Rating:

Not Rated

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No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau & Ilya Rozanov, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble & Ilya Rozanov, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble & Shane Hollander

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble (Game Changers), original bears teammates

Additional Tags:

Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Good Friend Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, good boston bears, No Angst, Shane Hollander Speaks Russian, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Established Relationship, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shenanigans, Secret Relationship, POV Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Relationship Reveal, Ilya Rozanov's Montreal Jane

Language:

English

Series:

Part 7 of a little more romeo, a little more juliet

Collections:

Zulie's Best of Heated Rivalry

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-21 Completed: 2026-03-05 Words: 13,891 Chapters: 6/6

Operation Romeo & Juliet

Summary

Cliff hates the waiting game, mostly because it goes on way too long. A year. A year of trying to find a moment to bring up the ring, casually mentioning Jane where it won’t push Roz away, making exasperated eye contact with his teammates with each failed lead. 
-
The Boston Bears just want their captain to be happy, they don't mean to uncover the most well kept secret in the NHL.
Good thing the rookies are cute, Rozanov can't yell at cute.

Notes

I know I don't have to convince anyone of my good friend Cliff Marlow agenda. He is my favorite, and there need to be more supportive Bears fics.

This will run partially concurrent to life makes love look hard.

Chapter 1: rookie mistake

November 2014

Really, Cliff should have noticed it sooner. When Roz returned from wherever he’d gone over the summer, sporting a light tan and–in hindsight–a gold ring on the chain he always wore. It didn’t stand out until St Simon pointed out that Roz wore it on his finger when they went out.

“Dude,” Victor is leaning in, “Please tell me you’ve noticed the ring.”

Cliff darts his eyes to where Rozanov is ignoring his drink in favor of his phone at the other end of the table.

“Yeah, I noticed.” Cliff takes a sip of his beer. “What about it? Figured it was a family heirloom or something.”

Victor gives him a look that says are you crazy? “A ring that nice? A gold ring that nice? He wears it on his ring finger when it’s not around his neck.”

Cliff squinted at Roz, catching the glint of something on, yup, his ring finger. He holds his hands up, making L shapes with his fingers, and then studies Roz again. “Wrong hand.”

Vicky shakes his head, “I thought so too, but I googled it.”

“Googled what?”

“In Russia you wear engagement rings on the right hand.” He’s grinning at Cliff, “I think cap’s engaged.”

“You think Roz got engaged without telling us?” Cliff is miffed, his best friend potentially got engaged over the summer and hadn’t told any of them, just showed up, later than usual, to preseason training happier and lighter than any of them were aware was possible. 

“Oh, he got engaged.” Victor nods.

“I think so.” He pauses, “Do you think it’s that Jane girl?”

He knew Rozanov kept things close to the chest, but to not tell them about impending nuptials, for them to notice the ring on their own? “Who else would it be? Good for him if that’s true, but when do you think he plans on telling us?”

He gets a shrug. In the end, Hammersmith brings it up, so Cliff could honestly say he hadn’t started what would become the biggest team secret. 

Team meeting (no cap)

Smithy: anyone else notice Roz’s new jewelry???

Vicky: im glad im not the only one. He wears it on his right finger if it’s not on his necklace.

Vicky: cliff and I think its an engagement ring

Cliff: way to throw me under the buss asshole

Cliff: but yeah. Its russian tradition to wear wedding rings on the right hand

Connors: cap wouldn’t get married without telling us right?

Cliff: i don’t know what to think cause i also thought he would have told us it was serious with Jane

Smithy: you think its Jane?

Vicky: that makes sense, it has to be. Think it happened over the summer?

Carmichael: has to be, he’s had that ring since september

Smithy: September!? Holy shit, why hasn’t he said anything

Cliff: because it’s Jane, he never gives up information about Jane

Connors: roz wont tell us anything if we confront him about it.

Carmichael: nope. Fuck

Carmichael: we just have to wait for him to invite us to the wedding

Cliff: very Roz thing to do, send out wedding invites and act like we’re the idiots.

Cliff hates the waiting game, mostly because it goes on way too long. A year. A year of trying to find a moment to bring up the ring, casually mentioning Jane where it won’t push Roz away, making exasperated eye contact with his teammates with each failed lead. 

Jane is taking care of their captain, that much is obvious, he plays well that season and Cliff only steps in once when it looks like Roz is getting lost in his head. (He’s damn proud when Roz informs him he’s found a Russian therapist.) He stays with Jane over the summer, longer than he usually takes time off, but clearly not slacking in his down time. It’s this relaxed, good-mood captain that keeps the team back from hounding him about any upcoming nuptials. 

Team meeting (no cap)

Andrews: Can i send Jane flowers?

Cliff: I agree, but why? What’s cap done this time?

Carmichael: he forgot about his threat from last game.

Carmichael: and the timing lines up with what we think was a text from Jane.

Carmichael: a picture.

Vicky: go cap!

Smithy: thank god! Or Jane, for an early end to practice!

Cliff: i really got to meet this girl. 

Vicky: I'm going to shake her hand first thing.

Smithy: even if the first time we meet her is at their wedding?

Vicky: even if it’s at the wedding.

Simmons: why haven’t we tried to find this girl?

Andrews: bc Roz is notoriously cagey about her.

Cliff: we didn’t even learn her name until a few years in. he used to deny he was even texting anyone

Vicky: also we tried, years ago, but zip. Nothing, girls a ghost.

Cliff: yeah that too

October 2015

It’s their new rookies this year that fuck up and find the next clue. Since becoming captain, Rozanov enjoyed taking rookies under his wing, making sure they settled in, got help when they needed it, and this year with three new young adults, started inviting them over to his new house for movie nights. Or days—because the day of the newest Jane Clue—Roz kicked them out early because she was in town. A rare weekend off, clearly last minute plans made to have Jane over. 

“Ok. Movie over, time to go.” Rozanov is ushering his rookies towards the door. Anthony Clarke is shoving his shoes on as fast as he can.

“Calm down Cap, we’re going. No need to rush us.” Anthony meets the eyes of Seth 'Bugsy' Beadle and rolls them into the back of his head. “We’ll be gone before Jane gets here, promise.”

“Yes, you will be.” With final goodbyes, the three rookies find themselves on their captain’s porch, door firmly shut behind them.

“Well…” Beadle starts. Clarke and Dime Brown burst into laughter.

“We’re not stupid, cap.” Brown says through wheezes, “We’ve been sexiled!”

They make their way back to Clarke’s car, shoving each other into seats. They get twelve minutes away before, “Stop! Wait, I left my jacket inside.”

Groans fill the car, “Are you serious Dime? We can’t go back now, Cap will kill us.”

“Not if we’re fast.” Brown argues, “He said Jane would be over in an hour, it hasn’t been an hour. If we knock real fast we can get my jacket back and be gone and Roz won’t kill us for interrupting."

It sounds like a solid plan, it should be a solid plan. When Clarke pulls back onto Rozanov’s street, he’s forced to drive right by Rozanov’s house because there’s another car in the driveway.

“Holy shit, she’s here.” Clarke pulls off to the side hastily and throws the car into park, spinning around, craning his neck around. No one in the car is pretending to not be staring when someone gets out, opposite side of where they could make out details.

“Holy shit, holy shit.” Brown shoves Clarke’s shoulder, “That’s Jane.”

Rounding the car they manage to catch a glimpse of someone in a black hoodie carrying a duffle bag walking towards the door. They all stare at each other, aware they just saw the same thing. Seth pulls out his phone and silently starts texting. Their phones all buzz.

Beadle: hey, cap is seeing Jane this weekend right? No one else?

Vicky: yeah? He’s been excited about it all week. 

Vicky: has he kicked you out yet?

The rookies stare at each other.

Vicky: rooks?

Beadle: we think we saw Jane.

Beadle: on accident.

Beadle: Dime left his jacket, so we turned back. We thought we had time.

Vicky: holy shit guys. Roz won’t be happy

Vicky: but also, tell us everything

Beadle: I don’t know if we can?

Beadle: not over text at least

Cliff: sounds like we need a team meeting.

Smithy: Breakfast tomorrow at Marly’s?

Cliff: why my house?

Smithy: because you’re the closest to all of us

Vicky: and have the biggest house.

Beadle: we’ll be there

Beadle: don’t tell cap

Anthony blew out a breath, “We can’t tell anyone.”

“No shit, Clarke.” Seth is breathing heavily, sitting back in his seat. “At least we didn’t see his face?”

“Fuck, this is all my fault. If we just left the jacket, it’s not that important.”

“I can’t believe we just…”

“Yeah.”

The drive back to their shared apartment was silent with shame and agreement they had fucked up. Now all three rookies had to sit with the knowledge that Jane wasn’t Jane, and their captain had a really good reason to keep her a secret. 

Morning found them sitting, heads bowed, on Marlow’s couch, hunched over their pancakes of shame while they waited for the last people to arrive. The team gathers in the living room, plates of food half-eaten.

“Ok, rooks,” Marlow starts, “You saw Jane yesterday and freaked out about it.”

