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.
Tommy leaned his head back against the wall, trying to ignore his thirst and hunger. He had lost track of the days, but he was pretty sure that they had to give him something to drink soon. Either that or they truly planned on starving him to death. If that was what they were aiming for, it was an exquisite form of torture.
The door slid open and he continued staring at the ceiling. Between the beatings and the starvation, he didn’t want to interact with any of them. He was surprised when a pail of water was sloshed on his face and he jerked upright, sputtering. Was waterboarding now on their list of acceptable tortures?
“Good. You’re still alive,” Andros said as he pulled out a knife and Tommy tried, again, to will himself to morph. If they were going to kill him, he was not going to give them the satisfaction of him begging for his life. Andros knelt down and cut the ties on one of his legs and then moved to the other before releasing his arms. He finally moved around him and undid the metal choker they had placed on him.
He felt his powers thunder to the surface as he involuntarily morphed and energy blasted out of him. Apparently the metal choker had done something to limit his powers and now that it was removed they were raging to the surface. He let out a string of curses as his battered body began to heal. Why were they letting him go? Why did they suddenly believe him? Or was this just a way to prolong the torture?
He slowly rose to his feet and looked down at his hands, wondering which set of powers had decided to show up. The elbow length white gloves trimmed in a thin ring of gold let him know they were his Zeo powers. Good. These were probably the strongest set he had ever had and if he was going to get to his wife to save her, he was going to need them. This world was dangerous in ways that he had only just begun to understand.
“Atlantis has betrayed us. You. He’s working with Kiros,” Aisha said as she walked into the room and saw Andros slowly pushing himself to his feet. Tommy stared over at her as he realized just how bad things could go. Atlantis could kill them all if they weren’t careful and none of these rangers realized that. “I’ve never seen you with those powers. You weren’t lying to us.”
“Food. Water,” Tori Hanson said as she placed a tray on the table in front of him and Tommy clawed off his helmet. He forced himself to take small sips of water and nibble on the stale bread and cheese. He would be no good to them if he got ill from eating too much food too quickly, but he desperately needed to get something in his stomach.
“What gave it away?” Tommy snarked as the rangers glanced at each other and he paused. Something had happened, something bad. “Kim’s fine, right?”
“Lord Drakkon has been on a warpath for the last 48 hours. We haven’t seen the Ranger Slayer in months, nearly a year. He’s now appearing with a pink ranger, but it’s not…the suit is wrong. It’s one we’ve never seen before and it’s all pink- not Slay’s traditional black and pink,” Aisha said as Tommy nodded. From what he knew Kimberly was pregnant in this world, which would explain her absence, but he was not going to give that information away. “Could she be turned?”
“My Kimberly? It’s not impossible, but she’s…she saw that Lord Drakkon would welcome her with open arms, because welcoming her…welcoming us is what will save Slay. I know that the version of me that you know is evil to his core. I don’t deny it, but if you think he’s on a warpath now- this is nothing. He’ll destroy the world if he loses her. I’d destroy the world if I lost my her and I’m not even a tenth as powerful as he is,” Tommy stated as he let out a sigh. “How do I get to them?”
“No. You’re not just walking out of here and joining him,” Andros said as Tommy let out a disgruntled sigh and then slowly turned around to face him. “There has to be another way.”
“I can defeat Kiros. Kiros is working with Atlantis. Atlantis killed all of the rangers in my world except me and Kimberly, I’d imagine that Lord Drakkon and the Ranger Slayer are at the top of his list and he’s using Kiros to get to them. Kiros is after Slay and Kimberly to absorb their prophetess powers. Kimberly is with Lord Drakkon and they have already teamed up- which likely means that something has happened to Slay. Neither of them can do this and they both know it. They’re buying time to find me or for me to find them. So- if you want to still be alive- I need to get to them so that I can. So I ask again- how do I get to Lord Drakkon?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“They’re not coming,” Kimberly said as Drak looked over at her and seethed. They had been making shows of force for three days and not a single ranger had popped out of hiding. “Drak- what’s your backup plan? They could be killing her right now and us losing our chance.”
“She’s not dead. I would know,” Drak muttered as he shot out a bolt into some nearby civilians and she cringed. She wanted to stop him from doing this, but she kept reminding herself that the bigger evil was Kiros. And fighting with Lord Drakkon would only make it impossible to defeat Kiros. “And I don’t think we need a backup plan anymore.”
Kim spun around and saw seven rangers standing in front of them. The yellow Ninjetti ranger. The red Zeo Ranger. The red Space Ranger. The red Wild Force Ranger. The blue Wind Ranger. The pink Mystic Ranger. The Jungle Fury Rino Ranger. She sprinted for the red Zeo Ranger and slammed into a wall about twenty feet away from them. She glared over at Drak and he shook his head that it was not him. He might not like the circumstances, but he was not going to keep her away from her husband.
“They won’t drop it until I confirm it’s you,” Tommy said and she heard how weak his voice sounded. What had happened to him? Kim yanked off her helmet and motioned for him to do the same. As Tommy removed his helmet, she saw the various shades of bruising on the right side of his face. She tried to move towards him again and found herself stopped. She directed her gaze to Andros and felt Drak come up next to her.
“I can blast through this shield and you all know it. Stop playing games. You have something I need,” Drakkon seethed as he smoothly removed his helmet and locked eyes with his doppelganger.
“We also know where your beloved Ranger Slayer is. Let’s negotiate,” Aisha said as she pulled off her mask and Kimberly’s head whipped to her.
“You what?” Tommy yelled as he wheeled around on them and they gulped. This was an alternate version of Lord Drakkon and they were certain if they pushed him, he could become as powerful and as evil. “We’re not negotiating in the fucking open. Drop the shield, we’re going with him and then we’ll discuss what you know.”
“Since when were you the one in charge?” Vida sassed as Kimberly let out a primal scream and something flew out of her body breaking through the shield. Drakkon then raked the shield to the ground, completely destroying it.
“Since he was the only one that can keep Slay alive,” Drakkon said as he cast a sleep spell on the rangers and Kim and Tommy stared at him. “Did they tell you what they wanted to negotiate?”
“No. I would have told them that was a stupid fucking idea. We should take them with us. Atlantis will come after them when he realizes that they’ve betrayed him,” Tommy said as Drakkon sneered. “Consider this a ceasefire on both sides and let’s get Slay back.”
well - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 518 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3
Shane could tell the moment Ilya answered his facetime call that something was off.
His normally-alert, full-of-life irises were dull, and the easy smile that was reserved only for Shane was painfully lacking. Deep circles were etched under his eyes and his lips were chapped.
Shane's heart ached for him.
"You're not feeling well," he said, foregoing his usual teasing greeting.
"I am fine," Ilya replied stubbornly, furrowing his eyebrows.
But Shane had tried for years to not know Ilya. He’d avoided the reality, for far too long, that he understood Ilya Rozanov sometimes more than he understood himself. So he wasn't going to pretend, now, that he didn't see the love of his life suffering. "You're sick," he stated, already calculating how long it would take him to get from Montreal to Boston by plane, train, or car.
