Chapter Text
Seven Nation Army (The Glitch Mob remix) - The White Strips
“Well there’s something you really don’t expect to see, especially after the final whistle”.
Fights in hockey were not unexpected. Adrenaline and tension running at all time highs, the smallest of chirps can set off any player, and like dominos being knocked over a two man fight can cascade into a free for all brawl on the ice.
The exception to this rule had always seemed to be one Shane Hollander, golden boy and star player for the Montreal Metros, his reputation of his wicked skill and unwavering composure standing the test of time throughout his NHL career. Shane Hollander was never one to take much chirping to heart, any jabs and quips taken at him rolling straight off him, more likely to hone his focus than to push him into making angry mistakes. He himself rarely chirped at his opponents, being that he wasn’t very good at it, he wasn’t a mean spirited person and he struggled to find motivation to be intentionally nasty, any chirping that came from Shane Hollander tended to be humorous and relatively placid. He typically deemed it better to keep his head in the game and left the chirping to the rest of his teammates.
All this to say, everyone was under the impression that golden boy Shane Hollander didn’t have a mean bone in his body let alone the capability to lay someone out in seconds flat. Everyone would be sorely mistaken and everyone found out just how wrong they were unexpectedly after the final whistle of the New York Admirals v. Montreal Metros game with none other than Shane Hollander wailing on Scott Hunter.
Shane Hollander and Scott Hunter had known each other for years, running in the same circuits, playing with and against each other since Shane’s rookie year meant they were friends as well as competitors. They had played together at the All-Star Game and Skills Competition, were rivals during the Sochi Olympics and regularly played games against each other's teams, both team Captains gunning for the play-offs and the cup. Their friendship is no surprise to anyone, being photographed together at awards ceremonies and post game interviews, sharing strong camaraderie and mutual respect Shane Hollander and Scott Hunter had always gotten along well. Which is why even Shane himself was surprised that a small friendly jab he took at Scott blew up in epic proportions.
Shane was riding on a wave of bubbling adrenaline and excitement following the Metro’s landslide win over the Admirals, the noise from the crowd was overwhelming and hearing the beginning sounds of celebration from his teammates spurred him into a giddy mood. Shane’s attention snagged on his opponent and friend, Scott Hunter, the Admirals captain, making his way over to him could see the man was bent over, blatantly gassed, the captain had put in a valiant effort, but it had been for nought. The Admirals cohesion had been lacking for their past few games, which meant they were on a long-winded losing streak. It may not have been the best time for a taunt, but they had known each other for years and Scott had always been easy-going when it came to trading jibes with Shane.
“Hope next time we play you decide to show up”, the remark was lighthearted, meant only to tease and improve his friend’s mood after his loss. Shane had a light smile on his face, tone and demeanor all pointing to a joking jab.
“Cheap” Scott replied, spitting near Shane’s skates, the joke and Shane’s lightheartedness appeared to have gone straight over Scott’s head and he’d taken it to heart.
Scott had been having a rough season thus far, losing streak a mile long, and battling with himself in his personal and professional life left him very little energy to entertain Shane Hollander mocking him after a humiliating loss. Especially, considering the previous night's equally embarrassing loss to Boston and the subsequent ribbing Scott endured from Ilya Rozanov, the Russian notorious for getting under everyone’s skin at some point or another. Needless to say Scott was not in the mood to deal with Shane’s taunts, his previous exhaustion turning into bitter indignation.
“True” Shane quipped back, Shane spitting onto the ice as well, his tone still playful, not yet having picked up on Scott’s rapidly souring demeanor.
“Starting to sound like him”, the remark comes out before Scott really considers the meaning behind his own words. It's an underhanded and snide thing to say, and the implication isn’t lost to Shane once he comprehends the words over the sound of the crowd still celebrating. Scott typically isn’t a cruel person, but the brewing irritation is spurring him onto taking his frustrations out on Shane Hollander, the straw that seemed to break the camel's back. Subconsciously, Scott recognises that Shane meant no harm by his words, and that he is the one blowing the situation wildly out of proportion, but it feels like he physically could not think rationally and move on without lashing back and picking a fight.
