I wish you would write a fic where: Ransom is a team physician and Holster is a referee. (They first met on the ice during a particularly physical Aces v. Falcs game?)
Prompt Free For All, Accepting until Sept. 1st! This fill brought to you by @omgpieplease‘s amazing Holsom sketchpage and ref!Holster sketches.
Justin Oluransi, MD, has a complicated relationship with his job. One one level, he loves it. There’s something so pure about the rush of adrenaline when he has to run onto the ice and assess a situation. He loves hockey and he loves helping people, and being the team physician for the Providence Falconers allows him to do both. There’s just one part of his job that he hates: he’s only called in when something terrible happens. Fighting is expected - he’s sewn up more busted lips and tracked down more teeth than he can count - but injuries are always horrible to witness.
As much as Justin loves his job it’s never fun to see a player go down, especially now that he’s gotten to know the Falconers individually. It had been a little easier to watch them go down when he was still terrified to speak to them for fear of embarrassing himself (in his first conversation with Tater all he’d managed to say was hello and goodbye), but now that he counts them as friends instead of colleagues every time he rushes onto the ice there’s a heavy dread sitting in the pit of his stomach.
Justin’s particularly busy whenever the Aces come to town. He’s not sure what it is about the Aces and Falconers, but guys who aren’t at all prone to fighting tend to end up in the worst scrapes of all whenever their paths cross. It’s so bad that he’s kept even closer to the ice than usual, tucked almost on the bench itself instead of back in the halls underneath the stands. It’s only because of this vantage point that he sees him.
He’d be difficult to miss, actually. He’s taller than most of the players and is just as broad, his clear, blue eyes visible even from behind the low brow of his helmet. He’s stationed himself on center ice, arms crossed, looking as relaxed as he is threatening. He raises a thick eyebrow whenever one of the players gets too close to someone on the opposing team as if he’s just waiting for one of them to make trouble. It wouldn’t be entirely unprecedented - there had been a fight not five minutes into the first period of the last Falcs/Aces game because of a taunt thrown across the ice during warm ups.
As Justin watches, Kent Parson skates right up to the ref, all brash confidence and an easy smile. He can’t hear what they’re saying over the din of the crowd and the constant scraping and clacking from the players warming up, but after a few moments of talking the ref’s expression has shifted from an unimpressed eye roll to a sly grin to a broad smile. They’re chirping, Justin realizes.
“Hey,” he nudges the closest blue and white uniform with his elbow; it’s Tater, who’s holding onto the bench as he stretches. “There’s a new referee?” Tater straightens up, glancing over at the exchange happening at center ice.
“New here, yes!” Alexi confirms. “I see him at Bruins games, hear he moved to Providence. I introduce now.” He decides with one definitive nod. Before Justin can protest he’s waving his arm, calling out to the ref.
“Birkholtz! You start conspiracy with rat? In my house?” The ref laughs, a booming sound Justin can hear over the cacophony of the stadium, as Parson rolls his eyes and skates back to his teammates. The ref glides over, a wide smile still on his face.
“Hey, none of that now. I’ve decided that you have to wait at least a full ten minutes before starting a fight this time.” The ref claps a big hand on Tater’s shoulder, friendly and familiar. Now that he’s close Justin can see that he and Tater are the same height and his cheeks somehow start burning despite the icy air in the rink.
“Me? Fight? Never.” Tater’s words would hold a little more weight if he wasn’t currently sporting the green and yellow remnants of the black eye he’d gotten in a fight not two games ago. Birkholtz raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, then looks over at Justin with the same expression.
“Can you believe this guy?” He asks, and his voice is warm as his eyes are blue and Justin wasn’t prepared for this at all. He smiles, matching Birkholtz’ expression.
Justin shakes his head and reaches out to shove Tater playfully. The Russian glides back a few inches, twisting his body to act like he’s just received a tragic blow. “No, not since he lied to me about his cold symptoms so he could play against the Stars last month. He lied to his doctor.” Tater just shrugs, shamess, and the referee gasps dramatically.
