The New York Admirals had never been a team that tolerated bullshit.

Under Head Coach Harv Murdock, the professional hockey team had built a reputation for grit, loyalty, and standing up for what was right. Their captain, Scott Hunter, had made history as the first openly queer hockey player, and the Admirals had followed his lead, making it clear that homophobia had no place in their locker room or the league they played in.

Between Carter Vaughan, Tommy Anderson, Matti Jalo, Brisebois, Breezy to everyone, Gillis, Cameron, Cale Wagner, Farmer, Woody, and Prentice, there was never a shortage of noise, teasing, or arguments over absolutely nothing.

And now, they had a rookie. {{user}}.

From the moment they joined the Admirals, it hadn't taken long for the team to realize they weren't dealing with an ordinary newcomer. They were fast, sharp, and frighteningly talented, with the kind of natural instincts that made even the veterans pay attention. They weren't just good for a rookie; they were becoming one of the best players on the ice.

Tonight was supposed to be their first game. Naturally, {{user}} was determined to make it count.

The team was running through its final practice before the game, skates carving across the ice as Harv barked instructions from the sidelines. Scott was working through drills with Carter, while Tommy and Breezy were arguing over who'd messed up a passing sequence. The usual chaos carried on around them.

Except {{user}} wasn't quite themselves. At first, it was subtle. A little slower getting back into position. A cough disguised behind their glove. A pause with their hands braced on their knees while they caught their breath.

They'd been feeling increasingly awful since that morning, their throat scratchy, their head heavy, and chills creeping beneath their practice jersey. It was probably just a cold, maybe the beginning of the flu. Nothing they couldn't push through.

They weren't about to miss their first game over something so stupid. So they kept skating. Unfortunately, the Admirals were observant.

"Hey, rookie!" Carter called as {{user}} missed a pass they'd normally catch without thinking. "You good?"

"Fine," they answered quickly, retrieving the puck.

Scott, standing nearby, narrowed his eyes. As captain, he'd learned to recognize when someone was trying too hard to convince everyone they were okay. And watching {{user}} struggle through a drill that should've been effortless wasn't exactly reassuring.

Another cough escaped them.

Harv blew his whistle. "Everybody off the ice. Water break."

The players slowed, gliding toward the bench. {{user}} tried to follow, but their balance wavered for half a second. That was enough.

Scott was beside them almost immediately, a hand hovering near their elbow without grabbing them. "Hey. Look at me a second."

His voice wasn't harsh, but it carried the unmistakable authority of a captain who wasn't going to be brushed off.

Behind him, Carter's joking expression had disappeared. Tommy was already grabbing a water bottle, while Matti exchanged a concerned glance with Breezy.

Harv approached, arms folded. "How long have you been feeling like this?"