Summary: Having a surrogate coach changes many things, as the Vikings are about to find out. AU for MD2. No romance this time, just a lot of fun with the boys from Iceland. Not related to my previous fics, but still featuring my OMC, Mikael Stahl. Rating for some language. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: No ownership or profit on my part, never fear.

A Surprising Substitution

Chapter 2

After practice, Mikael spent about half an hour with Marria to discuss the strategies Stansson had planned for how to attack special USA weapons such as the Flying V and the knuckle-puck. The players themselves were already well acquainted with the plans and eager to execute them. Then it was time to camp out in Wolf's office for a long night of film study; Gunnar and Gustav both volunteered to keep him company and offer their insights over the coming hours.

The elder Stahl walked in carrying a stack of tapes that nearly reached up to his chin; however, in spite of his discoveries, he did not look pleased. "They've got every damn tape in there except the one of your first game against Team USA. I practically tore that room apart, and I still couldn't find it."

"The Americans probably stole it or even hid it just to spite you," Gustav voiced his thoughts on the matter.

At that moment, Sanderson stuck his blonde head in the door. "Hey, what are you guys doing for dinner?"

"Ugh, that's right," his young coach lamented. "I suppose we do still need to eat. Olaf, why don't you make yourself useful and go grab us something?"

"Okay, sure. What do you all want?"

"I don't care, just try to find something interesting. And get a lot, I'm starving!" Mikael handed his credit card to Olaf, who took off without another word.

Gustav frowned deeply as he observed their exchange. "That…might not have been smart."

Mikael shrugged, grinning mischievously. "Don't worry. Whatever he buys, I'll just tell Wolf to reimburse me later."

"And I'm sure Coach will love that," Gunnar contributed with a roll of his blue eyes.

Their teammate returned almost an hour later, bearing multiple bags of –

"Chinese food?" Gustav looked disappointed. "I thought you were going to be creative."

Olaf threw a fortune cookie at his head. "Not quite Chinese. This is Vietnamese – it's different."

It was indeed. Sanderson had ordered a sampling of pretty much every dish on the menu, and everyone found something (if not multiple somethings) to suit their liking.

"Nicely done, Olaf, I have to admit," Mikael congratulated him. "This was a first for all of us, and it is very good. Now if I could have my credit card back, please?"

Olaf pretended to think about it before handing the card over. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask."

Meanwhile, Gustav opened the fortune cookie that had hit him on the head and promptly crumpled up the little slip of paper, disgusted. "Did anybody get a fortune promising some kind of great victory tomorrow? If so, I might actually start believing in them."

They collectively ransacked every cookie available, although none yielded what would be considered a satisfactory or applicable fortune. Once they settled back into watching more film, Olaf's short attention span soon drew him away to pass his evening elsewhere.

A couple of tapes later, Gunnar remarked, "Mikael, you're not really studying anything here; you're just watching the game. You're even fast-forwarding a lot of it."

"I'm looking for trends that might be useful; you guys didn't give me enough time to go into nit-picking details, remember."

"Yeah, but you agreed to it."

"Quit reminding me; I must not have been fully awake at the time. It is sad to think of how many other things I could be doing in Los Angeles right now on a Friday night."

"And your Saturday night's already spoken for, too." Gunnar peered over at his brother's notebook. "You haven't even written anything down yet."

"I haven't seen enough to find any trends yet. Just give it time – as much time as we have. And stop sounding like Mom pestering me to do my homework, or I'll kick you out of here."

Nevertheless, the notebook did start filling up over time, with observations such as the following:

The whole game dynamic in the Championship was bound to change with the enforcer Portman added back into the mix. Reed, the other "Bash Brother" didn't look like a strong skater despite his strong shooting; and Mendoza, while insanely fast, had obvious difficulty stopping. Banks was by far the Americans' best player, but Captain Conway still demonstrated occasional control issues when handling the puck. Unlike Robertson, who always appeared to be in masterful control; however, upon further study, even the cowboy's fancy moves started to take on more predictable patterns. Moreau and Germaine were perhaps the most dangerous scoring tandem on all of Team USA: agile, elusive, and ever on the same page.

"Our curfew is technically ten o'clock," Gustav spoke up when the hour struck. "Do you want us to go back to the dorms?"

