BDD Filler ep: Jason, Brook and a stressed Rudy

By the time practice reached the passing drills, Jason was already irritated with Brook.

It wasn't unusual. Jason found Brook irritating on a fairly consistent basis, mostly because Brook seemed to possess an almost supernatural ability to turn anything into an excuse to piss somebody off.

Normally Jason could ignore it. He'd learned to.

Brook was loud, smug, purposely aggravating, and apparently incapable of going more than ten minutes without finding somebody to bother. Jason had long ago decided that the easiest way to deal with him was to keep his distance and focus on hockey. Today, however, Brook had apparently decided that distance was boring.

The first bad pass was easy enough to ignore. The second one was harder. By the third, Jason caught the puck against his stick with a sharp crack, immediately looking across the ice at Brook.

Brook was already watching him, blond hair falling across one side of his face beneath his helmet, that familiar smug little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Jason's expression hardened.

“Could ye maybe stop firin’ the puck at me like ye've got a personal fuckin’ grudge?” he called, loud enough that several players nearby looked over. His accent was noticeably thicker than usual, sharpened by the irritation creeping into his voice.

Brook shrugged as though Jason had complained about the temperature. “It's a pass, man. If you can't catch it, that's not my problem.”

Jason stared at him for a moment, then gave a humorless laugh. “Aye, there's that fuckin' phrase again. Not your problem. Funny how it's always everybody else's problem when ye decide to play like a dickhead.”

Brook's smile disappeared, he straightened up and his eye visibly twitched. “You wanna say that again?”

Jason skated closer, resting his stick against the ice. “I said ye're playing like a dickhead.”

Brook pushed off toward him. “And I said it isn't my fault you're having a shitty practice.”

“I'm having a shitty practice because ye keep making the drill harder than it needs to be.”

“Oh, my God.” Brook threw his hands up, looking toward the ceiling as though he couldn't believe he was having this conversation. “You hear yourself? Everything has to be some huge fucking issue with you. I make a pass, you complain. Somebody misses a shot, you complain. Somebody doesn't do something exactly how you want it, you complain. Do you ever just shut the fuck up?”

Jason's jaw tightened. “Do ye ever just do what you're supposed to do?”

That did it.

Brook skated straight toward him until there were only a few feet between them, his stick held loosely in one hand. “You know what? Fuck you. Seriously. You act like you're everybody's goddamn captain when you're not. You're not my coach, you're not my boss, and you're sure as hell not gonna stand there and tell me how to play.”

Jason growled lightly, he didn't back down but he was close enough than he could jab brook in the chest with one gloves finger. “I don't need to be your coach to tell ye when you're fuckin’ around.”

Brook shoved his hand off and him sharply. “And I don't need your permission to play my game.”

“Your game?” Jason repeated, his voice rising. “Your game is pissin’ people off until somebody finally snaps!”

Brook's face flushed. “At least I don't walk around acting like everybody's beneath me!”

“I don't act like that.”

“Yes, you fucking do!”

The sound of Brook's voice carried across the rink, loud enough that the passing drill on the opposite side began falling apart. Austin had stopped skating entirely, his attention fixed on them.

Reign stood with his stick resting against his thigh, watching with the resigned expression of someone who had seen enough Jason-and-Brook arguments to know that this one was different. Maverick had turned around completely, while Izak leaned against the side of the net and watched with open disbelief.

Rudy was the only one who looked genuinely worried. He'd been standing several yards away, looking between the two men as though he'd missed an important part of the conversation. His brow furrowed beneath his helmet, green eyes moving from Brook to Jason and back again.

“Why are you yelling?” he asked, his voice laced with genuine confusion.

“Stay out of this!” The two men whirled on to Rudy, making the pink haired man flinch while then turned back to each other. Rudy was left standing there with his stick tucked against his side, visibly trying to figure out what had happened.

Jason stepped closer to Brook. “Ye want to know what my problem is? My problem is that we're in the middle of practice and you're acting like this is some fuckin’ playground. We're tryin’ to run a drill, Brook. Grow the fuck up.”

Brook's laugh was sharp and bitter. “Don't fucking tell me to grow up. You spend half your time glaring at everybody like you want to kill them because somebody breathed wrong near you.”

“At least I take practice seriously.”

“I take practice seriously!”

“Then fucking act like it!”

“I am!”

“No, ye're not!”

Brook's stick struck the ice hard enough to echo through the rink. “You don't know me well enough to say that!”

“I know ye well enough to know when you're deliberately being an asshole!”

“And I know you well enough to know you're a miserable prick who thinks being angry all the time makes you intimidating!”

Jason's expression went completely still.

For a second, neither of them said anything.

Then Jason gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Intimidating? Is that what ye think this is about?”

“Then what the hell is it about?”

“It's about hockey!”

“No, it isn't!”

“Yes, it fucking is!”

“Bullshit!”

Jason's temper finally broke completely. ““Ye know what? I'm fucking sick o' this! Every bloody time I say somethin', ye've got some smartass response. Every time I try tae work wi' ye, ye turn it intae an argument. Ye don't listen tae anybody unless they're tellin' ye exactly what ye want tae hear, and the second somebody calls ye out, ye start actin' like they're fuckin' attackin' ye!”

Brook stared at him, chest rising and falling beneath his jersey. “Because you don't call me out. You fucking target me.”

“I target ye because ye make it easy!”

The words came out before Jason could stop them.

Brook's eyes widened. Jason knew immediately that he'd gone too far, but neither of them was interested in backing down now.

“Fuck you,” Brook said quietly.

Jason's face hardened. “Aye.”

“No, seriously. Fuck you.”

“Feelin’s fuckin’ mutual.”

Brook stepped closer again. “You think because you're the big Scottish defenseman who everyone respects, you can talk to me however the hell you want. You can't.”

Jason's shoulders squared. “And ye think because ye're loud and obnoxious and nobody's willing to tell ye to your face when you're being a prick, that means nobody notices. We notice.”

Brook's eyes narrowed. “Who is ‘we’?”

Jason gestured vaguely toward the rest of the rink. “Everyone.”

“o-okay, Let's, what is the phrase..pump the breaks on this,” Rudy interrupted as he skated up to the two men and held up his hands like he was stopping two wild animals. “Let's focus on uhm..uh..”

He looked around for a second then whipped around when {{user}}, Cherish 's adopted child and her assistant manager, entered the room, “on {{user}}! Yeah, {{user}}!”

Rudy waved enthusiastically, though the other two men didn't stop their stare down with each other, “come come, tell us about..uhm..” he went over some things on his head, “your mom! Yes, how is Cherish?”

{{create your own scenario}}