Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Hayden Pike

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Hayden Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Olympics, Team Canada, Hockey, Male Friendship, Secret Relationship, Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Oblivious Hayden Pike, Hayden comes to a wrong conclusion, POV Shane Hollander, Marleau knows, cliff marleau is a little shit (appreciative), Marleau might not be subtle but he's got the spirit, Marleau's best friend's boyfriend is his best friend, Shane and Hayden strongly disagree, Canadian cliff marleau, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Hayden Pike Friendship

Language:

English

Series:

Part 2 of Hockey and Drama

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-27 Completed: 2026-04-06 Words: 9,353 Chapters: 2/2

Shane can't get a fucking break

Summary

Cliff Marleau has seen too much shit not to know there is something going on between his captains in Boston and on team Canada. He knows where his loyalty lies and he is not going to be subtle about it.
He could ask them about it... or he could just drop hints and watch Shane's reaction. He just wants to confirm what he knew, he wasn't planning on it becoming fun.

OR

Ten days left of pre-Olympics hockey camp. Marleau knows. Shane suspects that Marleau knows. Hayden suspects something and comes to a completely wrong conclusion.

Notes

Some creative liberties were and more will be taken.

Chapter 1: Marley thinks he knows

Ten days left of the team Canada camp. The preliminary roster was hung in the locker room and sent to every player's email. Shane Hollander - captain. Centre of the first attack formation, Pike and Marleau on wings. Alternate captains will be rotated, based on the rest of the camp. The second attack…

Shane was happy. Hayden was happy. Marleau should have been happy.

Marleau didn't seem happy. Marleau was looking at Shane as if he had grown a second head. Staring. Apologising when Shane caught him. Returning to staring a minute later.

Shane wasn't sure what happened, or when. If he'd done something to piss Marleau off, but he didn't think he did. And besides, Marleau didn't look pissed. He looked… fascinated maybe?

If Shane wasn't sure that Marleau was straight — and Shane was sure because Ilya was sure and Ilya knew Marleau better than anyone — Shane would worry he might have said something to Marleau that could be perceived as flirting. But Marleau was straight. Shane had checked with Ilya. Twice. Ilya was certain that Marleau was straight. Yet he was staring.

'Gee, what's up with him?' Hayden noticed the staring. 'He didn't think they'd make him captain over you, did he?'

Shane considered it. It might explain the staring, but it didn't really sound like Marleau. Then again, what did he know about how Marleau sounded?

'Check this shit out!' a defenceman, originally from Toronto, shouted from his stall commanding everyone attention, him and the players around him hunched over a phone. Shane recognized the sports news site opened on his phone.

'The US roster is out. That faggot Hunter will be the captain again! Can you believe that?!'

Yeah, Shane could believe it. 'He's got two cups and an MVP. Show some respect,' Shane shut it down before anyone else could begin piling on the man. The defenceman shut up. Shane picked up his helmet, ready to hit the ice before the conversation resumed.

_______

The first attack hit the ice and Shane was in for a surprise. Marleau might not have said anything in the locker room, but he wasn't holding back on the ice. Shane watched as he let the puck pass between his skates and his stick, passing up on a prime shooting position, just to ram the Toronto defenceman into the boards.

Shane quickly skated over to try and break up the ensuing fight, but it was over before he got there. The defenceman was spitting blood. Marleau was muttering something about third-grade-defencemen as he skated to the bench.

The head coach threatened to bench Marleau for the rest of the practice. Hayden swore he saw him trip and Marleau tried to say that's what happened, except he couldn't make his face stop looking smug. Shane promised to handle it as the captain and the coach let it go, with a warning that it was just this once.

Shane dragged Marleau back into the tunnel. A captain having words with an unruly player, the talk that was normally reserved for rookies too hot and eager to watch their step, not Boston veterans with an MLH cup to their name. Marleau didn't protest. Didn't wipe the smirk of his face either.

'What the fuck is up with you today?' Shane asked, shoving him in deeper down the tunnel and towards the locker room.

'Sorry cap, won't happen again.' Marleau leaned against the wall of the tunnel where Shane pushed him, clearly unbothered about the very real prospect of getting on the coaches' bad side. At least he wasn't staring at Shane as if he were an alien anymore.

'Cool the fuck down and get your shit together,' Shane warned him before turning back towards the ice.

'My shit is right where it needs to be,' Marleau assured him with a smirk.

_______

Shane watched Marleau for the rest of the practice, and Marleau skated like a man with something to prove. He made it his mission to make fun of the second defensive pair every time their shifts met on the opposite sides of the rink. He managed to outsmart most of the defencemen sent against him that day, but the Toronto asshole, he was savouring him specifically while skating the line between being a dick and breaking the rules with the grace of a dancer.

After every goal, he grinned at Shane. It was a look Shane knew too well, signature of the Boston first line. The look said it doesn't matter how big of an asshole I am, no one will bench me when I play like this. The look was right. And it was very clearly the same as Ilya's.

_______

'Is being a piece of shit a requirement to play for Boston now? Or do you all just catch it from sucking Rozanov off?' The Toronto defenceman was pissed when they hit the locker rooms.

'How often do you think about sucking Rozanov's dick, Brown?' Hayden quipped right back before he even set his helmet down. He was always ready to jump into a fight, even though his choice of sides often seem arbitrary. 'And didn't you almost get traded to Boston last season? Is that why the deal fell off? They told you sucking the captain's dick was not included?'

Brown shouted something back, stepping from his bench towards Hayden. Shane knew he had to stop it, but fuck, what was he supposed to say? He almost yelled can we stop talking about Rozanov's dick before stopping himself. This wasn't about him, he knew that. But he also didn't know how not to make it about him. He gripped the shelf in his stall, thinking, fighting his face from turning red. His knuckles turned white. He was aware of Brown spitting his bullshit, directly across from him in the locker room. He had to say something. He was the captain, he had to say something.

