Welcome to my FanFiction Masterlist! You'll find Tomberly, Elriel, and a smattering of other ships for your reading pleasure. All links will take you over to the AO3 version.
Last installment of the Serial Killer Ilya AU inspired by this tumblr post by the lovely @lexicanons. I hope you've enjoyed the ride!
If you prefer the AO3 experience- you can access this chapter here.
Ilya quietly finished placing the dishes in the dishwasher. He heard ESPN blaring in the living room, Shane’s preferred channel to unwind to after a long week. And it had been a long week. Even with this being the first week that they were at the cottage- it wasn’t as relaxing as normal. The news broke a couple of days after he arrived that Roger Crowell had disappeared from his Montreal home. He’d seen the look in Shane’s eyes- something that he knew Shane would not be proud of- the belief that Crowell deserved whatever happened to him. One day he might tell him the whole story, when they were old and gray and no one could hurt Shane for what he’d done. He did not want Shane to get hurt for what he did.
He laid down on the couch and Shane crawled over to him, his head settling on his chest. He listened to the talking heads- the talk of what else might happen in Montreal. Security around the practice facility had been tripled. Players were being driven to and from practice by personal security. Everything monitored. Everything protected. If this was going to continue to happen to players- the league was going to need to do something to protect the teams that came to play Montreal. Then again- the league was now up in shambles with Crowell’s disappearance.
This was an unintended benefit of his plan. The MLH might be forced to face itself. Might consider that this was something that they brought upon themselves. He doubted that would actually happen, but a change at the top- it could shift things. If they got the right commissioner. If the MLH higher ups had the slightest thought that these incidents were because of their own actions- they could decide to treat them differently. He knocked back a glass of vodka and shook his head. That would never happen.
“It’s a good thing JJ is in Boston.” He gently rubbed Shane’s back. He’d seen the stress, the worry that his friends would be involved. That the people that Shane loved on Montreal’s team would be next, that even he might be down the line. He thought he’d let that worry go as the pattern emerged, but apparently it was rearing its ugly head tonight. Or Shane had never realized the pattern- which seemed far less likely.
“Yes. He is safe there. Him and Cliff are having fun. I see their stories.” And he wasn’t lying to Shane. JJ was safe. JJ had come to his senses over the last several years and had actively worked to repair his friendship with Shane after what he had and had not done. He’d watched it, seen the work that JJ put in, and then heard from Cliff about how much JJ had changed in the locker room. He’d decked a homophobic player on the Raiders- a point that the then rookie had taken in stride. The league was moving into the 21st century and if he didn’t get with the times- JJ sure as shit was going to make sure that the boy regretted the decision to play with Boston.
“Don’t hurt Hayden.” Shane was so quiet he was not sure he heard him right, until Shane lifted his head and they locked eyes. A chill ran down his spine. Shane knew. Shane knew exactly who was behind these disappearances. “Don’t hurt Hayden.”
“What are you–”
“Do not hurt Hayden.” He wanted to deny it, wanted to say that Shane was being silly, but he saw that look in his eyes. He knew that he had pieced it together- how long ago- he was afraid to ask. He had thought he’d covered his tracks well and the last thing he wanted was for Shane to be worried that his husband would kill his best friend.
“I’m done. I saved commissioner for last.”
A nod. Shane crawled up his chest and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. He expected Shane to yell at him, rage, scream about how reckless this was and what would happen if he was caught? What would happen to them? Anya? His parents? But no, Shane just kissed him and then settled back against his chest. His body relaxing in a way he hadn’t seen in months.
“When…when did you realize…”
“After Comeau. I found a receipt in the shred pile. I thought you might be cheating, but then the news and…well…this made more sense than you ever cheating…”
“Shane, no. I would never, ever cheat on you- I'm sorry you even thought...you’re not mad?”
“No. I should be, but…I know why you did it and I’ll follow you to the circles of whatever hells wait for us. Thank you. Thank you for taking this worry away.”
“Of course, malysh. Ya tebya lyublyu.”
THE END
AN: If you're looking for more Heated Rivalry/Game Changers Serial Killer AU- you may want to check out this Scott Hunter centric fic that I'm currently working on.
Forced Rivalry- Ch 10: Ottawa vs. Toronto- Christmas Special
If you prefer the AO3 version- you can take a look at it over here.
Natalya Savchenko settled between Colleen and Philipe Gagnon. Christmas break would start in a few hours and when they’d suggested that the five of them just spend the holiday together- she had jumped at it. Only telling Dima about the suggestion after she had already confirmed, luckily, her son had only smiled and said that this would be great. He’d finally get to introduce Jake to the team. She hadn’t missed the slight blush on his face as he’d texted Jake to let him know that he could stay at his place while she hosted the Gagnon’s at hers.
“They seem excited.”
“Dima couldn’t stop talking about a barbecue at Bood’s that they’ll both be able to go to. This is a really good team, Colleen- they’ll be nice to him too.”
“Oh, I know. We were hoping for Ottawa. What about you?”
“A…friend…is going to come to dinner tomorrow.”
“A male friend?”
“Colleen-”
“No, no, Philipe- she’s fine. Yes. A male friend. Dima doesn’t know and I’m not sure that it’s anything, but I just…I wanted someone else to meet him and see if…”
“Oh my gosh- yes! I want all the details.”
“After the game- promise- after the game.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dima settled into his post game shower. Tonight had been brutal, his entire body hurt, which wasn’t abnormal for most hockey games, but he’d taken more board hits than normal. Hell, Rozanov had decked one of Toronto’s players after a particularly flagrant hit. Haas had dragged him off the ice instead of letting him join the fray. Rozanov was making a point to Toronto that only he could make.
He heard the door open and close and let out a sigh. He’d given Jake a set of keys months ago and he loved that he could just show up. He loved that they trusted each other enough to have this level of access to the other. He didn’t love how slowly he was moving tonight. He’d hoped to be completely prepped and ready for him before he made it here. They were headed into the long Christmas break and Toronto hadn’t batted an eye when he told them that he would meet them in Toronto in a few days.
He forced himself out of the shower and began toweling off, he felt Jake’s eyes trailing over him. He was exhausted, but he wanted time with him. He needed time with him.
“Come here- let me- your ribs have to be killing you.”
He thought about refusing, even as his feet ignored him and moved into Jake’s arms. He took the towel and gently dried his body, his hands pausing over the bruised ribs. Jake reached into the cabinet and found the KT Tape, a tiny bit of support- just enough tape to help his muscles not scream with every breath.
“I’m glad Rozanov decked DeSiebert- I was ready to start a fight on my own bench.”
“Kova–you can’t do things like that–”
“You’re my friend first, D. You always will be and I’ll die on that hill before I let anyone treat you like shit. Rozanov just got the point across first.”
“Kova…”
“Don’t you, Kova me. I love you and…and…”
Scared. Jacob looked so scared as he realized what he had said to him and he let out a shaky breath. The number of times he’d caught himself, stopped himself from saying that he loved him because he was equally scared. He grabbed both of his hands, felt his palms shaking against his own. He could be brave too.
“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.”
“Uh…I…we can just…let it go that I said…”
“Kova- I love you too. Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.”
*****************
“Savchenko! Fucking hell- you even got Gagnon in on the ugly sweater game. Merry fucking Christmas boys!”
He stared at Troy Barrett and then glanced around the room for Harris Drover- who only mimed that Troy was more than a bit tipsy already. Well- at least he wasn’t telling him that Gagnon should get the fuck out. That was honestly one of his biggest worries when Jake had agreed to come along. He knew that the Centaurs were welcoming, but this was different. They didn’t know anything about Jake other than him being the second overall pick of the draft and one of his friends.
The Hollander-Rozanov house was full of the team and their partners. He vaguely remembered the invitation making this an adult only night. He’d been surprised that this was not at Bood’s house, but with the craziness already in full swing- it made more sense to be here.
“The non-alcoholic drinks are over on the far bar- we don’t ever spike it because Hollander would kill us. And Rozanov would help. Video game tourney starts in about thirty minutes- there’s monopoly in the other room- and for the love of all that is holy- don’t challenge Luca to Rock Band. We’ll be stuck with the greatest hits of the 80s and none of us want that.”
“Jake- Bood. Bood- Jake.”
“Nice to meet you, Rook. LaPointe- absolutely the fuck not. I swear- are you even old enough to be drinking?”
“Always like this?”
“Yeah, Kova. But is nice. Everyone is just…well...themselves.”
A quick hand squeeze and they went their separate ways for a moment. He wanted to get signed up for the video game tournament- apparently Mario Kart was deemed the safest for all of them. And he knew that Jake wanted to take a good look at the backyard. From the moment he’d mentioned that they had a heated pool- he’d seen the fascination in his eyes. Like this was some absolute anomaly in Canada. Like he forgot that Hollander and Rozanov were millionaires that mostly had more sense than money.
Out of the corner of his eye- he saw Rozanov talking with Jake. Good. Roz was safe- especially with a gay man. He wanted to believe that this team was truly accepting- but you’d be a fucking idiot to push away Hollander or Rozanov just because they loved each other. Then again- Montreal had been that fucking idiotic. He caught Jake laughing and further relaxed. Fine. Jake was fine here and that was all that really mattered.
“Ilya’s asking him if Toronto is being good to him. Since Troy left there…it’s not always been an accepting team.”
He accepted the drink that Hollander offered and nodded. Of course that was what Roz would check in about. He wanted to talk to Hollander more about Jake, he wanted to say something to someone that would understand- but that wasn’t what this was. That wasn’t what this could be right now and as Hollander gave him an understanding smile- he froze. Had he clocked it? Had he clocked them? Fucking hell.
“You’ve got Young first in the bracket. Good luck.”
Several hours and a several shots later- he settled next to Kova on one of the couches and laid his head on his shoulder. They’d moved back and forth between each other and he was so fucking happy his team liked him. That they weren’t being assholes to him because he was on another team. Right now though- he just wanted to fall asleep here. He was cozy and Kova was familiar and he just wanted to conk out here.
“Okay, D. I’ve got an uber on the way. You gonna be good to head out?”
“Stay here. You’re cozy.”
He missed the look on Jake’s face, but his teammates didn’t. Barrett and Rozanov exchanged a glance while Hayes just nodded to himself like something had fully clicked. Hollander walked over with a blanket and handed it to Jake, a chuckle reached him, but his eyes were barely open as his body just wanted to pass out on the best pillow he had ever had.
“You got him?”
“Yeah. I might need a hand getting him out to the uber- but we’re good. Not the first time we’ve done this- probably won’t be the last.”
“He was like this in juniors?”
“Worse. Definitely worse.”
“Kovaaaa.”
“Shhhh, Dima. Just rest- I’ll get you home and settled, promise.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Michael straightened his spine as he knocked on the apartment door. He’d been seeing Natalya whenever he’d been in town since she texted him asking about trivia. It started as just making sure she’d be accepted there and had grown into date nights and day trips. They’d not told Dima yet, but he knew it was coming. The first step to that seemed to be how things went tonight. With Jacob Gagnon’s parents. He had barely been able to hide his surprise that they were this close.