Brown nods, “I left my jacket at Rozanov’s when he kicked us out, but we didn’t get very far before we turned around. We thought we had time.”

“No one saw us, the car was already in the driveway when we got there.” Clarke continues, “We didn’t mean to see.”

“And it’s not like we saw his face.” The bomb has been dropped, “Just, like, a person, so we still don’t know who he is.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Hammersmith cuts Beadle off, “His face?”

Clarke, looking a little green, nods, “His face. Jane isn’t a girl.”

The bomb has gone off. “That’s why we texted, we didn’t know if maybe it was just another friend or something-”

“We feel really bad, we probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Are you mad at us?” Brown is the only one looking around for any reaction from the stunned crowd of gathered Bears, fellow rookies keeping their eyes on their plates.

“Holy shit.” St Simon breathes, “What the fuck?”

Marlow spins, grim look on his face, and barks out, “This doesn’t leave this room. Whatever is going on does not leave the Bears, understood? It doesn’t matter if Rozy is gay or bisexual or whatever, it doesn’t matter that Jane is a man, he’s our captain.”

No one speaks up, but there are nods of agreement around the room.

“Rozanov could be in big trouble if this gets out, that’s why he hasn’t told us.” Victor says, moving to stand next to Cliff, “With Russia and with the NHL.”

Hammersmith adds, “We already like Jane. Right? Sure we weren’t expecting him to be a him, but we like him. That hasn’t changed.”

The nods are sharper this time, remembering that this was just a new clue to the puzzle, even if it’s also mind-altering information.

“This is crazy.” Someone whispered, “Not bad crazy, just, didn’t expect this. 

Murmurs of agreement filled the room. Nicole Marlow takes that moment to announce her presence, needing to lay down some rules. “We can’t tell him. Rozanov, you can’t tell him we know. You have to let him tell you on his own time.” She shakes her head at the protests from the boys, “You can’t. How long has he already kept this a secret? The most you can do is make sure he knows you’re safe to tell. If anyone has any issues, go home and sort them out. Talk to someone, talk to me, a therapist, go to a gay bar, I don’t care. But if you want Rozanov to tell you, you have to make it safe for him and Jane.”

Her words sink in, Cliff walking over to wrap an appreciative arm around his wife, “You’re right babe, we’ll work it out and make sure Roz and Jane are accepted here.”

—

The rest of the winter, Cliff finds himself hosting movie nights for whoever wants to come. Hammersmith has a list of movies his gay cousin had recommended as the ‘essential ally watchlist”.

Cliff was fairly certain the rookies had taken it upon themselves to attend a sensitivity seminar because they spend a whole twenty four hours saying the dumbest words in the locker room, clearly having learned them recently. Cliff has to tell them to knock it off before they give themselves away by saying “inclusivity” too much in the wrong context.

He, himself, has to find time to process the information. He remembers the early clubbing days, chasing after this new rookie. Picking him up from girl’s houses and ribbing him in the locker room over marks. Cliff isn’t entirely sure when Roz settled down, stopped bringing girls home and instead only gave the impression he still did. Because Jane. Jane who always made him happy even though they had to hide. And Jane, saved under a fake name, no wonder they couldn’t find any trace of her-him. Cliff runs a hand down his face and sighs, it won’t do any good to dwell, but he can admit he feels a little better about the whole thing. At least keeping Jane a secret wasn’t a matter of trusting Cliff, not entirely, it was about keeping himself and his fiancé-shit, that’s another thing-safe. He’s not sure what he would do if he had to keep Nicole a secret, to be so scared he couldn’t say anything. So Cliff will try to understand that Rozanov wasn’t trying to hurt him, or them, just trying not to hurt himself. 

Chapter 2: hockey husbands

Chapter Summary

It takes twenty minutes to assemble the last of the Bears, sans, of course, their captain and St Simon, who are currently on the road to a New York hospital. He doesn’t know where to start except, “Jane is in the hospital.”

By February, the Bears have all come around to this new picture of Jane, which is why the universe decides it’s time to fuck with them again. 

He watches in horror as Shane Hollander goes down, defensemen nowhere in sight (deliberate, the replay and twitter will argue) Carter Vaughn barreling into his side. The room holds their breath, waiting for him to get up. He doesn’t, not on his own, Hollander doesn’t so much as twitch until the medics bring the backboard out. Pike has launched himself at Vaughn, getting a few good punches in before the refs tear them apart. 

Cliff watches with his wife and a few teammates as Hollander gets carried off. Damn, that’s rough, he thinks. Murmurs of sympathy pass over the room; it’s tough to watch a full grown hockey player go down, especially one like Hollander, who doesn’t usually find himself on either end of injuries. The game resumes, but they’re soon distracted by someone's phone. It’s Cliffs.

“Hello?” He answers without looking.

“Marly.” Rozy’s voice is rough on the other end. 

“Roz? What’s up?” Cliff feels something misaligned in his chest, something is wrong. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I can’t.” His breaths are coming in short. He can’t breathe, Cliff realizes.

“Roz, Roz. Listen to me, deep breaths, focus on doing that ok?” He gets the impression that Rozanov nods, because he starts trying to suck in air. Hammersmith is looking at him weird, so are the rest of the teammates in the room. Call Vicky he mouths to Smithy. He hears the ringing that means his instruction has been followed and turns his attention back to his captain.

“Roz, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” There’s a pause.

“Jane.” That was when Cliff should have put the clues together, but he’s rather focused on a very panicky Russian.

“Jane? What do you mean Jane? Is she ok?” He barely manages to catch himself from saying the wrong pronoun, now is not the time.

“Da. Jane is… Jane is hurt, I need to go to her. The hospital called.” Brad is waving his phone with St Simon on the other end.

“Ok, hold on man, deep breaths.” He pulls his phone away from his ear and grabs Brad’s, “Vicky, I need you to go over to Rozy’s. He’s freaking out, something happened to Jane, you’re the closest.” He doesn’t wait for a response before he’s back on the phone with Roz. “Vicky’s on his way over, ok. You focus on not panicking, ok, panicking will not help Jane right now.”

“Da, da. I can do that. Thank you, Marly.” The phone call drops. 

“Marly, what’s going on? Jane is hurt?” Connors asks.

“The hospital called Roz, something happened with Jane. I don’t know any more. Victor is on his way over to check on him.” An unease settles over the room, but with nothing else to do but wait, they turn back for the end of the hockey game. There is something nudging at Cliff’s brain, little clues that aren’t quite coming together. He watches the Voyagers play like shit now that Hollander is gone, in the hospital most likely. Cliff’s fingers tap out a beat on his knee.

“You good, man?” Hammersmith asks, he shrugs, unsure how to answer.

The text from Vicky comes in a few minutes later.

Vicky: confirming Jane is in the hospital

Vicky: I’m driving Roz to New York

Vicky: I can’t say anything else, but team meeting tomorrow when I get back

It clicks when he reads New York. The amount of time between Hollander being taken off the ice and Rozanov getting a phone call telling him Jane is in the hospital, in New York. One coincidence is strange, but unremarkable. But Jane, from Montreal, who they know is a man, is currently in New York, injured at the same time as Shane Hollander, who is also a man, from Montreal, playing a hockey game against the New York Admirals. Fuck, their names even rhyme.

“Shit.” He says out loud, staring at his phone. 

“Shit is right,” Hammersmith breathes, reading over Cliff's shoulder. “Fucking New York.”

Their eyes are wide when they meet, no doubt about what they have just both pieced together.

“Anyone care to clue us in?” Andrews questions, “The fuck do you mean?”

Cliff clears his throat, “Text the group chat, get everyone else here. Vicky wants to do a team meeting tomorrow, but we’re having it now.”

It takes twenty minutes to assemble the last of the Bears, sans, of course, their captain and St Simon, who are currently on the road to a New York hospital. He doesn’t know where to start except, “Jane is in the hospital.”

Gasps ring out amongst those who weren’t here for that phone call. “Yeah, Rozy is fine now. Vicky is driving him to New York.”

“Why New York?”

“Because that’s the hospital Jane is in.” He needs to keep his voice steady, as alternate captain, this is his job. “We- I know who Jane is.”

That causes everybody to lean in, words flying over each other.

“What the fuck?”

“How did you figure it out?”

“Did he tell you?”

“Holy shit, it’s Shane!” That last one comes from Brown, whose hand slaps over his mouth as soon as he says it. Everyone is looking at him incredulously. Through his hand he says, “We were watching the MTL-NYC game and watched Hollander crash.”

Cliff sighs and nods, “Is it impossible that Shane Hollander is admitted to the hospital then less than an hour later Rozanov is being driven to New York to go see Jane in the hospital?”

“I had the same thought.” Admits Connors, “I mean, why not? Of course Jane is Shane. Roz doesn’t do anything by halves, does he?”

Simmons shakes his head, “No he doesn’t. Fuck, Hollander, really? This is a mind fuck.”

“It is, but the same rules have to apply. If it is Hollander, the stakes just doubled. We can’t tell them we know.”