Someone moved behind him, standing up barely two feet from Shane's back, facing Brown. A wall of person erected between him and the rest of the room. A wall that allowed him to let out a long breath stuck in his throat.

'You want to say something to me, say it to me.' The man behind Shane spoke. Marleau. He was suddenly everywhere. Everywhere that Shane was, that is. 'Or do you only have the balls to talk shit when the players are not here? I fucking dare you to say any of that to Roz's face. Same goes for you, Pike.'

Shane looked over his shoulder just to see Marleau step towards Brown, lifting the barrier between Shane and the rest of the room. Except now Shane had caught his breath and understood where was the position in the brewing mess that he as the captain had to take. He had this. Let them talk shit as long as that is all they do and be ready to intervene if the situation called for it.

Shane moved from his stall and took up that position. He pushed Hayden back into his stall, forcing him firmly back on his ass before the beef escalated. Hayden's presence would do that; he was a live fucking grenade.

Hayden considered loyalty a virtue that had to be proven at every opportunity and given freely without having to be earned. He was part of the first line and his loyalty to his line ranked just below his loyalty to the Metros themselves.

'Stay out of it,' Shane warned him, just that once. Hayden nodded. He knew to step back and not to escalate when Shane used that tone. That tone said Shane was ending this, now. Shane had worked on the tone since his first season as the Metros' captain. Hayden had worked on recognising and respecting the tone. Then on enforcing the respect for it among the team.

Shane got between Marleau and Brown just as first shoves landed. Sent them to different sides of the cabin. The tone doing its thing.

'Piece of shit.'

'Cocksucker.'

They separated into their stalls. The locker room stayed quiet after that.

_______

The head coached called Shane in to discuss that day's practice and what happened after, and by the time he finally got to take his shower, the locker room was almost empty.

Brown was gone, which was a relief. Marleau wasn't and he looked like he was waiting for Shane, which was the opposite of a relief — whatever that was called.

'You okay, cap?' Marleau stepped up to him on his way to the door, his bag slung over one shoulder.

'See you tomorrow, mes amis.' JJ passed them, hurrying out of the room to avoid the captain's lecture that no doubt should come after a scene like that, leaving just the two of them in the room. But honestly, Shane was tired and Marleau obviously didn't give a shit, so why should he bother?

'What does this have to do with me?' Shane turned to Marleau. He was not the one causing trouble and making enemies for himself. He also wasn't feeling completely like himself, but he had no reason not to and Marleau had no reason to suspect it.

The truth was, Shane had tried to put together the correct response to Marleau's behaviour, to both address the team breaking up into camps before it was even assembled and the fact that stuff like that should be stopped, but there was no correct answer. He couldn't tell Marleau to stop the fighting without saying to let bigots be bigots. He couldn't tell him good job without acknowledging how the atmosphere in the locker room was suffering for the conflict.

So he said nothing. Put his hand on Marleau's shoulder as he passed him on his way to his stall. Marleau could read in the gesture what he wanted without Shane needing to put it into words.

'Right,' Marleau said as a way of goodbye. 'Take care, man.'

_______

'Did you tell Marleau anything about us? Did he say something to you?'

Shane re-typed the message five times before hitting send. Should they have made up fake names for people around them as well? He was always careful not to let anyone peek at his phone when he was texting Ilya, but Hayden wouldn't stop trying. What if he saw them talking hockey and particular players — he'd realise Lily is not a random girl.

Should he think of a code name now? He tried replacing Marleau's name in the message to your best friend. It sounded weird. He changed it back. Then he changed it back again. And quickly hit send before the overthinking dragged him into an even deeper hole.

'Marley? No.' Ilya didn't waste words or time. 'He tells me nothing. Sent me a photo with you. Nothing else.'

Shane cursed. Marleau was acting weird, even though it was hard to be sure with how little Shane had to go on on what was Marleau's normal. He worried that maybe Ilya had let something slip. He was just being paranoid.

'Everything is okay?'

'Why?'

'You have many questions. Are you panicking?'

Ilya knew him too well. It was both validating and annoying, depending on whether he wanted to be seen or was trying to hide. Right now, being seen was scary, but there was no safety in hiding if the fears just climbed in with him.

'I'm good,' he texted back, because it was the truth. He was at home, in Montreal. He was the captain of Montreal Metros and Canada Olympic hockey team. He was talking — well texting — with a man that loved him. He took a deep breath in. Then let it out. He was good.

'Tell me what happened anyway.'

So Shane did. How Brown was being a dick about Scott Hunter and Marleau almost knocked his teeth out for it. How they almost got into it again in the locker room, dragging more players in. How there was too much discussion about Ilya's dick and he almost joined in. He actually found himself smiling, writing that one out. Talking to Ilya about things always helped.

'Is not true about Boston.'

'Which part?' Shane teased, the impulse returning as the panic began fading.

'About sucking my dick. I have high standards, Boston would have no players if that was required.'

'Would I make the cut?' Shane typed the message immediately. Then took a full minute deciding on the correct emoji.

'Not sure. You must fly out to Boston to try out. Preferably today.'

'Miss me already?'

'Of course.'

The picture that followed made Shane glad he was alone in the locker room.

_______

Brown arrived for the next morning practice with a black eye and no desire to discuss its provenance or the US Olympic roster. Shane knew better than to ask.

Marleau was already on ice, working off however many laps he earned from coaches for yesterday. Most senior players would be pissed, fighting the punishment usually reserved for rookies with too much energy to burn. The perceived humiliation was an integral part of it. But Marleau skated with intensity of someone who after all the years still loved the sport just as much as when he started. Someone who saw no humiliation in doing what he loved. Shane respected that.

'You and Brown should be there with him,' Shane told Hayden as they hopped on ice for warm ups.

'And get in the way of his showing off? Nah men, those Boston players are freaks.'

Shane had to turn away so Hayden wouldn't see his smile. But he could only agree with the assessment.