“I’m sorry. What?” Shane’s tone is different now, firmer and questioning, trying to distinguish Scott’s intention, making sure he isn’t misinterpreting what Scott is implying.
“You fucking heard me, Hollander” Scott’s reply is harsh, the bite in his tone giving away that Shane was not misreading the insinuation Scott was making. Scott Hunter somehow knew about Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov’s relationship. Or not relationship yet, situationship may be a more accurate description.
Shane’s initial reaction to this realisation is panic, like ice water dumped over his head cold fear floods his nervous system. His thoughts are racing, trying to piece together how Scott fucking Hunter of all people could possibly know. His brain feels like it’s heating up as the puzzle pieces snap together in his mind, little moments spread throughout the years paint the picture for him. He had been careful, they had been careful, there’s no way any other person could figure him and Ilya out, but Scott Hunter had coincidently been witness to tidbits of their secret slipping through the cracks. Scott’s words at the MVP award ceremony years prior rings through Shane’s ears like a bell being rung, “So where’s your boy Rozanov?”. Oh yeah, Scott Hunter knew alright. It’s a good thing Shane Hollander was just as observant and intuitive, some of Shane’s panic receded, he had his own cards to play.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Shane’s demeanor had shifted abruptly, bubbling excited energy from his win shifted to a simmering heat, burning up and churning in his gut. The energy between them has shifted, almost unwittingly their body language reflects the palpable tension, both Scott and Shane drawing up to their full heights, sizing one another up.
“You know exactly what I mean” Scott’s response is daring Shane to take the bait, almost gunning for a fight, and maybe that’s exactly what he wants, adding fuel to the fire so he can take out his frustrations on someone, and that person just happens to be Shane.
Shane considers their situation, considers the risks and repercussions of allowing this to escalate, and decides with adrenaline and steadily boiling heat in his veins that, yeah, he needs to set Scott Hunter straight here and now. Not just to protect himself, but Ilya too. Scott Hunter is throwing their secret, their very dangerous secret, in Shane’s face, in the middle of the rink, surrounded by teammates and fans, while also being recorded and broadcast nationally for everyone to see. Shane isn’t about to sit back and take it, he has no qualms dragging Scott Hunter down with him if his secret comes out because of him.
Shane isn’t oblivious or naive, he can pick up when someone is being genuinely malicious, and Scott is toeing an extraordinarily fine line, but Shane can understand that the frustration from losing so miserably and the heat of the moment can make anyone lash out, including typically easy going Scott Hunter. So, graciously Shane creates an opportunity for Scott to back off and let it go, or Shane is more than happy to even the playing fields set by Hunter, he is quickly losing his patience in letting Hunter throw his weight around.
“You really want to go there Hunter?” Shane's words are loaded, hinting that he also has something to lord over Scott’s head. Scott clearly doesn’t think anyone could know his secret either, he is just as wrong as Shane was.
Scott doesn’t take any time to regard the strange calm that has come over Shane, the dangerous, challenging glint now sparking in his eye.
“Yeah I guess I do Hollander”, the reply is rough and spoken with a jut of his chin, petulant, Scott still believes he has the upper ground, still running on burning frustration and anger.
Shane once again considers Scott, his eyes narrowed on Hunter, his angry features glaring back at Shane, harsh breaths still heaving his lungs, he’s clearly worked up, fuming. Shane considers his surroundings closer, teammates still too far away to overhear their conversation, especially with the crowd drowning everything out. No media would be able to pick up their exchange except for the hostile body language. Shane takes this all into consideration as he mulls over letting his words loose on Scott. There may be questions asked, but the topic of their confrontation won’t come into public knowledge, Shane is sure of that. Because Scott Hunter is in a similar position to Shane, and he would never expose himself to the media as well if he shared with the press, throwing stones at glass houses and all.
A common misconception about Shane Hollander is that he is so focussed on playing hockey that he is oblivious to anything happening around him, tunnel vision stopping him from paying attention to social cues and lacking intuition. This couldn’t be further from the truth, Shane relies heavily on intuition and analytical skills for playing hockey, reading subtle movements from his opponent to guide his own play, this intuition bleeds into every social interaction he has. Picking up on minute expressions and tones help him navigate conversations and redirect unwanted attention away from himself. This is how Shane knows exactly what to say to turn the tables on Scott Hunter, dig his metaphorical claws into Scott’s metaphorical soft spots.