“What we need to do is figure out how to kidnap the captain of the Voyagers without getting caught.” Pipes up Carmichael, where he’s been quiet against the counter, “Locker rooms are brutal, but I’ve heard worse things about Montreal than most of the Eastern Conference.”

Beadle nods, “I’ve got a fellow rookie friend in Montreal, it’s not good. Like, he’s thinking about a transfer, not good. If Hollander is Jane, Montreal isn’t safe for him.”

“And especially not for Roz.” Adds Carmichael, pointing at the rookie in agreement, “We reacted the way we did because we’re not assholes and we respect our captain enough to at least be civil. Did you see the game? Where were his defensemen? He shouldn’t have gotten hit like that, he was left open on purpose.”

“He's the captain, but they don’t like him. That’s what Pointy says. Off the ice, Hollander has trouble with the team.” Beadle says. “He thinks that if Hollander didn’t have a no-trade clause, they would have gotten rid of him already. Pointy overheard someone say clearly he wasn’t worth the trouble of number 2 draft.”

“Bullshit!” Simmons explodes, “I’ve been playing against him how long now? He’s every goalie’s worst nightmare. Not worth the trouble, that’s bullshit.” He trails off into grumbled Dutch.

“So what? We recruit Hollander for the Boston Bears?” Connors asks, “We can’t do that. Can we?”

“We can’t do anything until we know he’s ok, and Roz is back.”

“We have to tell them.” Clarke interrupts, suddenly, surprised at his own boldness, but continues, “This isn’t like before, we have to tell Roz we know about them now. If Hollander is injured badly enough to be off the ice long term, they’re gonna want to stay together. They can do that here if they know they can rely on us to help. Cap can bring Hollander-Shane-here and we can all pitch in. They get to spend time together, Shane is away from Montreal while healing, win-win.”

Cliff rubs a hand down his face, “I hate it. You might be right, kid. I wanted Roz to tell me by himself, but we can’t keep this a secret anymore. Especially if he knows Vicky knows, which he might.”

“So we agree, wait to hear an update, then figure out how we’re gonna confront them without scaring them off?” Carmichael confirms, to general agreement. “Great. Now I have a question. What the fuck?”

Laughter rings out in Marlow’s kitchen. “Seriously, Shane Hollander? How did Rozanov swing that one?”

“That’s definitely a story I want to hear!”

“I think it makes perfect sense.” Heads turn to Marlow. “It’s just, I feel like one person too many said if you like hockey so much why don’t you just marry it? And those bozos took it literally. They’re both in a class by themselves, the two best players no matter how you look at it. No one else stood a chance. I want to know when it happened. Rozy’s been texting Shane for years, was it always this? We’re they friends first? I can’t even confidently tell you when Roz stopped sleeping around.” He shrugs.

“It’s very Romeo and Juliet of them.” Connors says, and groans at the confused looks, “Rival teams, forbidden love? Ring any bells?”

“Who’s who?”

“Rozanov is Juliet obviously.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Connors elaborates, “We’re the Capulets because we suck less, so Rozanov is Juliet. Montreal sucks more, so they’re the Montagues, which makes Hollander Romeo. Also I did this project in high school about how we would rewrite the story to give it a happy ending. My group argued that Juliet should have just snuck Romeo home one day and then brought him to breakfast like nothing was different. Just show up with him and be like ‘his family sucks, and they’ll disown him if they find out, but I love him so he’s family now.’ And the Capulets would just be like, ‘well, it makes us look good, the Montagues look bad, and Juliet is happy, so whatever.”

“That is eerily similar to the situation we’re in.” Connors nods.

“Yeah, that’s why I said it. We just have to convince Juliet that Romeo is welcome to come to breakfast. And if he wants to stay forever, that’s ok too.”

“You’re not actually suggesting we recruit Shane Hollander to come play for the Bears.” Flabbergasted looks in abundance around the table, but Hammersmith looks thoughtful.

“I mean, if the Voyagers don’t want him…” He shrugs, “I would be ok playing with Roz and Hollzy on the same team. Imagine how many cups we would win.”

“Hockey husbands.” A whisper comes from the rookie's corner. 

“What?”

“They’re engaged, right?” Asks Clarke. “They’ll get married and be the hockey husbands.”

“Oh my god, the kid’s right.” Simmons whispers, starting to vibrate with excitement. “We have to see them on the ice together. We’ve only ever seen them play against each other, and we’re all at those games. Together? I bet they’re unstoppable and no one would ever believe it. I would literally retire if I had to play against them.”

That settles in like a dream and nightmare in one, depending where you fall on the playing against or with literal hockey gods scale. 

“Ok, everyone.” Cliff decides. “Go home, don’t breathe a word to anyone. We wait for news about Hollander from Vicky or Roz. Figure out if you can play on the same team as a married couple, because if this pipe dream goes anywhere, we have to be a united front first. Roz can smell weakness.”

—

Operation Romeo&Juliet

Smithy: They’ve been together since 2014 right?

Simmons: ???

Smithy: Romeo & Juliet

Marley: at least, yeah. why?

Smithy: i dont think Romeo’s parents know about them

Smithy: i just remembered a few weeks ago, they were at the all star game. I sat near them at dinner, they were trying to set him up with some daughter of a friend. He was turning them down, but i just remembered he didn’t say why, just kept saying he wsn’t looking for a relationship right now.

Marly: so we’re the only ones who know

Conners: holy shit

Vicky: wow

Clarke: they’re really hiding this from everyone

Beadle: I don’t tell my parents everything, but this is next level

Smithy: us finding out was a total accident, like stars aligned or some shit

Carmichael: What do you think Juliet's name is?

Marly: vicky what the fuck?

Vicky: is that supposed to be english?

Carmichael: Romeo is Jane, so Juliet has a different name right?

Carmichael: thats the only information we have that no one else does, I think. 

Smithy: OMG. im adding that to my list of questions.

Marly: You have a list of questions?

Clarke: you don't?

Beadle: what does Juliet's real name rhyme with?

Conners: i have no clue

Carmichael: maybe it doesn’t rhyme and romeo is smarter then juliet

Simmons: no it’s going to be something equally dumb, i promise

Simmons: have you met juliet?

Vicky: good thing mtl is too dumb to figure it out

Carmichael: Don't even speak that into existence

—

When St Simon finally texted the group chat, already renamed (to his confusion) Operation: Romeo & Juliet, to let them know what was going on with Rozy, he was met with much more informed and enthusiastic teammates than he thought.

Simmons: Hurrah! Romeo is ok!

Vicky: who the fuck is Romeo?

Carmichael: Jane. don’t ask. Just know that roz=juliet, jane=romeo. It’s how we’re referring to them now. 

Connors: i’ll tell you later

Vicky: ok? I guess.

Vicky: juliet gave me a list of romeo approved foods

Marly: romeo is officially coming to Boston?

Vicky: yeah. Roz said we could bring food, but no one was allowed to meet her.

Connors: we might have to stage an intervention.

Marly: I hope not. But you’re right, Juliet is stubborn.

Carmichael: once they’re settled in and romeo is recovering, we can make a plan.

Chapter 3: united front

Chapter Summary

Seventeen very apologetic professional hockey players show up at the Hollanov house

Chapter Notes

it’s here. shane/ilya pov coming soon.

Three weeks, three weeks of dropping off groceries and soup and trying not to ask prying questions about the hockey player in the room. Or in Rozanov’s room. You know, the one they weren’t supposed to know was back there. 

It was torture, to be so close, and to be rebuffed at every turn. When Cliff finally got confirmation that all concussion symptoms gone, he rejoiced, rather embarrassingly, in his kitchen. Nicole just looked at him in that fond way she does. 

Operation: Romeo&Juliet

Marly: concussion gone!

Vicky: Does this mean we can start planning the next step?

Carmichael: yes

Connors: yes

Connors: Juliet is going to kill us.

Marly: Maybe. We just have to figure out how to tell him without inspiring mass murder.

Marly: should we send a small group to his house?

Beadle: we should send a text, then when he comes after us we will see him coming

Connors: I like Bugsy’s idea

Vicky: That is an awful idea. I think Marlow’s idea is good.

Simmons: Shouldn’t we all go over? Present a united front?

Marly: We don’t want to overwhelm them.

Smithy: Or Juliet will make a mental list of who doesn’t show up, and that could make things worse. Besides, everyone wants to go.

Vicky: True. Maybe we should invite Juliet over to one of our places? Would that make us look less threatening to Romeo?

Smithy: We should text him and ask. 

Carmichael: ask what? Hey Roz, do you want to introduce us to your secret fiance that we’re not supposed to know about at your place or mine?

Smithy: I was thinking more like, hey we (the team) want to talk to you about something, you can pick the meeting place?

Marlow: I’ll text him.

Simmons: make it clear it’s not a bad talk, we’re not trying to corner him

Connors: we kinda are.

Marly: ‘hey, I’m glad to hear that Jane is doing better. The team wants to talk to you about something. It’s nothing to worry about, but would you be free soon to have a team meeting? Nicole would be happy to make food for us to bring over, or I’m happy to host this time. Let me know!’

Marly: How's that?

Vicky: Good. Probably the best it can be.

