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.
Author's Note: Since I am by no means a hockey expert, I did some research into overtime/shootout rules to explore what my options might be for concluding this little story. What I learned, in short, was that our beloved MD2 really doesn't follow the rules at all. At least, not the current NHL rules. To give Disney the benefit of the doubt, maybe the rules are different in Olympic/Tournament play. But at any rate, to make my own story adhere to the proper rules, I would have to totally reconstruct everything from scratch. Instead, I chose to grit my teeth and more or less stick with Disney's original layout. So please forgive the hockey inaccuracies to follow, and I hope you can enjoy this final chapter regardless.
A Surprising Substitution
Chapter 4
No matter how strange the Championship had been during the first two periods of play, no one would have expected Team USA to rally around a Duck mascot at the start of the third. Multiple Viking players sent conspicuous glances at the Americans' new dazzling white uniforms, and Mikael couldn't blame them.
"I guess they're willing to try anything at this point," he commented to Marria while the teams were warming up.
The teens again mustered around their benches, and Mikael made a shameless face as "quacking" broke out all across the arena. He motioned his players in closer, having to raise his voice for them to hear even at such a short distance.
"Okay, be honest, how many of you ever had fun scaring and chasing the ducks around Tjornin Pond when you were younger? Or maybe you still do today?"
More than a few reluctant nods answered him, and he grinned.
"Good, because I've got some more Ducks here for you now. They may be wearing new feathers, but they're the same old chickens underneath. Go make them squawk. Hands in, 'Tjornin' on three."
After the boys had dispersed, Marria smiled and shook her head at Mikael's approach. The young man wasn't nearly as intense as Wolf would have been in this situation, but he had put his team at ease with the familiar reference to Reykjavik's landmark and even made them laugh a little in the process.
The Vikings did indeed stand firm through Team USA's initial onslaught, Queen classics included. Gustav even scored the first goal of the period, which temporarily diffused the energy of the home crowd. With his team now up five points to one, Mikael had to confess things looked promising.
Gunnar and Olaf were doing a spectacular job on defense, as expected, but even they were only human and still needed to come out to rest on occasion. At times like these, the Ducks collectively put forth their best efforts, and Moreau scored off an assist from Germaine the first time Stahl and Sanderson sat down. So back out they went in a hurry.
"I'll say it again, we need clones of you two!" Mikael shouted after them.
The Championship had truly become a battle of enforcers, now that Gunnar and Olaf were unashamedly dedicated to defense, and the Bash Brothers were constantly going after them in an attempt to clear the way for America's scorers. Utilizing their coach's tips from earlier that morning, the Vikings did a fairly good job of keeping Reed off-balance. Portman, however, was an entirely different matter, and he seemed quite happy to concentrate his aggression on the tournament's leading scorer. There was one check in particular that made Mikael wince when he saw it. It had been a clean hit, but Mikael didn't care much for the angle at which his brother's upper body had made contact with the glass. And although Gunnar got up from it right away and skated on, something about his stance after that suggested he was favoring his right shoulder.
The Americans' desperation led them to new depths of creativity, and so their next goal came as a result of Robertson flipping the puck over the heads of many surprised Vikings. It landed right in front of Banks who deftly tapped it in, making the score five to three.
"It's like they don't even know how to play hockey," Mikael muttered, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "They just show up with a bag full of tricks!"
To make matters worse, he could no longer ignore how Gunnar's physicality and effectiveness had dropped off dramatically since sustaining that big hit from Portman. A healthy Gunnar Stahl would have been far more involved in trying to stop America's last goal, as he had demonstrated back in the first period. He would have to come out, plain and simple.
Uttering a more creative curse in German and hoping the young Icelanders around him wouldn't understand, Mikael called for another rotation. But when Gunnar rose with Olaf to return to the ice a few minutes later, Mikael stopped him with a hand on his good shoulder, nodding for Weyden to go on instead.
"Sit down," he said gravely. "You're done for tonight."
His brother's blue eyes flashed with defensive anger. "What are you talking about?"
"You're hurt," Mikael replied, making a smooth transition to speak in German.
Gunnar did the same, though he still lowered his voice for privacy's sake. Surprisingly, or perhaps alarmingly, he didn't waste time trying to deny the injury. "You've played through worse yourself."
