to make up for the fact that it's me @warriorhoneybee - Tumblr Blog

Sorry to hijack your post OP, but I couldn't help be inspired by @ufckinpussygohomegohomeur45yrold tags about their travel mishaps while I was sitting in my doctor's waiting room.

Nicole is working international passport control today. She likes it. Contrary to some of her colleagues, she’s not bothered by some of the people’s broken English or French, she enjoys the challenge. Besides, Nicole is a bit of a language nut, and she’s learning Spanish, Korean and Swedish on the evil owl app. Just the basics, of course, but enough to light up people’s faces when they’re greeted in their native language.

Currently she’s getting a lot of people from the 594 from Thailand and the 475 from Windhoek. There are also a few European flights but those are from Spain and Greece so it’s mostly returning Canadian tourists.

She finishes with a Thai student coming back from visiting his family and looks up to her next customer.

She manages to get out a professional “next” even though the man approaching her booth is wildly attractive. Like could be a movie star attractive. He’s tall and even through the black hoodie he’s wearing against the airport’s overly chilled air she can tell he’s broad-shouldered and built. He’s got a wild mop of honey-colored curls, messy from a long flight but still attractive, and just gorgeous features.

“Hello, sir,” she greets him and if she’s a little bit friendlier than usual, well. Nicole is only human and she might be married but she’s not blind.

He looks up from where he’s been fiddling around with his phone.

“Oh, hi.” There’s a slight accent to his voice that sounds eastern European.

His hand goes to his pocket and Nicole is always a little annoyed at people who don’t have their passport ready—because people know they have to show their passport, so why not be prepared instead of holding up the line?—when she watches his eyes go wide and mutter a curse under his breath. He keeps patting down his pockets and now Nicole really gets annoyed because how does anyone lose their passport between going through security at their starting destination and getting to their final destination?

“So, this is very embarrassing,” he says with a slightly embarrassed smile that’s still charming, “and I am very sorry, but I think my husband has my passport.”

Nicole looks behind him but there’s no husband, just two young women standing next in line.

The guy makes a face. “Ah no, he is Canadian citizen, so he probably already is through customs.”

Well, things were really going too smoothly. Nicole tries hard not to roll her eyes because the man in front of her looks honestly chagrined.

“Okay,” Nicole says, going into problem solving mode. “If you can call him to come to the passport control exit, we can arrange for someone to bring your passport. I can’t let you through without it.”

He nods quickly. “Of course. I will call him.”

He puts his phone to his ear and even from where Nicole is sitting she can hear the automated voice announce that the person he is trying to call is not available.

“Blyat,” the guy says again. He adds a “fuck” for good measure. “Okay, maybe you can call for him on the announcement thingy?” The guy says. “His name is Shane.” He cringes a bit. “Hollander.”

Nicole stares at him.

Nicole isn’t really into hockey, but she is still Canadian and Shane Hollander is something like Canadian hockey Jesus. He brought the Cup back to Canada, to Montreal specifically, after a sixteen year drought, three, no four different times now, and his admittedly very pretty face is on every billboard. It was a whole thing when he left Montreal a year ago, after he famously got outed and then got married to his husband, Russian rival hockey player Roza-something.

Who must be the guy standing in front of her now.

Nicole can’t stop staring. Her friend Shannon got Ryan Gosling twice already, which is just unfair. Nicole’s never had someone actually famous come through her booth. Certainly not someone whose husband all of her cousins venerate like a saint.

“I know, I know,” Russian hockey player Roza-something says quickly, “Sounds insane but look.”

He does something on his phone, then holds it up to her. The Google search bar reads Shane Hollander husband and there are pictures of Shane Hollander with the guy currently standing in front of Nicole. Google informs her that his name is Ilya Rozanov.

“Okay, Mr. Rozanov,” Nicole starts, aiming for professional as if it’s completely normal to deal with a passport mix-up for the most famous couple in hockey, and doesn’t get further, because behind her there’s a really loud, “Holy shit Ilya Rozanov!”

Contrary to Nicole’s lukewarm interest in hockey, her colleague Dave is an absolute hockey fan. He has a Montreal Metros mug at his station.

Rozanov looks up. “Yes,” he says pleased. “That’s me.”

And then Dave is there, ignoring all regulations, as he squeezes into Nicole’s booth and says, “This is so unprofessional, but could I get a selfie?”

“Of course,” Rozanov says magnanimously, and then Dave leaves the station and actually walks up to Rozanov for a bro-hug selfie.

Nicole doesn’t have the heart to scold him, because Dave has been gloomy after his girlfriend broke up with him and this is the first time she’s seen him really smile in two weeks.

Dave’s very exuberant excitement and his anti-regulation behavior attracts everyone else’s attention, and then two guys from security come over and of course they also want a picture.

Nicole worries about the other people in the queue being annoyed at Rozanov holding up the line, but in a blatant violation of the no pictures rule at customs, everyone has their phones out and is taking pictures. She wonders if everyone just knows Rozanov or if they’re just taking pictures because he’s obviously famous. Or handsome, going by how the two young women are giggling.

“Okay, Dave, how about you sort Mr. Rozanov’s passport situation and I keep going here?” Nicole says after they’ve taken several pictures and Rozanov has recorded a message for Dave’s beer league.