"I cannot be sick. I have game tomorrow," Ilya insisted, making the whole thing sound a lot less convincing when he began a hacking cough into his elbow.
"Have you taken your temperature? Medicine? A hot shower?" Shane rattled off, looking around his room to see if he had a bag packed. As always, he had a go-bag by the door, in case he overslept before an away game.
"No," the other man pouted. "Because I am not a-"
"Temperature. Pozhaluysta, Ilya," Shane murmured softly, looking his boyfriend in the eye.
The tone he used was one he very rarely used outside of the bedroom, because he knew the power it held. But now, as he saw Ilya melt a little at his words and sigh, he decided it was the right choice.
"Fine," Ilya muttered, standing and grabbing a thermometer from his bathroom. "But you will see. I am right."
"What was that about being right?" Shane said smugly a few moments later when the screen of the thermometer flashed red, indicating Ilya's illness.
"I was right about you being asshole," Ilya murmured, already reaching for a bottle of medication nearby.
"Mm. Well I have a flight to catch, so-"
"What? I thought you do not have game until Thursday?" Ilya asked, and he looked so upset about Shane having to hang up that Shane gave up on surprising him.
"Yeah, it's a flight to Boston. I have to go take care of my asshole boyfriend who's a stubborn baby when he's sick," Shane said with a small smile, rolling his eyes fondly at the screen.
Instantly, Ilya's eyes widened. "Oh. Sweetheart, you do not have to-"
"I want to. But if you don't take that medicine every four hours until I get there, I'll kick your ass when I do, alright?" he said threateningly, the whole thing ruined by the grin stretching across his face.
Ilya gave him a tired smile. "Da. Yes, solnyshko."
"Okay. I'll see you soon."
"Shane?"
"Hm?"
"Thank you. Nobody...nobody does this. Takes care of me. I am so lucky to have you." Ilya looked almost nervous to say it, like he didn't want to admit how thankful he was for Shane's care.
Unhyperlinked titles means the list is finished but queued to post ♡ Currently have lists queued all the way through September right now so if you requested a fic list, just know there is a wait, but it will get posted!
calm - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 520 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3
"I know I am not what you wanted for him."
Ilya says this as a statement of fact, rather than a question. He's not laboring under any delusions that Shane's parents looked at their child when he was small and wished for him to be with a Russian asshole who can't keep his mouth shut. Especially one that is a man. It bothers him, not a small amount, but he also knows that it can't be helped.
But Yuna, who is sitting with him in front of the television as David and Shane stand in the kitchen, pointing to a cabinet that is concerning them for some reason, both of their monotone voices low as they stand with identical stances, hands on their faces and eyebrows furrowed, just gives Ilya an unreadable look.
Her eyes, which remind him of Shane's, pierce his soul for a long moment. Then, she says, "Ilya. Has Shane told you about what used to happen when he'd get overwhelmed as a child?"
He frowns, struck once again by the fact that though he feels like he knows Shane better than anyone else in the entire world, there is still so much more to learn. "No."
"When something bad happened, or things were too loud, or scary, or big changes happened...he would...well, you saw," she explains gently, obviously referring to how Shane had shut down at the table at Yuna and David's house the day before. "He'd stop talking. Hyperventilate–breathe really fast, that is–or start to cry. Shut himself in his room, or even try to bang his head against the wall." Her voice cracks a little at the last phrase, and Ilya's heart breaks a little as well, picturing a tiny Shane with tears in his eyes, trying to get ahold of emotions he couldn't even explain. "It used to take us hours to calm him down."
"That is...I am sorry. Must have been difficult. For everyone," he murmurs, because he can't find the words to explain his urge to travel back in time and scoop that small child into his arms.
"It wasn't easy," Yuna relents, giving him a tight smile. "But the point is, even as he got older, it was still hard for him. Still is hard for him, when he gets upset. He just…stops talking. Gets overwhelmed. David and I have tried everything to help. But when he gets like that, it’s....But Ilya, seeing you calm him yesterday in a matter of seconds?"
He blinks, thinking back again. Yes, he had calmed Shane, but it hadn't been some difficult puzzle. It'd just been a firm touch, a few simple words. Instinct, really. "Was not a big deal," he murmurs, flushing.
"It was. And that is the only thing we've ever wanted for Shane. Someone who understands and loves him enough to be there for him like he needs. We don't care about anything else," Yuna says, smiling softly.
He blinks again, taking that in. But even though it sounds too good to be true, it makes a little sense. "Okay," he nods, accepting her words for now.
After Another Hospital Stay- Ch 4: Montreal vs. Boston
It's been a long, really tiring week. And I wanted to put a little joy out into the world to feel a bit better (and by joy- yes I do mean this light angst ridden chapter). Here's a Hollanov update a couple days earlier than I planned!
If you prefer the AO3 experience- take a look here.
Ilya settled in Shane’s apartment. He’d driven down from Ottawa as soon as the drains were removed this morning- with strict guidance from his doctor and Wiebe to not go after the Montreal players. The promise that he would do nothing came easily- especially with the conversations he’d had with Marly over the last few days. Marly and Connors were ready to wreak whatever havoc he asked for- in a way that was typical for Boston when they played Montreal. What was not typical was another Captain pulling the strings like this.
“Anyone that’s safe tonight, Roz?”
“Pike, Boiziau, Shane. I’m sure the rest will leave plenty of holes around him- make it easy for you to get him. Don’t make obvious that you…that your former Capitan…”
“That you can still get us to do whatever the fuck you want? Yeah man- I’m pretty sure the entire league is going to know that this game is a message from Ilya Rozanov by way of the Boston Raiders. Anyone that needs a…particular lesson?”
“Comeau. Drapeau. Basically rest of team.”
“Holy fuck, Roz. Hollander is a good dude- one of the best and his team is just…fuck them. We’ve always had your back and now that we know why you took this piss poor deal to fucking Ottawa…we’ll earn our reputation tonight.”
“Good. And good luck. See you after game. I drop group pin- door code 1221.”
******************
Ilya settled into the family seats next to Yuna and David Hollander- wearing an old All-Star jersey with Hollander across the back. He could not bring himself to wear a Montreal jersey after the last week, but he caught the look of recognition in Shane’s eyes when he glanced his way. He was here for Shane. With his still heavily bruised throat with the stitches evident- he was where he needed to be. He felt the gazes of the fans- the news had torn the Montreal faithful apart- they would get used to it. As long as Shane delivered- this would be a blip in their love for him.
He watched the warmup with an unusual intensity. Who avoided Shane. Who skated too close and shoved him into boards. His own teammates. He felt his blood boil even as Boston skated out onto the ice and he caught their gazes. Marly even asked him to give a quick twirl and he did with a laugh on his lips. God, he missed them. He missed this team that he’d grown with and that knew him so well.