Marly: he says he’ll talk to Jane.

Vicky: he’s suspicious for sure, but do you think he knows we know?

Simmons: no, he would have said something. He probably thinks we want to ask about Jane. Technically, she’s not supposed to exist, this whole thing should be a surprise.

Vicky: We've also been weirdly supportive and haven’t hounded him with questions which is unusual.

Beadle: but we do want to ask about Jane

Marly: He says if we promise to be quiet we can meet at his place. He says he’s allowed to kick us out at any time and if any of us bother Jane (who is still recovering) he’ll invent new conditioning just to punish us.

Andrews: oh so we’re dead

Andrews: popping in to say, Marlow, please ask your wife to make us a really good last meal.

Brown: Marlow family pancake recipe?

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Marlow: She wishes us luck.

Simmons: We’re all dead

Vicky: It’s been an honor boys

Vicky: I hope Romeo cries at our funeral

The following day, Marlow stood with St Simon, Carmichael, and their rookies on Rozanov’s porch waiting for the rest of the Bears to show up. United front, indeed. Bugsy and Clarke helped unload several aluminum trays of food, the best peace offering for the shit-show about to go down. He hoped it wasn’t, but there was really no easy way to do this; just rip the bandaid off, apologize profusely, and hope the Great Russian Ice Machine accepted pancakes and omelets and seventeen contrite professional hockey players. 

Two different cars rolled into the driveway, carrying the last two-thirds of the Boston Bears. Once everyone was nervously gathered on the porch, psyching themselves up, Marlow took point, reaching for the doorbell when the door swung open.

“Why are you standing out here like this?” Ilya Rozanov, Captain, currently wearing sweatpants and a shirt slightly too small stretched across his shoulders, stood scrutinizing them. “Like scared puppies? I will not kill you.”

Hammersmith shifts from foot to foot and the rookies are suddenly interested in anything but looking at their captain. Roz pinches the bridge of his nose, “Ok. Jane is sleeping, be quiet.” He gets enthusiastic nods. “Come in. Go to living room.”

They march in single file, discarding shoes and coats silently and traipsing towards Rozanov’s couch. Marlow peels off with Clarke to put the food in the kitchen to be consumed later. When they join everyone else, Roz is standing between them and the rest of the house like a guard dog, arms crossed. They’ve made themselves comfortable, but a lingering tension hangs in the air. Cliff shoos their goalie out of the armchair closest to Roz and gestures for his friend to sit. He doesn’t, so Cliff backs up the tiniest amount, making it clear who the chair was for.

“Why are you here? You said team meeting, da?” Roz looks around, meeting the eyes of the few people not avoiding eye contact. “This is about Jane, da?”

Noise gently ripples through the group and Marlow answers, “Yeah, Roz. This is about Jane.” He holds a hand up to stop Rozanov from speaking again. “We want to start by saying we’re sorry for invading your privacy, even accidentally. We, the team, support you. And, uh, Jane.” Everyone nods or murmurs agreement. “This isn’t a bad thing, we just realized it was time to come clean about this. So, uh, let’s start at the beginning. Clarke, Brown, and Bugsy have something to tell you.”

The rookies look at each other, nervous to be the one to start, Brown takes pity on his friends and starts.

“Do you remember the movie night a few months ago? When you kicked us out early? I realized I left my jacket behind, so we turned back to get it. We thought we had time, but we…”

Beadle picks up, “We didn’t have time. We kinda, we saw Jane.” He hurries to reassure, “Not any details, but we definitely saw him go into your house.”

Roz’s face has gone pale, so Marlow jumps back in.

“That’s all we knew, just that Jane was a fake name for a man. We didn’t want to say anything to freak you out, so we didn’t tell you. We wanted you to feel safe to come to us. The rooks signed themselves up for a seminar, I think. But we agreed as a team that we support you and your fiance, none of us said anything, it never left the team, I promise.”

Rozanov swallows hard, standing stock still, eyes rapidly scanning every teammate. Marlow watches his stance widen the tiniest amount, braced to attack or defend. The team lets themselves be observed, contrite before their captain.

“You know.” He finally croaks out, to sheepish looks. Rozy looks pained when he asks, “What else do you know?”

“It wasn’t a coincidence you needed to go to New York.” St Simon says quietly, like he was trying to sooth an agitated animal “Most of us were watching the game, we saw him go down. We decided we couldn’t not tell you we figured it out.”

“We wanted you guys to know you have people in your corner, assuming we’re the only ones who know. It’s probably really lonely to keep that kind of secret, and we don’t want you to be lonely. Either of you.” Carmichael adds. “We support the both of you. All of us, as a team. No one has any issues with either of you. You deserve to know. And we’re sorry.”

Rozanov finally lets himself fall into the empty armchair. Marlow can see he’s shaking; he hates it, hates that his best friend is so scared right now. “We love you man. Nothing changes that.”

Roz takes several steadying, deep breaths. “You know that I am bisexual.” Nods and shrugs, they assumed correctly. “You know that Jane is…”

“Shane Hollander.” Connors says, finally putting the name into the open.

“You do not care about either of these things. You will not tell anyone these things?” Marlow decides Roz has had enough personal space and kneels down, grabbing his hands.

“We don’t care, Roz. You’re still our captain, still Ilya Rozanov. We don’t care, man. That’s why we’re here.” Rozanov nods again. 

“You do not care that I am with Shane Hollander?” The question comes out almost inaudibly. Marlow shakes his head.

“No, we don’t care that it’s Shane Hollander. Honestly, it makes sense. No one else can keep up with you. Frankly we’re happy you have someone who can be weird about hockey with you.”

There’s a snort from the direction of the kitchen. The entire Bears roster whips their heads towards where they’ve missed Shane Hollander himself listening in to their conversation.

“That’s the weirdest compliment I think I’ve ever received.” It’s clear to Roz that Hollander isn’t as calm as his nonchalance may suggest, because he holds a hand out towards his fiance, a silent gesture to join him.

The path Hollander chooses keeps him out of arms reach of anyone until he can grab Rozanov’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Roz says something in Russian, and Marlow is surprised when Hollander answers back in the same language before sitting on the arm of the chair, hand on Roz’s back in silent support, the other arm still in a sling.

“I heard enough.” He says, addressing the gathered hockey players. “I guess it’s nice to meet you all officially.”

Courses of Hi and wassup Hollander’s fill the room. St Simon leans forward to extend a hand, “It’s nice to officially meet Rozy’s man. We’ve heard almost nothing about you, but we’d like to get to know you. If you want.”

Hollander hesitantly takes the offered hand, giving a firm handshake. Marlow watches Roz’s grip on Hollander’s waist tighten, ever so slightly.

“Fiance.” Roz says suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger. “Earlier, you said Shane was my fiance.”

They exchange looks of confusion, “Well, yeah, Rozy. We figured things got serious with Jane when we saw the ring.”

“You came back that summer after we won the cup all extra happy, with a new ring. We figured out that you and Jane—Shane—got engaged.”

“You thought I was a girl and still assumed it was an engagement ring?” Hammersmith looks sheepish.

“Maybe we’re just progressive like that!”

“We thought Rozy wouldn’t get married without telling us. Or more likely, that he would just send out invites to the wedding as a surprise. He already barely acknowledged you existed, it wasn’t a stretch to think he would plan a surprise wedding just to wait until the last minute to introduce us.”

Hollander is nodding along, seemingly in agreement. “That does sound like something he would do. He’s very dramatic, isn’t he?”

He squeezes Roz’s neck and smooths his hand down his back. It’s a very domestic look, and Rozanov’s face is anything but subtle, looking at Shane with a soft smile.

“We talked about it. Having a big wedding with all of our friends and family, and we want to—we will— but it’s just not an option right now. Nobody knows, well, except you guys, I guess.” 

“Yes,” Roz adds, “One day we do big wedding with everyone.”

With the energy in the room now more relaxed, Connors leans forward, “We’re very excited to meet you, Shane, and we don’t want to overwhelm you while you’re still recovering. But Smithy has a whole list of questions he’s been dying to ask you guys.”

“Fuck off, Conner, like you don’t also have questions.” Hammersmith shoves Connors’ shoulder, “I’m not asking anything until Roz says it’s ok. I value my life.”

Rozanov has relaxed, realizing his teammates don’t pose a threat to him or Shane, leaning into his partner’s side and resting his head against Hollander’s ribs. “You have list?” He asks.

Hammersmith—and Bugsy—blush, “Yeah. But we don’t have—”

“No, no.” Roz says something in Russian again, looking up at Hollander to get an answer. “Ok. You can ask.”

“We might not answer, but you can ask.” Hollander clarifies. “We know this is a lot.”

Marlow shakes his head, “It’s a lot, yeah, but we’re not the ones dealing with it. You don’t owe us anything.”

“Just ask, Marly.” Roz says with an eye roll. Hammersmith clears his throat, now holding his phone, an actual notes app note pulled up.

“If you’re sure?” Brad waits for confirmation, “Ok, first question: What is Juliet’s name? Wait! No, what is Rozanov’s name? If you’re Jane, who was Roz?”