"Yes, but my coach didn't know about it at the time. Now sit down."
Gunnar just gaped at him for a moment, speechless and fuming, before finally resuming his seat. Anxiety rose palpably as the other Vikings observed the benching of their star captain, and there wasn't much Mikael could say or do to alleviate their concerns.
It likewise didn't help that Mendoza had claimed the puck and was now on a breakaway. Olaf had been on Iceland's side of the rink like he was supposed to be; but he had been too far forward, and there simply wasn't time for him to react when the speedster went flying past him. And then, in perhaps the greatest surprise of the tournament, Mendoza stopped. It appeared he had gotten his brakes fixed after all, at least for the time being. Even Mikael, who knew a good bit of skating when he saw it, had to admit it was an impressive display. Olaf eventually bowled over the American from behind, but his efforts came far too late. The puck was already in the net, and Iceland's lead had shrunk to just one goal.
"How did things go so bad so quickly?" Mikael groaned to express his mounting angst. "It's killing me not to be out there myself right now."
"Good, at least you know how I feel," muttered Gunnar dejectedly.
Two minutes now remained in what had become quite an exhilarating Championship. Tyler came out onto the ice again, and still the Vikings were all over him. No doubt seeing the futility of that approach, Bombay called for his team's final timeout.
"When fifty-six is out there, do whatever you have to do to stop him from getting his shot off," Mikael exhorted his defenders. "I don't even care what that is, as long as it doesn't give them a penalty shot. But remember, you're no help to anyone if you're off the ice in the box. Less than two minutes more, boys, hang in there. It's almost over."
Some form of trickery would have been expected, especially in light of all that had happened during the previous eighteen minutes. But a jersey switch? Nobody saw that coming. Tyler had somehow put on the goalie's gear and jersey during the timeout, without anyone noticing. Then, from behind the obscurity of his new disguise, he was at last able to send a dreaded knuckle-puck at Iceland's goal. Wiesel did his best to block the erratic shot, but to no avail. And so the score was tied at five apiece.
While fans and Duck players alike exploded with ecstasy during the aftermath, Mikael was nothing short of livid as he argued with the refs. "You're kidding me! How is that possibly legal? There's got to be some kind of rule against hiding a player like that!"
Sadly, his pleas proved ineffectual, and the Championship progressed to a shootout. Both coaches were charged to select five players from their team who would shoot one-on-one against the opposing goalie. Mikael chose his team's first four representatives with ease, including Olaf and Gustav, yet he wavered on naming his final selection.
"Come on, Mikael, you have to let me shoot!" Gunnar begged, desperate for a chance to contribute. "No one's going to hit me now; I'll be fine."
The elder Stahl was empathetic but still hesitant as he replied, "It's a shoulder injury; even if you play through the pain, your strength and accuracy will still be compromised."
"I can manage through one shot, I'm sure of it. Just let me out there, and I swear I won't let you guys down. Please, Mikael."
Gunnar could see his entreating was having the desired effects. His brother finally gave in with great reluctance, not to mention against his better judgment. "All right, you'll be up last. If we're really lucky, maybe you won't even need to shoot. Just be smart and stay away from your usual slap-shot or anything else that requires a lot of power behind it. You'll have to get up close to the net and try to pull off something clever."
"Then that's what I'll do, I promise." Of course, Gunnar probably would have agreed to anything at that point.
Ultimately, luck did not favor the Vikings during the shootout; and as the last player to come out for either team, Gunnar needed to make his shot just to keep the score even. If he could do so, it would force a second shootout.
Mikael had seen enough tapes the previous night to know that Greg Goldberg was faster stick-side. He also knew that Gunnar preferred to shoot glove-side, which made it seem like a favorable matchup. But when Julie Gaffney skated out to defend the shot instead, Mikael suddenly deduced in a single, paradigm-shattering moment that the backup goalie must have a faster glove. The complimentary strengths made sense. And who else on Team Iceland would Coach Bombay have chosen to study more closely than Gunnar Stahl?
"Gunnar! Gunnar!"