“Tough talk considering we’re in the same boat” Shane cocks head with hard eyes and small smug smile, wicked. Most will consider his jab vindictive, but Shane can’t find it within himself to care, Hunter instigated their argument, he can reap what he sowed.
Scott has finally picked up on the shift in the power dynamic, he no longer holds the trump card and he feels like an ant under a magnifying glass with the expression on Hollander’s face. His face is hard, jaw clenched and mouth quirked, but his eyes are flaming with condescension and boiling hunger, daring Scott to try him.
Angry heat churns to cold dread in Hunter’s stomach, there’s no way Shane Hollander knows about Scott and Kip. But there’s no way he could have meant anything else, the context of their entire fight leaves no other meaning to his words though. Shane Hollander knows. Scott’s heart starts pumping harder than was even in the middle of the game they had just played.
“You’re full of shit Hollander” calling Hollander’s bluff was his only thought, but Hollander’s responding smirk told Scott all he needed to know. Anxiety starts to ripple through his body, Scott’s mind is racing to figure out how he knows, was he careless in concealing his and Kip’s relationship?
“Am I? How’s your, what is it called? Blue Moon Over Brooklyn? Extra Banana” Shane derives twisted pleasure in watching Hunter sweat now, roles have been reversed and he doesn’t regret the petty retort that lets Scott Hunter know he wasn’t just guessing, he knows specific aspects to Scott and Kip’s hidden relationship. He knows he’s stirring the pot, but he doesn’t usually get involved in fights on the ice, and he’s finding it quite cathartic to unleash on Hunter.
“How do you know that?” Scott barks at Shane, his anger returning just as quick as it went. Confusion and shock still linger though, the puzzle pieces not quite connecting yet.
Shane Hollander had clocked Scott Hunter’s relationship with Kip during the St. Thomas Charity fundraiser, Shane had made donations annually for many years and was invited to attend the event.
Shane had been roped into conversation after conversation with rich, shallow people all night and needed a quiet corner to breath for 5 minutes. Unfortunately for Shane the closest thing he could find was a near empty table with another man occupying it quietly, sipping on his flute of champagne periodically.
“Do you mind if I get away from the crowd for a few minutes here?” Shane didn’t want to impose on his quiet if he didn’t want him there.
“No, not at all, please” Kip gestured to join him at the standing table.
“Life saver, I’m Shane Hollander” Shane introduces himself with a quiet smile.
“Kip Grady, nice to meet you” Kip returns a polite smile. Kip doesn’t recognise Shane as someone from the NHL, assuming he’s here as another deep pocket donor for the charity. There’s an easy silence that comes over the pair, content to people watch for a while.
“Do you know many people here tonight?” Kip asks Shane after the silence turns oppressive.
“Ah, yeah a few from work, you?”
“I’m just a plus one for my friend Elena, she’s gone for a dance though, so just me over here” Kip replies with a chuckle while looking over at the crowd of people slow dancing. Shane glances over in the direction Kip is looking and spots none other than Scott Hunter dancing with who he assumes is Elena and briefly catches Scott watching Kip over her shoulder. Shane is swamped with the feeling of deja vu, of fleeting glances and stolen moments.
“Is that her? Dancing with Scott Hunter?” Shane questions
“Yeah that’s her”
“You guys know Scott too?”
“Ah, we’ve met a few times, he comes into my work and I make smoothies for him but that’s the extent of it” Kip answers Shane, he could have lied to Shane and passed off not knowing Scott, but for some reason felt comfortable telling Shane their vague association. Maybe it was Shane’s doe eyes that caught the light like little sparkles.
“Oh really, cool, tell me what does he usually order, or is it a trade secret?” Shane asks with a cheeky grin and glittering eyes, Kip finds it endearing, and for that reason he shares the silly name of the smoothie he makes for Scott before every home game.
With a chuckle Kip replies “It’s such a stupid name for a drink, Blue Moon Over Brooklyn, extra banana, don’t go spreading that information around though” Kip and Shane share a laugh over the name and discuss other drink names before falling back into comfortable silence. After some time Shane spots someone waving him over.