Mikael waved him off, not concerned in the slightest. "How can they say you're violating curfew when you're helping your severely-overwhelmed coach prepare for a Championship match that's less than twenty-four hours away? Besides, we're only halfway through these tapes, and I specifically want your input on this next one."

Both boys groaned shamelessly as he then held up the tape of their game against the Russians. "So what happened here? We just saw that the Americans didn't have any real trouble with Russia. How'd you guys let this one get away from you?"

They exchanged dismal looks, Gustav answering, "We never really had it to begin with. They got ahead of us by a couple of goals early on, and then they played a tough defense for the rest of the game. We just couldn't catch back up."

"Was it a mental lapse? Like, were you guys already looking ahead to the Championship?"

"That was probably part of it," Gunnar admitted glumly. "Russia's players were all pretty big, but we still had the more talented team. It's just that no one had really challenged us at all up until that point, and we didn't see why Russia should be any different."

"I'm concerned that it's a more recent loss for you guys," Mikael went on. "The Americans suffered their one loss earlier in the tournament, and I'd say they've looked better and better ever since. That's exactly the type of trend you don't want to see in your opponent – especially if you're not sure which way your own team is heading."

His brother sighed wearily. "Don't worry, Coach has already lectured us about not underestimating the Americans. Are you done making us feel badly about ourselves now?"

"Of course not. We still have to actually watch the tape and make you relive every minute of your defeat."

And so they did.

When that game was over, Mikael glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath. "Okay, it's going on midnight. As much fun as this has been, you two had better head off to bed now and get your sleep for tomorrow. If anyone tries to give you a hard time about the whole curfew thing, just send them my way. I'm going to take a quick coffee break."

Gustav nodded and left at once, but Gunnar lingered behind.

"What, aren't you tired?" Mikael pressed him.

Gunnar shook his head. "If you're going to stay up and keep working, then I will too. You need the moral support anyway."

His brother looked at him suspiciously. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine tomorrow. It's no problem."

"All right, then. I'll get coffee for both of us."

Deep down, both of them knew why Gunnar was really staying; they were also both unwilling to mention it aloud. It had been over a year since Mikael's last visit to Reykjavik, and Gunnar wasn't about to retreat off to bed now when he could be spending some rare quality time with his elusive sibling instead.

"Do you think we could clone you and Olaf before tomorrow night?" Mikael wondered out loud when they were alone with their coffee and back at work. "Don't tell your teammates I said this, but you two together are the best we've got on offense and defense. I'm still not sure where you're most valuable."

Gunnar fought not to pout. "Please don't put us on defense for too long; we want to score, which really is our strength playing together."

"All right, but be warned, you'll still be on defense at least part of the time. It'll depend on how the game's going. And why is everyone so opposed to the dirty work of defense? It's too bad I can't play with you guys as well as coach. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Probably just for you, Mikael."

Almost two hours later, Gunnar finally nodded off in spite of all his best efforts to stay awake; he slept slumped over Wolf's desk, resting his head on his arms. His brother let him be. A soft rap on the door not long afterward made the young man look up from his notes on the Iceland/Germany match to see Coach Bombay standing in front of him.

"Sorry to interrupt," Gordon offered by way of greeting. "I just finished with this and realized you would probably want it, too." Then he held out the coveted tape of Team USA's first contest against the Vikings.

Mikael was instantly more alert. "Yes, thank you! I've been looking everywhere for that."

"You're welcome; I'm just sorry it came so late." Bombay chuckled to himself, now fully taking in the state of his counterpart's office. "You look like you're pulling an all-nighter here, trying to cram for final exams."

Mikael winced. "That's about right; these kids didn't exactly give me much of a choice. Late night for you too, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but at least mine is over now. You've still got a couple hours ahead of you if you're going to make it through that game."

"It's all right, I have plenty of 'moral support' here." He nodded at Gunnar. "Can't you tell?"

"Coffee not working for him?"

"That is partly my fault; I gave him decaf and told him it was regular." Mikael's gaze toward his sleeping sibling softened considerably. "I suppose I should put him to bed properly soon, so he isn't sore tomorrow."

"That would probably be wise, although my team would hardly complain if he was feeling less than perfect." Gordon changed topics. "So did you teach him everything he knows?"

"No, not me. Wolf has taught him the most, but I like to think I still had some part in making him such a promising player."

"And how are you adjusting to life as a coach?"