It was the closest Mikael had been to panicking all night long. He leaned forward and shouted his brother's name again, unable to do more than hope that Gunnar would hear him over the hordes of screaming fans. He did hear. Before reaching center ice, Gunnar slowed and turned around to face his team, letting himself drift backward the rest of the way.
"Gunnar, go stick-side!" Mikael called out urgently in Icelandic. "Stick-side!" It was all he could do; if he started gesturing, it would tip off the goalie.
But Gunnar nodded – a short, single nod to show he understood. He accepted the puck and deliberately moved it forward; but due to the increasing pain and stiffness in his shoulder, he didn't do anything fancy until he was right up on the net. Then he executed a couple of quick, well-practiced moves that faked Gaffney into shifting her weight glove-side; but at the last moment, Gunnar adjusted the angle of his shot and flipped it into the net over her stick. And so they were tied again.
While the rest of the stadium seemed a bit deflated after that shot, Team Iceland's bench abounded with energy and cheers. Mikael wrapped his arms around Gunnar's neck in a quick hug when his sibling returned to the bench, trying with only moderate success to be gentle in the contact.
Smiling wide, he proudly whispered into Gunnar's ear, "Good shot, little brother! How do you feel?"
"Like I probably shouldn't do that again." While Gunnar's smile mirrored his brother's, his face had become noticeably paler than usual. The pain of his injury was really affecting him now after that exertion.
Mikael gave his nape a quick squeeze. "Don't worry, I highly doubt we'll make it that far. Now sit back down and take it easy. You've done your part."
Goldberg went back in again to replace Gaffney, and now the coaches needed another five players to go through the same routine all over again. Since there couldn't be any repeat shooters, Mikael soon reached the point of choosing boys he did not personally know; it was the best he could do to simply pick those whom he understood to primarily be forwards.
This time, Team Iceland was first to shoot, and the shootout score was still tied as it came down to the last two shooters. Vries was the last player to go out for the Vikings. His maneuver had Goldberg fooled, but his shot was slightly off the mark, and it hit the goalpost. Had it been a fraction of an inch farther to the left, the puck would have bounced into the net rather than ricocheting wide.
As a result, the Ducks had a chance to win it all with Tyler up last to shoot. Accuracy for the knuckle-puck must be difficult to maintain, which was probably why Bombay hadn't included Tyler in his first five shooters. If Mikael had been a nail-biter, his fingertips probably would have been bloody by now; he knew that unless Tyler missed the goal of his own accord, this would likely be the end of the Championship. And so it happened. Wiesel managed to nick the shot with his glove, but the puck skipped over his hand and continued into the net.
Both final shots had been so painfully close! And yet the gods of minute distances had smiled upon Team USA, and the knuckle-puck heroically propelled the Ducks to victory.
Gunnar rose to his feet on the Viking bench, disappointed but already resigned to the game's outcome. "Come on," he urged his friends, "let's go shake their hands."
"Where did you ever learn to be such a good sport?"
Nevertheless, Mikael and the other Vikings followed him willingly; all along, Gunnar kept his right arm close to his chest, immobile. He specifically congratulated Conway, who appeared to have sat out the game while remaining actively involved on the bench.
"Great job tonight," Bombay said to Mikael with full sincerity. "You had me worried from start to finish. So do you think we'll see you coaching here again?"
The Icelander could only manage a half-hearted smile in reply, shaking his head. "Maybe twenty years from now when my body starts falling apart – but not a day sooner. Until then, I can't stand just watching when I know I can still play."
"I can certainly respect that," Gordon replied. "Still, you handled your strong-willed team very well. And I'm guessing you out-coached me during your brother's shot, too. I thought for sure Julie was finally going to have her big moment here tonight."
"Under different circumstances, she probably would have. But all the same, I can't feel too sorry for her – not when she and her teammates get to go home with a gold medal."
The two coaches shook hands to formally conclude matters and then parted. Gustav joined Mikael as their team was leaving the ice, his face downcast. "You can't be any happier with all of this than the rest of us are."
"Of course not. There are a hundred little things that might have made a difference in the end, but what's done is done. We can't change it now. I'm more worried about how unhappy your real coach is going to be." He hoped Wolf wouldn't hold the loss against his players, though; they had all given their best for the entire match, even if it hadn't been a perfect performance.
