Chapter Text
This was hands-down one of the top five most frustrating games of Shane’s career, and it was against Boston, which just made it that much worse. Neither team was was playing well and both were trying to cover for that fact by being even more aggressive than usual. The result was a boring, drawn-out brawl-fest that was, in Shane’s not so humble opinion, a disgrace to the game. Shane chewed grumpily on his mouthguard as he shuffled down the bench. Normally he’d be focused on the game, trying to see the big picture instead of focusing on any one player, but now he wasn’t even trying to watch anyone other than #81. Ilya was playing with none of his usual flare; instead of his usual aggressive, controlling play style, he was stuck spending most of his time either making up for his teammates’ sloppy mistakes or trying to keep them out of the penalty box long enough to accomplish something. At least he looked just as frustrated as Shane felt.
With only a few minutes left in the game, Shane was just about to hop back in when yet another fight broke out. He honestly couldn’t say who started it or why, but soon multiple players from both sides were pushing and shoving at each other. Seconds later, Ilya skated in, but instead of joining the fray like he normally would, he grabbed one of his teammates by the collar and tried to pull him backwards and away from the fight. Unfortunately, J.J. either didn’t notice or, more likely, didn’t care that Rozanov was trying to diffuse the situation for once, and pulled him into the scrum with the rest of them. The whole thing was ridiculous, so Shane let himself just watch and appreciate Ilya’s intensity as he grappled with all comers. Suddenly, there was a flash of gold at Ilya’s throat, and Shane felt his focus sharpen. Time seemed to slow as two people grabbed at his collar and yanked in different directions. The gold chain snapped and the crucifix went flying. Shane held his breath, tracking the movement more carefully than he’d ever followed a puck as he watch it arc through the air and then skitter across the ice. He’d never been more grateful for the brightness of area lights before as he kept his gaze fixated on the tiny speck of gold, desperately making note of any possible reference points so that he could find it again.
“Hollander! You’re up.” Theriault jolted Shane into action and he finally tore his attention back to the game. The fight had been broken up with one member of each team penalized for it. He rolled his eyes; no one had even gotten a strategic advantage out of that mess, so it had been completely pointless. Shane got in place for the face off and had to bite back a groan when Carmichael skates up across from him; Shane always felt like facing off against any Bear who wasn’t Rozanov was a waste of time, but this was even worse than usual because he needed just a few seconds to talk to Ilya, to warn him and get on the same page.
The ref dropped the puck, and Shane darted forward, winning the contest. He easily outmaneuvered Carmichael, but Ilya was chasing him down as he led them over to where he saw the crucifix land. Once he was where he wanted to be, he shot the puck down the ice and behind the Raiders’ net, as far away from any other player as he could manage. It was undeniably the worst ‘pass’ Shane had ever made.
“What the fuck was that, Hollander?” Ilya barked. “Did you hit your head or something?” His tone was harsh, but Shane could see the genuine concern in his boyfriend’s eyes. He winced but pushed forward with his plan, not sure what else to do.
He shoved Ilya and yelled, “Hey, watch it!” It was stilted and overly loud, meant only for anyone who happened to be listening or who would try to read his lips later. Ilya just looked more confused, and Shane had to shove aside all of his feelings about that as he shook off his gloves and swung.
It was a shitty punch — no power behind it; no follow through. It barely glanced off his chin, but Ilya seemed stunned anyway. Shane waited a beat for the other man to react, but when Ilya didn’t look like he was going to hit back or even shove a little, Shane started to panic: his plan wouldn’t work without at least a scuffle, and besides that he didn’t know how either of them was going to explain why Ilya Rozanov of all people wasn’t fighting back.
He grabbed Ilya’s collar and shook him. “Don’t just fucking stand there, asshole!” He grit his teeth and swung again. He still pulled his punch, but it was definitely harder than his first and it landed squarely on Ilya’s cheek. That finally seemed to shake the Russian out of his daze, and he dropped his gloves.
As soon as Ilya’s fist connected with his face, Shane dropped to his knees. Unfortunately, he brought the larger man down with him, and they collapsed to the ice in a tangled heap. Shane struggled to his hands and knees and desperately tried to get his bearings. After a few heart-stopping moments, he saw the arena lights reflect of a tiny piece of gold a few feet away, and he started struggling towards it. Suddenly, Ilya’s weight was ripped off his back and he was able to scramble forwards. His fingers closed around the crucifix just before his teammates hauled him to his feet.
Shane got the expected 5-minute penalty for starting the fight, which essentially took him out for the rest of the game — not that he could really bring himself to care all that much. Instead, he was already thinking about after the game: how to spin this for the media as something other than a complete shitshow; if he should go with the classic “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” or the more honest “I’m so fucking pissed you all decided to play like children today” approach to his post-game captain’s speech; where he’d be able to get a replacement chain for Ilya at this time of night.
He was still distracted when the final whistle blew, and he rushed through the handshake line, hoping he could get just a few seconds to talk with opposing captain. But when they were finally face to face, Ilya wouldn't meet his eyes and just tapped his glove instead of letting Shane catch him in a handshake. Shane did his best to push down his growing anxiety and rushed back to the locker room to send a text explaining what had happened. He just hoped that Ilya would see the message before he realized his mother's necklace was gone.