Hollander clearly wants to comment on the Juliet thing, but Roz beats him, “He was Jane, I am Lily.”

Shane looks down at him, “Yeah, he’s Lily in my phone, but none of my teammates know. Well, I think Hayden might know of Lily, but I’ve never confirmed anything. He doesn’t even know ‘she’ is based in Boston.”

“HA!” Simmons shouts. “I told you it would be dumb!”

Roz’s head whips towards his goalie, who is already backpedaling, “Sorry! I just, Jane and Shane rhyme. And Lily and Ilya? Really?” 

Aww, and Roz said Russians didn’t blush. “Is not stupid.” He grumbles.

“It kinda is, Ilya. But we weren’t exactly expecting anyone to put it together.” The Bears coo when their captain buries his face into his partner’s stomach, groaning. 

“You are so mean to me, solynishko. Next question.”

Forced to move on from the, admittedly, adorable moment, Marlow asks next. “I want to know how long? You’ve been texting Jane for a while, but when exactly did it start?”

Shane and Ilya share a look, shaking their heads. Before either of them can officially turn down the question, Bugsy speaks up from the pile of rookies. “How about how it started instead? Like, how do you end up engaged to your division rival?”

“Yeah, that was my next one.” Brad says. “How did Rozy land you? You’re Shane fucking Hollander. No offence to Roz, but you’re clearly the catch here.”

“Are you flirting with my husband now, Smithy?” The look on Rozanov’s face could kill a man, Brad holds his hands up in surrender. Hollander pinches Roz’s shoulder. “I got very lucky. Pretty Canadian boy asks me to kiss him in Russian and I am supposed to say no? I am supposed to ignore pretty freckles? No, no. I kiss him and ask for phone number and set up date so he will see me again.” Roz looks very proud of himself.

“You asked him to kiss you in Russian?” Andrews says, incredulously. Hollander blushes while Roz grins widely.

“Da. He practiced very hard.” His hand is on Hollander’s knee now, providing silent support, even while teasing him. 

“Why is that so cute?” Conners whispers. 

“Yeah, well he told me he thought my freckles were beautiful.”

“So you go home and ask internet if I am flirting.”

Marlow interrupts, “Wait, wait. You asked the internet if Roz was flirting with you?”

“I wasn’t sure! But yeah, I googled how to know if someone was flirting with me. I got a lot of positive feedback so the next time I saw him, I wanted to be ready.”

“You learned Russian so you could flirt?” Damn these boys, they sounded like a damn fairytale. Maybe Connor’s was right about them being Romeo and Juliet. Just, you know, without the death part.

“No!” Marlow wasn’t sure if Hollander’s face could get any redder. “Yes. I just- I learned how to say Ty khochesh' menya potselovat just in case. And it worked! He kissed me.”

“That’s so romantic.” Clarke coos from across the room. It was, most of the team thought. Here were the two best hockey players, cuddled up on a couch, making heart eyes at each other.

“Yes, very romantic.” They all have a feeling that the lovesick grin on their captain's face is one they’ll have to get used to. “He speaks Russian and I—” Roz cuts himself off with a choked noise, hand clutching his heart in a dramatic pantomime. 

“I can’t believe it worked,” says Simmons. “Hollzy out here with game no one knew existed. He got one compliment and said I’ve got to lock this man down. And it worked. Because Roz is secretly a lover boy.”

Laughter rings out and Rozanov stands. “Is time for food, I think.” Ending the discussion there for now. Taking the permission for what it is, people take off for the kitchen, serving themselves food and leaving the happy couple behind to catch their breath.

Chapter 4: crazy ideas

Chapter Summary

3 conversations Ilya Rozanov has with his team about Shane
AKA it's time for step one of Operation: Bring Romeo To Breakfast

Chapter Notes

This is mostly from Ilya's POV, and I wanted some smaller moments between Ilya and his team. The first scene was one I wrote a while ago, but wasn't sure if i was going to include it or where, but I really wanted it, so i found a way to worm it in here.

Listening to Shane and Ilya describe how little they actually got to see each other was heartbreaking. The Bears were determined to fix it. Carmichael had tried to poke at whether or not Hollander liked Boston, unsuccessfully getting a concrete answer. But Operation: Bring Romeo to Breakfast was still in motion. Cliff knew they needed to get Rozanov on board first and let him present the idea to his partner. Then they needed to somehow get Coach on board with the idea of Shane Hollander coming to play for Boston. Easy.

Leaving some of their WAGs behind to look after Hollander had been a good idea; Roz was more relaxed than he would have been otherwise. He still played every game like a beast, determined to try and play hockey faster than the clock, as if that could get them home any sooner. They had four away games, and luckily for New York, none of them were in New York, instead starting with Florida and ending with their last Montreal game of the regular season. 

The excitement wrapped around the team is almost palpable, now that there are no lingering secrets being kept. Each of them being careful, especially now, to not reveal anything to any of their management. Rozanov has to cut them off a few times to keep them in line, but he is almost more thrilled than the team at being able to share things previously kept close. He’ll gush to any player willing to ask about Shane’s freckles, or how meticulous he is, or about the three day argument about how to correctly load the dishwasher. After years of not being able to share Shane with his team, he’s eager to do so now. And after years of sharing their partners with each other, the Bears are happy to listen to Roz get his turn. 

Roz also takes the time to corner each of them one by one, checking in individually, both as team captain and as a newly-out bisexual in a relationship with another man. 

“You have wife, yes? You did not tell her?”

Owen Andrews has been chosen as Rozanov’s next target, he realizes. “No, I didn’t.” He’s unsure if he should elaborate or if Roz is just trying to get an official tally of people who know. Rozanov is scrutinizing him, searching for something in his face.

“Why?” Is all he asks. Andrews lets out a breath.

“Because I wasn’t comfortable telling her before I was comfortable knowing.”

“What do you mean?” He steadies himself again.

“Roz,” Andrews starts, trying to keep his face relaxed, “When we found out, I- I wasn’t ever going to out you guys. I wouldn’t do that, but it was new and I didn’t like my initial reaction, in my brain. So when Nicole told us to get our shit together, I reached out to- not a therapist- but someone, to make sure I wasn’t going to say something wrong. I wanted to support you, actually support you. Not just because you’re our captain, but because I realized a lot of things I thought were wrong. I didn’t want to be that person. My wife was raised like me, so, no, I haven’t told her. I trust her, I love her, but I want to make sure we’re on the same page as a couple before she knows.” He knows he’s rambling, but Roz is just staring at him, saying nothing. “Roz-”

Roz holds up a hand, “You went to therapy to make yourself better.” It’s not a question.

“Yeah, I did. I’m not perfect, I know that much. So if you need to knock some sense into me, do it, please.” His captain scans him again, and must find something he likes, because he nods and holds out a hand for Andrews to shake.

“You are good man.” And that’s that. They beat Florida 4-1.

—

They celebrate their win at a bar Marlow had gotten on a recommendation from a fan. It’s a dive bar with a karaoke stage and several pool tables, someone already belting out an opera version of Thong Song to the great amusement of the gathered crowd. Ilya buys his teammates a round of shots to start the night. He’s proud of them for winning, and makes sure to tell them just that.

He ends up on the dance floor, spinning around with a couple of giggling girls, drunk as they use bad backup vocals for their fake clubbing. Ilya lets his body move in a way that is more silly, spinning and dipping his dance partners, shaking his hips in a way that suggests goofy drunkenness, rather than an actual invitation. The man who was singing when they came in joins them, offering a hand to the brunette and starting a well-coordinated dance of spins and jumps that takes them all over the dance floor.

Exhausted, Ilya drops into a chair next to Cliff, watching the rookies gathered at the karaoke booth. 

“Having fun?” His friend asks.

“Of course.” He answers, eyes narrowing at whatever chaos the rookies are about to unleash at this Florida dive bar.

“Does Jane know you come out and dance?” Ilya gives Cliff a confused look, wondering if he’s being accused of something.

“Yes. Jane knows I like to dance. She knows I only go home to her, for long time now.” Cliff nods at his words.

“Don’t doubt you, man,” says Cliff. “How long is long time? Because you’ve never stopped partying, but I can’t figure out when you stopped going home with people. I’ve been trying to figure it out.”

Ilya pulls out his phone, typing something in and turning his phone to show Cliff the old ad campaign Shane had done back in 2012. “He did this to make point. We were exclusive after that, but I stopped sleeping with girls before that.”

Simmons plucks the phone out of his hand, examining the picture pulled up. “What does ‘make a point’ mean?”

Ilya grabs his phone back, “I have to see everywhere I go.” He grumbles. “Shane Hollander in sexy photoshoot, three weeks until I see him next. Have to watch everyone see him, but know I am only one who gets to touch. Torture."

“So, he got fed up with you sleeping around and did an ad campaign for a sports drink to make you stop?” Carmichael has joined the conversation, delighted.

“No. I told him I stop going home with girls from club, then he did ad. Punishment for all TMZ articles he had to see.” Ilya gets lost a little in the memories of that time, the awards that summer.

“Awwww, look at him blushing,” teases Carmichael, “Rozy has a crush.”