“Misha- hi. Come in- has the snow let up?”
“Not at all, but that’s just Ottawa this time of year. This wine good?”
“Yeah…yeah…”
He traced a hand down her arm, giving her hand a squeeze. He’d never seen her this nervous. He honestly didn’t really think that it was possible for her to be this way, she’d always been so calm with him. Steady. She pulled herself into his side and he just held her tight. Whatever was weighing on her tonight was more than he’d seen and he was determined that he’d get it out of her at some point. But not right now. Not when he could hear laughter in her living room and he knew that this was important. It was important that her friends give him the seal of approval.
She started to pull away and he pulled her back in, placing a kiss against her forehead. He watched her shoulders tense and then release. Good. Good. That was what he hoped would bring her some comfort- these were her friends and he was sure that he wasn’t the only one that was nervous.
“Natalya! What is…oh…well hello.”
Colleen Gagnon. He recognized her as one of the mothers that had toured the Centaurs facility ahead of last year's draft. Had asked him questions about how PT went with this team and what his responsibilities were. Natalya had never crossed paths with him during that time- he suspected she had other things she was more concerned about.
“Michael- this is Colleen Gagnon. We’ve been friends since Dima and Jacob first started playing against each other.”
“Nice to see you again- Jacob’s tearing it up this year.”
“Yeah…Ottawa has his number though. Fucking Rozanov and Hollander- I mean that in the nicest way possible. I’m jealous that Jacob didn’t get to come play and learn from them. So how long have you been dating?”
“Bozhe moye- Colleen-”
“Three, four months- I think it depends on if you count that trivia night as our first date or not.”
“Natalya! Phillipe! Did you just hear that? Our baby has been hiding this relationship from us for months.”
He watched her face flush and she moved back into his side as Colleen walked off to grab her husband. He settled his arm around her and just let her sink into him. Short of acts of service- he realized that touch was her love language months ago. And it especially helped anchor her when she felt like something was too much. Colleen was maybe being too much.
“She seems to like you.”
“Good. Good- because I like you a lot, Natushka. And I’d hate for this to end us.”
After Another Hospital Stay: Ch 15- Fuck Up the MLH, Pt 1
I wanted to do the road trip justice and what started as 'oh they're going to spend like all of May and most of June on this trip' became 'they are going to visit 5 MLH teams and just some places they want to see AND ALSO help Shane heal…oh plus birthday AND ALSO begin to put their plan for changing the MLH into place AND ALSO…' so there are at least a couple of these that are MONSTER chapters. But like…it's the only way to do this after everything else.
POVs for this chappy:
Shane Hollander ->
Ilya Rozanov->
Scott Hunter ->
Shane Hollander
If you *prefer* AO3- you can take a look at this chapter here.
Boston- Late April
Logan. Ilya rubbed his thigh as they landed and he let out a shaky breath. When they’d talked about taking this trip- he thought he would be better. He thought he would be back to himself. He’d nearly cancelled a dozen times. But between Brandon, Ilya, and his mother- he was here. They’d just touched down in Boston and as Ilya turned his phone off airplane mode- the messages rolled in.
Marleau. Connors. Carmichael. Other names that Shane was not as familiar with, but he knew were on the Raiders team. When he caught Svetlana’s name scroll across the screen he let out a sigh. Agreeing to stay with her felt better than many of the other options. Safer. He never thought he wouldn’t feel safe with hockey players, but here he was- fighting to stay with the sport he loved after everything it had done to him.
“Okay- Sveta’s tonight. Cliff insisted on joining- stupid crush on Sveta his downfall. Then I have charity event with the guys at hospital before game. You sure you are good with Sveta?”
“Yeah. I’m looking forward to getting to know her.”
“You…I…should have met before.”
“Ilya- we did the best we could. You did the best you could.”
Ilya’s hand found his as they moved through the airport. Steady. Their public personas fully in place, but with this one tiny difference. They were being a couple- in front of the world- and where their used to be tension, he relaxed. He relaxed into this. He relaxed into THEM. This was something he’d only dreamed of even a handful of weeks before and now it was real. Now they could just BE.
*******************
“Ilyusha!”
Ilya dropped his hand to catch Svetlana as she barrelled towards him, something he was sure they’d done thousands of times in greeting. The closer they’d gotten here, the more relaxed Ilya had become. He’d only seen Ilya in Boston a few times before he’d moved to Ottawa and never with friends. Never with the people that he loved dearly. Boston for them had always been a place they’d had to hide- until now.
“Shane Hollander. Uk ty- tak krasivyy- ponimayu potomu shto- how have you not taught him any of those words?”
“Not the important ones.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Svetlana.”
“Sveta. Let me give you the tour. The good vodka is in the normal spot.”
“Sveta–”
“Nope. I deserve some one on one Shane Hollander time. There’s so many things I want to know and I promise, I’ll be nice.”
“Fine.”
Svetlana gave him a smile and then nodded towards the hallway- where he’d already been told their guest room was. Far enough away that they could enjoy themselves, but close enough that they wouldn’t destroy the room. Or at least that was the logic that Svetlana had shared with Ilya earlier. He quietly followed behind her, taking the place in. The architecture. The color choices. He wondered if these were her choices or if she’d opted to hire someone for the place.
“Marly and Connors have tomorrow taken care of?”
She quietly guided him through the guest room and the bathroom, pointing towards various amenities, but not saying much. Their secret conversations over the last several weeks actually left Shane very comfortable in her presence. She was Ilya’s oldest and dearest friend and the fact that she was so excited about this let him know that the years of not knowing, but knowing had shown her a lot. He hated that they’d only just been able to start to become friends.
“Yeah. Charity event at the hospital. Did you get that appointment?”
“Da. You know he’ll say yes, right? That he is crazy about you and only you? Has been for years.”
“I…yeah…I know. Doesn’t make it any less nerve wracking. After everything- I just want…I want us to have this.”
“They’re discreet and used to clientele like you. You know, professional athletes who want to do this sort of stuff without the world knowing.”
Yes. Yes, that was the part of his identity that the world was focusing on at the moment. Not the fact that he’d come out as gay and announced his partner was his supposed arch-rival. Not the fact that he’d been the victim of a hate crime. No- in this small part of the world- they would just treat him like a famous athlete who wanted some fucking privacy. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry at how normal that felt.
“Ilya’s going to get suspicious if we stay back here too long.”
“And Marly?”
“Don’t even fucking start with me, Shane Hollander. You and Ilya are still in dog house for hiding from me for…for however fucking long it was.”
“I…Svetlana…if we could have. It wasn’t Ilya who wanted to keep it a secret, don’t take this out on him.”
He didn’t know Svetlana well yet, but as he watched the emotions flash across her face- he froze. She finally gave him a sad smile, her hands cupped his cheeks, and a nod to herself. He wasn’t sure what she had decided, especially as she wrapped him in a hug and he heard Ilya approaching. He peeked his head in and then held up two glasses of vodka- but his eyes settled on Svetlana- his confusion evident. Apparently, this was even something that Ilya couldn’t wrap his head around completely.
“Shane- we joke. I would never take this out on Ilya.”
“Good, good. I…it’s been…”
“You don’t have to force it, Shane. I see why he loves you so much.”
******************
He pulled on the Boston jersey and stared at himself in the mirror. The differences between him and Ilya were so small that this could have been him. He could have been in Boston for all of those years and Ilya in Montreal. He wondered what would have been different- for both of them. Ilya froze as he walked into the room and he watched as his eyes trailed up and down the jersey. He’d never worn one of Ilya’s jerseys before and the delight that filled his face tore at his heart. He found himself being pulled back against Ilya’s chest- both of them staring in the mirror. Ilya’s hands soft, careful- the bruises were just starting to fade and his ribs were still tender in ways neither of them had expected. He’d never thought these injuries would linger this way.
“God, I want you.”
“You have me, Ilya. I’m yours.”
“Not what I mean, Shanechka. Why I agree go to fucking game?”
“Because we want to support our friends and their hopes this playoff season. And also give a middle finger to Montreal and the MLH.”
Ilya’s hips ground against him and he let out a groan. God, it had been too long since they’d well and truly had each other. Ilya had been soft, gentle- what he needed- but he fucking needed Ilya to let that go for a bit, to let loose. He knew Ilya was waiting for him to be ready and here- away from everything that was Canada. He was ready, he was needy. He fucking hoped Svetlana had earplugs.
“Yes, yes. Okay. Let’s get to seats. Going to be hell if we don’t go now.”
“They love you here.”
“Da. You- not so much.”
They’d burnt effigies of him in Boston- for nearly a decade and part of him panicked. But Ilya’s hand found his, short-circuiting the panic and he pressed a kiss to his lips. Hockey. It was just a hockey game- like a thousand before- but this time he got to enjoy it with Ilya. It was something he’d never been able to do before and he was fucking grateful that they were here, together- with the entire world knowing what together really meant for them.
“Shane- if too much- tell me. We leave.”
“I’m good. I’m with you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ilya settled on the couch- Cliff was stretched out watching the west coast game that was not even halfway through. He poured him a glass of vodka and passed it over. Shane had taken a couple of melatonin tonight- along with the Advil to help with the swelling. He was glad that Shane had finally agreed that he needed to get good rest right now- even if that meant some sort of sleep aid. His brain just couldn't shut off most nights and nothing worked. Meditation- he would up ruminating on how angry and hurt he was. Working out and a hot bath- it just woke him up. Even sex didn't put Shane in a place where he could truly let go. He fucking hated the men that had done this to his favorite person in the world.
"How is he?"
He thought about lying for a moment. He'd told Sveta the truth, but that was different. That wasn't another hockey player that could use this against Shane- even though he knew Cliff wouldn't. He knew Shane wanted to hold this close to the chest, but he fucking needed others. He needed other players to remind him how much he was adored throughout the league. Sure, some would hate him now- but Shane was one of the most likable players and he'd seen him help player after player during the All-Star games with various form issues. If Shane Hollander was going to beat you- he wanted you to be at your best. So with that bit of knowledge- Ilya took a deep breath and decided he could trust Cliff.
"Not good. Therapy is harder than he thought. Physio helps. He...he can't...he has panic attack every time he tries to go on the ice. Sleep is shit. He think...he thinks everyone will pity him and that this was his fault."
"Fuck. Fuck man. Therapist have any ideas?"
"Lots. Just try tackle ice first- Hunter agreed to try help."
"You told Scott Hunter?"
"Only about skating. Shane...Shane wants to be private."
That was an understatement. Shane had shared more with him, but it was only because they slept in the same bed. Nightmares woke him most nights- his body trying to run away from what was happening to him in his dreams. At first, he wouldn't even talk about it. Then his therapist suggested dream journals. Then his therapist suggested talking to him about it. Now, he unloaded the various horrors that his mind created while Ilya held him. It was by far the healthiest thing he could do, but it was fucking heartbreaking. His own sessions with Galina had centered around how bad some of the dreams were lately. Galina had helped, but they both were fairly sure that Shane was only ready to share this with him and his therapist. Not his family. Not some of his best friends. Just him. And it was a lot to be the person that Shane initially processed everything with. He wanted to be there, he would be there, but it was so hard to see Shane's mind torturing him most days.
