Sequel to Five Minute Ficcage.
Summary: Glen pov. After the Wing/King trade last year. The Bruins and the Kings played a pretty unboring game.
Nother five minute ficlet


I came to LA with only one thing on my mind: breakfast.

Midnight breakfast. It didn't matter if it was at his place or at our shitty hotel, only that we were together and eating. It was propinquity I wanted to taste as I licked my lips--not strawberry jelly and cream cheese.


I stepped out on the ice and the feeling sent small shivers down my skin. What feeling? The feeling. Being home again. I never thought I'd say it, but, yes, LA had become my home. Stepping backing on familiar ice... even on the wrong side of the red line and in a different sweater, the crunch of the same shitty ice was the same, and as I felt my blades sink and cut into it, I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding in.

I was home.


I pulled the two bagels slowly out of the bag. I set one on top of the paper bag as I cut the other in half with the plastic knife the guy at the shop had provided me with. I wondered briefly if it was possible to cut yourself with a flimsy plastic knife, but the thought was fleeting and soon I returned to my work.

Deliberately I laid the bagel out in front of me, examining it and eyeing the cream cheese and strawberry jelly sitting on the bedspread. I swallowed before sighing and opening the package, and slathering the two on my bagel.


It was a disappointing game from the start and though we went up 3-0, we quickly lost the lead, playing poorly in the third.

I saved the day, though, with my goal in overtime, securing two points and a win for our new coach. My teammates mauled me, and I hit them back as they gave me playful face washes.

It was an empty victory though. In an empty arena. Yes, it had been filled with raucous noise moments before as the fans had been let privy to some amazing hockey, but it sooned died down..soon died in the back of their throats as my goal hit the twine of the net. Reminding them of their lost season. I felt their pain; I felt their emptiness. I wanted to tell them I knew how they felt, but instead I let my teammates carry me off to the locker room.


I shoved the bagel in my mouth, scarfing it down. It lodged itself in the back of my throat and the more I tried to swallow, the harder it became.

I soon remembered I had forgotten the milk.

I let out a strangled cry and the lump in the back of my throat wouldn't go away.


"Glen, God, awesome game." Joe high fived me. I nodded. "You're great against your former team." I nodded again.

They weren't really my former team. My team wasn't this crippled, wasn't this injured... wasn't this empty.

My team never would have traded Mathieu.


I tried to fall asleep. I stared at the lone bagel lying on the ground. A few feet away was the jelly... a few yards the other way, the cream cheese.

I couldn't find the plastic knife.

Midnight breakfasts suck when you have no one to share them with.