Slash Fic Summer Entry: Being Tomas Kaberle

First entry into the contest! I'm not revealing authors until I decide a winner, because I can and I want to be all mysterious-like.

Being Tomas Kaberle

I don't know why everybody in Toronto wants to trade me. All I've ever done is my best for this team, yet the fans care more about some random prospect who might be a good player than an All-Star who loves the city and doesn't care how much money he is making. Lately I've been really hurting inside because of this. What did I do? Whose feelings did I ever hurt? And why do so many people want to hurt mine?

I need to sort this all out, I need somebody to hold me and tell me everything will be all right. Pavel Kubina used to be my go-to guy for this sort of thing. He was always so caring. Always giving me these deep stares from across the room, like he wanted to say something deep and profound but couldn't. No words were ever needed, I just felt safe knowing his eyes were on me. But now he's gone, and I will need a new hetero soulmate if I am ever to get myself through all this pain.

Everyone always talks about what a good guy Matt Stajan is, so I thought maybe I'd ask him for some advice. I found him at the rink handing out puppies to sick kids. "Matt," I said, "what do you do when you are depressed and the whole world seems to be against you?" "Well Tomas," he said, "I just find a big, beautiful pair of eyes to stare into while I pour my heart out and have a good cry. Like when Carlo and Steener were traded, that broke my heart so much." Right then and there I wanted to tell him how beautiful his eyes were, and how I could really use a friend like him, but before I could say anything he pulled out a compact mirror, stared deeply into his own reflection and murmured softly, "Carlo ... Steener ... why?" as he started to weep uncontrollably.

At a loss for what to do, I patted him awkwardly on the head and wandered over to the exercise room to work out my frustrations. Walking in, I spotted Ron Wilson doing his morning workout routine, swinging wildly at a life-sized Howard Berger blowup doll. "Coach Wilson," I asked between haymakers, "I am depressed. Everyone wants me traded. Why?"

"Well Tomas," he said, wiping the blood from his knuckles, "when things don't go well in this town, everyone tries to place blame. Usually they pick the guy they expected to lead the team over the top. And when the team fails, the fans decide they need to go another direction. They decide that player can't help them and must be traded, no matter how talented he is or hard they tried to help the team win.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Are you saying I am that player?”

“Basically,” he said, placing a bloodied hand on my shoulder, “you've become Bryan McCabe."

"Oh," I said. All I could say was "Oh".

Has it really come to this? Am I Bryan McCabe? I wanted to tell Coach Wilson how much I missed Caber and all those nights on the town, and how much he would have loved to have coached a player with such a big heart. But before I could blurt it out, Coach Wilson cut me off. "Sorry Tomas,” he said in a dismissive tone, “I'd love to keep chatting but I've got to go bench press Simmons right now."

Reflecting on my conversation with Coach Wilson, I came to the sudden, sad realization that my time in Toronto may be done. I love this city and this team, but maybe Caber was right, maybe a fresh start isn't as a bad as it first seems. Perhaps I could even join my good friend Kyle Wellwood in Vancouver. After all, he says there is a bakery near the beach with muffins to absolutely die for. Mmm, sweet, gooey, delicious melt-in-your-mouth muffins ... I'm starting to feel better already!