"And you?"
"Not great, but good for Shane. Will be there for Shane."
"I know- you gotta take care of yourself too, Roz. Look- I can call once a week so you can just talk."
"I...okay...thanks, Marly."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
New York City- Late April
Kingfisher. He never really thought he’d visit. Least of all with Ilya- at least not until they retired. But Scott Hunter had suggested meeting here and he’d felt that it was foolish to push for somewhere more private. They didn’t have to move in the shadows anymore. He’d done this, they’d done this, to have each other like any normal couple. They weren’t going back into the shadows.
“Hollander. Rozanov. Come on back to the Admirals Section.”
The pair of glares they gave him- had all of them laughing. Yeah, Ilya had truly rubbed off on him over the years. He eyed Scott’s shoulders, the relief and relaxation there. Something that hadn’t existed before Kip, before he decided to let the world in. God he wanted that. He wanted a team that…that just saw the hockey and could separate the rest of him from that. He believed that would happen in Ottawa, but Montreal still loomed in his mind.
“You’re moving good, Rook. You owe that physio a bonus if this year goes well.”
“And my injury is old news?”
“Ilya-”
“No, no Rozanov. Your injury is fucking terrifying because it could happen to any of us. Any time we step on the ice. It’s an accident though.”
“I brought the plans Farah talked with your agent about. There’s a few things that…it can’t just be me or Ottawa. This can never happen again without guaranteed consequences.”
“That’s the fucking Hollander I know. Kip will suggest some…the burger and fries are great. Bulking season is upon us, boys. So get some food and let’s make this less awkward while I read- yeah this is a manifesto and I fucking love it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PLAYER DEMANDS DRAFT
Updated diversity, equality, and inclusion standards for MLH players, staff, and coaches at all levels.
Tiered reprimand system for violations based on the severity of violation.
Repeated violations can result in suspension without pay from the MLH- at all levels.
Violence against any players for reasons outlined in the updated guidelines will be investigated to the fullest extent by the MLH and law enforcement.
Repeated and severe violations can result in the loss of the privilege to be able to play for the MLH- in perpetuity.
Scott calmly sipped on the cocktail, Kip had settled at the table an hour or so ago. Talking with Rozanov, drawing as much of the anxiety out of him as possible. Hollander may have asked for the meeting, but Rozanov had reached out to tell him the truth. Shane hadn’t been on the ice since the incident, he couldn’t go into the Centaurs locker room. The crusade might be painted for others, but Shane needed this for himself. And fuck if he didn’t understand why.
He’d always been quiet, but this was more than normal. Like if this didn’t pass him- it had no chance. Like he’d forgotten who the fuck he was and he was not going to let that pass.
“You’re the player reps for Ottawa?”
“Yeah, Before I really socialize this…”
“Hollander- I’d support whatever you put in front of me. Because I respect the fuck out of you as a player. And what you do for hockey and now hat you’ll do for the little gay hockey player that’s struggling to find someone like them. But we need you to be you.”
“Hunter–”
“Why don’t you come skate? Knock off the rust. Talk with another team.”
Rozanov froze, but he kept focused on Hollander. None of this mattered if he didn’t- or couldn’t- get back on the ice. If they killed this part of Shane Hollander- Montreal won- those fucking assholes won. Shane slowly met his eyes and then gave a nod. He texted the group chat before Shane could change his mind to find a good time. The response was swift- 4pm- an hour after optional practice.
“4pm. Did you bring gear?”
“No- we can just do this some other–”
“Yes. In second bag- one you were mad about. Just skates though and the good gloves.”
He caught Kip’s look and he nodded. Less hockey players, more men that wouldn’t hurt Hollzy. Kip hated skating, but he could already see the offer on his face.
“Can I come? You owe me fucking lessons. I’m like Bambi still.”
“Up to you, Hollander.”
“Yeah. Yeah that would be good.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His custom skates sat in front of him, Ilya settled next to him. They’d thrown on extra layers for warmth, but had no other gear. Just a skate. Just a few hours on the ice. No locker room. A few sticks and pucks were in the corner, but neither Scott nor Kip had picked one up. None of the other Admirals were there…or the last time he looked no one was there. Carter Vaughn was skating towards him with a big smile on his face. Nothing but joy at a no consequences skate.
His hands shook as he put on the skates, muscle memory taking over when it felt like it was too much. Ice. Just the ice. He’d been skating since he was two. Ilya’s hand found his and pulled him onto the ice. His body took over, but it wasn’t his normal glide. The panic hit him as Ilya wrapped him up tight. He heard the smooth skate paths of Carter and Scott, Kip’s stuttering steps. He didn’t want anyone to see him this way. Hockey rinks were his second home and he was terrified to be in them right now.
“Do not touch a fucking puck, Vaughn or I’ll check you into next decade.”
“Hollzy-”
“It’s old dinosaur, skating Bambino, and Mr. All American here. And Russian menace who loves you. We can leave, we can go back to hotel.”
“How the fuck will I play?”
“Okay. Too much. Let’s go sit and watch–”
“No. Just…fuck Ilya. Give me a stick and line up the pucks.”
“Shane–
“Hollander–
“Hollzy–
“Rook–
He pulled out of Ilya’s arms and locked eyes with him. He wanted to get the anger and pain out, at least for this moment. And Ilya was right- this was the smallest audience he’d ever get to work through this. Ilya only nodded, then skated away to grab what he’d asked for. Vaughn pushed over a goal, Scott placed pucks, between lapping Kip- who seemed to be the only rational one here today.
It wasn’t his stick. It was taped in the worst fucking way and he grimaced. It would do. It would have to do. They cleared a path for him and he let his body fly. Shot after shot after shot. He looped around the rink- looking for Ilya- who started feeding him passes. When he tired, Scott jumped in, then Carter–then back to Ilya.
His lungs screamed. His muscles protested–but with each shot something clicked back into place. Hockey. This was the hockey he absolutely loved. This was why he played the sport. He slammed a shot home and skidded to a stop. His hands shook as Ilya passed the stick to Hunter and then pressed a kiss to his lips. His cheeks were wet. Crying. He’d been crying- how long…the smile from Ilya let him know it had been awhile.
“I can do it.”
“Da. Da, I think you can, Shanechka.”
“There he fucking is. Good to see your feet back under you, Rook.”
“Glad you can’t still be an MLH cash cow, Hollander! It’s the only thing you’re fucking good for now!”
Roger Crowell. God, he’d know that voice anywhere. He’d never liked the man, but as the commissioner he garnered a certain amount of respect. Until he’d treated Scott Hunter like shit. Until he heard the new stance as the Montreal player rep. Now he knew that he was much of the problem with the MLH.
“Ilya- don’t. Not yet.”
“Fine.”
“A change is coming, commissioner. You can get with the times or be overtaken by them.”
He didn’t miss the shit eating grin on Ilya’s face as he spun away from Crowell. He had a plan to make the league pay and if he knew his partner- Ilya had a plan to make those that personally wronged Shane pay in different ways. They thought he’d stop him. They could not be more fucking wrong.
I posit that Prime Shane Hollander does not so much have “an ass” as he has a truly improbable mass of lower back-glute-hamstring-thigh muscles that are to be thanked for outstripping all the long-legged players in every speed contest on the ice ever.
This is not just “what a fine ass” in passing. This is 100% Beefcake Territory. It is not sculpted like a Greek statue. It is built like a Mack Truck. This is the inspiration for bulldozers. There is so much going on. Is it picturesque? Only for anatomy and physiology textbooks, probably under “proportional and healthy bodybuilder’s musculature” or something.
This is not your average aesthetic specimen. This is not your sleek little thoroughbred racehorse. This is a thick-ass draft horse who could pull a brick house off its foundations.
This is a 5’10” hockey player that can go 0 to 30 miles per hour in two seconds flat.
His barbell squats are the stuff of nightmares.
Nobody wants to work out next to him. He uses half the plates in the gym for his “easy day” workouts. It’s worse if he’s bulking.
Every single set of muscles has a spot on his workout list. It is an unending cycle of every quarter getting leveled up, like the video game psychos who level up every stat at the same rate for the whole game instead of focusing on the “important” stuff first.
His hip adductors and abductors are of a size that should be studied, and their flexibility on paper should be a joke, but his yoga absolutely is not.
Resistance training? Those are not exercise bands, Hollander. Those are gaskets for an fifty-ton industrial vehicle. Where did you even get them? Is it even legal for you to have them?
He gets bullied into participating in the “crack a watermelon with your thighs” challenge, and he makes it look so easy.
Box jumps? Mister five-foot-ten does a disgusting sixty-six inch jump.
That “fight” with Scott? The only reason Shane “Thunder-Thighs” Hollander moved at all when his teammates pulled him away was because he hadn’t set his skates and decided he wasn’t moving, actually. And what do you mean having skates on means you can be moved across the ice easy when someone wants to move you? Nobody ever told him that. Shane Hollander sets his skates and that’s the end of the negotiation. Between his beefcake-ness and skill in wearing knife-boots, forget moving him if he doesn’t want to be moved.
(This is not done. I just… got tired… I’m adding more all the time.)
SHANE HOLLANDER, MLH STAR, DIES FROM ACCIDENTAL OVERDOSE (click to read more)
That’s the headline Ilya reads on his Google alerts when he’s home alone. More and more articles start coming out, his phone pinging with different versions of the same sentence over and over. Every website claiming this horrible, twisted lie that Shane Hollander is dead.
It has to be a lie after all. This must be wrong. They’re all surely misreporting things and it’ll turn out that Hollander is alive, safe in his boring home in Montreal. Ilya’s confident there will be a statement made soon but he’s too impatient to wait for that.
Sure, they haven’t spoken since the day Shane fled from his home, leaving Ilya to clean up half-eaten tuna melts and their mixed come off his chest.
And Ilya didn’t reach out after Shane got a nasty hit in San Jose a few weeks ago— one that left Shane with a fractured collarbone and concussion. He tortured himself with the footage and drafted an “are you okay?” text but he never sent it. He had been a coward.
He wishes more than anything that he sent it now.
He calls Shane. It’s 8PM in Boston, which means it’s 8PM in Montreal and even Shane isn’t lame enough to be in bed so early.
No answer to his call. No answer to his texts. Nothing.
He calls and calls and calls and fucking calls but there’s nothing. No response, no answer. Not even a ‘read’ receipt. Shane isn’t cruel. He would call him. Even with this fractured something that they are (or were), he would have reached out. He would have heard about the news by now and called Ilya back or texted to say it was fake. That he was fine. That it was idiots being idiots and talking about something they knew nothing of.
So why the fuck is Shane not answering? The only reason he wouldn’t is if… is if…
Ilya doesn’t know what he’s doing until he’s in his car and headed to Montreal. His phone dies halfway through the trip from attempts to get in contact with Shane. Still nothing. He’s in a state of delirium when he crosses the border into Canada, with no plan other than making it to Shane’s house.
