Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ilya: Hi, this is Ilya’s friend Cliff. I just wanted to let you know that Ilya is fine. He just got out of surgery and should be released tomorrow.

Jane: Thank you.

Cliff Marleau did not know what to do with Montreal Jane. A girl who was once one of many, but quickly became the only one, despite all of Rozanov’s denial. Marleau was a good friend, so he let it slide, even if he didn’t want to. But Russians didn’t blush, and Ilya Rozanov didn’t settle down, even if both of those were blatant lies.

Cliff sat by Ilya’s side for five hours as the realization that Rozanov didn’t have anyone else to check him out or keep tabs on him afterward with his family all either dead or in Russia, and his other Russian friend somewhere off abroad (Cliff didn’t know where or honestly care), settled in. While Ilya was hardly ever easy, Cliff really thought he had mentally prepared himself for the limited bullshit that could come from a drugged-up Rozy.

What Cliff had not prepared for was Shane Hollander sliding himself into the room through a half-open door he refused to fully open for some reason. He was fidgeting, looking down at the floor, before his eyes raised to Ilya in the hospital bed, with a sigh (almost sounding relieved), and then his eyes turned to Cliff, seeming to finally realize he wasn’t alone with Rozanov. Hollander froze, completely stiffened up as if he had gotten caught.

“What do you wan—”

“Janeeee!”

“What?” Surely, Cliff misheard with Ilya’s accent thickening under the effects of morphine, as only five minutes ago, he had been talking to himself in Russian.

“Jane is here,” Ilya wasn’t looking at Hollander, his eyes were lazily shut, but his hands were stretched out before him as Hollander made no move to leave or go toward Ilya, though the guy, in all fairness, looked like he wanted to disappear.

“I wanted to apologize,” Hollander was looking at Cliff, not Ilya, ignoring what the man had already said, “captain to captain.”

When it was clear Hollander was waiting for something, Cliff motioned for him to continue because he wasn’t a complete asshole, and this wasn’t completely unexpected either. People got hurt on the ice, people apologized, and the cycle continued. It was part of the game, even if Marleau didn’t like it. Shane Hollander was a hard guy to be mad at, with how socially awkward he was; he was more the type of guy you wanted to avoid having to have a conversation with, instead of instigating something with.

“JJ is really sorry,” Hollander was staring down at his sleeve as he fiddled with it, “he didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Is okay,” Ilya’s voice was soft, too soft, in a way Cliff had never heard it before, “nothing for you to feel guilty for.”

“I’m sorry,” Hollander sounded damn near tears, and none of it made even a lick of sense.

“I know,” Ilya finally opened his eyes again, blinking owlishly at Hollander before reaching his hands out again, “come,” he commanded before giggling (well and truly giggled; Cliff was never letting him live that down), “come now,” he repeated when Shane didn’t move. Then pouted when he still didn’t, “Come now! You like when I comma—”

“Okay! Okay,” Hollander rushed over, and whatever Ilya was going to say was drowned out as Ilya settled with Hollander standing next to him, standing over him. Once Hollander was close, Ilya struck, reaching out and gripping Hollander’s hand tightly, or as tightly as he could in his weakened, drugged state.

“Rozy, let go, man,” Cliff started to step forward, ready to wrestle Hollander out of Ilya’s grip, who looked increasingly uncomfortable.

“No,” Ilya pouted, before turning back to Hollander, ignoring Cliff altogether, “give kiss.”

“Ilya, I think you are confused.”

“No,” Ilya groaned, “give kiss.”

Finally, Hollander spoke up, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“That is because you are bad at thinking, yes?”

“You should just rest,” Ilya tried to lean forward into Hollander’s space, but Hollander stopped him, pushing him back into the sheets, “rest, Ilya.”

For whatever reason, that worked, and Rozy huffed and fell back into his bed. Like hearing Hollander say his name, his real name, was enough to settle Ilya.

“I think it’s time Hollander goes,” Cliff spoke up, trying to disengage whatever the fuck this was and save his friend from future embarrassment, no matter how funny it might be in theory.

“No,” Ilya pouted, “I want Jane here.”

“This isn’t Jane,” Cliff tried to explain as Hollander stepped back, finally putting space between them as Ilya’s attention waned and his grip loosened, but his hand now hung just barely catching against Hollander’s, who he seemed to be unable to go without touching.

“да— yes is,” Ilya sighed as if it were painfully obvious, “Jane, Shane,” Ilya laughed, “smart, right? I come up with.”

“What—”

“Ilya,” Hollander spoke up, “I think you are confused.”

“No,” Ilya pouted, “you cannot do this to me, do manipulation.”

“Manipulation,” Hollander repeated, the way he said it was as if he was sighing dreamily. Cliff wasn’t entirely sure what universe he fell into.

“Yes, you no do,” Ilya sighed, “makes me feel crazy, feel bad.”

“Sorry.”

“Yes, be sorry,” Ilya pulled Hollander close to him again, placing Hollander’s palms against his face, “make it up to me,” he raised his eyebrows before his eyes fell shut again, though he quickly forced them open, despite it seeming to physically pain him to do so.

“You are…” because Cliff’s brain was still catching up, but they were something… right? Maybe? And wasn’t that a mind fuck, “what?… fuck.”

“Yeah,” Hollander summed up nicely.

“Is great, yes?”

“Sure, pal,” because this wasn’t a conversation to have on morphine.

“He has great ass,” Ilya added, “turn,” he said to Hollander, “show ass now.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Yes,” Ilya seemed to think, “that would make me jealous. I would not like.”

Hollander stared on fondly as if this were normal. As if this were somehow a nice moment for them. Maybe it was (wasn’t that a disturbing thought?). Shane Hollander and Montreal Jane were the same person, right? Probably. That’s what all of this meant. Cliff was not meant to know that. He was not meant to get his mind around whatever the fuck that was, whatever they were.

“I am going to wait in the hallway,” Cliff had already stood up before either of them could acknowledge him.

“Good,” Ilya called after him, “I do not want you to look at my boyfriend!”

“Boyfriend,” he heard Hollander whisper as he closed the door.

“Yes, probably…” whatever else was said was drowned out. Cliff wasn’t sure he would be able to survive much more. Hopefully, this is just a bad dream, or Ilya never felt the need to bring it up again, and they would both pretend it never happened, and Cliff could go back to making comments about Montreal Jane, and they could both pretend they actually thought she was a woman and not Shane Hollander.

Knowing that asshole, none of that would happened. Rozy won’t ever let this be the end of it.

So Ilya had a boyfriend… so what? Cliff could deal with that. But did it have to be Shane Hollander? It was Ilya Rozanov, so yes, it probably did just to make everyone’s lives more complicated. God, could Rozy ever just take one day off from being a fucking asshole?

No, he would probably die if he did.