“Oh, yeah yeah,” Dave says and waves Rozanov off to the side. He’s beaming like Christmas just came early.

They’re not entirely out of earshot, so while Nicole processes the two young women from Spain who are doing an exchange semester at McGill, she hears bits and pieces of the conversation between Rozanov and Dave.

At first it’s about the passport situation and tracking down Shane Hollander, then it changes to hockey.

“Man, his OT goal in game three against Colorado was sick! And you know, we were all kinda mad when he left the Metros at first, but like, we get it now, and we still love him, the front office really screwed him over.”

“Yes, Shane is second best hockey player, and yes, Metros management has shit for brains.”

Then the conversation turns to their vacation.

“This was on hike. I want to be lazy on vacation, but no, Shane says hiking is Canadian so if I want to become Canadian I need to hike on vacation.”

“That’s true,” Dave says earnestly.

“It is ridiculous. But view was nice.”

Nicole looks over once and apparently Rozanov is showing pictures. The group has so grown with two more security people having joined them.

“The food was so good, though I don’t think hotel calculates what two hockey players can eat from buffet.”

“Yeah, but it’s the off-season.”

“Shane still needs to work out, remember? Also was second honeymoon…”

The group’s laughter rings loudly through the arrivals hall.

Nicole quickly deals with a business woman who travels regularly from Thailand and has the process down to an incredibly efficient science.

Ilya Rozanov is now complaining, very lovingly, about his husband’s caution.

“So much sunscreen, Shane is obsessed!”

“Yeah, it’s because of the moles, right?”

Nicole looks up just in time to see Rozanov’s betrayed expression. “Not you too!”

“Skin cancer prevention is important!” Dave says.

“You Canadians and your prevention. The team doctor checks me out all the time.”

“Yeah, but is he a dermatologist?” Susan from security chimes in and Rozanov mutters something incomprehensible.

Nicole welcomes two Norwegian exchange students to the country, then gets caught up in a family of five from the Windhoek flight. The children are absolutely adorable even though they do slow down the process a bit.

When she looks over the next time, there are even more people around Rozanov who are cooing at something on his phone.

“She’s adorable,” Paul from security says while Dave says, “fuck, I want a dog.”

“Anya is the cutest,” Rozanov says, sounding like a proud parent. Huh. Nicole thought she would’ve heard if Hollander had a kid, but maybe she missed it.

“What do you do with her when you’re on the road though?” Susan asks.

“Short trips she goes to hotel,” Rozanov says and Nicole clicks the wrong button, because what? “You know, nice dog hotel. But long trips, Shane’s parents take her.”

A dog. Well, that makes more sense. Nicole manages to input the information correctly now and hands the passports back to the Windhoek flight family.

“They would take her all the time but they still work and Yuna is always busy,” Rozanov continues.

“Oh my god, I can’t imagine having Yuna Hollander as my mother in law. Isn’t that super intimidating?” Dave sounds intimidated just saying Yuna Hollander’s name.

“Was at first,” Rozanov says, “but she is the best.”

“I wish my son-in-law said that about me,” the elderly lady who just walked up to Nicole’s station says, clearly having listened to the conversation.

Nicole laughs and takes her passport.

It takes two more people before there’s a commotion and a group of three airport employees, two security guys, and a woman from admin come running down the lane behind the stations.

“Rozanov. Where’s Rozanov?”

Everyone points to Rozanov and his own security guard posse and once again everyone waiting in line gets their phones out.

Nicole focuses on processing the elderly lady from Thailand, here to visit her daughter and her son-in-law who apparently does not speak as fondly of her as hockey super star Ilya Rozanov speaks of his mother-in-law.

And her husband thinks her work is so boring. He’s going to sing a different tune after today. Maybe she should ask Rozanov for a selfie before he leaves.

She gets the chance when Ilya Rozanov gets back into her line.

“Still need to go through right?” His smile is very disarming.

“Absolutely,” Nicole says and takes his passport. “And next time…”

Rozanov laughs. “I keep telling Shane, during the season, I cross the border so many times, but he does not trust me on vacation. Now the tables have turned, yes?” Rozanov winks at her.

Nicole feels a little faint. It’s the only reason why she’d possibly forget her professional training and says, “Indeed. Would you mind taking a picture? My husband, he’s a big hockey fan.”

“Of course!” Then Rozanov’s eyes narrow. “Montreal?”

“Vancouver,” Nicole says. “It’s where he’s from. But I know he thinks your husband is the best player in the league.”

Rozanov shakes his head. “Is very wrong, Shane is second best player. Let’s do a video, we need to correct his mistake.”

And that’s how Nicole ends up with a twenty second video where she’s squished into the frame with Ilya Rozanov, who smells much better than anyone has the right to after a transatlantic flight, where Rozanov tells her husband that Shane Hollander, Canadian hockey Jesus, is in fact only the second best player in the league because he, Ilya Rozanov, is of course the best.

“But you were smart enough to marry wonderful wife, so you’re not entirely hopeless,” is how Rozanov ends the video, and Nicole thinks she’s never met such a charming asshole in her entire life.

(thinking about maybe writing Shane's side of it and putting it on ao3, but I really don't know enough about first class travel lol)