Birkholtz claps his hand to his chest, looking at Tater with horrified amazement. “You’ve lied to a medical professional? Mashkov, I am aghast.” Justin laughs just as Tater waves them off and skates away to join his teammates. The ref turns his attention to Justin, his dramatic expression shifting into a small smile. He sticks out his hand and Justin clasps it firmly. “Adam Birkholtz, professional athlete wrangler.”
“Justin Oluransi, and same.” He replies, pumping Adam’s hand. It’s rare for Justin to find someone bigger than he is, but Adam’s hand feels huge wrapped around his. Adam leans in conspiratorially, entering Justin’s space easily.
“Yeah, but you get to hang out on the bench. I have to run around out there with the kiddos.” He thumbs over his shoulder, gesturing loosely to the players circling behind him. His face is lit up in the same grin as when he was chirping Parson.
Justin scoffs, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “I was in school for like a thousand years - I think I deserve a break now.” He hesitates before continuing, but he can’t keep the words in. “Besides, all that running around agrees with you.” Adam looks up at him in surprise but his expression quickly shifts into an easy smile. He opens his mouth, about to respond when a stream of Falconers fly past them, making their way into the tunnels. Adam winks at him and shoots him with a pair of honest-to-God pair of finger guns before skating backwards to join the other referee. Justin rolls his eyes but points his finger at him, popping his lips as he pulls it back in a quick shooting motion. Adam laughs and banks smoothly, pulling up beside the other officials. Justin watches them talk until the lights dim and the equipment manager needs him to move so he can set up the spare sticks.
Watching the Aces play the Falcs is usually stressful, but with Adam out there it’s almost fun. He jokes with players from both teams to set them at ease and chirps them relentlessly, sometimes in the same breath as calling penalties. Refs are supposed to go unnoticed but Justin can’t keep his eyes off him.
Between the second and third periods Justin’s standing by the boards, watching Marty strech to make sure he’s not hiding an injury from the hard check he took just before the buzzer sounded. There’s a burst of cool air behind him and suddenly there’s a large, striped presence at his side.
“Doc O,” Adam greets. He smiles down at Justin, one thick eyebrow raised flirtatiously.
“Ref Birkholtz,” Justin replies, turning to face him. They’re standing close together, Adam’s height exaggerated by the skates, and they’re literally surrounded by thousands of people but it feels like it’s just the two of them. “Enjoying the game?”
“Always,” Adam’s gaze travels around the rink, a fond smile on his face even after his eyes land back on Justin. “But keeping the kids in line? Not so much. They’re really going at it tonight.”
Justin sighs, nodding in agreement. “I know. I’ve got my exam room prepped for any outcome. Did you know there’s a sixty seven percent chance someone’s going to lose a tooth tonight?” Calculating the exact chances of injury and peril is always a part of his pregame ritual and tonight’s figures had caused him to put in an order for extra gauze and rubber gloves.
“How do you know that?” Adam asks in amazement. “Knowing shit like that would make my job so much easier.”
Justin shrugs and leans in conspiratorially. “I kind of calculated it myself in Excel? It makes my job easier, too.” He still has to speak loudly to be heard over the crowd but he doesn’t want his Excel habit getting out if he can’t help it. He’s not even sure why he’s told Adam but there’s something welcoming about him Justin can’t explain. Despite only having met Adam less than an hour ago, Justin knows it’s safe to confide in him. They talk about the odds of Jack completing the last goal of a hat trick and jokingly throw numbers back and forth until the buzzer sounds and Adam has to skate to center ice to drop the puck and begin the last period.
Things go inexplicably well for the first fifteen minutes. Sure, there’s roughing and high sticking (He hears Adam say “You know what, fuck both you guys, let’s go,” before he literally drags Troy and Guy to the penalty box) but by some miracle Justin gets to stay by the bench. He’s even so relaxed he pulls out his phone to inspect his Google Sheets for any inaccuracies in his calculations when the dull roar of the crowd becomes an all-encompassing barrage of sound. Screaming like that means one of two things: a goal or a fight, and there aren’t any sirens sounding.