If Shane’s alive, he’ll be in his home and he’ll answer the door. And if not… Ilya doesn’t want to think that far.
Shane’s lounging on his couch, half asleep and frustrated at the world. He’s still reeling from getting the worst, most frantic phone call from his parents earlier that day.
And all because he’d gone to the hospital earlier. There had been unforeseen conflicts with his medication and some supplements he’s taking, something that risked leading to an overdose if not caught as early as it was.
Somehow that afternoon trip led to someone violating HIPPA and even more confusingly, led to quite a bit of the population mistaking him for being dead.
For once Shane’s thankful his mom talked him into keeping a landline when buying a home. “You never know what may happen Shane,” she had said.
Wasn’t that the truth? The whole reason for the urgent visit was because he got dizzy that morning, his vision and balance going off kilter, and he had dropped his phone, breaking it beyond repair. It was added to his list of annoyances with today. If not for his parents and Hayden having his home phone number… they might have believed the news for much longer than they had to.
It’s 1AM when furious knocking wakes him up. He must have fallen asleep down stairs. Shane’s groggy before it really hits him that someone is at his front door. No one in their right mind visits at one a.m.
He gets up and peeks through the peep hole and swings the door open before he even knows he’s going to do it because it’s—
Ilya.
He looks like shit. Eyes red-rimmed, hair like he went through a wind tunnel. He’s wearing flannel pajama pants, slides, and a sweatshirt. He looks like he just rolled out of bed.
He doesn’t get any words out before Ilya knocks the breath out of him by collapsing into him. It’s a hug but feels a bit like a tackle too. If Shane weren’t as athletic or as on guard at seeing Ilya, he may have fallen backwards.
It takes several moments to register Ilya is shaking in his arms.
No. Ilya is crying in his arms.
Shane’s brain searches for anything that would make this confusing thing make sense. He begins to think it may be a dream he has yet to wake up from but then it hits him.
The article. His phone being broken. His parents had called everyone they thought was important.
This is the story that got the most TLC last week- sooooo- an extra chapter earlier in the week for it. Hope you enjoy!
If you prefer AO3- you can take a look at it over there.
She knocked on Ilya’s door and waited, rubbing her hands together. Where the hell was he? He never kept her waiting like this- especially in December. The door was thrown open and she felt her frustration disappear and terror gripped her chest. Cliff. What the fuck was Cliff doing here?
“He took a few good licks last night. Good you’re here to watch over him.”
She knew she’d seen him in Vegas- knew that Ilya gave him hell every time he got drunk about the two of them getting together. But she didn’t remember much past that. She’d also been drinking to forget that night. She thought that seeing him wouldn’t be a big deal- that enough time had passed. She’d been wrong. She’d been so very, very wrong about how she still felt about him.
He moved to go past her and she grabbed his arm, she felt him tense and then relax. She’d fucked up again. He must have said something to her that night that she couldn’t remember that actually meant something to him and she’d fucked up.
“I…I was so drunk that night- I didn’t remember you walking us up. Ilya had to tell me about it the next morning. What…what did I say to you?”
“Fuck, Lana. You…you told me you got scared and I told you to sober up and come find me the next morning- if you wanted to talk. I didn’t realize you were that…shit…Lana…I thought…”
“Who the fuck is Lana, Marly?”
Ilya stumbled up behind Cliff- one look at him let her know that he had not caught the full conversation- only the second time he’d called her Lana. How did they play this off? She should have told Cliff that Lana was off limits years ago, but he just gave her a smile and turned to face their friend. The look on Ilya’s face told her that he had put it together. He had figured it out and he was furious at her- not at Cliff. Fuck. Cliff must have mentioned something about what had happened- even if he had kept her out of it. Even if he had never said her name. She knew he wouldn’t, she knew that he respected her boundary that Ilya not know.
“I know that Sveta is not Lana. Cannot be- she would not be so stupid to...”
“Roz- leave it. Call if you need an extra set of hands.”
He reached over and gave Ilya a hug and she tried to haul in a steady breath. There was nothing between them. There had never been anything between them and that is what she’d tell Ilya. He could have his Jane- she could have those couple of years with Seven before terror had gripped her heart tight and made her push him away. She was surprised when he stepped to her and wrapped her up- something must have betrayed her, betrayed how close she was to coming apart. There was so much she wanted to say to him and to know she’d missed her chance…she didn’t know what to do.
“Call, please.”
A whisper, her eyes met his and she forced in a breath. Please. Fucking please. If he had said anything else she might have been able to ignore him, might have continued to ignore that pull in heart when she saw him. But he’d said please. And the look in his eyes said he would listen. She didn’t deserve for him to listen, but God, she wanted a chance to at least explain it to him. To maybe find a way to friendship. She finally nodded before he gave her a final squeeze and then headed over to his car. The car she didn’t recognize in the driveway.
“Ilyusha…I…”
“Sveta, shto…what happened? You can tell me- he…you…if there was ever anything- it never had to be a secret from me. I…fuck…I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t…Rome? Is this what happened in Rome? Did Marly do something to you?”
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Not him. I…please Ilya…I’ve fucked up so much- let it go.”
Even in his state, he pulled her into his chest and she settled there- hearing the door close behind her. She did not want to talk with Ilya about this- did not want to explain that she had gotten scared and essentially ran away. Did not want to explain that she wanted to actually spend time- real time- with Cliff. And that she had run away as hard and as fast as she could after that realization.
“Let’s get you sleep. Jet lag is bitch.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sounds good.”
*******************
Svetlana stared down at her phone- at the contact that she’d never deleted or blocked, but had ignored for years. She opened the last message from Seven- a meme of Ilya that they’d laughed at for far too long and too hard. God she missed him, she missed this. She’d also been the one that had run. The one that had ruined this- them. Except they’d never been a ‘them’, that was far too formal of a label.
She walked onto the back porch, away from Ilya, away from the only person that could read her. She wasn’t sure what she wanted- but avoiding Cliff was not going to work. Not with Ilya being one of his best friends. The phone rang and rang- maybe she’d missed him. Maybe this was the sign to let it go.
“Lana. Hi. Sorry- on a run.”
“Hi.”
“Roz good?”
“Yeah.”
Silence. How did she even start this? She’d called. She wanted to reconnect. She made a choice and she had no idea where to even start right now.
“You want to maybe do dinner- my place? No pressure, but…”
“I shouldn’t have even–”
“Bull shit. Bull shit, Lana. We don’t have to talk or meet or do anything, but don’t fucking pretend with me. We’ve danced around this for years- do you want to keep dancing like this?”
“No.”
And it was that simple. She didn’t want to continue like this with him, but she had no idea how to let down her walls. That was what scared her so much with him, he wouldn’t let the walls stay up or maybe her walls just wanted to fall with him. She just never knew what would come out with him and it terrified her.
“Neutral ground?”
“I know a place. Let me get reservations and I’ll text you. Lana…Lana-it’ll be good to see you.”
“I may not–”
“However you are, Lana. It’s just pasta and a bit of wine. Roz can go fuck himself if he pushes you. This is whatever you want to do and talk about. I’ll shut his shit down.”
Ilya meant well. Ilya saw something she had seen, but refused to feel; refused to acknowledge. There was a part of her past that Ilya knew, but they didn’t talk about it. They didn’t talk about the ways that Russia restricted her, even though she was born here. Culturally, she was Russian. And culturally, she had lived a life that even Ilya didn’t understand.
Every deliberate choice she made that moved her away from her parents' ideal cost her. Business woman- not trophy wife. A traveller- the barest of roots in Boston. Her last phone call with her mother had been a lecture about when she’d finally settle down with Ilya. It didn’t matter that Ilya had Jane and that there was no real interest in his part- there hadn’t been for years. It was the duty; the expectation- pas on the good hockey genes.
“It…it’s not Ilya.”
“Okay. Maybe we start there.”
“That’s fucking vulnerable, Seven.”
“It’s an offer. No pressure- Mercucci’s at 7 pm tomorrow?”
“How…”
“You blanked for awhile there.”
“Yes. Yes, Cliff. Okay. Thank you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He looked at the small bouquet of Peruvian lilies. He wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do, but she’d sounded so scared, so uncertain, so unlike the woman he remembered. Or maybe that woman was jus the version he’d been allowed to see. Carefree. Smoking hot. But if she wanted to let him in–let him see it all, he was game. He was fucking there for it.
He hadn’t talked to Roz about this– about anything with Sveta. He’d heard of Lana, read a message or two, but if Roz was going to learn about them…whatever they had almost been–it wasn’t his business to tell. After yesterday…she needed a safe space with him and he’d be that. He would completely be that if she even wanted him in her life.
He spotted her. Black, backless dress, heels- her armor. What he’d do to see her in on of his large t-shirts again. No make up- just her. But that was not tonight. Tonight was him in a button down and slacks and her in a little black dress- partially playing their parts. He wondered if she could break away from that, if she couldn’t that would be fine. He just wanted her in his life somehow.
“Mr. Marleau- so good to see you! It’s been months- is your party…”
He reached for Lana’s hand and stopped. His hand moved to the small of her back, a tentative smile, but her body relaxed. The unconscious part of her trusted him- he doubted that this was a trust issue- it was something else. Oh he hoped it was something else.
“Hey Lana. They’ve got my table.”
“You bring girls here often, yes?”
“Not exactly. Unless you mean nieces, nephews, in-laws, parents. Roz.”
He hadn’t thought of this being the place he took those that were permanently in his life. This safe spot. Where he could just be and knew he wouldn’t see himself in the tabloids the next day. He wanted that safety tonight and Lana deserved it too.
“Flowers?”
“I…they looked like you.”
A smile. Perhaps the first he had seen from her in years, at least that was aimed at him. He gave one freely back as she took the flowers and cradled them to her. Like no one had ever done this. Fucking hell- he thought that Roz, at least, would do this from time to time.
They settled at the table- a look out over the city, but tucked away from the world. Just them. The sommelier brought over his normal wine and he nodded to Lana- she paused, asked a question he didn’t hear and then nodded her agreement. Then he waited. She was enough like Roz that this would only work for her pace- that must be the Russian in them both.
Her eyes went down to the table, back up to his, to her wine, to him, the view- to him. Always back to him. He reached out and grabbed her hand, slow circles on the back of her hand. He wasn’t sure what to offer other than a steady connection and some sort of patience.
“Can…can we try being friends?”
“Yeah, Lana. Absolutely. Wanna start from the beginning?”
“You…you would?”
“Yeah, Lana. Look I’m sorry if I–”
“Cliff- no. This is me- all me. And if I want…I want.”
Her eyes sparkled and he reached up to catch a tear. Fucking hell. He hadn’t realized this actually weighed on her at all. Two and a half years. This had sat on her all this time and he wanted to make it go away, so bad.
“Hello, I’m Cliff Marleau.”
A hand outstretched and an invitation. She closed her eyes, then nodded to herself. A true smile- one that showed her underlying emotions, then she took his hand.