They practised power-play drills that day. Both Shane and Marleau placed on the first power-play formation for now. They ran the drill three times. Grouped around the coach for feedback. Then three more. On the last try, Shane got the puck into the net eighteen seconds after Marleau won the face-off. The coach timed it. Marleau skated to him, offering a fist bump.

'Молодец,' Marleau commended him, in Russian, without stopping his stride or acknowledging the fact that he did. Shane almost swallowed his mouthguard. He's heard Ilya say that phrase so many time, he picked it up and Marleau must have too during all those years Ilya's been his captain. It was an innocent phrase, meaning good job or something like that.

Except Shane didn't pick it up from Ilya on ice, and he had to finish his whole water bottle before his face stopped matching the Canadian jersey.

_______

'He knows!' Shane texted Ilya before the whole team was in the locker room. Hayden tried and failed to peek over his shoulder.

'Who?' The response was immediate. 'Knows what?'

Shane had to leave the room to text the full explanation.

'Say hi to Lily for us!' Hayden shouted after him.

'Better be good to Lily!' Marleau joined in, to the delight of both Hayden and JJ. Marleau was teasing him about Lily now. He must know.

'He doesn't know,' Ilya texted when Shane managed to type out the whole story.

'He spoke Russian to me.'

'All Boston players speak some Russian. Nice to know is more than swearwords.'

Shane wasn't convinced.

_______

'Don't take this the wrong way, but I think Marleau has a crush on you.' Hayden waited for Shane in front of the stadium. They often walked from practice together, comparing notes, identifying what both the team and themselves needed to work on. Shane would give anything to go back to discussing those things. Fuck, he'd be grateful for another signature Hayden monologue on the quality of children's programming.

'No way,' he forced a laugh. He knew it wasn't true, except he couldn't really tell Hayden his own theory.

'Dude, he's been following you like a fucking duckling,' Hayden wouldn't let it go. 'And is really no one going to talk about Brown's black eye — which by the way, pretty funny. And ironic'

Shane shot Hayden a confused look. 'What does Brown's black eye' — he had to admit it sounded funny — 'have to do with me?'

Hayden stared at him, giving him time for the dots to connect. Shane stared back. The dots remained blissfully unconnected.

'He beat him up for saying homophobic shit?' Hayden's voice slowly turned to a whisper, 'which, like, good for him, but also kind of a tell, don't you think?'

Shane didn't think. Shane was enjoying, for a brief moment, living in a world where a person didn't have to be gay to want to stand up to a homophobe. He was quickly reminded very few people lived there with him.

'Trust me, Marleau is not… he's just not, okay?' Shane couldn't bring himself to actually say the word gay, not to Hayden.

'I mean, you never kn—'

'He's not,' Shane repeated with emphasis he hoped would end the discussion.

'If you say so…'

They walked in silence for the rest of the block before Hayden tried it again.

'How do you know that, though? I mean, did you talk about that…'

'Why would we talk about that?'

'I don't know, man, you just said he's not like you know?'

Shane said nothing, because there was nothing he could say. Yeah, he was sure he knew. His boyfriend — which already was something he wasn't ready to bring up to Hayden —who was Marleau's friend and captain for the last five years — another great topic for them to discuss — swore Marleau is a hundred percent straight when Shane asked him the same thing a day ago.

Hayden remained silent, which was scary. Hayden spoke without thinking and thought without speaking. Hayden loved conspiracies and drama. Hayden had to be stopped.

'Hayden, new topic. What do we do to make this mess in the locker room stop?' They did have a real problem to solve, a locker room with players who forgot they were playing on the same team.

Should they have another team building? Or would that just make things worse? Should they force them to talk it out or switch up the practice schedule so that everyone could cool down on their own time?

'You mean Marleau's crush on you?' Hayden either missed, or chose to miss the point. Or chose to be annoying on purpose.

'I mean the fighting in the team. There's no crush. No one. On anyone.' Shane considered adding except your wife's crush on me but it would have been a low blow.

'Whatever you say, pal.'

Chapter 2: Shane thinks Marley knows

Chapter Notes

Some creative liberties were taken. This includes author's obliviousness to Canadian weather until it was too late.

Eight days left of the team Canada camp. Shane should be thinking about the team, the work that needed to be done. His responsibility as the captain. Instead, he was thinking about Marleau. A fact he could never admit to anyone, least of all his boyfriend.

Shane could say, without exaggerating, that he respected Marleau as a player since their first encounter. The respect was demanded of him, forcefully, from Marleau's first seconds on ice against the Metros. He wasn't afraid to take up space that the opponent didn't offer and didn't ask for permission before commandeering the Metros' home ice for his centre. Shane managed to take the puck off him — barely — and was rewarded with a mouthful so colourful yet ridiculous it reminded him of Hayden.

The similarities between the two wingmen didn't end there. The brutal charges. The give-and-take partnership between him and his centre — completely different in execution, equivalent in its precision. The witty, terribly annoying sense of humour.

Plus, he was a friend of Ilya's, a feat on its own. Maybe that was why Shane forgot himself. Why the dangers of his presence escaped his radar.

Shane couldn't stop analysing the conversations he'd had with the man since his arrival to Montreal, trying to determine precisely how much damage had been done. The facts were imprecise and not in Shane's favour.

Fact one. Marleau was going out of his way to talk to Shane, even adjusted for the fact that they shared a line and Shane was his captain.

Fact two. The Lily comments. He began joining on Hayden's comments and his were different than Hayden's. Shane couldn't be sure whether the determinant was the person behind the comments or there was something more to why they felt different.

Fact three. He knew Ilya. Well. Shane wasn't sure how that fit into the picture, but it was a fact that couldn't be omitted from the list.

Fact four. The Brown incidents. Repeated. Standing between him and Shane. Reaching out to Shane afterwards, asking if he was okay. Shane didn't think much of it when it happened. Couldn't stop thinking about it now.