He caught Marly and Connors watching Montreal in the same way he had been. Who would make the point best? The bits and pieces he’d gotten out of Shane about practice this week made his heart ache. Montreal was doing the bare fucking minimum to shut down this shit internally. The MLH commissioner hadn’t helped matters with his official statement yesterday. If the MLH wasn’t going to stand by its own diversity campaign- Boston sure as shit were going to enforce that this behavior was unacceptable.
Scott Hunter’s team got it- they rallied around him. Ilya had two teams that were ready to go to war for him. And then there was Shane. Shane who was trying to bring home one more cup for the team that had brought him into the league and they were going to let him get slaughtered. A message had to be sent tonight.
“I still fucking hate Boston.”
“I know. Hard to break habit. Should be good game tonight.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cliff Marleau knew when a team hated someone and Montreal hated Shane Hollander right now. An uncharacteristic number of hits had made it through tonight, but Hollander just ducked his head and played his ass off. He’d already scored twice- Cliff had no idea how. He jumped over the boards, the first time he was on the ice with Comeau. He’d always disliked the fucker- but after what Rozanov had told him- he was going to make a point. He passed the opposing bench and locked eyes with Hollander for a moment- a wink and he was off. He had just enough time to see the recognition dawn in Hollander’s eyes- Cliff was taking care of the business that Rozanov couldn’t. Rozanov must have kept it a secret from him. Good- it would be easier for him to deny that he might have known.
No chirps. No banter. He hurdled at Comeau- it was easy enough to disguise this as a valid hit. The others tonight would likely not be. He slammed into him, wiping him out and popped up to continue the play like nothing happened. He heard the fury from the Montreal crowd, but kept his head down. He had more than one hit to deliver tonight and the most dangerous would be an opening with Drapeau. Rozanov had said those two names for a reason- they were the ringleaders. They were the ones making Hollander’s life a living hell.
The game went on- him taking every chance he could to show his ire- legally- against Montreal. On the fourth time he threw Comeau down he bounced back up, ready to brawl- but he just kept skating. He needed to time when he threw off his gloves against them just right. He needed more than Comeau in the line of fire. Boston was sending a message tonight about what they’d tolerate- from any team, anywhere- when it came to this game.
Late in the 3rd period he saw an opportunity to get to Drapeau and he took it- leveling the goalie. The crowd noise disappeared as he tossed off his gloves and turned to see Comeau barrelling towards him. Good. Two for one special. As the team piled on he managed to get in blows to the both of them before being dragged away by none other than Shane Hollander.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Oh he fucking deserves this and more, Hollander. Let me and Connors finish it.”
“Oh look at him, the fag consoling our arch enemy- like always.”
“Yeah- well- I’m the one currently keeping him from beating you senseless. Maybe stow the homophobia while I’m making sure you don’t end up needing stitches.”
“Don’t get too close Marleau- he’ll decide you’re the next person he wants to betray his team with. But I hear he goes for pathetic Russian sob stories with no parents–”
“You mother fu–”
He almost caught Hollander. He moved to switch his grip on him only to find that he had blown by him. Luckily, Connors and Pike had heard the exchange and intercepted him before the Montreal Captain waylaid his own people. The fact that Hollander had switched to French to cuss them out was telling enough. He was livid in a way that he’d only ever seen once before- in a fight years ago with Scott Hunter. He piled on, pulling Hollander back and he felt a stare. The glare of Ilya Rozanov. God help Montreal when that man was back on the ice. None of them were safe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Did he put them up to it?”
Shane looked up from unlacing his skates to see Drapeau and Comeau standing in front of him. Comeau sporting a broken nose, Drapeau with an ice pack wrapped around his ribs. Both of them looked worse for wear at the hands of Marleau and Connors. He also had no idea what they were talking about- Boston was always a physical game. It was just the way of their rivalry.
“Who up to what?”
“Did Rozanov put out a hit on the two of us on your behalf?”
Shane stilled for a moment, his hands clenching into fists. The rest of the locker room had gone quiet- J.J. and Hayden ready to grab him at a moment’s notice. A handful of the others angled to grab Drapeau and Comeau if they decided to swing first. The newer players trying to melt into their lockers- they had less of an opinion on what was happening and were just waiting for who would win the locker room- Shane or those that hated him. They may have agreed to finishing the season together, it didn’t mean they had to make this place comfortable for him.
“No idea. It’s fucking Boston- we all walk out of this game with extra bruises and tender spots.”
“But you didn’t. They didn’t take a single fucking shot at you and we left you open–we made sure that they would have a chance to– we ordered everyone to let them have a shot at putting you–”
“Putting me in the hospital? You wanted me to wind up in the hospital because Ilya and I are together? You’re both fucked in the head if that’s the logic you’re using. Let’s get something straight- this team agreed to me finishing this season. To me staying so that we can go for the cup. That only works if we’re a fucking team and if we have each others back. So either get on board and focus on our end goal or I’m fucking out. I will not put Ilya through me being crushed on the ice because this team won’t look out for each other. Got it?”
“Aye, aye Capitaine.”
Shane kept his eyes levelled on Comeau and Drapeau, waiting. He glanced as the others in the locker room started picking sides, started moving to stand with Hayden and J.J. - the lines being redrawn. Finally, their bravado dropped and each of them nodded.
“Good- let’s go win a fucking cup.”
AN: Is what Ilya does in this chapter probably not legal in the world of hockey? Yeah. Do I think Ilya would care one bit about being fined out the ass for this if it’s ever discovered? Nope. Not at all. The MLH can take all his money for allowing the culture to be so bad that his precious Shane is losing joy in hockey because his teammates are such pieces of shit.
Shane’s hard working, dedicated, determined and focused—it’s clearly what makes him an incredible hockey player and it’s one of many things that Ilya loves about him. He has not become the most valuable and talented person in the league just by sheer luck or physicality. It has everything to do with how he runs his body like a well-oiled machine, how he approaches work-outs, and how he takes care of himself.
Which is how Ilya knows he’s particularly frustrated with himself when he manages to get sick, because how could his body betray him in this way, when he takes such good care of it? Shane tries, usually in vain, to curb his symptoms before they fully appear—he drinks extra orange juice and gets more sleep and makes this tea concoction that Yuna suggests like it might save his life.
He usually just ends up prolonging the inevitable.
Ilya does not think it’s amusing in the slightest, he doesn’t…even if Shane being sick means a bitchier version of himself. He doesn’t dare smile over the fact that Shane pouts like he’s the only person in the history of ever to feel at his worst—he doesn’t allow Ilya to take care of him, he doesn’t like to be touched or fussed over, he hides out in their bedroom or a completely different room in the house to avoid his husband even looking upon the blanket monster he’s turned into. When Ilya manages to catch glimpses, Shane’s hair is a nest for birds, his cheeks are flushed, and his nose is red-rimmed, he wears his glasses a bit more than usual over a slightly glazed stare…
As if the glasses aren’t bad enough, Ilya tries not to get turned on when Shane resembles a prickly cactus when he tries to ask if he needs anything.