The newest chapter of the Scott Hunter Serial Killer AU has hit the streets. It's still weird to me to be like 'I hope you enjoy the Game Changer Universe Meets Dexter stories' but ya know...it is oddly satisfying to write- so just...here it is.
If you prefer AO3- you can take a look at this chapter here.
MLH combine. After his parents died, he hadn’t been sure that he would make it here. He hadn’t been sure that it would even be possible- being competitive at hockey took a small fortune. Somehow, he’d gotten a scholarship to continue with his training and he’d taken it and run. He also used to hide his two biggest secrets: he was gay and he was a serial killer. Both of which were parts of himself that he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at too closely. He had a moral code with his kills- only those that harmed others. Only those that took more from the world than they gave.
Two days. Two days he had been poked and prodded- he took a physical every year to be able to play hockey. He just wanted to fucking play. This afternoon- he’d been cleared, but the doctor that cleared him, he swore that the prostate exam bordered on assault. And as he waited for his ride back to the hotel- the doctor approached him and he gritted his teeth. The man was the new doctor for the U.S. junior’s team and as his hand ran up and down his back he forced a smile. He’d play this game. And he would fucking win.
They climbed into the car together- Dr. Rosa gave an address that he knew wasn’t his hotel, but that was fine. He knew they were likely going to this man’s home or his rental for the week. He doubted that they put the doctor up in the same hotel as the athletes. He let the man rub his thigh, allowed him to let his guard down. If this was just a gay encounter- he’d go with it- hell, he might even enjoy it. He enjoyed sex with men far more than women- had stopped having sex with women over the last year as he realized that it felt wrong. It felt like a chore and that was not fair to the women or to himself.
But that was not this- no- he had heard the rumors before he got here. A couple of his friends that were still on the junior’s team had made remarks about how they didn’t like being in his care. How they wished that they’d hire someone else. And he’d decided he’d help them with that when the MLH sent out the list of what healthcare providers would be available at the combine. He wasn’t sure he’d sold it well enough with Dr. Rosa, until his hand grazed his dick and he ground his teeth together. No consent. Just something the man took.
He followed Dr. Rosa up to the door. He’d seen the signs for Standley Lake on their way in. He loved to be near a body of water. The door swang open and he let Dr. Rosa settle. Place his things in their places, lock the door behind them. He placed his backpack safely on top of the dining room table. A quick glance around the room and he knew it was definitely a rental- not this man’s home.
“You are the prettiest prospect I’ve seen in ages. I was hard as soon as you showed up- man I wish I’d gotten this job a few years ago- taking your virginity would have been so sweet.”
“And you’ve done that? You’ve forced the junior team–”
“No, no. Never forced. They always liked it. The boys get hard just like you did in the cab, just like you are now. Give in to it, Hunter. You know you want to.”
He smiled and then he struck. Dr. Rosa didn’t stand a chance. Quick and efficient. Punch to the side of the head, aggressive crack of the neck. The man fell to the floor like a ragdoll and he waited for a few minutes, checked the man’s pulse and it slowly disappeared. Good. It was clean and quick. He didn’t enjoy torture- he did enjoy knowing that the world was rid of one more mother fucker that shouldn’t exist. Dr. Rosa had made the list.
He went through his post kill ritual, pulling on the well worn gloves. There was a rental car in the garage- a surprise that Dr. Rosa had decided a better way to pick a victim was by not having a vehicle. He supposed that somewhere in the man’s conscience- he thought that it was more acceptable to give the illusion of a decision. Scott knew that there was no fucking decision for most of the juniors- that Dr. Rosa could stop their hockey careers in its tracks.
He picked up the body and placed it in the trunk. Folding the man, breaking more bones as it was necessary for him to fit. If breaking his neck hadn’t finished him, the fractures to his spine were finishing the job. He found the keys to the rental and settled. Standley Lake- preferably close to the damn. And as the sun set- he smiled at the timing. He’d have plenty of time to do what he wanted and get back to the hotel. It would be a bit of a walk back into town, back towards where it would be acceptable for a cab to pick him up- but this was perfect. This was just what he needed to start the combine.
*****************
“Hunter! Fucking hell man. We’re fucking here. You ready to get on the ice tomorrow?”
Ryan Price gave him a bear hug and he smiled at the twenty year old Canadian prospect. They’d run into each other a lot over the years and while he’d seen Ryan’s anxiety from time to time- their friendship was different. There was something in Ryan that called to his soul. Something that was similar to him that he could not exactly place.
“You’re cleared?”
“Yeah. But listen, the fucking creep doctor didn’t show today. I heard them talking about how he didn’t even call out and his rental is empty.”
“I guess it’s a good thing we all got cleared yesterday.”
“Fuck yeah it is. See you on the ice man. And Hunter…go kill it.”
He smiled to himself as he pulled on his socks and then his skates. Each deliberate move was soothing. Ryan had clocked the man as a creep as well and he had more evidence that hadn’t seen the light of day. He slowly retaped his stick and then loosened his shoulders. It was just hockey now. It was just fucking hockey.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Current Day- New York 2018
“After his disappearance- a half dozen members of the junior team came forward with what he had done. They felt safe to say something then- when their future careers were safe. When he couldn’t do anything to them. I wish I had spotted him earlier. Wish I could have done more.”
“You…you feel no remorse for what you did?”
“Not a fucking bit. He had two young sons- I guess a tiny part of me felt bad that they wouldn’t have a father. Then again- they were probably in line to be his victims at some point. So no. No remorse. The man deserved to die.”
Kip let out a deep breath, the earnestness in Scott’s voice. He knew he wasn’t lying. He knew that he had just listened to what had happened, even if Scott glossed over the more gruesome details. They’d never found Dr. Rosa’s body and he was sure that after all the years that it was gone. Broken into pieces and scattered in the waterways near Standley Lake. He swirled what was left of his smoothie and reminded himself that being professional was the only thing that kept him in this room.
He still wasn’t sure why Scott was talking- why he was telling him anything. He had been sure that he would lawyer up- refuse to talk at all when he saw the stack of folders. He almost told him to do that, but each time their eyes met- his stomach coiled. He wanted to come clean with him, truly clean and this might be the last chance that he got to do that. And he’d be damned if he didn’t listen to every moment. If he judged him before he knew what led to each murder, although the look on Scott’s face at this file told him that they were woefully wrong about the number of murders he’d committed.
How- the fuck- had he wound up in love with a prolific serial killer? And one of the kindest souls he had ever known. It didn’t make sense. But hearing about his first victim, what the man had done. He could guess a pattern in all of Scott’s victims. A pattern that was in such a morally gray area that he didn’t know how he was supposed to react. How he was supposed to walk away from this man and pretend that he didn’t know his soul outside of these walls.
“Grady- a word.”
Scott settled back in the chair, offering his hands up to be secured back to the table. He fucking hated this, but he did it. He secured the handcuffs and walked out of the interrogation room. He was met with a cacophony of faces- federal agents, federal prosecutors, detectives, city prosecutors- the full gambit and his supervisor had a smile on his face.
“He’s warmed up to you quite quickly. I think we stick with you until he clams up.”
“Did you check the information about Rosa?”
“Yeah. Yeah- he wasn’t lying.”
“Okay. So he’s telling me the truth- which means that this…this wasn’t his first kill.”
The room went silent and he let that hang there. The investigators needed to truly go to work. He doubted that Scott was going to offer him a list. Not here. Not when it had ramifications. If he had figured this out in the privacy of Scott’s apartment- that would be one thing. But it was here. On the record- where each confirmed kill would add to what they were willing to put in a plea deal.
“We’ll dig. You keep him talking.”
“Order lunch. Just copy whatever you get for me, for him. I think being kind is going to go a long way here. He wants the guilt off his conscience.”
He didn’t elaborate, but the room moved. He should walk away from this case, recuse himself and let Scott rot. It is what all of his training told him to do. But his heart. His heart told him that he couldn’t do that- that they were in this together. That there was only one person Scott Hunter trusted enough to be this vulnerable with and it was the man that he’d loved for the last three years. The secret that they had both kept and held so tightly was why they would get a full confession.
“Do not interrupt until he’s done with this next one. Then bring in lunch. Bathroom break- the whole nine.”
“You think he’ll keep talking?”
Kip let out a sigh. Scott was going to talk. Scott could never lie to him. Once he knew something, the words just flooded out. It was one of the things that he loved most about him. And one of the things that scared him at this moment. He had to dig just the right amount, apply just the right pressure- but he also knew that doing that was going to tear the both of them apart. This final secret of Scott Hunter.
If you had a *thought* that Cliff and Svetlana would be healthier than Hollanov when it comes to their 'run away from each other phase'...mind the gap here. MIND THE GAP.
If you prefer AO3- you can find this chapter here.
He gripped his beer bottle a bit tighter than normal. Svetlana Vetrova danced across the floor with Roz and he forced his face to neutral.
Two and a half years. It had been two and a half years since she’d run from him on that hotel rooftop in Rome and he still didn’t understand what the fuck had happened. The few conversations he’d had with Roz let him know that she’d never brought it up to him either. Whatever it was- whatever had sent her running was something she kept tucked away from everyone. And maybe he was a sucker for punishment, but he’d give it another shot if she indicated even in the slightest that she was interested. Fuck buddies was fine. He didn’t need more than that. Even if he wanted it. God he wanted it. He wanted her.
“Marly, man. She’s off limits.”
“I know. Just. Fuck. I’m heading out.”
And he walked out of another club. Another night where Svetlana danced with Roz and he fought with himself to not watch. To not wonder what the fuck had happened. He hadn’t told her what he’d started to feel. He hadn’t done anything that night that was out of the norm for them and yet- she’d walked away. And he took the clue and let her. It didn’t make it any fucking easier to watch her with one of their mutual best friends several times a year. Never a glance his way, eyes only on a man that he was fairly sure was in a steady relationship.
He nearly made it to the elevator before he heard Roz yelling his name. Damn it. He was wasted, he could hear it Roz’s voice and he knew where this was headed. He just wasn’t sure that Svetlana knew where this was going. He had a feeling that Roz had never confronted Svetlana about what had happened that week.
“Marly! Wait! This is Sveta. You’d like her and she’d like you- if she’d ever let herself like anyone but me.”
He caught the shock as it rippled across Svetlana’s features, but he just looped Roz’s arm over his shoulder and walked the two of them into the elevator. It was time for Roz to crash in his hotel room and sleep this off. He glanced back at Svetlana and held the door open- sure that she was staying with him. There was no point to pretend otherwise and maybe a petty part of him wanted her to see this. Wanted her to see the conversations that Roz had with him every time he got drunk for the last two and a half years. How Svetlana would be good for him. How he’d support it. How he wished they would just work it out. There was nothing to work out and there never had been, but not in Roz’s drunk mind.
“Sveta. Sveta, lyubimaya…give him a chance. I know you got scared but Cliff is a good guy. The best. Like my Jane.”
“We switching to Russian, now Roz? How much did he fucking drink?”