“It seems I’m needed elsewhere, it was nice meeting you Kip, hope you enjoy your night”
“You too Shane, have a good night” and Shane parts ways with a little wave and a smile.
Crossing his way to the other side of the room, Shane slowly navigates the crowd, getting blocked by numerous dancing couples and pauses near where Scott and Elena are still dancing and chatting between themselves, as to not run into a dancing pair and accidentally overhears their conversation.
“Nobody wants to be kept a secret”
“He’s not”
“He is”
Shane spots Scott looking over in the direction he had just come from, to where Kip is now standing by himself watching Scott and Elena dance, another flash of deja vu.
“Eyes on me handsome”
“I’m doing my best, I love him, I just can’t right now”
Shane’s eyes nearly pop out of his head in shock, and tries to get away from Scott and Elena to not overhear anymore, he feels guilty hearing everything, regardless of it being unintentional. Shane keeps what he heard to himself and almost forgets he ever figured out that Scott Hunter shares the same secret as Shane and Ilya. That’s what he would hope the other would do for him if the roles were reversed.
“Keep your mouth shut, Hunter, and we won’t have anymore problems ” Shane’s voice is hard and warning, he feels the need to remind Scott that their topic of contention is a dangerous one for them both to be having in the public eye.
Both their teammates and the crowd have now picked up on the palpable tension between them, murmurs of confusion and concern as to why both team captains are getting in each other's faces. Team captains that are known for being friends and some of the most calm and easygoing players in the entire NHL.
Shane’s words seem to have the opposite effect on Scott however, and like a rubber band getting stretched too far, dropping his hockey stick and aggressively flicking his gloves off, Scott snaps and lashes out at Shane.
“How the fuck do you know about that!” Scott Hunter is yelling in Shane’s face, gripping the front of his jersey and roughly shoving. Shane tips back with the force, dropping his hockey stick but doesn’t lose his feet, Shane sling his gloves off as well so he can get a grip on Hunter, Shane lunges back at Hunter grappling and returning the shove but retaining his hold of his jersey, keeping him in arms reach.
By now the Ref’s and their teammates have recognised that Shane and Scott’s arguing has escalated past an argument and has exploded into a physical confrontation, and are making their way over to the pair, but they are all on the other side of the rink and already on the sidelines. Shane Hollander and Scott Hunter come to blows before anyone can intervene.
Shane doesn’t think he has been this angry in his entire life, and he finds himself wanting Hunter to take a swing at him, just so he has an excuse to swing back, but Shane Hollander has never been an idiot ruled by anger. He knows that Hunter needs to be the one to take the first swing, so the majority of the blame will be on Hunter for instigating the fight. So Shane taunts Hunter with a threat that he’s sure will provoke him into action.
“Fuck you Hunter! You throw that in my face on the ice? In front of everyone? I can expose you just as quick” Shane is yelling back now, his words only reaching Hunter’s ears over the overwhelming sound of the crowd now jeering the two players on to fight, and the sound of people on the ice scrambling to reach them to break them up.
Shane can tell instantly that his baiting has landed, Hunter’s eyes sparking with rage and hidden panic. Testosterone levels rampaging and fight or flight kicking in, Scott Hunter chooses to fight. A wicked grin takes over Shane’s face as he allows Hunter to shove his back again with the grip he still has on Shane’s jersey, and Shane watches as Hunter’s fist comes in a loose arc toward his face. Shane shifts his head at the last moment before impact and lets Hunter’s fist just barely glanced his jaw, just enough that there’s obvious contact. The only thought that goes through Shane’s head is, It’s On.
Recovering from the awkward angle that he’s in, Shane shifts his weight until he can use his momentum to land a punch on Scott Hunter’s jaw that sends a resounding crack through the entire arena. The blow forces Hunter’s head down and leaves him dazed, Shane uses his disorientation to yank him back up by the collar of his jersey, which he still somehow has a grip on.