"It's pretty stressful, not to mention exhausting." Mikael paused, digging the heels of his palms into his tired eyes. "I mean, I played hockey for many years, and I love the sport. But I've never coached anything before in my life."

Bombay sent him an empathetic smile. "Coaching is a different animal altogether, that's for sure. Well, good night, and best of luck to you tomorrow."

Stahl nodded as his opponent stepped out of the room. "Thank you, and the same to you."

It didn't take quite as long as expected for Mikael to study this latest tape. He had been planning to watch that one twice if he ever found it, thinking it was the most relevant to tomorrow's Championship; but when he saw for himself how thoroughly one-sided that game had been, he realized there simply wasn't a need. Film from the other games had ultimately been more useful, especially the most recent ones.

Then it really was time to put both Gunnar and himself to bed. He hauled his brother upright, rousing him into a state of semi-consciousness long enough to guide him back to the dorm room he shared with Olaf.

"Come on," Mikael muttered in frustration when Gunnar kept stumbling along. "I gave you decaf coffee, not a sleeping potion. Look alive, little brother."

He let Gunnar collapse on the bed in a boneless heap when they finally arrived, then removed the teen's shoes. But that was the extent of it.

"If you want to get under the covers, you're on your own," he told his brother's inert form, sighing deeply.

He truly was so tired, his eyes so heavy; it would be at least a twenty-minute walk back to his hotel from here. Should he try to catch a cab at this time of night? But even if he left, he knew he'd just be back again in a few short hours.

"Oh, forget it." The dorm bed wasn't big by any stretch of the imagination, but Mikael was too exhausted to be picky. After nudging Gunnar more securely over to one side, he took off his own shoes and crawled into bed under the covers. Sleep came instantly.

He woke an undetermined number of hours later to the funny feeling of being watched. Squinting upward, Mikael beheld Olaf standing over him; the younger man was not quite grinning.

"What?" he croaked out groggily.

"You two are adorable, you know that?"

Mikael just blinked for a moment, puzzled. Then he realized why it was so warm behind him. Gunnar, still asleep on top of the covers, had snuggled up close against his brother's back at some point during the night.

"Gunnar, get off me!"

Mikael made a sharp jab backward with his elbow, though the movement was restricted somewhat by the blankets. His retaliation didn't wake Gunnar, but it was enough to reestablish some distance between them.

"Maybe he wants to cuddle with you because he's cold," Olaf suggested flippantly. "If you were really a good brother, you'd have put him under the covers."

Dealing with Olaf's humor at this early hour put Mikael in a decidedly sour mood. "He's an Icelander in southern California. If he's cold, I'll dunk him in an ice bath myself."

Sanderson regarded his new coach with ongoing amusement. "You're not much of a morning person, are you?"

"No – but I've seen enough sleepovers to know that you aren't, either." He let out a long sigh. "This has definitely not been a restful trip."

"Were you expecting it to be?"

"Whatever I was expecting, believe me, this is not it."

As if on cue, Gunnar rolled over again and reconnected himself to Mikael's back.

Olaf raised an eyebrow at them, though his demeanor sobered noticeably. "He really does miss you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah." Mikael mellowed a little in turn. "I wish I could say I'd come back and visit more often…but I'm not making any promises."

"I know. I just think you need to be reminded once in a while. But hey, I'm up now, so you can take my bed if you want."

Mikael gazed at the empty bed wistfully, merely a handful of feet across from him. "Sorry, it's too far away. I'd rather put up with this leech right now than move."

"Suit yourself." Olaf shrugged and started walking away. Mikael's voice stopped him.

"Hey, Olaf…did you and Gunnar seriously let a backup girl goalie knock both of you off your feet? At the same time?"

"I didn't realize they had caught that on tape." The tall forward scowled at the memory. "It was a cheap shot. She got ejected for it anyway, so it doesn't matter."

"I think it does. Letting her play back then wouldn't have changed the outcome of the game, but it would be nice to know right now whether or not she's any good. I mean, you guys dominated their starting goalie last time. What if they try putting her in again? We don't know anything about how to play her."

Olaf's reply was somewhat less than helpful. "Hey, you're the coach; it's your job to worry about stuff like that now."

Author's End Note: Always a sucker for some fluff, I am, and these boys are not exempt. Next up, we finally arrive at Part 1 of the Championship. Thanks for reading!