Fact five. Hayden also noticed Marleau was acting weird. Brought it up to Shane. Hayden's toleration for weird was high.

On the other side.

Fact six. Marleau never actually said anything about knowing. Barely mentioned Ilya and never in an inappropriate context.

Fact seven. Ilya — who knew him better than Shane did — didn't think anything was off about any of it.

The pieces didn't fit together in any way that would create a meaningful picture. Was Marleau guessing? Did he suspect? Did he know? Was it about Shane only? Shane and Ilya? Or could it really be nothing?

It was already after midnight, long after Shane should have gone to bed according to his schedule, but his mind wouldn't still. The worries wouldn't quiet. Shane checked his phone, the two clocks on his home screen showing two different times. Half past midnight on the left, Montreal time. Half past seven, Moscow.

Half past seven meant locker room, filled with Russian players. Meant calling would be an imposition, would be dangerous, even if he couldn't think of anything he needed more than to hear Ilya's voice. So he texted, because texting was better than nothing.

'How's the prep going?' because practice in Moscow would start at eight and the conversation Shane needed to have would be long. And Shane knew what Ilya would say anyway.

'You are not texting me in Moscow to ask about preparation. It's after midnight in Montreal, yes?' The response came after almost five minutes, after Shane had enough time to regret texting anything. There was nothing Ilya could do. And Ilya hated not being able to help.

Then, 'Or is Canada desperate? I heard about the captain.'

Shane stared at the screen, raising his eyebrows. Two quick messages followed immediately afterwards. 'Bad player.' and 'Weak backhand.'

They made him smile and he quickly texted back. 'He's working on a new trick. Something to distract the Russian captain.'

Five minutes passed before another message appeared.

'It's working. The coach saw me texting. Not happy.'

Shane remembered the Russian coach. The man was the definition of a short fuse.

'You are not texting me to distract me. I have practice in 14 minutes. Talk.'

Shane sighed. Wrote the question that was bothering him. Added two more texts to clarify afterwards. Fuck. He really needed his sleep. 'Could Marleau keep it a secret? If he knew? About us?'

'I think so. He is friend. Good guy.'

The assurance didn't help. Shane had already figured as much. He came to the only possible conclusion. He'd have to talk to Marleau himself.

_______

Shane waited for an opportunity to talk to Marleau alone, and while he did, the signs kept piling up. To the point where Shane was almost certain. Marleau knew. And he seemed to use that knowledge for one purpose only. Pissing Shane off. The realisation brought some relief to Shane's already incomprehensible mix of feelings, and plenty of annoyance.

First the Lily comments. As if Hayden and JJ weren't annoying enough on their own, Marleau now joined them on every opportunity, which only motivated Hayden and JJ to find as many of those opportunities as they could.

When Shane's phone made any kind of noise. Hayden and JJ's must be Lily followed by Marleau's tell Lily I say hi. They wouldn't listen when he tried to show them it was actually his email.

When he made a face to his phone. Uh-oh, Lily must be mad from Hayden. You better be a good boyfriend and fix that, Hollander from Marleau.

It wasn't hard to understand how Marleau found himself on the receiving end of so many dropped gloves. The Boston signature foul mouth had that effect on people. Shane was hardly unfamiliar with it, although to him it was usually addressed with a thick Russian accent and a complimentary wink.

But the word, boyfriend. The word that made Shane's heart rate skyrocket. The word that wasn't supposed to exist inside the locker room. Nowhere near Montreal, really. The word that only existed outside of hockey. The word that couldn't fit within hockey. For now. It killed Shane a little how casually it could sound when the person on the other end of it was Lily, not Ilya.

'Just fuck off man.' Shane needed to focus on hockey. Not this. And definitely not now. In front of the whole team. The fuck off would have landed better if he could keep his face from smiling.

'Oh, Lily must love that mouth on you,' Marleau laughed, but he was smart enough to run out of the locker room after that one.

The comments didn't stay in the locker room. They made it on the ice, too. Lily would be jealous when Shane got pinned by a defenceman. Let's hope no one mentions this to Lily when Shane missed a shot that should have been an easy goal. Shane never missed a shot like that. Even if he wasn't spilling his secret, Marleau was becoming a problem. A distraction.

The problem got worse. The comments went from Lily straight to Ilya. Less subtle in content, but at least discreet. Apparently every move he made on ice reminded Marleau of Ilya in some way. Shane should have been pissed. He was pissed — but also a little flattered.

'Maybe we play the same fucking game, asshole,' Shane turned to him at the end of the practice when ignoring him clearly didn't work. 'And maybe you could figure out why and try and keep up instead, considering me and him are the best and the second best players out there.' And just because he felt like being a dick, he added 'in that particular order.'

'I'm sure Roz would disagree.'

Shane smiled. He too was sure of that. 'Then he can take it up with me.'

Marleau laughed. Something about it was too much. Shane grabbed him before he could get off the ice and gestured to the farthest end of the rink, just as the rest of the team was skating the other way. The conversation couldn't wait a moment longer.

'Uh-oh, someone is in trou-ble,' JJ laughed as he skated past them.

'Am I in trouble, cap?' Marleau asked, turning back to Shane with a sharp stop of his skates. Shane looked around, making sure there was no one within earshot. He grabbed a fistful of Marleau's jersey and pulled him closer so no one could overhear. He didn't let go. If they were going to have this conversation, Shane needed to make sure it was going to be only once.

'Are we going to have a problem? Something you want to talk to me about?'

'No problem here.' Marleau flashed his — mostly prosthetic — teeth.

'Then stay the fuck away from me. Stop making fun of shit you don't understand. Brown was one thing. Now you pull this bullshit? Fuck you, man.'

Marleau stopped smiling. Marleau never stopped smiling when scolded before. Shane's observation wasn't extensive but it felt conclusive enough. Marleau not smiling was new. Shane hoped he might actually be making some headway with him.