“Fuck off, Russians do not blush.”

“No, you’re totally blushing, Roz.” Cliff joined in.

“Yeah, look at that.” Ilya has to slap his goalie’s hands away from where they’re trying to pinch his cheeks. “He’s in loooove.”

The table laughs while Ilya groans, laying face down on the sticky table. Luckily, the rookies have returned from their adventure to sign up for karaoke.

“Why is cap laying on the table?” asks Brown, sitting across from him, the other two standing behind the chair.

“We’re teasing him about Jane.” Looks of understanding. “Did you guys sign up to sing?”

Bugsy nods, “Yeah, we’re going to sing together. We thought it would be fun. We should go to karaoke bars more.”

“You are singing?” Ilya raises his head to look at the boys across from him, “What?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Nooo, tell me.” He only gets head shakes. Traitors, the lot of them. Andrews gets the tables attention, waving his phone in the air.

“He's done several photoshoots, but excluding Rolex and Reebok, there are only two. One for Calvin Klein that he did last year, and one in 2012.” He has the photos pulled up on his own phone, grinning at Roz. “2012? I think I remember that TMZ article about you. Actually, I googled it, there’s a TMZ article from February of that year that claims some wild things. In hindsight, they’re not true. Well, some of this has to be true, because I remember some of it.”

The Bears start talking over themselves as they pass Andrews’ phone around. Ilya lets his head sink back to the table. He’s not embarrassed, but now that he’s on the other end of the teasing, he understands the reaction to hide his face from the good-natured ribbing. He’s saved when Brown, Bugsy, and Clarke get called up to sing,

“Love Story? Really?” Connors gives an exasperated sigh. The rookies are indeed standing in a line, holding microphones while Taylor Swift’s Love Story starts to play. He already has his phone open to record them enthusiastically singing. It’s not awful, but Brown is the only one who can confidently hold a tune. It’s also clear that while they can’t sing, they do know all the words. Impressive, for the young adults. The team gets a few good chirps in at them when they’re done, congratulating them on their performance. 

“Good job, nice song.” Ilya compliments, to blushes.

“Thanks, cap.”

“Yeah, thanks, Roz.” Ilya does like the song, it reminds him a little of Shane. He likes songs that remind him of Shane, but he’s had enough teasing tonight to mention it.

—

They’re at the airport, waiting for their flight back home to Boston. Back to Shane, Ilya thinks. His husband is fine, he knows. They’ve been texting and calling while he’s been away. And the wags have been keeping him company, managing to get his introverted husband to socialize with them and watch the game together yesterday. MTL-BOS was a shutout, Bears winning 4-0.

He was proud of Shane for opening up to the girls, and proud of himself for having amazing teammates who picked wonderful partners. Shane got along well with people he had things in common with, like being married to gross hockey players. And since Shane was married, and thus under no pressure to navigate potential flirting, found it easier to relax with the women who had more tact then their other halves. He’d been avoiding thinking about Shane returning to Montreal soon, recovered enough to start training with his team again, potentially putting him back out on the ice. Montreal had one more game to determine if they got a wild card spot for the playoffs, but it wasn’t looking good, especially because Boston was leading by only enough points for anyone else to be nervous. Unless a miracle happened, the Voyager’s weren’t taking that spot, Ilya was confident. Without Shane to score for them, they would lose their next game and their chances at a second cup. 

Ilya shouldn’t feel glee at the thought of the Voyagers figuring out they couldn’t do anything without Shane, but he couldn’t help himself. They didn’t deserve him. Having Shane long term in Boston, even injured, was a taste of something Ilya didn’t want to name. But, Ilya thought, they couldn’t wait to talk about this until the summer. If Montreal did get knocked out of the playoffs, they could start making a plan now. Ilya was firmly on the side of getting Shane to a different team. He knew his husband would reluctantly agree, but argue anyway. Shane’s hockey dream had always been to retire for whatever team drafted him, if he could. After they were married, they imagined pipe dreams of playing for the same team, but it never went anywhere. It felt too unrealistic.

“Hey, can we talk?” Connors is nudging his foot with his own, distracting him from his spiraling thoughts. Ilya turns off the phone he’s been ignoring, putting it in his pocket.

“What now?” He raises an eyebrow at his teammate, noticing that while the whole team is gathered, only a few have their attention on him, the rest occupying any chairs surrounding the four in the middle. A huddle of Bears, with Ilya in the middle, protective.

“Well, this is a crazy idea, but we wanted to run it by you. First question, what does Hollander’s contract with Montreal look like? Like, we know he has a no-trade clause, but when is he a free agent? Would he be willing to waive the clause?” Cliff asks, voice low and aware of the public setting. He watches Roz’s face scrunch in confusion before answering.

“Why, Marly? You have crazy idea to steal him for Boston? Replace Connors on my wing?” Cliff exchanges a guilty look with Connors and Carmichael. “Oh, you have crazy idea to steal him for Boston.”

Carmichael nods, “We’ve heard some things about the locker room. And that hit? Dirty, not on Vaughn, but it was still dirty. Logistically, actually getting him to Boston would be hard, especially with the no-trade clause, but we wanted to put it out there. They don't deserve to have him, they certainly don't appreciate him. So we're asking you what you think, even though it's a crazy idea.”

They’re all nervous, but keep their eyes on Roz, trying to convey the seriousness of their offer.

“You want him to play for Boston? You want him on team?” Rozanov’s voice is tinged with emotion. 

“Yeah, another one of those team meetings we had without you.” Carmichael says. “We think it would be really cool to play on the same team as Shane Hollander. It’s already awesome playing with you, but with both of you? Legendary cup run, calling it now.”

“Plus,” adds Cliff, “You guys deserve to spend more time together, and why would we let him move to a different team without at least offering Boston.”

Roz wipes at his eyes, “I need to talk to Shane first, but team is ok with this?”

“Yes, Roz, team is ok with this. We haven’t talked to coach yet, which we would need to. But if Shane wants to be a Bear, he’ll be welcome with open arms.”

“Ok, I talk to Shane and let you know.” Ilya stands so he can pull Cliff into a hug, the other two standing to join them. “Spasibo.”

Chapter End Notes

MTL-BOS game tomorrow. i'm going to go attempt to write hockey, lets see how it goes. ;)

Chapter 5: murder in montreal

Chapter Summary

Boston vs Montreal aka hayden pike fucks up and his wife threatens castration

Chapter Notes

did we survive the shutdown?

Letting Ilya Rozanov anywhere near the Montreal Voyagers was a bad idea on a good day, and he was not having a good day. Actually he was having a fantastic day, but the sentiment stands. The Voyagers were blissfully unaware of the vitriol being aimed in their direction by the captain of the Boston Bears. 

And the rest of his team. 

The only person less safe than the Montreal Voyagers was Carter Vaughn, who was living his best life all the way in New York, and unaware of the I.O.U. headed his way. 

The energy surrounding the Bears was thick. Every single one of them chomping at the bit for their pound of flesh from Montreal. Marlow, as alternate captain, stops Roz before his captain's speech with a hand on his shoulder. He gives his captain a look that says hold on, let me.

“I know, we all want to go out there and destroy them. Without Hollander they don’t stand a chance. But without Hollander they don’t stand a chance.” He emphasizes. “So we’re going to go out there and play the cleanest game in Bear’s history. Clean, legal hits, no fights. No starting fights. Let them earn penalties, let them be so confused they can’t score a single goal. Let’s prove that they’re nothing without their star player and we can do it better than them without going lower. Utter humiliation tonight, boys.”

Roz doesn’t even disagree, just joining in the loud cheering and shouts of agreement. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Coach Leclaire looking at them all oddly. They really need to talk to him at some point, but they need to talk to Roz and Hollander first. 

Rozanov takes the first face off against Burr, the second line center replacing Hollander for this game. He’s clearly waiting for Roz to chirp at him; the anticipation loses him the face off. Roz takes a shot almost immediately and scores seconds into the game. That makes them mad. 

Good, Cliff thinks, let them try. 

The Bears do as Cliff instructed, goading the players in blue into taking swings that rarely connect, but get them sent off the ice. Cliff watches Boiziau skate off to the penalty box after dropping his gloves at a taunt from Connors. 

“What did you say to him, he looked pissed.”

“Told him I had a great time with his mother last night. Roz said if he went near him, he’d swing, so he sent me.” Connors shakes his head. 

When he has two goals and an assist, Rozanov almost loses it. They’re into the third period, Pike has the puck. Roz only barely manages to slow himself down enough to redirect the hit into something legal, crowding Pike into the boards and wrestling for the puck. 

“Have the Bears turned into fairies since the last time we played?” Pike spits. 

“If you want me to slam you harder, just ask nicely next time.” Ilya manages to hook the puck and shoot it towards Carmichael, pushing back to give chase, cataloging the expression of disgust Hayden’s face at his retort in time to pivot slightly. His momentum keeps him out of reach until Marlow appears to distract Pike. Ilya keeps his focus on the game, accepting the puck back and scoring his third goal of the night. With only two minutes left, Montreal wouldn’t be able to close the 4 point lead, even if they had the talent for it.

