A/N: Chapters 3 and 4 are a bit of reprieve from the heavy angst and feels this fic has seen thus far (though on revision, this chapter did get a little bit more...intense than I meant it to), so enjoy it, because the aftermath of Epikegster comes immediately following these two chapters.

Kent's first season in Vegas is an unmitigated disaster. Finishing at 29-42-11 and 69 points, the Aces were the second worst team in the league, ahead only of Edmonton, a team which had a record of 27-47-8 and 62 points. When Kent leaves for New York for the offseason, part of him never wants to come back. He won the Calder, sure, but toiling as the only good player on a terrible team while living in a city he hates isn't exactly how he saw his NHL career playing out.

Nevertheless when the beginning of September rolls around, Kent is back in Vegas, ready for the Aces' training camp. He isn't alone this time though, because he brings with him a kitten that he'd adopted over the summer (at his mother's insistence—"Kenny, I'm sure you'll be less lonely if you had someone to come home to, even if it's just a dog or cat or something.").

Camp is brutal, and Kit seems hell-bent on destroying everything in his apartment, but he survives and the season begins. And the Aces win. They're not the NHL's best team by any stretch of the imagination, but they're a solid team. With one game left before the all-star break, the Aces hold the last playoff spot in the Western Conference. It's still a long shot, considering their brutal fifteen game closing stretch, but they're in the conversation and Kent is pleased.

Vegas doesn't seem so bad when they're winning. The bright lights aren't quite as jarring, the heat isn't quite as oppressive, and—well, Jack still isn't talking to him, but Kit seems to be filling the void well enough. He still tries to contact Jack every day, but when Kit is curled up on his chest (or when Kent is chasing her, trying to keep her from breaking yet another glass that he made the mistake of leaving out), he doesn't feel as devastated when Jack inevitably doesn't reply.

Over in the Eastern Conference, in which Tater and the Falconers play, they're not doing quite as well. They're two places out of a playoff berth, but as it currently stands, the Falconers are having the best season in their short franchise history. It's a banner year for both expansion teams.

The Aces last game before the break is against the Falconers and it's a big deal. As two teams that entered the league at the same time, they're constantly being compared to each other. Hockey analysts and fans alike see this game as a litmus test of which team is farthest along. Who's the most ready for the playoffs?

So Kent is not at all surprised by the question he receives during his post-game interview of their prior game against the Sharks.

"The Aces and Falconers are both in the midst of their best seasons in franchise history. Both teams seem evenly matched. What do you think gives you the edge in your next game against the Falconers?"

Kent quietly mulls over what he knows about the Falconers: a halfway decent goalie, a highly regarded coaching staff—and Tater, who's so tall, with broad shoulders and thighs like tree trunks, who has the warmest brown eyes Kent's ever seen and skates with such power and grace and…and…

"Alexei Mashkov is a stud," Kent blurts out, and half the locker rooms falls silent, turning to look at him.

That was not what he meant to say, but everyone was looking at him and expecting him to say something and so he just said the only thing he could think of. His cheeks are burning because—well Tater is a very, very attractive stud, but Kent really shouldn't be announcing to the world that that's what he thinks of him. The world doesn't need to know that and Tater definitely doesn't need to know that either.

"W-what I meant is uh—" Kent stutters, rushing to backtrack. "He's um—he's a great player, you know? I think—well, I think he challenged me for the Calder last year."

"Are you saying that you think the Falconers have the edge over you?" the reporter asks, and shit—he got so distracted that he forgot that he had a question to answer.

"That's not what I said exactly," Kent replies quickly because no way are the Falconers a better team than them. "I was just pointing out that he's a great player. Big, physical, and fast as hell for someone his size. But the Falconers don't have anyone else half as good as him. Up and down our roster, we have players that are far and away more talented and work better together. The Falconers don't stand a chance. Now, I'd like to get home to get some sleep so I think that's it for questions, thanks."

The reporters scatter, the last ones finally leaving the locker room, and Kent finally can see the multitude of eyes peering at him.

"What?" he asks, shifting uncomfortably as he picks at a loose thread on his jersey.

"Dude," Mac (a rookie) says. "You like, have a huge hockey crush on Mashkov, don't you?"

"I do not," Kent retorts, feeling his cheeks flush again. "Go fuck yourself."

"He's fucking blushing!" Felix, who is the alternate captain and has a locker right next to his, proclaims. "He so fucking does!"

"Shut up, I swear I don't," Kent mumbles, ducking his head in his locker so no one can see just how red his face is. Yes, he has a hockey crush on Tater—and maybe like an actual crush, but he'll do anything to keep that from these guys.

"I mean, dude, I get guys like Crosby or Seguin but fucking Mashkov? He's like—average at best," Mac says, shaking his head. "He just looks good 'cause everyone around him is shit."

"He's like a half foot taller than you and could kick your ass without breaking a sweat," Kent answers sharply. "And you've never played against him. You have no idea what kind of player he is. Mark my fucking words: you're going to be singing a very different tune after the game."

"Alright man," Mac says, defensively holding his hands up. "I didn't realize you were so protective of this dude—"

"Listen to me very carefully," Kent says, stalking over to Mac. "You can sing your own praises all you want. Talk yourself up, say you believe you're the best player to ever set foot on the ice. But never disparage another player. You don't know who in this league talks to who, who will repeat what, and let me tell you, this game can be a fucking nightmare when you make enemies."

"Okay man, I'm sorry," Mac says, eyes wide and looking vaguely frightened.

"Yeah, you better be," Kent replies, walking back over to his locker.

When he sits down, Felix puts a hand on his shoulder. "Your delivery was really fucking scary and probably too much, but you said what needed to be said. The kid needs to learn to watch his fucking mouth."

"Yeah," Kent says quietly. Now if only he could do the same and not say things like Alexei Mashkov is a stud. That way, he wouldn't end up in situations like this to begin with.

tater_mashkov_falcs: I am stud? Is high praise coming from kvparson87! You are definitely stud too ))))

Kent favorites and retweets the tweet, but doesn't respond. There's a blush high on his cheeks as he wonders what the hell Tater was doing watching his post-game interview.

The Aces don't make the playoffs. Their closing stretch that included games against the Blackhawks, Red Wings, Penguins, Sharks and the Kings killed their hopes. They went into the final fifteen games just 3 points back from a playoff spot, but a 3-10-2 finish wiped out any chance, and the Aces finish in 12th place in the Western Conference.

A/N: Did I literally just copy and paste characters from this fic (archiveofourown/org/works/7321150)? Why yes, yes I did :)