“Let me make you tea.” Ilya offers to the mound of blankets that shuffles into the kitchen. The fabric slips down off Shane’s head, resting in a pool around his shoulders. He’s a bit pale, sweat kissing his brow and the back of his neck.
“No.”
“You need more tissues?”
“I need a lobotomy." Shane mumbles, but his speech is so congested that Ilya can barely understand what he’s saying.
He tries not to smile, “Was that English?”
“Fuck off.”
Well he definitely understood that. Ilya pulls himself from a chair at the island counter, taking his coffee cup over to the sink to set it nearby. He tilts his head at Shane, wanting to reach for him but knowing better not to. While being…bitten is certainly arousing, it’s decidedly not in this context.
Ilya isn’t saying that he’s exactly nice when he doesn’t feel well himself, but he also knows he leans into being a category ten clinger when whatever sickness he has takes a turn for the worst—resting, pressed up against Shane’s body, feeling his fingers in his hair, his lips against his forehead, a strong hand rubbing up and down his back…it helps. It helps more than Ilya thought was possible. He just wishes Shane would relax, to allow him to do something (anything) to help too.
“I can wash the sheets,” Ilya says after a moment. He knows that they’re probably a bit gross according to Shane’s standards. He can put the clean sheets in the drier beforehand, warm them up for him and then put them on the bed.
Shane crinkles his nose and Ilya thinks he almost succumbs to that suggestion, but then he realizes he’s just getting ready to sneeze. He buries his face into the blanket, which is so un-Shane like that Ilya shakes his head in soft amusement. Clearly he’s past the point of giving a fuck. He sneezes twice, pulling back to blink, slightly dazed.
“Bud'te zdorovy.”
“Don’t bother,” Shane hitches, waving off the bless you before a soft groan leaves his chest, “There’s more.”
Ilya hums lightly, reaching to tug the blanket away from his face. He brushes his fingers through his hair, trying to discreetly check his temperature. Shane reads him a mile away, tugging his wrist back,
“I’m fine,” He sniffles, “It’s just a cold.”
“You sound like angry beehive.”
A laugh slips out of his mouth, unguarded, like Shane wasn’t expecting it. Ilya’s lips pull into a small smile, wishing his husband wasn’t so stubborn. He wants so badly to do something and doesn’t know what; he hates feeling so helpless.
Just a tiny bit of the wall Shane has built between them crumbles, Ilya can see it when he’s allowed to cup his cheek, running his thumb over his freckles. Shane keens into the touch, opening his mouth to say something—but then drastically pulls back to sneeze again. It’s a harsh sounding double and Ilya winces because he knows that had to hurt.
“Moya lyubov',” Ilya whispers, taking a step towards him but Shane lifts a hand to stop him.
“I’m just gonna…shower.” And disappears through the doorway before Ilya can say anything else.
—
Ilya does what he doesn’t want to do, which is give Shane space. He knows that sometimes Shane is very particular about what he needs—silence versus sound, touch versus space, venting versus coming up with a plan. He gets it. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating but…he understands. So while Shane showers, Ilya plants himself into the corner of the couch in the living room, mindlessly watching hockey highlights in a pair of black sweats and a zip-up hoodie. He runs a hand over the lower half of his face and tries not to listen for sounds of Shane moving around the house.
About an hour later, when Ilya’s close to getting up and calling it a night, Shane shuffles into the living room. There’s no blanket around his shoulders, but he’s wearing a pair of sweats and Ilya’s Boston hoodie, cheeks still pink from the shower (hopefully not a fever) and hair slightly damp. Some of the strands bow over his forehead and Ilya wonders if he bypassed a brush because it was too much effort and just accepted a towel dry instead.
He sniffles loudly and plops himself down on the couch and Ilya holds his breath, counts to ten, and then Shane turns and molds himself against his side. He doesn’t try to hold the entire world on his shoulders, he doesn’t allow stubbornness to dig its claws in—he relaxes, he allows, finally, for someone to take care of him.
“I’m sorry,” Shane mutters, his face finding the crook of Ilya’s neck.
Ilya is quick to shake his head because he’s got nothing to apologize for. He wraps an arm around his shoulders, feeling the restlessness that’s been behind his ribcage all day finally settle when he registers his husband’s warm body tucked against his own. Shane draws his legs up onto the couch, resting his full weight on him, a small shiver sliding down his spine as he tucks his one arm along Ilya’s waist, underneath his open zip hoodie. Ilya presses his nose and lips into Shane’s damp hair, breathing him in.
“Are you cold?”
Shane nods, a pathetic sound leaving his throat, “I hate this.”
“I know, malysh,” He presses a kiss to his forehead, tugging the blanket down off the back of the couch. He drapes it over Shane’s body, his hand rubbing up and down his arm to create as much friction as he can.
They’re both pretty used to being self-sufficient, at being strong, at not needing anyone else’s help. That stubbornness is hard to bypass; it’s difficult to allow someone in, to let someone else see you so vulnerable. Ilya isn’t claiming to be perfect in that, it’s something he’s been learning to live with every day. But Shane always helps him feel like he can be whatever version of himself he needs to be, no matter what it is.
“Do you need anything?” Ilya asks after a moment, reaching for the remote to turn the volume down in case Shane has a headache.
His arm bends so that his hand can rest along Shane’s head, threading his fingers through his hair. He strokes at his scalp, trying to lull him to sleep, peppering slow kisses to his forehead, his hairline and the bridge of his nose.
Shane shakes his head after a moment, inching closer as if that’s possible as his eyes flutter closed, “Just need you.” He mumbles and Ilya swears his heart swells twice its size.
idk how yall feel about autistic shane on this site but i feel very strongly about him!!!! especially when he goes over to the centaurs and it’s a place that is so unbelievably kind that he doesn’t even realize they’re accommodating him.
like…. young, spry, starry-eyed luca haas who is already thanking his lucky stars for getting into the NHL playing with ilya rozanov (who he had posters of above his bed) and he’s absorbing as much information as he can from him. until suddenly he gets to play on the same line as shane fucking hollander?!!!!! the man whose religion is hockey - he who eats and breathes it. ofc he’s going to ask questions. and shane, sweet wonderful shane, will just ramble and ramble and ramble about things like his stick taping routine, the waxes he uses, and his skate sharpening technique. and luca would just listen and absorb every word like a sponge until shane realizes he’s rambling and he apologizes with a lil blush on his face and luca doesn’t understand why he’s apologizing because he loves to listen to the shane hollander talk for hours. and so luca makes it a point to always ask shane questions even about the smallest things just to see the way his eyes sparkle as he info dumps about hockey.