Ilya makes sure to blow a kiss to Shane at home, complete with a wink, knowing his husband will know what it means, but everyone else will think he’s being a cocky asshole. The rest of the Bears crowd around him in a big group hug, shouting and cheering in celebration.

“That was fucking awesome!”

“Great job, boys! We sent them home crying.” Cliff cheers.

“And,” calls out Simmons, riding the high from his shutout, “Our first game without a single penalty!”

Whoops fill the air, celebration thick in the visitor’s locker room. Ilya is back at his stall after a shower, towel around his waist, grinning at his phone.

Jane: Nice hat trick. Very Sexy.

Jane: What were you promised in exchange for not fighting? I just want to know.

Jane: What happened with Hayden?

He bit his lip, Pike’s comment wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, in fact it was relatively tame for some other words he could have chosen. But Ilya had never heard it from Hayden Pike before. It made his blood boil, enough that his husband had noticed over a screen five hours away and wanted to know. Damn his husband for being able to read him so well.

Lily: Scored just for you.

Lily: hat trick for my HAB

Jane: I should be upset you beat Montreal

Lily: But you’re not

Lily: You are horny for sexy husband, yes?

Jane: Shame you’re all the way in Canada with out me

Lily: good thing we have phones

Jane: Go celebrate with the team, call me later.

Lily: what if I want to call you now?

Jane: Then we can talk about what happened with Hayden.

Damn his husband for knowing him so well. If Ilya went out with the team, he could celebrate and delay the inevitable conversation until the morning. If he called Shane now, both of them might end up too upset to do anything.

Lily: ya tebya lyublyu. Have fun with wags.

Celebrating it was.

—

If Montreal took the loss poorly, it’s nothing on their attitude to having the Boston Bears take over their clubs to celebrate. Somehow, both teams end up at the same place. The Voyagers are glowering angrily from their booth in the opposite corner. Ilya is trying to ignore them, mostly Hayden Pike.

Someone seems determined to ruin his night regardless, because in addition to everything else, Cliff needs to ask him what happened.

“What did you say to Pike that made him drop gloves?” Ilya glares into his beer instead of answering. “Come on, the only person who fights less than him is Hollander.”

“He was wondering when Boston became fairies. Because we play clean game.” He still won’t look at his friend. “I told him he needed to ask nicer if he wanted me to hit him harder.”

“Shit, really? Pike said that?” Connors has joined the conversation. “Pike? I’m surprised, he’s not one to cross that line.”

“Yes, is why I am angry. He is Shane’s only friend here, not good one, but only.” He takes a drink. “I do not want to tell Shane what he said.”

“But you will?” Ilya shrugs.

“Yes. I do not keep secrets from him. And he knows something happened on ice.” He pulls his phone out to call a car. It’s time to just go back to the hotel. “Maybe I call him now, instead of looking at stupid loser faces looking to be punched.”

Ilya stands, waving a general goodbye and disappearing outside. 

“Damn, and I thought Pike was one of the okay ones.” Simmons says once Rozanov is out of sight. 

“I mean, Roz said he doesn’t speak up in the locker room, but will mention how fucked up it is in private. I don’t think he’s ever used words like that on the ice, it’s going to be a shock.” Cliff adds, sipping his beer. “You think there’ll be a big fall out?”

“Can’t imagine it not happening, but I don’t know Pike or Hollander well enough to say. I can tell you neither Roz or Hollzy play about each other, that’s for sure. Also, not to, like, you know, be a little happy about this,” whispers Carmichael, “but it might make things easier for us.”

Someone slaps him upside the head, but no one denies it. 

“We’ve got to talk to Roz, see what he thinks about getting Hollander to Boston.”

“You really think he’d say no?”

“It’s not about him saying no, it’s about the most realistic option for getting him out of Montreal. What we can do is offer a solution. They might not have considered it as an option, so we have an opportunity.”

“What we need to do is talk to Coach.” There are protests around the table at Connors’ words, “No, no, no, listen to me. I’m not saying betray their trust, I’m saying that Coach has more say over actually making anything happen. If we go to him and say, hey, we’d like Hollander on the team, can you make it happen? That’s it. We kinda need every perfect piece to fall here, Coach is one of them.”

“Fuck, I hate that you’re right.” Cliff groans. “We talk to Rozy first tho, tomorrow. No point if he’s not on board.”

—

Ilya made it back to the hotel in one piece, fingers hovering over the call button. It wasn’t late, but he hated giving his husband bad news, especially over the phone. He hits the button anyway. 

“Hey.” Shane’s voice is soft. 

“Hey. Did I wake you up?” Ilya teases. 

“No, I’m in bed, but I’m reading. I was waiting for your call.”

“Ah.” Of course, Shane knew him too well. “How are you feeling?”

He can practically hear the eye roll through the phone. “I’m fine, Ilya. Resting and recovering, just for you.”

“Hmmm. Yeah?” Ilya knows his flirting won’t go anywhere, he can hear the question on the tip of Shane’s tongue. 

“Tell me about the game.” There it is. Ilya sighs. 

“Was good. First Boston game with no penalties.”

“I saw. I’m very proud of you, and very confused. I thought you would have spent the whole time in the box.”

“Marlow has good ideas sometimes.” Ilya sinks into the pillows a little more. “Prove we do not need to fight to win.”

“Well you certainly did that.”

“Yes. Montreal did not like it.”

“I noticed. Is that what Hayden said? Don’t think I didn’t notice you freeze on the ice. I’m glad Marlow took him out before he got to you, I can’t believe he dropped his gloves. He never does that, so whatever you said back must have gotten to him.”

“I said Montreal is not happy about shutout or clean play. Pike,” Ilya hesitates before the moment of truth, “He asks when Boston became fairies, to play clean game. I said if he wants me to slam him harder he must ask nice next time.” His English suffers in his explanation, but the point is said. 

“He said WHAT? Ilya, did he actually use that word?” Ilya nods before remembering his husband can’t see him. 

“Da. Surprised me, I have heard worse, but not from Pike. Bar is low, but he was supposed to be okay.”

“I am going to kill him. I can’t believe he would say that. Jackie’s going to kill him.” Shane is seething on the other end. 

“I know, solynishko.” Ilya lets Shane rant for a few minutes, letting his feelings out. “Feel better?”

“Yeah, I’m good. What time do you get home tomorrow?” Ilya wishes it was now.

“Afternoon, flight is early.”

“Good. I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Now tell me what you are wearing?”

—

Hayden Pike held a bag of frozen peas to his eye where Cliff Marlow had punched him. Jackie wasn’t thrilled about the injury, or the reason behind the dropped gloves. She had been laying into him for twenty minutes already. He knew he shouldn’t have said it, but fuck, he missed Shane on the ice. He was still recovering from his injuries and Hayden hadn’t seen him in two months, since the hospital. Shane was also barely picking up his calls, refusing to give any information about where he was staying. It wasn’t with his parents and it wasn’t at his apartment, but apparently he was just fine where he was, Hayden. You don’t need to call me twice a day, Hayden, you have practice and I have a concussion, Hayden. He just missed Shane.

Boston deciding to fuck with them by not incuring a single penalty on their side was the final straw in his bad mood. Then to add insult to injury-ha-Rozanov hadn’t even given him a fight over the comment so he didn’t even get the satisfaction of punching the smug asshole. Instead Rozanov had said some gay ass shit right back to him and let his guard dog attack him instead. Bullshit. 

“You know Shane wouldn’t be happy with you. So you are going to apologize when he’s back and if you ever say something like that again I will cut off your dick and nail it above the door. Do you understand me?”

Hayden can only nod at his wife. She was always right, so he would call Shane tomorrow. He winces as he adjusts the ice pack. Fuck Rozanov, fuck Marlow, and fuck the Bears for their stupid ass shutout.

Chapter End Notes

am i bad at chirping? im bad at chirping, thats ok

Chapter 6: that's not how hockey trades work

Chapter Summary

Coach LeClair is suspicious, luckily, no one needs to get drug tested. Unluckily, he might have to explain how hockey trades work to a room full of professional hockey players.

Chapter Notes

hashtag unrealistic hockey

“Ok, I want to know what’s going on.” Coach LeClair stands between his team and the door out of the locker room. He was clearly fed up with his team acting oddly. Not in a bad way, they were winning games and killing it at practice, but something was going on, and he wanted to know. 

His Bears exchanged looks with each other, eyeing Rozanov more than anyone else. 

“What do you mean, Coach?” Simmons asks him, evasively. 

“I mean,” LeClair asks, pointedly, “you are all acting weird. You have been for weeks. I’ve let it go on long enough. Am I proud of you playing an entire game without a single penalty? Yes. But against Montreal? The last straw. What’s going on with my team?” He crosses his arms and stares them down. A silent conversation starts between Marlow and Connors before it turns into a whispered conversation with Rozanov. He hears Romeo and should tell him and we got you. 

“Well, Coach,” starts Marlow, “hypothetically, if Shane Hollander was available to be traded, what are the odds of you claiming him for Boston?”