Shane Hollander is in no way practised in fighting, the closest he gets to it is breaking up others fights on the ice. However, he has taken boxing classes with his best friend Hayden Pike for fun and now keeps a punching bag in his home gym to let off steam when the need takes hold. He knows and has practised the fundamental kinetic motions behind throwing powerful punches, knows how to duck and weave around returning punches. He practises at home after he’s completed his regimented workouts, and finds he enjoys punching out his frustrations, finds it cathartic and enjoys the quiet in his mind after releasing bottled up emotions into the bag. Shane has never used his extra workout in a real life situation though, nevertheless, this experience is what leaves Scott Hunter with a bloody broken nose and rapidly forming bruises over his jaw and eye.
Hunter doesn’t land a solid hit to Shane following the first, though he tries, Hollander overpowers his attempts to hit back, raining punches into the side of his face with no hesitation, one, two, three consecutive blows before the blood on Hunter’s face forces Hollander’s fist to graze wetly off to the side. In between it all Hunter catches the vicious focus on Hollander’s face, teeth clenched and face pulled in a tight sneer, eyes solely locked on fucking Hunter up.
Sound is roaring in Shane Hollander’s ears, he feels like he can hear everything and nothing at all, he doesn’t register movement around him until he feels sudden weight pinning his arms down to his sides, the sharp movement ripping Shane’s hand from Scott’s jersey. He’s pulled backwards but he strains against the arms holding him back. That’s when it registers to him that he’s yelling, he doesn’t know for how long but words are ripping through his mouth just as forcefully as his punches.
“Fuck you Hunter!”
“Keep your fucking mouth shut!”
There are other people yelling too, yelling at Shane to stop, yelling for medics, and yelling from the crowd, fanatic fans screaming and hollering, cheering Hollander on for the carnage.
Pike is yelling into his ear, frazzled and still straining to keep Shane from lunging back at Scott.
“Shane! Stop! What is going on”
“You need to calm down Shane!”
“CALM DOWN!”
There’s too many people in the way now, no clear path back to Scott Hunter. He’s got three of his teammates lugging him backwards, away from the crowd of medics now clustered around Scott Hunter whose nose is pissing blood, leaving a bright red puddle of blood spattering the ice.
People are bewildered and disorientated, in no way having expected a fight breaking out between Shane Hollander and Scott Hunter, and that it would be so brutally one sided.
Once Shane has had time to regain his bearing, cool his boiling rage back down to a simmer, all he wants is to get away from all the noise, adrenaline leeching out of him now, leaving weary anger.
“Get off me” Shane barks, he’s not going to keep fighting now, it’s over, he finished it.
Arms release him hesitantly, understanding that he’s calmed down some but still cautious and ready to grab him again.
Shane turns on his skates, locates his stick and gloves, having been scattered to the side amidst the fight, he goes about collecting his gear. Pike follows close behind, watching him warily.
He registers a faint sting on his lip and touches his free hand to his mouth and draws away to find blood on his fingertips. He probes lip with his tongue and finds a small split, not breaking all the way through and only sluggishly bleeding. Hunter managed to draw a little bit of blood after all.
Picking up the bottom edge of his jersey, Shane lifts it to his face to wipe off the sweat and blood as he skates to the edge of the rink, exposing his abdomen and some of his chest covered in his pads, muscles contracting and tightening with his breaths. When he pulls his jersey away from his face so he can see the approaching edge of the rink he risks a glance around at the people already watching him. They all look astonished that he’s so nonchalant after beating Scott Hunter ruthlessly and leaving him bloody on the ice. Shane’s sure he doesn’t have a particularly pleasant look on his face and ignores the still yelling crowd, shouted questions from the press that are already starting to converge on him, and carries on his way off the ice and back into the locker room. He’s positive he can expect a complete dressing down from his coach and agent, and he doesn’t feel like dealing with that while still in full gear.
He still catches rogue comments from the crowd on his way through though, and they make his lips quirk up, weirdly satisfied.
“Holy Shit Hollander”
“Rocked his shit”
“That was the craziest shit”
“Hunter got destroyed by Shane Hollander! HA!”
He’ll have to deal with consequences from the league and his team, as well as, the guaranteed questions from the media later, he’ll most likely have to do a press conference and some form of apology but currently, Shane couldn’t care less. He’s still running on fumes of adrenaline and he just fucked Scott Hunter up, definitely damaging his clean reputation in the process. Maybe now people will stop thinking of him as a push over he never has been.
Shane Hollander doesn’t regret a thing.