Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Additional Tags:

Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Relationship Reveal, Mistaken Identity, Injury, nothing serious tho, Concussions, everyone is gonna be fine!, POV Shane Hollander, POV Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, How Do I Tag, Supportive Cliff, Shane is revealed as Jane, Light Angst, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-26 Words: 1,698 Chapters: 1/1

thank you for waiting

Summary

Marlow’s eyebrows rose briefly. He’d known that Roz and Montreal Girl had that thing for A While now, but this didn’t seem to be a very casual ‘hooking up whenever we’re in the same city’.

A tinge of guilt sparked in him about invading his Captain’s privacy but then, Jane seemed really worried. And she’s important to Roz, evidently, so he would probably want her to know he’s okay, right?

 

OR

Ilya gets injured during a game and Marlow follows him to the hospital. He texts a very worried Jane who promises she'll be there soon. The last person Marlow expected to show up in the waiting room is Shane Hollander.

Notes

this takes place after Show Canon in the season after the summer they went to the cottage

Hood up, ear buds in, Shane was slumped in a plastic chair at the airport looking intently at his phone. He’d pulled up a live stream of the current Boston game and tried his best to tamp down the smile threatening to tug on the corners of his mouth.

Boston was leading with two goals, it’s almost end of the second period and Ilya was on fire today. Shane’s eyes stayed glued to his figure whenever the camera captured him. Pride swelled in his chest when Ilya easily stole the puck from an opponent, faked another one out and sped toward the goal.

Come on, Shane thought, subconsciously holding his breath. It happened so fast, Shane almost missed it. A body crashing into Ilya from the left, skates tangling with sticks as they both collided with the board.

Shane froze, blood like ice in his veins, vice snared around his chest. He was aware that the commentators were still talking but he couldn’t process the words, couldn’t focus on anything else but Ilya’s form on the ice. Unmoving.

The other player was pushing himself up as medics rushed on the ice.

Shane involuntarily leaned forward in his seat as if he could get closer to the scene that way.

Please, get up. Please, Ilya.

Was this how Ilya had felt all those months ago when Shane got hit? That heavy feeling in his gut, blood rushing in his ears and mind feeling like TV static. At least then they had been together on the ice. As it was, Shane was sitting at the airport in Montreal, waiting to board. The only silver lining was that they were set to fly out to Boston for the game tomorrow.

Right now, Shane couldn’t appreciate it fully, still too occupied with worrying about Ilya. Who seemed at least to be conscious, sitting up steadied by one of the medics. Air left Shane’s lungs in a rush and only then did he realise how tense he’d been.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he looked at his phone again, the medics had cleared and taken the two players involved in the crash with them. Shane switched apps and opened his chat with Ilya, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Jane
Ilya

Jane
Fuck are you okay?

Jane
Please tell me you’re okay

Jane
I need you to be okay

Jane
I’ll be there in a couple hours


His head snapped up when someone clapped his shoulder.

“C’mon man, boarding,” Hayden said, before he paused, giving Shane a questioning look. “You okay?”

Shane swallowed thickly and clicked off his phone on instinct. Get it together. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

Hayden’s sceptical look told him he wasn’t doing a good job at hiding that he was, in fact, not okay. Thankfully, Hayden didn’t comment as Shane followed him toward their gate.

He couldn’t get to Boston fast enough.

xxx

They won the game, but the win felt subdued without their captain there to fuel any celebration.

Cliff took the fastest shower possible and packed his stuff, then threw Rozanov’s essential things into his bag, grabbing his phone and shoving it into his jacket pocket with his own.

“I’m gonna head to the hospital,” he announced to the room, getting grim nods back, murmured thank yous and well wishes for Roz.

When Marlow finally made it to the hospital, they couldn’t tell him anything more than that Rozanov was awake and had no severe injuries but that they’d keep him over night. The nurse, obviously recognising him as Rozanov’s teammate or otherwise he wasn’t sure he’d even gotten the information she told him, advised him to go into the waiting area in case Roz got cleared to have visitors within visiting hours.

He nodded and thanked her, picking a seat in the far corner and dropped the two bags beside him. Realistically, Marlow knew that Roz would be okay, that the hit probably looked harder than it actually was, as often with hockey. Still, sometime during all those years spent sharing wins, losses, showers and hotel rooms, Roz and him had become friends.

Which meant Marlow would sit and wait until he got further information on Rozanov’s status.

A phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled them both out. Roz’ phone screen lit up with incoming texts.

Jane
I’m so sorry I wasn’t there Ilya

Jane
I know they probably took you to the hospital

Jane
But please text me as soon as you get this

Jane
I love you


Marlow’s eyebrows rose briefly. He’d known that Roz and Montreal Girl had that thing for A While now, but this didn’t seem to be a very casual ‘hooking up whenever we’re in the same city’.

