blue line, they were there to keep the puck out of the back of the net. There had been a few penalties along the way, but they had managed to kill each one rather efficiently.

	But once the third period came around, and the Slashers were up 2-0 five minutes in, the entire team fell apart. Puck control was shaky at best, and each shift seemed more disorganized than the last. They had simply run out of gas. The Slashers last two goals were simply the icing on the cake. A testament to just how out of it the team was.

	That was when Eric lost it. Generally, he tried to keep himself from dropping his gloves on the ice. That wasn't to say that he wasn't a fighter; there had been many occasions where a player had gone too far, or had really screwed with one of his team mates and he had to throw down.

	With three minutes to go, the team had finally pushed through into the offensive zone with what they thought was a good chance to at least get on the scoreboard. Their star forward had a perfect break away chance. Like the rest of the game, their chance was denied, but they managed to pick up the rebound that the goalie had desperately tried to stop.
	With no lanes open, one of the wingers passed the puck back to the blue line. Arthur, their star defenceman and alternate captain, had just missed picking it up, forcing him to chase it into the neutral zone. Having to skate it down and try and get it back to his forwards, who were still coming back up the ice, he never saw the Slasher's defenceman coming.

	He hit Arthur from behind, smashing him into the boards and knocking his face straight into the turnbuckle. Eric watched as his limbs went flailing, and as his head hit the ice with a sickening thud. Immediately Eric skated toward him, his rage building as he watched the player that had hit him turn and laugh as the whistle blew. His gloves immediately hit the ice.
	He spoke no words as he charged at the jag-off and grabbed him by his sweater, spinning him around and knocking his fist into his jaw. He repeatedly threw punches, not bothering to make sure he was keeping his own face from being hit. He didn't even care what part of him he was hitting; Eric could no longer contain his rage. None of the linesman or other players could pull the two apart as they smashed their fists into one another's flesh. Eric could feel his eyebrow split open, and after a few seconds he could feel the blood trickle down his face. Eventually, he hit the offending player so hard that he fell onto his back. But that didn't stop Eric. He went down with him, continuing his onslaught. Even as he felt his hair being yanked from his head in a weak attempt to stop him, he kept on throwing punch after punch.

	Both of the linesman and several of his team mates had to pull Eric off of the Slasher defenceman, who he had left a bloody mess. He was immediately ejected from the ice, but he didn't care. He didn't care when their coach tore him a new asshole after the game, either. He didn't care that there were talks of a suspension. There was only one thing that he cared about in those tense moments after the game.

	But Eric tried not to let it get to him as he made his way back to his shared apartment. He had managed to slip away from the rest of the team early after they left the arena and head out for a long walk, using the solitude to mull the loss, and the fight over in his head.

	As a D – man, he felt incompetent. But he knew that incompetence was something that you could change. You could work at it and learn to adapt. You could move on from losses like these and get your head back in the game. As a captain, and a friend, he felt completely useless.  And uselessness, in his mind, was something that he couldn't change.

	As he walked down the icy city streets, his collar turned to the wind, the only thing Eric could find solace in was the fact that none of his teammates were mad at him personally. Of course, the entire team was mad at itself for making such monumental asses of themselves at home. They had spent nearly an hour in the dressing room discussing what they thought had gone wrong. But there was still something nagging Eric in the back of his mind; like something had gone unsaid.

	If he had known that he would be dealing with this monumental pressure on a daily basis, he doubted that he would have accepted the position of captain in the first place. It was games like these that made Eric doubt his ability to play, to protect his team and his purpose in the league. He thought he was so much stronger than this; much more capable of protecting his team and his friends. He knew that there was a good reason to have defended Arthur, but not in the way he did.

	Just as he finished with his musings, he found himself in front of his apartment building. With his hands in his pockets, he looked up at the front window his shared home, a deep sense of shame filling him. He stood there motionless, wondering how he was going to avoid his room mate and simply get to sleep.

	Finally, he trudged through the  door and up the flight of stairs that led to the 2nd floor apartment. He quietly unlocked the front door, noticing that all the lights had already been turned off. He carefully entered and tried to make his way to his room as silently as possible, not wanting to wake his roommate. From what he could see, beer cans had been strewn across the living room. He scowled, angrily tossing his coat and scarf at the couch.  Eric was livid at what had most likely transpired.

	He was about to turn in for the night, when out of the corner of his eye he noticed that the back door was open, despite all of the lights in the house being off. Cautiously he made his way across the apartment and through the kitchen, silently pulling the door open further.

	“Care to join me?” He heard a familiar voice call. Sitting on their porch was Arthur, gingerly  shaking a half-full can of beer at him. His face was swollen and beginning to bruise. Eric could see where the corner of the glass smashed across the bridge of his nose, even though it was heavily bandaged.
	“Arthur, you're a dick.” Eric said with a heavy sigh. “You know you're not supposed to be drinking with a fucking concussion.”
	“Eh.” Arthur shrugged, chugging the rest of his beer, burping unceremoniously right after. “It's only a grade two. I'll live to play another day, I'm sure.”
	“Dude, he smashed your face into the fucking turnbuckle. You're lucky you're sitting here and not in the goddamn hospital.” Eric quipped, crossing his arms. “Now you're outside drinking beer in 20 degree weather.”
	“I'll do what I fucking want.” The smaller man barked, pulling another beer from the case and cracking it open.
	“You're acting like a child!” Eric smacked the beer from his hand, sending it careening over the edge of the balcony. “Do you even care about what happened tonight? About your fucking health?”

	“You're not my mother!” Arthur snapped. “I didn't ask you to fight my fucking battles.”

	Eric grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him to his feet. He brought Arthur's face barely an inch from his own. He could smell the alcohol on the smaller man's breath.
	“I don't fight your battles.” Eric seethed, digging his fingers into the hollows of Arthur's shoulders.“I protect you not only because you're my team mate, but because you're my goddamn friend.”
	His eyes narrowed.
	“But if you want to throw yourself and your career out the window over a bogus fucking loss and what could have been a much worse injury, then so be it. I'm not going to fucking stop you.”

	“You don't know me.” Arthur spat. “I don't fucking need your compassion.”

	Eric slammed Arthur into the brick wall, one hand on his shoulder and the other with a fistful of his shirt. He pressed into him, bringing himself intimately close with his team mate. He had to do everything in his power from punching the shit out of his friend's wounded face.

	“You forget that we've been together since rookie year.” Eric seethed. “I know what makes you tick, Arthur. Stop trying to play it so god damn tough.”
	“I don't need this shit.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “I may have to listen to you on the ice and in the dressing room, but on my own damn time. I don't need anyone in my life keeping me safe or sane.”

	“You think that you're some fucking island; like nothing and no one will ever relate to you.  Well, here's a fucking clue for you. I've been here for you for every obstacle, every hard loss and every injury. And I will still be here for you, regardless of how you feel about it.”