“Don’t look at me. He started before I got here. I can get him to the room, Marly.”
“Like hell. This is what he’s done every time he gets black out wasted since…I’ll help you get him settled and then I’ll go.”
She nodded and settled on the other side of Roz. He kept his eyes forward- not seeking hers. Just focused on what he had promised. Get Roz back to his hotel room, tuck him in, set him up with some tylenol and water for tomorrow morning, and then head back to his own room a few doors down. He’d push from his mind how many times Roz had taken out his cell phone and shown him Svetlana. Shown him, his best friend and said that she would be good for him. Said that he should go after her. It was something he never told Roz about when he was sober- he knew how bad he’d feel if he knew how many times he’d try to set the two of them up when he was drunk.
“You…you need to see newest Sveta pictures. She’s so good for you, Marly. So good.”
“I know. I know, Roz. I don’t need more pictures to know that.”
“Why don’t you trust me? Why don’t you call her? I gave you number.”
“She…she made it clear where she stands, Roz. I’m respecting that man and sober you knows that. Drunk you is so mad that your grand plan fell through.”
“He…he do this often?”
“Only every time he gets this drunk, Lana. It’s fine. Really. He just wants you to be happy- he hasn't even gotten to the part where he guilt trips me yet.”
The elevator doors slid open and he got Roz moving, Svetlana trailing behind them. He didn’t risk another look at her. He’d fucked his way through half of Boston trying to forget her, trying to forget whatever had started between them and then short circuited. The only way he survived these nights was not interacting with her and leaving so early that Roz asked him what happened to him the next morning. Staying this long had been a mistake, but he fucking wanted more than a few minutes out with his friends for once when she was here.
“Sveta- whatever he did- we can fix. Marly is good man- whatever he did–”
“Roz- stop fucking talking. Just stop.”
“It wasn’t him who did something, Ilyusha. Cl…Marly wasn’t the one who did anything wrong.”
He froze. They were still a half dozen doors down from Roz’s room and he stared around him at the woman on his other side. He hadn’t done anything? Then what the fuck had happened? She was currently studying her hands- while avoiding both of their stares. And that…yup…that was Roz’s bitchiest glare on full display. The one he wore when someone had done something so astronomically stupid that words failed him. He couldn’t believe that Roz judged this as one of those times.
He forced himself to start walking as Roz began rambling again. This time at Svetlana. In Russian. In a tone that he could only judge as condescending. Fucking hell. He was just supposed to be getting Roz back to his room so he could sleep this off- not causing a rift in one of his oldest friendships.
Svetlana opened the door in front of them- Roz not pausing in his torrent of Russian opinions. If looks could kill, Roz would be dead at this moment. And as he deposited him in the bed- Cliff realized what the layout was and he felt the smallest bit of anger spike. He knew about Jane. He knew that Roz was head over heels for that woman and that woman alone- how the fuck was she okay with this?
He made quick work of stripping Roz down to his boxer briefs. The man was a fucking furnace and he’d learned over the years that if he went to sleep in anything more than this- that he’d wake up still drunk and definitely break every lamp in this room. Or worse if his shirt got caught. He felt Svetlana’s eyes on him, but he kept his focus. Get Roz tucked in- get out of the room. Tucked in, out of the room. Tucked. In. Out. Of. The. Room.
“Cliff- I…”
“Don’t, Lana. You don’t owe me an explanation.”
He turned and made his way towards the door. He was not having this conversation with her- not now, not ever. He might still want her more than anyone in th world, but it was a little late for an explanation after two and a half years.
“I got fucking scared. I realized that I actually liked you and I…bolting was easier. Or I thought it was. I’ve been running ever since.”
“Sober up, Lana. If you still want to talk in the morning- I’ll listen.”
Guess who's back? Back again...more chapters to drop across my other fics this weekend- but for now- another Forced Rivalry chapter is up over on AO3!
Jacob checked his refrigerator one last time and let out a sigh. He’d stocked the things that he knew Dima liked, but he still felt like he was forgetting something. Tonight was different, even if he pretended it wasn’t, they both knew that it was.
Ottawa had rolled into town a couple of hours ago and Dima had texted him a little over a half hour ago that he was on his way over. They’d thought about meeting for dinner somewhere to build their friendship off the ice, but it had been two months. He didn’t trust that he wouldn’t kiss Dima the moment he saw him. So, his apartment was it for tonight.
A knock at the door and he took a deep breath before opening it. On Dima’s last visit he’d given him a key to get up to his apartment and a parking pass for the garage- it was far easier than going down to get him each time and it protected Dima in the event that anyone recognized him. He opened the door to find Dima clad in grey sweatpants and a Centaur pullover. He pulled him into the apartment and pinned him to the door. They tangled together, before Dima went to his knees and he stared down at him. How was this real life? How did he get to have this with the guy he’d fantasized about since he was fifteen on his knees in front of him, his hands pushing his sweats down greedily?
“D…Dimochka…I want to fuck you- not just a blow job.”
“And if I want give blow job first and then fucking?”
“Holy hell, D. I…I don’t know if I can…are you able to stay tonight?”
“Da. Night game tomorrow. Just have to be at morning practice.”
He grabbed the back of Dima’s head and rocked his hips forward. Their mutual groans had his head tilted back, hitting the door. As much as he wanted to try to find a pace, there was no pace. There was no rhythm. There was just Dima and him and his body giving in to everything that Dima did to him. He loved giving in to him. He loved being able to turn off and just be and this was the only person he’d ever experienced this with. His previous flings were nothing- NOTHING- compared to this.
“Fuck, Dima. Fuuuuck.”
He lasted only a handful more seconds and as he tried to pull away- Dima held him firm. He felt him swallowing around him and he felt Dima holding him upright as even his legs started to go weak. He’d never experienced this before- didn’t know that this was something he could experience. Dima licked him shaft to tip and then gently tucked him back into his pants, before he stood, wrapping Jake’s legs around him as he picked him up.
“Holy hell that was hot. Dima- I’m sorry that I…”
“Why be sorry? Was good for you, yes? Was good for me too.”
Dima pressed another kiss to his lips as they walked through his apartment. He’d been here a few times, but he was surprised at how deftly he moved through the space. Jake found himself being placed on the counter and they continued to make out. Four months. It had been four months since the draft and he didn’t know what to do with being able to do this regularly. He may have told the world he was gay- but it had never been like this. He had never been with someone so freely.
“Get out of upstairs head, Jakey.”
“How…I…give me a second. This- us- I dreamed that we could be this and now…it’s so fast and so real and I’m fucking terrified- for…for you, Dimochka. What if we’re not careful enough? What if something happens to…what if someone in Russia finds out and…”
“I know. Scared too- but not scared here. Not scared with you. Kova- if I let fear live here…I will not ruin this, us, with that fear.”
Those clear brown eyes settled him and he nodded. He understood and he agreed. They could not be scared with each other. They couldn’t act like this was anything other than the goodness that it was for the both of them- even if that idea also terrified him. He expected Dima to hold back, to not give fully, to just mess with him and he was alright with that. What he didn’t think would happen is the softness and fondness he saw in his eyes. It wasn’t just him that was pushing against what his heart was feeling but he was so scared to show it. So scared to fully show it.
“I thought we said we’d go slow.”
“Not sure how. Not with you.”
“Oh thank fuck, Dima. What…what was…Kova?”
“Nickname. Russian nickname.”
“Like Dimochka?”
“Yeah, but for Jacob or Yakov. Are…are you okay…”
“Please fucking call me that again.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dima walked into team breakfast- he’d arrived back at the hotel a half hour ago- looking like he’d just returned from a run for his teammate’s benefit. His roommate had only given him a shake of his head and an approving smile. He wondered for a moment if it would be this approving if he knew who he had been with, who he had spent the last twelve hours with. His linemates motioned him over to the table they were already settled at, both Bood and Haas chatting about the scouting reports. He felt bad for a moment about not reviewing film, about not taking a better look at what they were up against. But it was Jake. And while he expected that he would not necessarily play against him, he knew enough about his playing style and how well it fit in with Toronto.
“Morning run went well?”
“Da. Very good.”
He felt his cheeks blush a bit. His morning run being where he fucked Jake senseless, his body still vibrating from it, from being with him. He placed his plate down and slid into a chair- the glances he got from the older players ran down his spine. Fuck. They’d noticed.
“Jackie? Is Jackie in Toronto?”
“Maybe.”
Hollander plopped down at their table and he gave him a confused look, but his smile was easy and then he remembered. This had been his line until this year. In years past he had played with both of them and he was sure that these were two of the people he was most comfortable with. He did not want extra attention from Hollander- one of the few people that could likely figure him out in only a few moments.
“You’re gonna have to learn how to balance it, Savchenko. She go to college here?”
“Something like that.”
“Everybody feel good about the plan for tonight? Gagnon has a nasty forehand- you went up against it plenty in juniors.”
“Da. Is good player.”
“He’s your fucking rival.”
“Luca–”
“Haas- he is friend- when we don’t play against each other. We went to same camps year after year. Little hard to hate someone that pushes you to be better for long.”
“So you know how to negate his forehand?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good- you’ll show me at morning practice. Ilya, too.”
He looked down at his oatmeal and just nodded, a smile lit up his face. Jake might not like it when he found out that he told them his tell, but he was sure that Toronto was asking him similar questions about him. They knew how to deal with most of their teams- but they were the rookies and they were the ones that knew each other best. Tonight was going to be a great game.
****************
‘Kova. Good game- great to see you. See you in eight days.’
‘You had our number tonight. Pay back is a bitch.’
‘Like to see you try.’
He loaded onto the bus, tucked his phone into his pocket. They started a roadie tonight- with a flight to Nashville- where they would arrive in the wee hours of the morning. He plopped down in an empty seat- he wanted space and he would take it for a few moments. Rozanov dropped into the seat next to him, a laugh and a joke tossed to someone else on the bus. For once, he would have preferred the quieter of the Hollander-Rozanov pairing.
“Natushka doing well?”
“Da. She mentioned going to trivia night with friends. Sounds like she is good at university.”
“She’s great at trivia. World history knowledge is clutch.”
“Shto takoy?”
“Came to staff trivia night. Not sure who invited her. Seemed to have good time, looked like had real fun.”
He stared at Rozanov. What did this mean? Why was his mother hanging out with Centaurs’ staff and not people from the university? She was an academic- it made sense she would be great at trivia. It did not make sense to him that she would just go without an invite. And if it wasn’t Rozanov or Hollander…who was his mom friends with? It was dangerous for her to make friends that were not directly related to her work- especially friends that his father might view as a threat.
“My father…he…”
“I know. She’s in Canada and we’re discreet. She’s safe to have real friends here, Dima.”
“You don’t know my father- his reach- what he can do to her–”
“Ya znayu. And I’ll make sure anyone that gets close to her knows as well. But I need to make sure that you’re not feeding information back to your father about her.”
“The bastard can rot in hell.”
“Good. Glad we’re on the same page.”
“Rozy! First hat trick of the season- first round on you when we fly out?”