A tinge of guilt sparked in him about invading his Captain’s privacy but then, Jane seemed really worried. And she’s important to Roz, evidently, so he would probably want her to know he’s okay, right?

Marlow swiped open the message.

Lily
hey, this is Marlow, Rozanov’s teammate. I’m at the hospital right now, they won’t tell me details but he’s awake and probably high on the good stuff. He’s gonna be okay


Moments after he sent the message it showed that Jane was already typing.

Jane
Thank you, Cliff. I’m actually headed to Boston right now, I should be there in a couple hours.

Lily
no problem. I’ll wait here


Jane started and stopped typing a couple times. 

Jane
Thank you, really. I’ll be there as soon as I can.


Marlow clicked off the phone and leaned back, settling in for a longer wait. Since Roz’ injuries didn’t seem to be life threatening, he assumed it’d be a while until he’d be seen by a doctor anyway.

Half an hour passed and Marlow got up to get a mediocre coffee and a bag of chips. People came and went, names were called, minutes ticked on.

At some point, the kind nurse from earlier came up to him and let him know that Rozanov had been moved into the room where he’d stay the night, that a doctor had seen him and his emergency contact had been informed.

Marlow nodded and thanked her, before leaning back in his seat again. He couldn’t help but wonder who they’d called. Their coach?

His thoughts got interrupted by Roz’ phone going off again.


Jane
We’re landing soon, I’ll organise a ride and get my bags sorted then I’ll come.

Lily
okay

Lily
Roz got checked, still no details, sorry

Jane
No worries. Thank you for waiting.


Another thirty or so minutes passed before he got the message that Jane was on her way. After that, Marlow instinctively looked up every time someone entered the waiting area. The seventh time his eyes flicked over, it occurred to him that he had no idea what Jane looked like. The contact in Rozanov’s phone had no picture. He had to count on Jane recognising and approaching him. She seemed to know who he was, using his first name in her reply.

Three more women came but were either accompanying someone or heading for someone else.

Fifteen more minutes. Marlow frowned, checking the phone but Jane hadn’t texted again. Even with traffic, she should be here by now. It’s getting late, the waiting area cleared out a little.

The next time someone came in, Marlow’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead because that was Shane fucking Hollander, looking tired with messy hair and more rumpled than he’d ever seen him.

He’s even more surprised when Hollander slumped into the seat next to him, feeling a little out of his depth. Any other time there was no question how he’d react to a fucking Metros player sitting next to him, let alone their captain. But this wasn’t normal circumstances. So Marlow stayed quiet and sized Hollander up.

“Ilya’s vitals are good,” Hollander said quietly, relief audible in his voice. “They’re running concussion protocol, suspecting a mild concussion and bruised ribs. They’re keeping him over night to monitor but if he doesn’t develop any symptoms or something he’ll be released tomorrow. He’s gonna have some nasty bruises but nothing out of the ordinary. Supposed to take it slow for a couple weeks but,” he chuckled, “we both know how that’s gonna go.”

Marlow couldn’t help but grin because yeah, he did know Rozanov. He’d be back on the ice in three days tops. Only surprise was that Hollander knew that as well.

“Lucky. Could’ve been way worse.”

“Yeah.” Hollander rubbed a hand over his face.

They sat in silence for a while, Marlow processing the new information. The hit had looked bad as fuck, so this outcome was the best possible scenario, really. He was so glad to finally have an update on how Roz was doing, that it took him a moment to realise something. The furrow returned between his brows.

“Hey,” he turned to Hollander, “how the fuck did you even get that information?”

Eyes widening, Hollander opened his mouth, when another nurse came in. He checked his clipboard then called out, “Rozanov?”

Hollander immediately got up, remembered Marlow and shot him an apologetic look before he walked over.

They talked quietly for a moment and then Hollander got led away, sending Marlow another glance over his shoulder. There was a peculiar look on his face, one that Marlow knew from countless times in locker rooms and waiting at airports.

Had spotted it on Roz’ face so often as he looked down on his phone, blushing (no matter how much he denied it) and typing furiously.

Memory after Memory passed in front of his inner eye, filling in pieces or turning them upside down to fit the new picture. Jane never existed, but in a sense she still had been real.

Marlow might feed into the stereotype of the dumb hockey player whose only talent was getting pucks into nets a lot of times. But as he leaned back into his seat and crossed his arms, a small, knowing smirk spread on his lips. Roz was in for some heavy chirping that’s for sure.

Jane didn’t text for the rest of the evening.