When he looks up Jack’s circling Anatoly Kuragin, one of the Aces defensemen. When Jack gets a good punch in and sends Kuragin reeling back the Russian tears off his own helmet and leaps at him. Kuragin tackles Jack to the ice and the noise increases tenfold. It’s a dirty move and all twenty thousand people in the arena know it. Adam joins the fray as he attempts to pull Kuragin back, but Justin’s distracted from the noise and the anger boiling in his own stomach by a smear of red on the ice.
Justin’s vaulting over the boards the moment he sees the blood and he kneels by Jack to check him over quickly. He looks dazed but he’s not bleeding and he easily answers the flurry of questions Justin throws at him. By the time Jack’s back on his feet his eyes are clear, narrowed and cold as he glares at the Ace. When Justin follows his gaze he sees Adam holding Kuragin in a chokehold and it’s suddenly clear where the blood came from.
Justin may have swore an oath to Do No Harm but when he sees the red streaming down Adam’s face he has to tighten his grip on Jack’s jersey to keep from punching Kuragin himself. The linesmen take over and wrestle Kuragin over to the penalty box as the crowd cheers but the sound fades to a dull roar when Justin hurries over to Adam’s side. He steers him towards the dressing room, pushing him carefully off the ice and through the tunnel. Staff members swarm around them but Justin keeps his hands firmly on Adam’s shoulders and Adam, for his part, goes exactly where Justin guides him.
When they reach the exam room Adam carefully removes his helmet and hops up on the table, but Justin has to push past equipment manages and people that are cluttering up his exam room with their presence.
“If you’re not going to be helpful, then get the fuck out.” He shoves a wayward intern to the side and slams the box of wipes on the exam table. Justin glares at the staff hovering around them and they all trickle out of the exam room. When he turns back to his patient Adam has his head tilted up, a thick stream of blood trickling down the pale column of his throat.
It’s not hot, because Adam’s hurt and his brows are pinched together in a telltale sign of pain, but Justin has to admit there’s something beautiful about him even under the harsh florescent lights.
Justin snaps on a pair of gloves and wipes the blood on Adam’s throat away carefully. Adam’s surprisingly still beneath his hands, his only movements the quick rise and fall of his chest as he tries to catch his breath. Justin works his way up Adam’s throat, to his jaw, to his lips and finally to his nose. He examines it for a moment, gently turning Adam’s head this way and that, feeling around until his suspicions are confirmed.
“Well, your whole face is broken.” His tone make Adam smile, revealing his red-stained teeth. Justin winces and tugs Adam in to make sure all his teeth are still there. He pulls Adam’s upper lip up unceremoniously, opening his mouth wider to check his molars. It’s hard to believe he’s currently running his gloved fingers over the gums of the man he’d been flirting with not two hours ago. Adam’s clearly thinking along the same lines, shoulders shaking as he tries to hold in his laughter. It spills out when Justin finally removes his fingers from his mouth, stepping away to change gloves.
“Kuragin caught me with his elbow. I bet you don’t think all that running around agrees with me now.” Adam jokes. There’s blood on his teeth and his nose is red and clearly bent out of shape, but he’s smiling nevertheless. When Justin has the new gloves on he steps between Adam’s knees, reaching up to cup his face to his head to the side in order to examine his profile.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Justin murmurs, running his fingers along Adam’s jaw. He lingers, letting the words hang between them before guiding Adam’s head back down. They’re eye to eye and Adam’s blatantly staring at his lips. It takes all his self control to step away but he lets one hand fall to Adam’s knee, giving it a comforting squeeze.
“I’m going to have to reset your nose.” He explains, all joking aside. Adam’s smile dims for a moment as he raises a hand to gently touch his own face, wincing when he pokes the fracture directly. Justin grabs his hand before he can inadvertently hurt himself again.
Adam glances down at their joined hands, the corner of his lips raising in a crooked little smile. “You don’t think this is a good look?” He asks, squeezing Justin’s hand once before pulling away.
“I like your face better the way it was.” Justin admits, shooting at Adam’s face with the same finger gun the ref had used on him before.
Adam chuckles, low and throaty. “So you do like my face.”