or shane who is having a few back to back very bad no good days at practice. and one day it’s just too much and the lights are too bright and his skin feels like it’s stretched too tight across his bones and his equipment is heavy and it’s wrong on his skin. and ilya, his perfect beautiful husband who always knows what to do, isn’t around (he has to meet with the coaches). and shane can’t catch a breath and he’s fighting with his gear and his skates. he closes his eyes so tight it hurts and his lungs feel like they’re on fire because he can’t get a good deep breath. until suddenly everything is muffled. there’s a pressure over his temples and when he looks up, the light is being eclipsed by wyatt hayes who is pressing noise cancelling headphones over shane’s ears. he’s taking exaggerated breaths so shane can match him. and the knot in shane’s chest loosens just enough for everything to be bearable for a few minutes. he asks wyatt how he knew what to do and wyatt says his nephew is the same. he noticed it a while ago but ilya was always there to help, but he’s glad he was here now. and shane will thank him and wyatt will usher him off to the showers where the hot water will loosen more of the knot in his chest until he’s back with ilya. suddenly, though, shane feels like crying because he’s never had someone else, besides ilya, to bear this weight with and it feels a little liberating.
or shane and ilya who are late to a classic Boodram BBQ™ and now they don’t have time to stop at the store to grab some ginger ale for shane. and he is so disappointed at the prospect of having to drink water all night because he doesn’t drink during the season and he’d rather die than drink a coke, but alas it is what it is. when they get there, they make their way greeting everyone. ilya giving bro hugs and fist bumps while shane politely waves and smiles and no one feels offended for not getting a bro hug in return. all just content to give shane his space. and when they finally all gather around to eat, shane asks where the non-alcoholic cooler is so he can get a drink to sip on while he eats. he opens the cooler and is almost brought to tears when he sees cans upon cans of his favorite brand of ginger ale. he didn’t have to ask… everyone just knew.
or when they’re on a roadie, a few guys decide to get dinner together at a japanese place not too far from the hotel. and shane is staring at the silverware with so much malcontent because it’s literally the ugliest fucking fork he’s ever seen and it should burn to hell. and the chopsticks aren’t even japanese, they’re chinese (and yes they’re different). he texted ilya asking if he’s almost done with his meeting because the travel utensils he carries around are in his duffel bag, but ilya lets him know it’ll be another 20 minutes. but troy barrett, noticing his discomfort, pipes up and says something about a video he saw online about certain sushi’s that are meant to be eaten with your hands and without utensils of any kind and they have them on the menu. and so in true centaurs fashion they ditch the silverware and chopsticks, and eat with their hands. and shane has a soft gentle smile on his lips the entire time.
but, most importantly, is that shane can show love in his own way. like one day, when shane is out shopping with rose at some LA mall, he stops at the lego store to get one of the pike kids some birthday present or something. while he’s looking around, he sees a lego set that was in the shape of the batman logo and he instantly buys it. once he’s back in ottawa he places it in his duffle bag before practice and when he’s walks into the locker room, he goes over to wyatt and hands it to him. he’s rambling on and on, with a gentle blush and avoiding eye contact, saying “i saw this when i was in LA and i thought of you… i wasn’t sure if you preferred DC or marvel, but most of the comics you’ve mentioned are DC so i hope i chose right” and wyatt is staring at the lego box in his hands with his mouth open and his brain short circuiting. because wdym shane hollander listened to him talk about super heroes and actually payed attention?? enough to know his favorite franchise, and he took time and money out of his day to purchase something so silly simply because it reminded him of his goalie. and he’s looking back and forth between shane and the box of lego’s with a smile so wide, too big for his face, and he stands up and pulls shane into a bone crushing hug before releasing him quickly and apologizing for the embrace before telling shane it’s the best gift he’s ever received.
well - hollanov - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 285 - click here for my hollanov microfic archive on ao3
"So," Yuna said a little stiffly, obviously struggling to land on a neutral topic of conversation as they sat around the table. "How have you been enjoying the cottage, R–Ilya? What've you and Shane been getting up to?"
It was a testament to both of their desires to make a good impression that neither of them so much as smirked at the other...though Shane cleared his throat rather loudly. "Uh..." Ilya nodded, swallowing his mouthful of pasta. "Yes, is very nice. Shane gave me tour. He showed me indoor rink, told me about well, all of these things. Very...impressive."
Shane kicked Ilya's leg under the table, suppressing a smile.
"Did he take you out on the lake yet?" David asked conversationally, loading a second helping of pasta onto his plate. "The weather's been great, perfect to get the kayaks out."
Ilya looked over to Shane, unsure about the word 'kayak.' "Um, no, not yet. Maybe we will do this soon."
Furrowing his eyebrows, David looked to Yuna, then back at Shane and Ilya. "Wait, how long have you been here?" he questioned, sounding a bit confused now.
Shane, who had yet to take a bite, sighed. "Like a week, Dad. Why?"
"Because usually you're out on the lake the second you get out here! What else have you two been doing for a whole week?" he asked bemusedly, eyes wide and ridiculously innocent.
Immediately, both Yuna and Ilya spoke at once.
"I think is time for another drink, yes?" Ilya said, reaching for the vodka.
"I'm going to get the dessert!" Yuna announced quickly, at the same time.
Shane just groaned, again touching his head to the table while his face flushed maroon.
cackling about the idea of the ottawa team doing challenges for social media because shane's first question would be, "how many did rozanov get?" and ilya's first question would be, "how many did my husband get?" because they want to beat anyone, but they ESPECIALLY want to beat each other
which means that over time, new challenges for each of them get prefaced with, "and your husband has not gone yet" or "your husband got X" because it is a GIVEN that they're going to want to know how the other did so they can try to beat him
and it's really just another point of evidence that at NO POINT did either of them ever consider letting the other person win ANYTHING
you think the motherfuckers locking the FUCK in to catch the most ping pong balls blindfolded are going to let the other win a deciding match for the cup?? be SO fucking for real
I should be asleep. I'm not. This little one-shot needed to get out into the world.
I hope you enjoy!
**
Guess I’d rather hurt than feel nothing at all (Ilya’s POV)
Shane Hollander. The man that haunted his dreams was here, at this bar, dancing with Rose Landry. His entire body was on fire. He wanted to rage. He wanted to break them apart and claim…fuck…no. Sha–shit–HOLLANDER had made it clear. He did not want him. He wanted someone else, someone that he could be seen with- that he could waltz around Montreal with. Not someone that could only come back to his NOT APARTMENT and fuck him. But still- his chest squeezed tight. He wanted him. After everything that had happened- he still wanted Shane Hollander so bad that it hurt.
They locked eyes for a moment and he tried to force his eyes away. Tried to show any emotion other than the complete and utter devastation he felt. He was sure he failed. Shane’s eyes widened and even as Rose danced against him, her hands drifting under his shirt- Shane didn’t pull his eyes away. Fuck. If he kept looking at him like this- he was going to do something foolish. But it hurt- it hurt so bad to look away.