Back in the locker room, Gunnar needed help removing the layers of gear and clothing he wore so that Marria could finally give his injured shoulder a thorough examination. The boys were a subdued bunch now, to be sure, and soon all but a handful of them had returned to their dorms for the night. Despite the way his brother kept grimacing under Marria's treatment, Mikael deemed things were adequately under control here. In which case, he really couldn't put off the inevitable any longer.
"Well, I'm off to visit Wolf in the hospital now," he announced somberly. "It's time for me to give an account for my life. Gunnar, give my love to Mom and Dad; you know, just in case I never see them again."
Olaf called over, "Don't worry, Mikael, Coach is still practically an invalid coming off that surgery. You can handle him."
But as soon as his older friend had left the locker room, Sanderson's carefree smile faded. "God, I'd hate to be in his shoes right now. Sorry, Gunnar, but I kind of hope Coach will take the worst of it out on him, before getting to the rest of us."
Mikael wasn't actually afraid to face Wolf, of course, but no more could he fool himself into thinking that this would be a pleasant encounter. Stansson's welcoming words as his former player stepped into the hospital room were not unexpected.
"Why did you pull your brother? I can understand putting him on defense when you did, but why would you sit him for the last ten minutes? That foolishness opened the door for the Americans to come back and tie! He was playing an excellent game."
Mikael let the verbal maelstrom wash over him before simply stating, "He was hurt, Wolf."
"He was still skating strong; you, of all people, should have seen that."
"It was a shoulder injury, which you will see if you go back and watch the tape. Even if I had left him in, he wouldn't have been playing at a high level."
"You let him participate in the shootout," the older man accused.
"Yes, and I probably shouldn't have. He can be very persuasive when he wants to be, but he barely made it through the shot. And no offense, but I'm more afraid of facing my mother's wrath than yours. I'd never be able to look her in the eye again if I let my baby brother hurt himself even worse."
While Wolf didn't stop sulking after that, his temper did appear to quiet down somewhat. "How bad is it?"
"Just a sprain, although Marria says he's lucky it wasn't separated. You should have him back as good as new in about three weeks."
"Too little, too late."
Mikael dragged a chair over to sit by Wolf's bedside, then leaned over with his head resting in his hands. He felt thoroughly worn out, lamenting, "Now I need a vacation from my vacation. Wolf, how do you deal with a bunch of teenagers day after day without strangling someone? Hell, how did you deal with me for as long as you did?"
"Truthfully?" Stansson almost smiled. "Half the time I did want to strangle you. Compared to you, Gunnar is a quiet, compliant child. So if he is your mother's favorite, I can hardly blame her. You had a talent for listening to me on the bench and then doing the exact opposite on the ice. Worst of all, your instincts out there were usually right – which is why I wanted you to coach for me tonight."
"I'm sorry it didn't turn out the way we all wanted." Mikael could be genuine about that, at the very least. "Do you regret recruiting me as your replacement now?"
Wolf sighed. "No. I don't imagine anyone else on the continent could have done a better job in so short a time; and if nothing else, I must say you did give the world a dramatic finish. Your own personal touch, I'm sure."
Stahl couldn't help laughing a little. "Yes, that all happened exactly as I'd planned it: losing in a double shootout by a matter of centimeters. They came up with some creative plays, as you saw, but I still don't understand how some of that shit was legal."
"Personally, I never got along well with the officials when I was a player, but my dislike of them only grew after I started coaching," Stansson empathized. "So now will you go back to the boys, or would you rather stay here in the quiet for a while?"
"Actually, I think I might take myself out for a relaxing, teenager-free drink instead. I'll check on Gunnar again in the morning, but right now, I'd like to try and salvage something out of my Saturday night."
Wolf nodded in understanding and gladly waved him on his way. "Have one for me, too."
Author's End Note: An alternate ending would be to say that Vries' shot sneaks in, and Russ's shot is the one to go wide of the mark. After all, he himself does say that it's "hard to be accurate" with the knuckle-puck. I would typically prefer such an ending myself, but I realized it added more significance to Mikael's meeting with Wolf if the Vikings had lost. So there you go. Thanks for reading, everyone, and I hope you had as much fun with the boys in this fic as I did!