“No. No. On Hollander’s tab. He lost bet.”
He zoned out as the commotion on the bus moved to what drinks they’d ask for on the plane down to Nashville. His relationship with Jake was one risk to his mother- a risk that he knew she would mitigate in whatever ways she could. But this. Her making friends. Her ignoring his father’s phone calls- as she had been for at least the last month. It was only October and he was sure that this next summer was going to be brutal for her. And he hoped, against all hope, that he would be wrong. He hoped that his father would finally let her go.
I'm baaaaack! And with that- I've got lots of chapters to hand jam over and some fun in store for all my Heated Rivalry fics.
If you prefer the AO3 view- you can take a look at it here.
This is another 🧱 🧱 🧱 chapter. You have been warned.
“Hi, Shane and…Mr. Rozanov? This is supposed to be a private session.”
“Ilya stays.”
Brandon Davidson stepped out of his way as Shane placed a notebook on his desk and then marched himself over to the couch. Ilya waited in the doorway, his eyes stayed on Shane, his jaw tight. He was not sure what he was fighting against, but it was something that had tears already at the corners of his eyes.
“I told him yesterday. Ilya stays.”
“You…you want him here while I read the journal?”
“Yes. Ilya is safe. I am safe with him. I don’t know you, but I trust Galina that you can help me- I just know I want to go back to normal. So I am here to go back to normal. And that means you have to know everything I know.”
Ilya settled next to Shane on the couch and he caught the knowing look in his eyes. He knew that there was no going back, he knew that the only way to move was forward. He also knew that Shane was not ready to hear that- they both did. But it was a huge step for him to bring the journal with him today, for him to have told Ilya the details of what happened. For that- Ilya could stay.
He hadn’t been sure that Shane would have made this amount of progress, but he’d learned something about him today- Shane took his word seriously. If he said he would do something, he would do it. Even if he was emotionally wrecked. Even if he needed his partner with him to survive the idea of placing a notebook in front of him with the truth. Even if he was incredibly uncomfortable with being this vulnerable. Shane Hollander didn’t realize how fucking brave all of this was.
“You’re brave to do this, Shane. I’m going to take a few minutes to read what you wrote. Can you handle questions?”
“Yeah…I…yeah- I guess.”
“See, Shanechka. No judgment.”
“He hasn’t fucking read it yet, Ilya.”
He glanced at them to see that Shane had all of his defenses up- which he was sure was where his infamous resting bitch face came from- except he was with Ilya. And with Ilya- he could see how terrified Shane Hollander was. Ilya’s hand traced patterns along Shane’s back as he propped himself up on his elbows, head hanging, and he then turned his attention to what Shane had written.
It was not the first time in his career that he had white knuckled his way through a truly heartbreaking story, but it was the first time in his career that anger also rode him hard. How the hell was Ilya Rozanov not in jail right now? From everything that he knew about the man- he expected that he would have lost his shit on all of them. His mind worked overtime as he pulled together the time line and glanced at the still angry scar on Ilya’s neck. He’d been injured, injured enough that he knew he couldn’t enact his revenge. That was probably the only reason these men were still above ground and breathing.
“See- he’s looking at me with pity. I don’t want everyone…I want people to still respect me.”
“Shane- this isn’t pity. At least not in the way you think. You went through something that most people wouldn’t walk away from. You walked out of the practice facility, drove yourself home, made it to your bedroom before anyone figured out that something was wrong. How many people did you go by on the way out?”
“A dozen or so? Between cleaning crew and security, team docs- you know, normal people at the facility.”
“I’ve read up on the medical details that your doctors provided. You should not have been able to do hide this from anyone and you did. If anything- it is a wonder that the worst injury you have are lingering bruises.”
“But they should have never–”
“I am going to cut you off. There is one place that I need you to agree to work from. This is not your fault. You telling the world that your partner was injured and that you needed to be with him does not make this your fault. Can you start from that place?”
“I…I…I can try.”
“Okay- can Ilya step out? Can we start building trust?”
“I…”
“I’ll be in waiting room. Just text if need me.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
David Hollander worked in content silence as he made a large pot of chili. Sure- it might April and a little out of season- but it was one of Shane’s favorites- especially as chili cheese fries. And right now- his son needed his favorites. He knew if it was up to Ilya- Shane would get whatever he wanted right now that brought him even the slightest bit of joy. The only reason he made this was because the season was over and Shane would enjoy his non-season treats.
He expected family dinner would be hard this week. Shane had started therapy last week and when he’d heard from Yuna that Ilya was going along this week- he knew that Shane was struggling. Shane did things like this all the time by himself- he leaned into the discomfort to make his life better. From his diet, to his endless training, to some more questionable things he’d seen in Shane’s life- he was comfortable with being uncomfortable. But if he knew his son at all, he was not comfortable with being out of control. His life must feel out of control at the moment to ask Ilya to go with him for something like this.
The news had finally revealed which players were being charged- Comeau, Drapeau, Andropov, Couillard, and Jarvinen, as well as, Desjardins. It was odd to find out that detail from a newscaster instead of his son, but he knew better than to push Shane for details. He also knew that Yuna was about at her breaking point with Shane’s silence about what really happened. He suspected that Shane refused to tell them for many reasons- one of them being that he wanted to protect them, another one being that he could not bring himself to say this more times than necessary.
He pulled the fries up from the fryer as he heard the gravel crunch outside. A glance out the window and he recognized one of Ilya’s cars- the blonde haired man emerging from the driver’s seat; his son taking a few extra moments before he got out of the passenger’s side. He caught bruises that still peaked out from under his button down and gritted his teeth. He was not a violent man, but if he knew that Shane and Yuna would not lose their minds- he would join Ilya in whatever plan he had. And he knew that Ilya had a plan. Anyone who knew the Russian knew that he had a plan for retribution- one that he had likely already recruited Boston and Ottawa to participate in.
He heard Ilya greet Yuna, heard footsteps from Shane- but he was quiet. When he heard the footsteps behind him, he turned around to see Shane with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes were swollen and red- therapy had obviously been brutal today. Before he could say anything- Shane walked over to him and stepped into his arms- into the kind of hug he hadn’t sought out in years. It wasn’t a panic attack. He realized that he was another safe place for Shane and so many of those had disappeared in the last couple of months.
“I wrote down what happened. I want you and Mom to read it.”
“Yeah- of course we will. You know your mom will have questions.”
“I know. I promised I’d try to let other people in about what happened- not just be in my head. And…and more than Ilya.”
“If you’re not ready…”
“I’ll never be ready. I just want it to be over- to get through the questions and the looks and…”
“Shane- this is not on you. This happened to you.”
He heard other footsteps and Shane pulled away, but pressed a notebook into his chest. He gave him a questioning look and Shane just nodded. Now. Before dinner. He could see that Shane had worked himself up to this on the car ride over and if it did not happen now- his brittle control on his emotions might break- again. So he made himself a plate of chili fries, took it to the kitchen table, and started reading.
Yuna quickly settled next to him- Ilya must have mentioned to her what Shane wanted and he placed the plate between them. He was vaguely aware that Ilya made a plate for Shane and then a plate for himself. He read carefully, he kept his expression as neutral as possible- even as anger bubbled to the surface. He thought he’d be able to stay composed- until he read about what Desjardins suggested and he felt his stomach clench. He forced himself to finish what Shane had written, even as his hands shook.
His boy. This was his precious boy and they’d threatened him with unthinkable acts. With things that he’d never even thought might happen in a hockey locker room. He knew things could be rough, knew there were issues- but maybe he was too naive to realize that it could be this bad. And that his son had been in an organization that only used him- that never respected him for all of the things he had brought to that team. They’d taught him to be a good man and the world had used that against him.
“I need some air.”
He never- EVER- needed a break. It was usually Yuna that had to walk it off or didn’t want to show her emotions in front of someone. He was the level-headed one. And at the moment the level-headed thing seemed to be to track down the five players and beat the ever loving shit out of them. While they had all been charged- they were not in jail. It would be easy- far too easy- to take matters into his own hands.
His son- that loved hockey more than almost anything- now seemed to dread the idea of being in an arena. His son- who had come out to the world to care for the man he loved- now was the person who needed care. His son- the man who led Montreal to two cups and was there for all of his teammates- through marriages, divorces, babies, deaths- had been utterly betrayed. He knew all of this before reading what happened- but reading what happened made him angry in ways he was not sure he should contemplate for too long.
“Dad?”
He looked over his shoulder and stopped his stalking. Shane stood there- timid- quiet- things he’d seen less of with Ilya in his life. He looked like the little boy that just needed a hug- so he walked over and pulled him into one.
“I’m furious Shane- but not at you. I need you to know that this is not your fault.”
“But if I had been even a bit…”
“It was 6 against 1 and you’re alive. You get to live your life in ways that they’ll never get to because of their decisions. Other than jail time- the best revenge you can have is to continue to be the person and player that you are.”
“What if they don’t go to jail? What if…what if I look up in two years and they’re across from me like nothing ever happened?”
He went silent as he held Shane tight. He didn’t have an answer for that. With all the aggression he felt, he knew that under everything for Shane was a profound hurt. He had been authentically himself for the first time ever and it had led to his. For Shane that was practically a curse, but as his boy cried against his chest he knew that there was one secret weapon that Shane kept forgetting. And his name was Ilya Rozanov.
Whoever invented the flight attendant call button is a genius.
All Ilya has to do is press the little button above his seat and in a matter of seconds a beautiful man will come stand in front of Ilya and ask what he can do for him. A beautiful man with beautiful freckles and shining brown eyes and biceps that had flexed tantalizingly when he'd helped an older woman with her overhead luggage during boarding. And not Ilya, no. He'll ask what he can do for Mr. Rozanov.
It's honestly almost too much. (Almost.)
The first couple of calls had seemed innocent enough, and the flight attendant ("SHANE," his name tag helpfully provides) had been the picture of customer service as he arrived at Ilya's seat with a pasted-on pleasant smile and confidently strode up and down the aisle to bring him a hot towel, a snack, an extra blanket, and always "if there's anything else I can do, sir, please let me know." Ilya had never appreciated the phrase "hate to see them go, love to watch them leave" more.
By the fifth call in the space of an hour, Shane seems to be getting suspicious. His smile has taken on a wry edge as he approaches Ilya's seat, but Ilya maintains perfect innocence as he asks Shane if he can close his window shade.
Shane stops just short of rolling his eyes. "Mr. Rozanov, I have a feeling you're more than capable of closing a window shade on your own."
Ilya shrugs, eyes wide in put-upon bewilderment. "It's stuck! I cannot budge it."
Shane sighs as he braces one hand on Ilya's armrest leans across him to pull the shade down (easily, of course). Ilya tries not to be too obvious as he breathes Shane in, reveling in having him so close, but Shane must sense it anyway because he freezes as he starts to pull away, looking back at Ilya warily as if he's not quite sure what his game is.
"Ah, my hero," Ilya praises softly. "I knew you could do it."
Ilya watches Shane swallow hard before he straightens up. "Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Rozanov?" he asks, a slight waver in his voice.