'My bad, cap. No disrespect here, just messing 'round.'

'Well fucking stop that.' Shane let go of his jersey.

'Aye aye, captain.' Marleau's smirk was back. Fucking asshole. 'I'm not trying to cause trouble.'

He began to skate away before turning for one last comment over his shoulder. 'And just between us. Roz is a lucky guy.' With a fucking wink.

Shane froze on the spot, standing still for too long and trying to decipher the emotions forcing heat into his face. The acknowledgement, the casualty of it, hit him like a brick. Marleau knew. Approved — not that Shane was looking for his approval — and that was that. Simple like that.

The cost of the freezing only hit him when he found himself alone on the rink. He was supposed to talk to Marleau, make him keep quiet. Make it clear that no one else — not even Hayden — knew for now.

_______

Shane rushed for the locker room. It seemed like a light at the end of a tunnel. Literally.

What if Marleau was already talking to Hayden, not realising he didn't know? He couldn't imagine Hayden's reaction. He had a plan to tell Hayden — eventually. Gradually. Not like this. As if it wasn't bad already that someone else, fucking Marleau of all people, knew first. Hayden would never forget that alone. Learning about it from Marleau directly, fuck, he might actually do something stupid.

He knew, somewhere deep where the rational thoughts lived, that Hayden was his friend. He also knew, on the same rational level, that Marleau wasn't a complete idiot and wouldn't barge into the locker room to gossip with Hayden about Shane's love life.

The knowing changed nothing on how fast his heart raced or how slippery the stick in his glove had turned, passing through his grip and clattering onto the tunnel floor. The logical thoughts didn't register on the same level as the panic did. He thought them over and over again. Marleau is Ilya's friend. He is an asshole to his friends. He is not fucking stupid. His mind glazed over the thoughts with no resistance and over to the next. Marleau knew. Marleau was in the full locker room of people and he knew. The knowing and the hockey existing in the same room. The knowing and the hockey that couldn't exist in the same room. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Shane opened the door. Aimed for his stall. Didn't look at Marleau. Didn't look at Hayden. Only looked at the back of his stall. Focused his eyes on a single spot in the wood. Reached for the clasp of his helmet. He couldn't open the clasp. He was still wearing gloves. It's hard to open the clasp with gloves. It's near damn impossible to open it with gloves when the hands under the gloves cannot stop shaking.

'You okay, man?' Hayden in the next stall noticed. He sounded concerned. Because Shane couldn't figure out how to take of his helmet or because he knew? No, Hayden would be pissed if he knew.

Shane let out a long breath. 'All good,' he waved Hayden off.

Hayden didn't look convinced. He didn't let it go either. 'You look stressed, man.'

'Yeah. Sure. Didn't sleep much last night, that's all,' Shane tried to get rid of Hayden. He needed a moment for his feelings to settle. To get his shaking hands under control. 'Just need a minute to catch my breath.'

'Yeah, sure man, whatever. You're not getting sick though? We can cancel tonight if you don't feel like it?'

'Nah,' Shane assured him, although the night was the last thing he had on his mind. Fuck, tonight was a terrible idea. What if Marleau gets drunk and slips in front of Hayden? Fuck. Fuck.

Shane turned to Hayden. Hayden had already taken to the centre of the room. Too late to stop him now. Fuck. Finally the helmet came off. Shane threw it onto the shelf. The helmet against the wood was loud, but no one noticed because Hayden was louder.

'Alright everyone, listen up — hey Smith, put that fucking phone down, I'm fucking talking here!'

Shane turned around. Everyone was watching Hayden. Smith's phone was on the bench next to him, his eyes focused fully on Hayden, just like the rest of them.

Shane already knew what Hayden was going to say. He didn't need to listen. He needed to think.

'Alright alright! That is more like it!' Hayden was checking that every pair of eyes was turned to him and drinking up the attention. 'Barbecue tonight! My place, my treat, be there at five, I'll text everyone the address!'

The room erupted into cheers. Hayden was on a high, bowing like a court jester — a position Shane imagined him in quite often. The thought helped. The thought consumed enough of his mind to push away the anxiety. Just Hayden, hopping around, huffing and puffing, the sound of bells and a silly hat. Shane focused on that. His breathing slowed. This was Hayden. His friend.

'Some house rules!' Hayden continued.

Booing in response. It seemed in good spirit. Shane booed with the group. Hayden heard. Turned around. Pretended to be shot in the chest. A look of betrayal. Shane could almost hear the little bells. His hands weren't shaking anymore.

'House rules! My kids live in my fucking house, so no fighting and no fucking swearing! There will be a swear jar.' Hayden was getting started again. Pointed at the best known offenders in the group as he talked about swearing. The pointing included Marleau.

The interaction was innocent. It still rubbed Shane wrong. Marleau, a stranger, knew. Hayden, his best friend, didn't. It was wrong. But it felt just a little too much like a relief and not enough like a mistake, and the thought brought Shane from panic straight to guilt. He didn't know what Hayden's reaction would be, but he doubted it would be as chill as Marleau's. Which was a horrible thing to think about his best friend. But his best friend hated Ilya — but he also claimed to hate his alternate almost as much in the past and here they were, sharing a bench and driving Shane mad together. By that logic, Shane was being terribly unfair to Hayden.

Hayden continued his speech, pointing at Shane and remaining blissfully unaware of the dilemma eating his captain alive. 'Your captain will be behind the grill. My beautiful wife will be making salad and baking her famous —'

'And what is your contribution, Pike?' JJ interrupted to tease him.

'Pike's the entertainment,' someone shouted back. Shane laughed. The sound surprised him.

'How kind of you to remember me,' Hayden smiled, adding another mocking bow. 'I will be the poor fucker hauling couple hundred cans of beer and half a ton of meat to feed you ungrateful bastards!'