He forced his eyes away. He pushed past the woman dancing on him- heading for some fresh air. He came here to forget Sha–fuck—HOLLANDER. Hollander did not go to clubs. Hollander did not drink during the season. Hollander sure as shit did not dance in a fucking night club after a game against Boston- not unless. Fuck. He loved her. He had to love her. And as he broke into the cool air and gulped in deep breaths he started walking. He had to move. He had to get away from here because if he stayed here. God this hurt. It hurt so much to fucking see him like this and to know that this pain would never go away.
He didn’t know if he event wanted it to go away. He didn’t know if he could give up on loving Shane.
It’s a quarter after one- I’m a little drunk and I need you now (Shane’s POV)
“You…you’re not here with me. Are you, Shane? What’s going on?”
Ilya. He…fuck…he needed to go after Ilya. Maybe it was the beer talking, maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t refueled properly- but that pain. No. Ilya couldn’t look that way. And for a moment he’d completely forgotten. He’d forgotten that he was here with Rose. That he was supposed to be dating Rose. That the man that just stormed out of this club was his arch-rival- not his lover.
“I…I need to go. I fucked up and I need to tell him…his face, he looked…”
“Shhhhh, sweetie. You’re drunker than I thought. Let’s head out the back and you can do what you need to do.”
“You’re not mad?”
“No. No, Shane. I saw it. I saw who. I’ll cover for you- now let’s go.”
They broke out into the alleyway- where Rose’s driver was parked. She gave him a firm hug and he squeezed her tight. In the morning he could clarify what the fuck she had seen- but that wasn’t his highest priority right now. He was just drunk enough that the fear of her SEEING didn’t sink in. No. No, he was scared out of his mind that Ilya would do something reckless. That devastation had been real, god it was real.
He pulled out his phone and started typing away. It was the shittiest text he’d ever sent to Ilya- but he didn’t care. An address. The door code. And ‘I fucked up’. He walked out towards the front door- where he’d seen Ilya exit. Maybe he could catch him. Maybe he would be able to grab him and check on him and then he could go sleep off how drunk he was. Maybe with Ilya. God, he wanted to fall asleep next to Ilya and sleep all of this away. The bit of normal that Ilya had offered him and that he had run from was the very thing that he craved. And- somewhere in his drunken mind- he realized that Ilya craved it to. FUCK. Ilya wanted it too and he had been so deep in his own shit that he hadn’t realized it until now.
He scanned the sidewalk in both directions. No Ilya. Had he really taken that long with Rose? How long had she been trying to get his attention? He glanced down at his phone again- nothing. It had only been a couple of minutes, but as the panic jolted through him- he did something reckless. He called Ilya. It went straight to voicemail and he gulped. Fuck it.
“Please, Ilya. Please call me back- I fucked up and I need. God, I need to know that you’re okay. I’m so, so sorry.”
Said I wouldn’t call but I’ve lost all control and I need you now (Ilya’s POV)
His phone buzzed. He glanced down at it and nearly launched his phone across the street. Jane. JANE. Fucking Jane. Was it not enough that Sha–HOLLANDER had caught him staring? Was it not enough that he had probably seen him run from the club to get away from him? Was it not enough that he needed to rub this in his face? He went to put his phone back in his pocket, but then he got another message. Then another. The last preview stopped him cold. ‘I fucked up’.
He ducked into a late night diner- just for a moment. Just long enough to open his messages and see what else Hollander had sent. Holy shit. That was his–his home address? And the code to his front door? No. This made no sense. Sha–no–HOLLANDER was going home with Rose Landry tonight- he had seen it with his own eyes. Seen how they were together. And there was no fucking way Hollander could possibly be suggesting a threesome. Nope. This had to be the cruelest joke that he’d ever had played on him.
Still- he put the address into this phone. Four blocks. It was only four blocks over. It was a short enough walk and maybe seeing them together in a place he’d never been allowed to go would cement this. Would put the final nail in his heart.
His phone rang and he stared at it. JANE. Jane. Jane. He stared at it for so long that it went to voicemail and he let it. What was he going to say? What did he even have to say? ‘Sorry that I couldn’t look away from you, but I love you and my heart was breaking seeing you with someone else’. No. He’d let it go to voicemail. That was safer. Still, he picked up his pace.
When his phone dinged again- he did something he never did. He pulled up that voicemail and listened.
“Please, Ilya. Please call me back- I fucked up and I need. God, I need to know that you’re okay. I’m so, so sorry.”
Ilya. NOT Rozanov. NOT Lily. Ilya. He hastily wiped his eyes as he continued forward. The sorrow. The pain. It felt like Hollander’s emotions were his own as he relistened to the message a handful of times and let out a sigh. He’d promised himself he’d never call Hollander. He’d never do this, but he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting Hollander. Even after he’d stomped on his heart, even after everything- he couldn’t hurt him.
The phone rang. Once, twice. He almost hung up. He couldn’t leave a message. He didn’t trust his voice at this moment to do that- but then a click and a breathless voice on the other end of the line.
“Hey…I’m in an Uber. If you…I get if you don’t want to see me, but please consider…”
“I’m on my way. I’ll see you there soon, Hollander.”
And I don’t know how I can do without, I just need you now (Shane’s POV)
Ilya hung up and he let out a shaky breath. He needed him. God, he needed him and he’d been such a fucking fool. He tried to keep calm, tried to keep it cool. His uber driver knew who he was. He’d even congratulated him on beating Boston tonight. He didn’t give a damn about hockey at the moment. He only gave a damn about one thing- he needed Ilya. He needed Ilya in his life like he needed air and he was not going to be fucking stupid enough to continue pretending otherwise.
The minutes dragged by. It was a quiet night. He thought for a moment about jumping out of the uber and running home, but no- that was stupid. That would draw more attention to him. Fuck. Did he even care if attention was drawn to them? This was the one person he needed in his life–nope–one step at a time. He was not going to spiral about what might be waiting for him when he got home.
The uber pulled to a stop- he watched his door click closed and he hastily paid the driver, added a tip. He said something polite as he hopped out of the car and he paused for a moment. Then he sprinted up his stairs. There was no playing this cool. There was no way for him to stand a fucking chance other than to just lay this out. And he was just drunk enough to do it.
He threw the door open, Ilya jumped around to face him- even as he slammed and locked the door behind him. He needed this man. He NEEDED him. And he’d been a damn fool.
“Hollander- you break into your own fucking home?”
“Ilya.” A step forward.
“No, Hollander- it is just Roz–”
“Ilya.” Another step forward. He watched Ilya’s face and he saw it then. The red eyes. The tears. Fuck, he’d hurt him. He’d hurt him so badly. He would make it up to him.
“Hollander.”
“Ilya.” He pushed Ilya’s head up, forced him to look into his eyes like Ilya did so many times with him. His eyes cut to the side, but he didn’t pull away. As the tears streamed down Ilya’s cheeks- he did not pull away. “Ilya- it’s just Shane. Please. I fucked up but tonight…I saw it and I felt it and fuck- I need you. I just need you.”
“Sha–Hollander. I am stupid. Why the fuck did I come here? Why did I do this?”