Whatever LeClair thought he was going to hear, this wasn’t it. “I’m sorry? Shane Hollander?”

“Yeah, just like, would you be opposed to him potentially, hypothetically, becoming a Bear?” He’s not sure what to say to Carmichael’s question, he scans the team and finds all of them standing at attention, facing him. None of them are confused about this line of questioning. 

“Is that why you’re acting weird? I’m confused.”

One of the rookies speaks up, “I’ve got a friend in Montreal. Their locker room isn’t great. Like, actively unsafe. We just want to know if our locker room was also safe, if we could steal him from the Voyagers.”

There are a lot of things to address in that statement alone. “What do you mean by not safe?”

“They hate him.” Andrews says bluntly. “If they’re not on the ice, he’s invisible. And even on the ice isn’t safe, you saw that hit in February.”

His team had noticed that another player, from their rival team no less, was being iced out (no pun intended) and decided to humiliate his team about it. It still didn’t explain all of their behavior. 

“So you’ve decided to try and recruit him. We can’t just steal other teams' players. Does Hollander know you’ve been stalking him?” 

“But we can!” Another rookie. “They don’t want him, we do! Logistics are hard, yeah, but we can totally steal him.”

“No. That’s not how hockey trades work-”

“That’s exactly how hockey trades work.”

“That’s not how hockey trades work. I cannot just go to Theriault and ask for his star player. Hold on, what do you mean you want him? All of you are in on this?” He scans his team again, noting that while some are avoiding looking at him, they’re a unit, arguing this ‘hypothetical’ scenario with him. LeClair sighs again, pinching between his eyes.

“Coach,” Rozanov speaks for the first time, “I- We are worried about him. He does not have support in Montreal, but he could have support here.” Rozanov’s words are carefully chosen, being deliberate about his English. That rarity is what makes LeClair listen. Roz pauses, seems to make some decision, then continues, “They are homophobic assholes, yes? Hollander is not safe in Montreal. He could be safe here.”

The words sink into LeClair’s brain, the implication washing over him. “It’s not nice to speculate-”

“I am bisexual.” Rozanov cuts him off. “Team knows. They are ok. Now you know. We do not speculate, I have permission to share.”

“Oh.” Coach gathers himself, needing to clear up the resigned fear on Rozanov’s face and the protective looks on the rest of them. Good, they really are ok with this. “Thank you for telling me, it doesn’t leave this room. I’m glad the team has been good about it. But I’ll ask again, does Hollander know any of this?”

“Yeah, he does.” Simmons is speaking again. “We’ve got a whole plan. It’s called Operation: Romeo & Juliet. This is step: Bring Romeo to Breakfast.”

“I’m sorry? Operation: Bring Romeo to Breakfast? Who is Romeo and what is breakfast?” Rozanov’s face goes red and the team starts laughing, pushing him around, teasing their captain about his ~Romeo.

“Fuck off.” LeClair narrows his eyes as something occurs to him. 

“Are you trying to recruit Hollander so you can set Rozanov up on a date?” That gets a brief moment of silence for his words to process before roaring laughter fills the room once again. 

“Ho-oly shit!” There are tears coming from Carmichael's eyes. The rookies are on the floor in a pile of limbs. Rozanov has sunk onto the nearest bench, head in his hands, shaking. No one can quite tell if it’s embarrassment or laughter. Or both. 

“Fuck, that’s- wow. Why didn’t we think of that? That’s awesome.”

“No, Coach.” St Simon forces out once he’s recovered. “We’re not trying to set Roz and Hollzy up on a date. But I understand why you think that.”

“Romeo and Juliet? It’s what made sense.” LeClair would like to be let in on the joke now. “Look, my sister is bisexual. So is her wife. I’ve always been proud of our locker room, so if Hollander wants to come to Boston, I will maybe, maybe try to figure it out.”

Rozanov looks up at him, apprehensive again. “Team teases for reason. Would be ok? If Hollander and I were together?”

Coach stares at him, considering the captain. “I don’t have a problem with you two being together. The PWHL does it all the time. I just– wanting to score a date with the man you have a crush on cannot be the only reason to get him on the team. I say this as your coach, I trust you to remain professional. As someone who’s known you for a long time, I’d be really happy for you to find someone. You and Shane Hollander, sure. As your Coach, I worry about it not working out and both of you becoming a liability to the team.”

Marlow looks like he wants to throw hands, but Rozanov hasn’t moved. 

“Only issue then, if Hollander and I are not, eh, compatible? If we have messy break up and change team dynamic?”

“Yes. That is my worry, again, not because I don’t trust you or because you’re queer. It’s the same HR issue that arises in any workplace.” Roz is fingering his chain, thinking. 

“What if that is not issue? We prove we are good together, play well, no fighting. No real fighting.” He amends. 

“Then I would have no issue having you both on my team.” 

“Ok, good. Then is good thing we have been married two years.” LeClair’s jaw drops at Roz’s words, zeroing in on the ring dangling next to the cross on his necklace, which he has taken out of his shirt to lay in full view on his chest. Luckily, LeClair isn’t the only one shocked by the news. 

“Married!”

“What the fuck, Roz? We thought you were engaged!”

“Two years?”

Rozanov is laughing, “You knew! You saw ring and assumed engaged. I told you Shane was my husband and you did not hear me!”

“Oh my god, you did.” Marlow groans. 

“Fuck, Roz, I just thought you were jumping the gun. Hollzy said you would have a big wedding one day and we were all invited.”

“Yes, one day we have wedding. But we are already married, signed paperwork just us. Once I am Canadian citizen, we tell people and have wedding.”

“Married?” LeClair draws the attention back to him. Roz nods. 

“Yes. Two years. There are no worries now about us?”

“Nope? I think that proves you’re fine. I do want to see you play with each other on the ice, but talk to Hollander and I’ll keep my ear to the ground about a trade.”

That earns him cheers from the Bears. 

“Thank you, Coach.” Rozanov’s voice is quiet. “Means a lot. To both of us.”

“Of course. So, two years of marriage? That’s what?”

“2014, after cup, in the summer.”

“Wasn’t expecting that, how long before that? If I can ask.”

“Everyone wants to know.” Roz rolls his eyes. “Longer than you think. I am very lucky.”

“Yeah, kid. One day I want to hear the full story. And I’d like to meet this husband soon, I've met everyone else’s spouses.”

“Yes, Coach. I will talk to him.”

Coach LeClair gives his star center a firm clap on the shoulder, bidding his team farewell. 

—

LeClair drops into his chair, sagging backwards, staring up at the ceiling. Christ. He’d started the day thinking he might have to get his team drug tested. Then he thought he was being asked to set up the two best hockey players on a date. Then, it turns out, those hockey players are married to each other. And his whole team had known about it. Well, they’re still hockey players, enough concussions to go around that they were under the impression their captain was only engaged. 

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, husbands. That was a mind fuck. Longer than you think, Rozanov had said. That could mean anything. He thinks back to the first time he’d met Rozanov, back when he wasn't a coach yet, but still worked for the Bears. The draft, picking Russia’s Ilya Rozanov, shaking the hand of this young kid, already a hockey superstar, promising to work very hard. Montreal got Shane Hollander, the other hockey superstar to match Rozanov; rivals drafted to rival teams. Maybe that's how they worked, the only one that could keep up, understand. 

They kept looking at each other, he suddenly remembers. Rozanov- Ilya’s gaze often drifting across the room towards Shane, always finding him. LeClair had noticed at the time, but had chalked it up to intrigue, the rivalry. Now he thinks back and thinks, Romeo and Juliet. Ah. How fitting.

There was an email waiting for him from Farah Jalali subject line Potential Contract Negotiation — Sensitive. Opening it makes him laugh, either those boys move fast, or, more likely, he’s the last one in on this. Probably a little of both. He emails her back, implying they may be privy to the same information and where he stood about that information. The response comes through very quickly for the time of day, good. 

Unfortunately the next email he reads makes him mad, maybe he really could just walk up to Theriault and ask him to hand over Hollander’s contract. Farah and him go back and forth over the next few days, he sends out his own emails tracking down who and what he needs. 

LeClair also gets to watch the Hollander-Rozanov’s on the ice together for the first time. It’s a video Marlow sends him from a private rink, but he gets to watch magic on ice. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s a glimpse of what the next ten years could hold for Boston. It’s beautiful.

Rozanov and Hollander show up together to sign Hollander’s new contract. Rozanov is practically vibrating at his husband’s side. Hollander doesn’t look much better, but he’s better at keeping it under control.

“Ilya, calm down.”

“I am calm, solnyshko, the calmest.” He gets twin looks calling him a lying liar who lies. Rozanov instead takes Hollander’s hand and squeezes, guiding them both into the chairs to start signing.

“Hollander, each page to be signed has a tab. Take as much time as you need. Rozanov, let your husband read.” A grin splits Rozanov’s face, but he manages to behave, leaning in to watch over Hollander’s shoulder and doing nothing else.

When they’re done, LeClair holds out his hand and shakes Hollander’s.

“Welcome to the Boston Bears, Shane Hollaner. We’re happy to have you.”