"Not right now, thank you, Shane. But I'll let you know next time I need you." Ilya points to the button above his head and winks, smiling at the way it makes Shane flush before he hurries away.
Ilya decides not to press the button for over an hour after that, just to see, and the way it makes Shane slowly grow more and more antsy is simply delicious. Ilya can tell he's itching for Ilya's next call, nervously shifting his eyes over to Ilya as he assists other passengers.
After about forty-five minutes, Ilya is playing a game on his phone when he senses Shane next to him and looks up, where he's nervously biting his lip. "Mr. Rozanov, I just wanted to let you know that we'll be starting beverage service shortly. I'll be busy with the cart for a while, so if there's anything you might need..."
He's so beautifully nervous. He's being so wonderfully good. Ilya rewards him with an honest smile, one that seems to put Shane at ease. "Thank you, Shane. I will be fine."
Shane breathes out, returning Ilya's smile. "Ok, cool. I'll, uh, check on you later, ok?"
"Ok. Thank you."
When Shane comes with the beverage cart, he asks for Shane's number. He's never seen anyone flush more prettily as he writes it down on an airline cocktail napkin and signs it "xx Shane."
Hiya! We're in the home stretch of this one- the final chapter will be out on Friday.
If this is the first time seeing this fic- it was inspired by this lovely Tumblr Post.
If you prefer AO3- you can always view this over there.
Now- on with the show!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disarmed. Roger Crowell stared at the alarm system. His wife must have beat him home. Today’s player union meeting had been…difficult. Early yesterday he had gotten the phone call- Desjardins was missing. Another link to Montreal, another member of HIS organization that was likely no longer among the living. At first he thought it an odd coincidence- the police now were sure it wasn’t. It was targeted. He pondered for a moment if the targets might have changed.
“Hello commissioner.”
He froze. That voice. He closed his eyes and considered his options. A hockey player in his physical prime- a man that he knew could kill him. He slowly turned around and let out a shaky breath. Ilya Rozanov stood in the doorway, a cold stare leveled on him, back lit by the full moon. An angel of death and his time had come.
“You fucking faggot- you think that you can do this to me?”
“Da. And you- I will enjoy.”
He moved so swiftly he barely had time to bring his hand up to protect himself. It didn't matter. He crumbled to the floor, his last thought being that maybe he had underestimated Rozanov.
********
Drip, drip, drip. He tried to move his hands, then his feet- nothing. He opened his eyes and was met with that icy blue stare. Right. Ilya Rozanov had come for him. He thought that this was only Montreal- he never related it back to Hollander. Never would have placed it as something that might be because of what HE DID.
“You know why now? You realize it?”
“What we did to you.”
“Not me. Shane. The joy you took away from him. He was given this league everything and you tried to take it away. I will not try. I will take.”
“They’ll find me. You won’t get away–”
Rozanov slammed a fist into the side of his face and then he saw the knife. A long slice against his side and let out a scream. No pleasure showed on Rozanov’s face– only a look that he recognized as a plan coming together. He had been part of his plan all along and he’d played into it.
He refused security. He kept himself on a schedule. He made himself the perfect victim and he’d never thought of himself that way. He had always been the hunter and now he was very clearly the prey.
“Just make it quick.”
“You’ve tortured Shane for years. You deserve more than what I can do. Hell will be too kind.”
His screams filled the air and he took in Rozanov’s calm demeanor. No one would find him. No one was coming for him and he was fully at the mercy of a man that he knew would fulfill his promise. So he could scream all he wanted- his life would end in this dank storage facility. And he wondered for a moment if this would be it. If he was the end of Rozanov’s list.
*************
“How…how did they…”
“It was quick. Not like you. Not like this. You make system- you own success and failure. You. Failed. Shane. You made world where team could turn on the best in league. Because of love. Because of love you think is wrong. They can fuck every woman in the world- rape, assault- that is fine. But real love? Only because mean in love. Be glad that I do not show you the evils you approve.”
Raw fear. The thought that Rozanove might…but no. He had been true to his word. Torture was fine, but Rozanov seemed to have lines he would not cross. Even in his anger. Even with everything he had done to them- he would not stoop to what other MLH players had done.
“My family…my children…”
“Safe. Only you. And you are end. This is end.”
“I…okay.”
“For that- I stop torture.”
And with that- Ilya Rozanov slit his wrists and throat. His vision slowly faded- his last sight being Ilya Rozanov quietly cleaning his tools. No panic. Just business as usual- an unremarkable thing as Rozanov completed his plan.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He’d lied to Shane tonight- something that he hated to do, but was necessary. Shane was the one he must protect. If this came back on anyone- it would be only him. This was his plan. His actions. HIs alone and he would do everything he could to keep Shane safe.
He stood in the truck stop shower, he’d gotten most of the blood off of him after he’d bagged the pieces of Crowell up. But he needed to thoroughly wash himself. This was worth the risk and it was in the direction that he’d told Shane he was going. The long way to Ottawa- a non-existent sponsorship meeting and enough waterways to dump parts of Crowell’s body in.
His work was done. He felt relief. No one that could hurt Shane. No one to take away the joy he found in hockey. They were gone from the league. They could ride out their last few years with just hockey. The shake up gave them a chance to make permanent changes. A commissioner that could see that the league was changing. Gay players. A world where aggression should only be on the ice. Accountability. It was a pipe dream, but one he hoped he’d opened the door for with his actions.
***********
The cottage. He parked next to Shane’s car and let out a sigh. The sun was peaking out on the easter horizon. Shane would be waking up soon to settle on the porch with Anya. He promised to be next to him and he was here. These were the important promises. The ones that they’d built their life and love on.
He quietly opened the door and heard the pitter patter of Anya’s paws. He scooped her up, his body fully relaxed. The news hadn’t broke about Crowell. He’d made it back to Shane and even if this broke bad- he’d made it to him.
“Ilyusha? Baby?”
“Da. Dobroye utro, Shanechka. Was hoping to make tea before you woke up.”
“I always sleep like shit without you. I’ll make tea- take Anya out and get the blanket?”
“Yeah. Gimme kiss.”
A sleepy peck on the lips, Shane settled against him,but for a moment. Their two weeks of solitude began today and he was so glad that he was not going to miss a minute of it.
Fouling in the MLH takes a steep decline the first year Shane & Ilya play together on the Centaurs, and they’re a bit confused why all their regular season games have been relatively un-physical. Then in one game against Toronto, some idiot (probably Dallas Kent) crosschecks Luca, and the Centaurs activate the Hollanov Power Play Special they’ve been training for all season and Toronto is swiftly, instantly, and absolutely fucked. Suddenly it becomes very clear why every team in the league is on their best behavior against Ottawa: because against Shane and Ilya’s power play, a foul will almost always cost you a fucking goal. That’s how insane their power play percentage is, and all the other teams can do is never give them a reason to be on the ice together. (Personally, the other Centaurs love this and go out of their way to draw fouls, just to see the immediate horror on the other team’s faces)
I think Ilya has very complicated and conflicting feelings about his mother.
He loves her, of course he does. He remembers their good times together - her taking him to practices, watching her cook, snuggled up with her watching movies. He remembers getting to sit on her lap when her friends came over. She loved making them laugh, doing impressions of celebrities and politicians. He remembers her standing up for him and his brother, shopping with her, he remembers her carrying him from the car and into his room after a hard practice.
He remembers his first tournament at eight years old, his mother jumping up and down when he scored the game winning goal. He skated up to the glass and pointed at the goal, 'for you, mama!' and how Irina kissed her fingers and pressed them against the glass.
So yes, he loves her so much.
But he also hates her. He hates her so much.
He remembers how she would lay in bed for days. How his father would yell at her to get up and care for her sons. He would call her a useless mother, a useless wife and she would just stare at him. He wanted her to get up, to yell back. Something.
He remembers how he would come into her room to tell her he got a hat trick at the game she was too 'sick' to attend and she would just say, 'go away, Ilya, please.'
His brother tried to help her - to get her up, make sure she bathed every other day. How he slowly started repeating their father.
"Come on, mama, I'll help you."
"I can't do everything, mama, you have to get up."
"Mama, Ilya needs to leave for practice. I can't drive yet."
"Why can't you do this? You aren't sick. The doctors say you aren't!"
"Why don't you care?"
"If you loved us enough, you would get up."
"You're useless."
Sometimes his mama would cry, sometimes she yelled at them to leave her. Sometimes she would just stare at them, like she would their father.
Her bad days cycled. Eventually, his brother would be angry at her even on good days.
She would want to go to a museum, the cinema, a restaurant. His brother started refusing, saying he was going out with friends. She and Ilya started going alone.
Every time she had a good week, or month, or few months, Ilya fell for the trap that this time she was better. That she finally realized she didn't have to be sad because Ilya would be there to help her be happy.
But eventually, he would wake up to no breakfast on the stove, walk into her room, and find her sleeping. "I'm sick today, Ilya," she would say and his stomach would sink. "Please go away."
Once his brother stopped trying to help on her bad days altoghter, Ilya tried.
"I'm sorry, baby," Irina said one day when he brought her food. "I wish you had a different mother. It would be better, I think."
"I don't want a different mother," Ilya climbed into bed with her. "I just want you."
"I'll try," Irina told him and at that time, at eleven years old, he didn't understand what she meant. "I'm trying, Ilya."
But despite all of that, she left. They were in it together. And she just gave up.
He would never leave Shane like that. He loved Shane too much to put him through that pain. Did she not love him enough? They could have left - she knew Ilya was good enough at hockey to make money. Enough money to leave Russia altogether. He told her he would take her to North America with him when he was drafted in the MHL. They talked about the foods they would eat and the house they would live in.
He had yelled at her grave that papa was right! You're weak! You're useless! You left me, how could you! How could you! You promised!
But he didn't mean it.
He told her later that he never meant it, she wasn't weak. She was such a good mother. Did she even know how good of a mother she was? How he prayed every day for her to come back? Surely, a bad mother would never get so many prayers. Was she up there, regretting her choice after she heard his prayers?
It seemed insane that she didn't know how good of a mother she was. Only papa never saw it. She was so outgoing and funny. All of her friends praised her on the way she was raising her boys.
"So polite!" One of them said after a 10 year old Ilya held the door for her. She ruffled his curls. "Oh, Irina, you must teach me how you raise such sweet boys."
"That is all Ilya," she said proudly.
"So well mannered!" Another said after Ilya gathered their plates to take to the kitchen. "I cannot get my son to take his own plate."
"He's a good boy," Irina had agreed. "I was blessed with him."
Maybe that's why Ilya is so careful with the people around him. He knows that someone can look perfectly happy one day and kill themselves the next. He checks in with friends, tries to make strangers more comfortable. He tries to help where he can.
He doesn't think he'll ever be able to fully forgive his mother. He understands her, more every day, but he can't forgive her. Maybe that makes him a bad person, and maybe one day he will forgive her. He hopes so. He thinks she would understand why he can't.
Until then, he keeps her cross around his neck and keeps her safe in his heart.
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