“Ilya, I’m so sorry.” He pulled Ilya into his arms- he stiffened and then he melted. A raw sob escaped him. “Oh, Ilya…I’m so sorry I did this to you, to us.”
Jackie is aware that Hayden is continuing to be a dick about Ilya, and she's kind of at a loss about how to deal with it, because he won't listen to her. Or he does, but only for a little while and then he snaps back into his weird intense disapproval. (She is honestly terrified about what is going to happen when their girls bring someone home if this is some kind of foreshadowing. It's both "no one is good enough for him" and "stop stealing my things" and all of it is bad and infantilizing of a man who is basically their age)
She's not surprised to get a phone call from Shane after the two of them were supposed to meet for lunch. She sighs down the phone line. The nanny has the kids at the park, so she's just been clicking through some options for dinner on her phone. "Hey Shane. I'm guessing it didn't go well."
"He called Ilya a fuck boy who doesn't know how good he has it before we got our food." Shane says. His tone is fighting for evenness, but she can hear his frustration and actual hurt underneath.
She blows out a breath, but knows better than to apologize. She's not responsible for her idiot husband after all, as Shane protests whenever she tries. "So he was in really good form huh?"
"I'm also guessing he didn't tell you that he knew JJ was trying to surprise me with a blind date hook up and that he was helping JJ pick guys I might like?"
She blinks at the wall, and slowly says, "What the fuck."
"Yeah." Shane says, sounding so tired.
She doesn't know what to say anymore, and shakes her head, "I'll talk to him again."
"Actually," Shane says, sounding kind of hesitant, "I had an idea I wanted to run by you." And then he's tripping over himself in his usual Shane flood of words. "It's probably a stupid idea that'll just make him mad actually so maybe I should just let it all go it's really not that bad -"
"Shane" she interrupts, "tell me the idea."
He blows out a slow breath that crackles over the phone line. He sounds only a little hesitant when he starts talking again, "It occurred to me today that a lot of the stuff he was saying about Ilya could also describe you." She blinks again, and Shane continues, "I mean I know we joke around sometimes about you two meeting in a club and you did that a lot right before you met Hayden, like Ilya did. And obviously there's nothing wrong with that!" Shane is quick to say, "I don't think so anyway, and obviously neither does Hayden really, except when he can use it against Ilya -"
It's very true, what Shane is saying. While she'd been in college she'd gone to bars and clubs very regularly and enjoyed herself throughly. She'd always known she wanted to settle down eventually and have a bunch of kids (goal achieved) but that had never stopped her from enjoying herself. It's how she'd ended up in the club where she met Shane and Hayden, and how she'd been confident enough to go talk to them. And there's not one part of her that's ashamed of it.
(She has never told either Shane or Hayden that she originally approached them with the intention of talking to Shane, who had awkwardly directed her to Hayden instead. But if her husband continues to be an asshole maybe she should mention that.)
"Shane" she asks, cutting off what is surely the start of another flood of words, "are you asking me my permission to call me a club rat to my husband next time he insults your boyfriend?"
After Another Hospital Stay- Ch 3- Montreal Confrontation
Back to Shane's POV for this one. Pay attention to the trigger warnings above the cut- from here on in there's gonna be some heavy stuff. If you prefer the AO3 experience- you can find it here.
TW: Homophobic language
Ilya’s pep talk lasted through most of the drive to Montreal. He stopped at his apartment to grab his training gear and his meal prep for the day. He planned for a full day of practice, a full day back with the team. The panic didn’t grip him until he was parked and he spotted teammates were already here. It was 6:50- they weren’t slated to talk until nearly 7:30- most of the team only rolled in a few minutes before practice on a normal day. He studied the roof of his car for a moment and let out a sigh before he opened the door and went to face his team.
Hayden settled next to him- for once he didn’t joke. He just offered him the friendship they’d had for nearly a decade. Desjardins had sent him a handful of livid texts- mostly focusing on how he needed to fix this for the team or he was done. If anyone else had announced that the love of their life had nearly died- they would have received extra support- the WAGs would do their work. Since it was Ilya Rozanov- he had barely gotten a sorry from anyone other than Hayden and J.J. As the captain he had sent more than his fair share of giftcards, deep cleaners, whatever they needed. He didn’t want to dig into that to remind them that he had been there for them. He knew that most of them didn’t give a fuck because of who he loved- he hoped he could change that, but being vulnerable was fucking terrifying.
He pushed the door open and J.J. moved in to his other side. Fuck. He didn’t want them to feel like he needed bouncers, but as the first person spat at his feet his head snapped towards them. This was as much for the other players as it was for him- because they knew the blatant disrespect could make him lose his shit before the talk even happened. He needed to go into this talk as level-headed as possible.
“We’re just waiting for Gil. He…I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s really fucking late.”
“That’s fine.”
“You have a plan?”
“Be me. The me that loves him.”
Hayden and J.J. settled on either side of him as he took his space in front of his locker. He wondered how much longer that would be true. He hoped this might end well that hearing him talk about Ilya would somehow get them to understand that this wasn’t a fling. He might have lied to them for years- but it was because of this. It was because he knew exactly how they would react and he’d been right. He’d been so fucking right.
He mindlessly changed into his gear. Because it was what he did. Because it would at least send the right message to the management that he still wanted to play. That even after all the shit that had been thrown at him, he was not going to abandon the team. He would leave if they asked him to, but he knew they were all hungry for another cup and that might be the one thing that saved this season.
A punch landed beside his head, slamming into his locker and he looked over his shoulder. Comeau. He finished pulling on his pants and settled back down to begin lacing up his skates. He forced his hands to not shake, even as his entire body tried to rebel against the lockdown he had on it. He knew it would be bad. He knew that he was going to have to confront this head on- showing any amount of fear would just make this worse. He had also hoped that they would at least act outwardly civil about all of this.
“Not going to look us in the fucking eye? Like you haven't been eyeballing all of us for nearly a decade.”
He tilted his head up, met Comeau’s gaze levelly. Took a look around the locker room and locked eyes with as many of the veterans as possible. The rookies were mostly just glad to be here and be experiencing this level of hockey. It was the veterans that would make the choice for how this locker room was from here on out.
“I’ve only ever eyed one man and he nearly died last week.”
Silence. He leaned back in his locker and motioned for the others to sit- most of them did- their curiosity winning out. Comeau spat in his face and he calmly wiped it away- a firm grip on Hayden’s arm as he jumped up to deck him. He’d let everyone work out their aggression on the ice, there was no reason to fight here- yet.
“I’ve done a lot of lying to this team over the years- about who I love, about being gay. I’ve never lied about my passion for hockey and how much I want this team to succeed. That hasn’t changed. Until Scott Hunter came out- I thought that locking away who I loved was just my life until I retired. Then Scott came out and it felt possible to not have to hide away half of who I am. Roz…Ilya and I decided we’d make it work, we’d date because it was killing both of us to try to pretend we didn’t care. And last week he nearly died playing the game we both love and I had a choice. Go to him and reveal everything or fail the person I love more than anyone else in the world. You all know what I chose and I...I owe you more of the story.