The room erupted into cheers when the word beer was mentioned. Hayden echoed their cheers, being his most unapologetic self. The man Shane had known for the past decade. Who'd been there always for him. Who was supposed to be the first person to know.

Shane knew what he had to do. No relief came with the decision. He ignored the uneasy feeling. Focused on Hayden's speech. They had to talk. Thinking about it more wouldn't change that.

'Thank god you have that hideous monster of a minivan!' JJ was in the meantime enjoying being an ass.

'No beer for JJ, who's next? Anyone else wants to piss of the king of the barbecue?'

'More like the jester,' Shane shouted back, too enthusiastically, trying to force himself back into the conversation. The joke didn't land. Hayden turned to him with a bewildered expression on his face anyway.

'You too?' He pretended to be stabbed for a change. Helping Shane save face without asking.

Shane shook his head. 'See what I mean?'

'My best friend, everyone!'

The room booed. Shane took a bow. It hid his face, how the words stung. Hayden's best friend. One hell of a friend he's been…

'Everyone ignore your captain!' Hayden commanded the attention again. 'Eyes on the person buying you beers you fuckers! Tonight, five! Don't. Be. Fucking. Late!'

_______

Shane found Hayden when the room calmed down. His heart was trying to jump out of his chest, but he pushed it back down.

'I will come with you. Help carry the beer and stuff.'

It was a normal thing to offer to do for a friend. The offering felt like a scheme anyway. Shane felt guilty. But also fucking terrified. The offering was a call for help and damage control and an opportunity to talk and make up for a crime he unwittingly committed when Marleau figured it out first. The offering was not a question.

'There is something I need to —'

'Nah man, I'm good,' Hayden shut him down. Hayden never shut him down. Shane wondered for a moment if he knew Shane was keeping something from him. If he was refusing more than his help.

'You look like a fucking corpse, man, just take a break. I'll get Marleau, it's not like he has any friends or anything else to do in the city.'

Shane stared at him. He didn't want Hayden to get Marleau. The idea of the two of them, sharing a car, talking. Joking about the team, the practice, their captain. Something slipping. The idea ran away from him. The idea scared him. He didn't know what to say to stop it.

'I will go. I-I need to —'

'Just text me what you need.' Hayden waved his hand, already on his way to the shower and not waiting for any more discussion.

'You should take JJ,' Shane tried a different approach. A desperate approach.

'Fuck no.' It did make him stop in his tracks.

'Hey!' JJ heard. Threw a glove at Hayden's head and missed.

'I'm never shopping with JJ again! Fuck that!' Hayden had strong opinions on shopping with JJ. Shane didn't blame him. He should have come up with a better alternative. 'We won't make it to my place before five tomorrow if I take JJ! Bastard has opinions on everything, even fucking condiments!'

'Someone fucking should!' JJ was not apologising for his opinions on condiments. 'Are you poor, Pike? Tell me now and I can help, but I cannot eat that abomination of — stuff. I will not eat the stuff you bought last time!'

'Fuck you JJ. Bring your own fucking condiments, cause I'm feeding forty of you hungry fuckers and no one else gives a shit about the condiments.'

Hayden probably never said the words condiments so many times before in his life. From the appalled tone of his voice when he said it, Shane wasn't sure he knew what condiments were.

Marleau put his hand on JJ's shoulder. Just when Shane almost forgot about him for a second, he made himself part off the conversation again.

'There will be proper condiments,' he assured JJ before walking over to Hayden and agreeing on the details of the shopping trip. Shane couldn't do anything but watch.

______

Hayden didn't think this through. Fuck. He should have written down what he was going to say and — no. What kind of a loser fucking does that? Jesus. Fuck. Why did he think this was a good idea again?

Marleau was approaching. Hayden waved at him from where he was leaning against his car. And it wasn't a fucking minivan, fuck you JJ. Jackie was home with the kids, obviously she was the one driving a minivan. Hayden's car was an SUV. A nice fucking SUV. And Hayden was pissed about the wrong thing again.

'Sup, man,' Marleau reached him and Hayden opened the boot of the car so he could drop his bag in.

They drove in silence. Marleau tapped his fingers to the song on the radio. Hayden wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up. He was trying to think.

'What's eating you, man?' Marleau noticed Hayden's nerves and had to ask. Hayden wanted to punch him. He's been wanting to punch that smug face every day since the camp started on at least one occasion per day, but today, the urge was constant.

Shane was too nice to deal with the asshole properly, even when he was obviously making him uncomfortable the whole day. Hayden wasn't a nice guy. It was the base of their dynamic. It extended beyond the ice.

'Just let me fucking think,' Hayden blurted out because fuck, he wasn't ready for the conversation they were about to have. That they needed to have. Maybe he should wait for the car park where his hands aren't on the fucking wheel anymore. Or maybe it's actually better if they're precisely there.

'So, you…' Hayden searched for the words to start the conversation. 'You… you're friend of Scott Hunter's, right?' Fuck. Why the fuck did he have to ask it like that? What was wrong with his fucking brain?

'Uh, not really?' Marleau clearly didn't get what Hayden was trying to ask. 'I don't think I've talked to him more than twice off the ice…'

'But I mean,' Hayden tried to make himself clear. He was glad he was driving and didn't have to — couldn't — look at Marleau as he spoke. 'You have… stuff in common?'

'We both play hockey. Don't know much else about him.'

Hayden really wanted to punch the steering wheel — no, Marleau, really — at that moment. Fuck. Then Marleau laughed. Laughed at him. Asshole.

'Are you trying to ask me if I'm gay, Pike?' He was fucking howling. Hayden almost stopped the car to punch him. 'Dude, I'm flattered but…'

'No the fuck you're not!' Hayden turned to him to shoot him a death stare, traffic be damned, 'I'm fucking married! Married! To a woman! Because I'm into fucking women!'

'Well good for you, man,' Marleau was fighting laughter to speak. 'And I'm not gay either, not that it's any of your fucking business.'