“Yeah, Adam. I like your face.” Justin places his thumbs along the sides of Adam’s nose, feeling carefully to determine exactly where the fracture is. Adam’s about to reply and Justin figures now is a good time as any. He applies a sharp pressure to the right side of Adam’s nose, mouth set in a grim line as he sets the cartilage back into place.
Adam’s expression twists into a pained grimace. “Holy fucking hell, what the actual god damn fuck? Fuck me!” His voice, already so loud in the crowded rink, fills the small exam room completely. He jerks back but Justin holds him firmly in place, refusing to let go until his nose is back where it should be. Adam grits his teeth, blue eyes squeezing shut in pain until Justin finally releases him.
He shudders, letting out a shaky sigh. Justin places a comforting hand on his shoulder, rubbing the muscle gently until the tension bleeds away.
“I’m assuming you want to go back out there?” Justin asks quietly, entirely unsurprised by the answering nod he receives.
Adam brushes his fingertips over the bridge of his nose, lips twisting in a small grimace. “You know it. Someone’s gotta keep those assholes in line.” He shrugs, smiling that crooked smile Justin’s becoming so fond of.
Justin sends him back into the fray with a full face shield attached to his helmet, a splint taped over his nose, and his number written on the back of Adam’s hand.
Two weeks later they’re standing outside Justin’s apartment building after their third date. Justin’s cradling Adam’s face in his hands, thumbs gently pressing along the sides of his almost healed nose.
“You’re sure it doesn’t hurt?” Justin asks, trying and failing to concentrate when Adam’s hands settle on his hips. The bruising had faded days ago but Justin’s not about to break Adam’s nose again with his own face.
Adam doesn’t reply but he leans in close, brushing their lips together in a light almost-kiss. Justin smooths his thumbs under Adam’s eyes, across his cheeks until he’s cupping the taller man’s jaw in his hands.
“See?” Adam murmurs into the small space between them. “I have the best doctor in the United States and Canad - mmhm.” Justin’s already sealed their lips together, unable to keep from kissing him a second longer. His fingertips skate along Adam’s strong jaw, turning him this way and that. Adam pulls him close, winding an arm around his waist.
Some Ransom & Holster for @halfabreath!!!!
A little bit of everything, really.
Canon bros, Punk AU (based on @heyfightme ‘s “Baking is Punk as Fuck” with an honestly unintended atmosphere of a prelude to a kiss),soft bro boyfriends, a Best Friend Sundae and a Ref!Holster/TeamPhysician!Rans AU <3
My other Check, Please! FanArt
The life of an on-ice NHL official can be both thrilling and a grind. It involves pregame rituals, extensive travel and, believe it or not, coming up with creative ways to do laundry. There is plenty of unseen work to do before and after games, and little glory. NHL.com spent time with linesman Greg Devorski at three games in January to get an inside look at the life of an NHL official.
I’m just going to leave this here for anyone (cough @rhysiana cough) who wants to...you know...do some research about...you know...what Holster’s life would be like as a ref. Just...you know...in case.... (also, why do I feel like I want to tag @des-zimbits here too? maybe it’s that “interlibrary loan comment from earlier)
I replied but you said to ask again, so same question (Was there a certain incident that made Holster look at himself and be like 'shit ain't working' in his hockey career? Did he come up for a cup of coffee then get banished back to the farm team a bunch? Did he just not get called up? Was he hurt badly?) but for the Ref!Holster AU. Thank you again. I appreciate you answering before and hopefully again.
Ahh, gotcha! No worries!
In this verse specifically he played in college but kind of came to the conclusion his sophomore year that this wasn’t what he was going to do professionally. It wasn’t a heartbreaking decision, more of an acceptance of his reality. There wasn’t a big moment of realization, but I think one day, in the dressing room, he kind of looked up and realized that this wasn’t going to be the rest of his life. I, personally, had to make a similar decision with my own life/career after being in a demanding field and it’s sad, but it’s not a gut-wrenching pain, and afterwards you know you made the right decision. He decides to ref his senior year of college because he still gets to be around hockey and he’s not quite ready to work for The Man despite getting an economics degree.