“I started seeing Ilya in 2010. We were casual for years, we ran from being serious. And then neither of us could stand that anymore. We didn’t know what to do, how to be who we wanted to be to each other. It scared the shit out of me when I first realized I loved him- I ran out. I hurt him. I hurt us. But we…he…this is it for me. He is it. I think all of you have joked with me about Boston Lily, a few of you realized that became Ottawa Lily last year. You’ve seen me fall in love with him, you just didn’t know who was on the other side of the phone.
“I get if you don’t want me here. I’ve read the messages- I think I’m tracking how some of you feel. I’d ask that you wait until the end of the season since we’re about to head into the playoffs and it’ll be fucking difficult for this team to win without the full team. And we have a chance to take home the cup. It’s not up to me though if I leave now. I’m going to go warm up. Pike- I’m trusting you’ll get a decision out of them before practice starts and we’ll go from there.”
“You got it, bud.”
“I won’t protect you. I won’t protect a fucking cocksucker who shouldn’t be playing this sport- who should be thrown out of the MLH–”
“Well, luckily for you, Gil- if everyone else agrees- I’ll be gone by the end of practice. For everyone else- this is what you think is best. Not what Gil thinks. Not what Hayden thinks. Not what I think. How do you want to end this year?”
************************
Hayden skated out to him- the first on the ice and he paused from the drill he was running. An hour and a half. The team had been debating his fate for an hour and a half. He was not sure what he wanted the outcome to be, he just knew that he needed a fucking answer. He had never thought of how hard it would be to just let the team work something out without him. He had never truly imagined this team without him.
He watched Hayden carefully, hoping his friend would give away something. He settled next to him and waited. Hayden let out a sigh and then a smile crossed his face and he nodded. One last run. He was going to get one last run.
“Any one I should be concerned about?”
“Yeah, but you know who they fucking are. Comeau and Drapeau tried really hard to sway the room, but so did me and J.J. Kozlov’s situation last year was what tipped the scales- you did everything you could to get him back to his wife after her accident- we all agreed to that. We didn’t have to have a group meeting after he sprinted home- it’s bull shit we have to have one now.”
“I know it’s not only those two.”
“They’re the most vocal. Securing a spot in the playoffs against Boston will start to put the others to rest. A deep playoff run–”
“One last ride.”
“Yeah, Hollzy. One last ride.”
************************
He settled across from Desjardins- he could feel the fury radiating off his coach. He’d lied. He’d sprinted to Ottawa to be with a man that they categorically hated. Then he’d gone one step further and come out to the entire world with only a few minutes heads up to his team. Montreal had been blindsided. He understood their anger when it came to being blindsided. He was not sure how that was going to manifest itself today.
“We’re opening an investigation into you throwing games against Boston while Rozanov played there. Same for Ottawa.”
He reached over into his bag and pulled out the statistical work that Farah had had a specialist crunching over for the last few days. They knew this was coming. They knew that this was the likeliest action to try to make a case to just dismiss him. There were not amicable terms with Montreal at the moment.
“I went ahead and had a consultant run the numbers from my side. I’m happy to have their methodology sent to the consultant that you will be hiring for this investigation.”
Silence. Desjardins stared at the stack of papers and then started to rifle through them. The findings were glaringly obvious- the talking heads on ESPN had already come to a similar conclusion. He played better against Ilya. He always had. There was even a noted uptick in his stats before and after a game against him. He knew they made each other better, but now he had the numbers to prove it.
“I’m not asking to stay past the season, but this is a good team. Potentially even a great team. I also asked them to run the rough statistics without me for this playoff run. You don’t have a fucking chance.”
Desjardins gritted his teeth together- he looked over his shoulder at the GM and Shane watched them all. The assistant coaches who were squirming in their seats, the fury rolling off Desjardins. Anthony St-Gelias looked pissed, but not in the same way as the rest of them. No. His anger was at Desjardins- not at him. That was a win. At least the GM could see how idiotic it would be to force him out now.
“Our statisticians agreed and we, Desjardins, the coaches and I, have had several conversations about how we get through this playoff season- with you. I’m glad to hear the team agreed that they are more interested in another cup than in forcing you out because of your relationship with Rozanov. How is he?”
“Alive. He’ll have drains in for a few more days. It’ll be a month before he can start hockey conditioning. He’s out for this season, he’ll be lucky to be in shape for pre-season. I don't think I'll be able to convince him to take it easy.”
“I don’t give a fuck about Ilya fucking Rozanov. This is about Hollander being able to lead this team and you’re wasting time asking stupid fucking questions about when Rozanov can play again. Can you lead this team?”
Shane nodded his appreciation at St-Gelias and he considered his words carefully. He knew he could lead the team. That was the stupidest question that Desjardins could pose to him and he shook his head as a wry smile flickered into and out of his expression. Desjardins wanted all the fault to fall on him. If the season unravelled, if the locker room went to hell- he was solely to blame. Like there was not an entire coaching arm of this team that had influence on how this season ended.
“I can. I think the last decade has shown that. Can you set aside your hatred? Can you shut down the shit that is non-productive to this team? It’s not just me that shoulders this responsibility.”
The stack of papers flew by his head, but he held his ground. He sat and waited as Desjardins raged. He knew his coach’s ways. He knew that him holding him accountable was not what he wanted. He wanted Shane to roll over and take on whatever happened in the rest of the season. But that wasn’t on him. Their best chance was with him, but this was a team sport. And at the end of the day, Desjardins had more responsibilities. This wasn’t about responsibility though, this was about facing a hatred that he had propagated in this organization from his very first day in the building.
“I’ll do my part. Win me a fucking cup, Hollander.”
i think if hollanov had children, they'd have a competition going to get their kid to say papa (ilya) / daddy (shane) first. and of course they're always doing it in front of each other too, talking to their toddler and very exaggeratedly going “oh you love papa so much, don't you, munchkin?” or “look what daddy got you” and pulling out their kids favourite stuffed animal that they'd looked for for ages.
and then when their kids says daddy first, ilya is holding them both and sobbing into shane’s neck because OF COURSE their child would say daddy first because shane is SUCH A GREAT DAD THE BEST DAD SUPERBEST DAD and he’s so happy, and shane is a little overwhelmed because he did not see this coming.
and then a few days later, ilya comes home and shane is with their kid on the couch and his whole face is lit up as he looks at their child at first, saying ”tell papa what you told me, munchkin” and then turns to look at ilya as their kid throws up their hands and toots “papa! key!” and ilya almost melts into a puddle but goes because their kid is wriggling and leaning towards him, and they spend the rest of the day on the couch together and ilya keeps sniffling and shane keeps kissing his forehead and their toddler keeps giving him open-mouthed kisses on his face.
Shane & Ilya hanging out with Skip for unspecified reasons and the first time Kip teasingly says “girl!” to him about something, Shane just makes this face