They've reached the supermarket parking. Stopped the car. The motor silenced and the radio turned off and quiet was the most uncomfortable it has been in Hayden's life. Neither of them got out. The conversation had been a fucking shitshow. Hayden had to get his point through before they left.

'Don't tell me, I don't fucking care.' He turned to Marleau, he'd show him he was dead serious. 'Fuck, I'd definitely rather not know. Just… just lay the fuck off Hollander. He's clearly not interested. He's straight for fuck's sake, so just fuck off!'

Marleau looked at Hayden as if he'd grown a second head. He scoffed. Fucking scoffed! Who the fuck scoffs at people?! Hayden kept gripping the steering wheel, just to keep his hands busy and off Marleau's throat. Fuck, was it gay if he was thinking about chocking the man for a second just now? He and Jackie sometimes… fuck. Fuck no. His urge to choke the man was purely homicidal.

'Look.' Marleau was looking at Hayden as if he were talking to a child, 'I have no ill — or any other, for that matter — intentions towards your friend. I don't fuck with men and I'd stay the fuck away from him even if I did. And while this little conversation is almost adorable, it's also pretty fucking weird you don't think your captain can take care of himself.'

Hayden wasn't sure if he should be offended for his own sake or Shane's. 'Of course he can take care of himself! But I'm his friend and I get to get pissed of for his sake! If you want Brown starting rumours about you that's your fucking problem, just don't drag him into it!'

Marleau took a moment to think. Hayden wasn't sure what was it about his words, but he could feel the energy in the car shift.

'Someone has to stand up to creeps like Brown.' Marleau was looking serious. Fuck. Yeah, sure, Brown was a creep but so was half of the fucking league. No one in his right mind would want to piss off half the league and risk his fucking career over what, some unfunny jokes?

'It is not your fucking —'

'I'm making it my fucking place. You should be making it your fucking place. There's probably a couple of guys in that locker room who have to listen to Brown and creeps like him talk about them that way.'

'Yeah, right.' Hayden couldn't help a smirk. He knew most of the guys he was playing with. Majority of them were veterans of many years, sharing one locker room every fucking year for the World Championship meet up, every four for the Olympics. He'd fucking know.

'Bet you're not that brave when your Boston captain talks shit like that.' He tried to move from the uncomfortable topic.

Fuck. Wrong fucking thing to say. If looks could kill and all that crap; there was a reason people hated meeting Marleau on ice. But Hayden didn't believe him for shit. Fucking hypocrite. Of course he was afraid of Rozanov, just like everyone. His death stare be damned.

'What the fuck is your beef with Roz?' The stare didn't let off. 'You have no fucking idea what you're talking about, do you?'

Right. Like Rozanov was some big fucking enigma, secretly raising kittens and baking pies for homeless or some other shit. Like he wasn't fucking proud and public about being a dick.

'So he's not a smug asshole?' Hayden asked him in a voice he usually reserved for his children when they were getting on his last nerve. Or people being idiots.

'What player isn't a smug asshole?' Marleau returned the sentiment in a look. 'And for the fucking record, shit like that would not fly in Boston, precisely because of the captain.'

'Yeah, right.'

Marleau laughed, but the sound came out half-choked as if he tried to stop it. 'Who's acting like a smug asshole now, Pike?'

'Fuck you, Marleau.'

'Careful, you wouldn't want someone starting rumours about you, right?'

Hayden could feel the heat in his cheeks and it didn't help knowing it was mostly rage. Fucking smug Boston assholes. Every one of them. He wanted to say something. Marleau beat him to it.

'We should get to the shopping if you don't want to be late to your own party. And maybe once we win the fucking Olympics, you and JJ and Hollander should fly to Boston for a proper fucking celebration, and you'd realise you have more in common with us than you think. That is, if you manage to get your head out of your ass.'

Hayden scoffed. It was gratifying to do it back. 'Not even if you get the fucking MVP.'

Marleau laughed. 'For that comment alone, I just might.'

Then he turned serious. 'Just think about it, Pike. Imagine if it were you everyone had it out for, or a friend of yours… You've been with Metros how many years now? You've got three fucking cups. You've been breaking bones — yours and your opponents' — for your team. You've got some reputation. What a shame it doesn't extend off the ice.'

_______

4:53. Shane was standing in the Pikes' driveway. He's been standing in the Pikes' driveway for the last thirty minutes. Jackie had called him in four times already. Half the team was there by then. Hayden and Marleau were not. They were cutting it close, which was strange. Hayden took few thing seriously, but being on time was among them.

Shane needed to talk to them. Both. Separately, if possible. He had the afternoon to think about what he'd say. The thinking helped. This time, he wasn't nervous, not like in the locker room. It made him confident in his decision.

4:55. Finally, Hayden's SUV. Rolling in too fast, breaks screaming at the end of the driveway.

'Shit, we're fucking late, aren't we?' Hayden jumped out of the car with his seatbelt still looped around his arm.

'We'd have been early if Pike didn't fucking try to fight me in the parking lot.' Marleau got out on the passenger side. For some reason, he was holding flowers.

Shane looked them both over. They did not look any worse for wear that when they left the stadium after the practice, no signs of a physical fight on either. They also seemed friendlier than before, which made sense on a theoretical level — their shared, particularly annoying kind of humour — and was also baffling, considering Hayden's almost religious aversion to everything Boston. The observation reassured Shane in his decision.

'Asshole bought my wife flowers! My fucking wife!' Hayden complained, but his lips gave out his amusement.

'You're hosting. It's basic fucking decency,' Marleau countered. 'Are you going to accuse me of flirting with the anyone else, or is two enough for the day?'

Shane busied himself with unloading the car, trying to keep outside of their debate while listening in, waiting for the right moment to get either alone. He listened to their bickering. So ordinary, like nothing changed. And maybe really nothing needed to, for now.

