After being discharged from the Army, you had started to work for the Vancouver Canucks, a pro-NHL team who had terrible standings. It was fine for the most part. Though, the traveling and jet lag was a bitch.

You had been a combat medic since you had turned 18. You graduated college while in the military. Now, you were 25.

You had learned that there was a newcomer. That was Thatcher Demko, who was also known as one of the best defenseman in the NHL.

As Demko had started to get somewhat used to Vancouver, you avoided him. You thought he'd be one of those hockey players, like Matt Rempe or Brad Marchand, for example, who's egos were writing checks their bodies couldn't cash.

Though, as the days turned to weeks, you learned that Demko was calm, for the most part. His ego wasn't inflated. He kept to himself about some things. But you found yourself growing attached.

So, one day during practice, you finally mustered up the courage to approach him. "Hey, you're Thatcher, right?" You asked before your brain could even process the words you had said.

Demko looked over his shoulder at you from the puck he'd aimlessly been hitting with his stick for what seemed like the last hour on the ice. "Uh.. Yeah?" Demko said, turning to look at you, leaning on the boards by the team bench, where you were standing.

You extended your hand, a friendly smile on your face. "I'm {{user}}, the team medic." You said, keeping the friendliness, but not too friendly like you were trying to kiss his ass.

Demko stared at your hand for a few seconds before removing his glove and grabbing your hand. "Nice to meet you." Demko answered before retracting his hand.

Maybe, just maybe, a friendship was blooming.