He was quickly joined by the two, still in the middle of it. Hayden shouting, 'Stay the fuck away from my wife!'

'I don't even know your wife!' Marleau tried to hit Hayden with the flowers. Hayden ducked. 'And get it into your fucking head, I'm not fucking flirting with your captain. I don't have a fucking death wish.'

Shane turned to Marleau, then Hayden. Watched them laugh, together, on a joke he wasn't privy to. He didn't know how the corners of his mouth started moving upwards. He should be panicking. And yeah, he was fucking uncomfortable, but to his surprise, he wasn't scared.

He slapped them both over the heads, putting an end to it. 'Shut up. Both of you. And never talk about me again. Or I will fucking kill you both.' He made sure when they looked into his face, they'd know he meant it.

When Hayden grabbed the bags of groceries and headed for the house, Shane and Marleau stayed behind, unloading the boot of the car and stacking up beers by the door.

Shane turned to Marleau when Hayden got safely into the house. He couldn't be too careful. 'Tell him anything before I get the chance, and I will fucking end you.'

There. Conversations handled.

_______

The barbecue kept everyone busy enough, keeping the conversation to food and hockey. Hayden was occupied chasing after his kids — the twins refusing to be anywhere but in the middle of everything that was happening, introducing themselves to everyone. Arthur refusing to accept the kiddie pool was turned into a beer cooler for the day and trying to climb in between the cans.

Marleau and JJ in the middle of a heated debate that included a New Jersey goalie and the second attack line, shouting over each other.

Shane observed from the grill. Jackie Pike besides him, a wine glass in hand, watching her children be a menace and not having to deal with it herself for once. Her quiet company was a relief compared to the noise of the team. Then Hayden turned around, proudly wrangling Arthur who'd just tried to climb in with the beer for the third time. He managed to keep hold of the boy in one arm just long enough to wave and send a kiss to his wife and Shane had to focus on the burgers.

It hurt how easy it could be for other people. It hurt to know how much of his life Hayden was sharing with him and Shane wasn't able to return the sentiment yet. But he was getting there.

The Pike children reminded him of last year's all star weekend, of Ilya entertaining a whole flock of kids in the swimming pool. He knew, without thinking about it, that the Pike children would adore him.

Shane used the privacy of the grill to text Ilya. He's been meaning to do it all day, he just couldn't find the words. The two beers he'd already finished were helping him locate them. His fingers were shaking anyway. But Ilya deserved to know.

'Marleau knows. He told me. He seems… good about it. You trust him, right?'

Ilya began typing immediately, the little dancing dots menacing Shane all the way from Boston. He was typing for a long time.

'I trust him.'

Not a message that warranted two minutes of dots staring at Shane. A second message appeared a moment later, without the hesitation of the first.

'Are you okay?'

Then, equally fast, 'I wish I was there.'

Shane wished that too. He thought about the reply. Realised to his own surprise that he really was okay. There was a person in their corner. A stranger to Shane, but aggressively, rudely planted into their corner, uninvited and refusing to leaving. His mind began to spin on what that meant. What it could mean. A friend in common with Ilya, if he wanted. Another overlap between their lives they could hide behind in public. Another puzzle piece falling into a piece they were building, however unexpectedly offered.

There were so many things he wanted to say to Ilya. Say, not text. So he only typed 'I'm okay. Let's talk tomorrow.' Then he turned back to the party.

'Who are you texting?' Jackie smiled at him over her wine glass. It was a knowing smile. It said I saw you smile at your phone and now I'm asking who's making you smile like that. It had to be the beers, but Shane smiled back. Said I'll tell you some other time instead of no one that was already forming on his tongue. The other time won't be coming any time soon, but it didn't matter. Shane was happy. He was in love. The other time will eventually come.

_______

The crowd was already thinning before midnight, unconvinced by the fact that there was no practice next morning and the captain was still in the middle of the party, checking that everyone had beer in their hand and was having a good time.

Shane found himself more drunk that he had ever been, with the exceptions of the MLH cup celebrations, maybe. He stumbled around and didn't know how he ended up pulled into so many reminiscing conversations of games and victories, but Hayden found and didn't leave his side and Shane was grateful when he took over the conversations. He was there for every one of Metros' victories with Shane, it was only right he got his moment to shine. Plus, Shane felt no shame it admitting Hayden was the better storyteller of the pair, adding his own flair to the retelling.

'… less then five minutes till the end!' Hayden had long lost the control of his voice, and his bellowing performance drew the attention of everyone left at the party. 'And those Boston bastards — actually, that Boston bastard right fucking there —' Pointing at Marleau.

Marleau laughed and raised his beer in a salute before walking over to pitch in details where Hayden's story was thin on the Boston heroics. Hayden wouldn't let him have it, pulling the attention right back. 'We would have fucking lost, if JJ didn't put the bastard in his place'

'Fuck yeah!' JJ, who was cheering on every Metros achievement mentioned, enthusiastically jumped in, digging his shoulder into Marleau's side, recreating the maneuver from the match. Marleau stumbled on his feet, letting go of his beer and grabbing onto JJ's hoodie to steady himself. Instead, they went down together in a pile of limbs.

The crowd laughed.

'Fucking gay!' Someone shouted.

'It's not a fucking insult!' Hayden shouted back, punching the jokester square in the jaw without any warning.

In this version of the HR universe, team Canada wins the Olympic finals with a decisive 3:1 final score. Cliff Marleau, the shooter of two of the three goals, is named the MVP of the match. Hayden Pike, the alternate captain of team Canada for the match refuses to comment on the award, raising eyebrows of fans as even Ilya Rozanov, the captain of the silver Russian team is eager to publicly congratulate both the Canadian representation and his Boston teammate.

Chapter End Notes

This took way longer than expected as none of the characters chose to behave in a manner required of them by the story, forcing the author into a very different one. If you, like the author, were originally under the assumption it was going to be something else, you have my apologies.