Chapter Text
December 2008
Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada
“Ilya Rozanov?” He pauses waiting for the other man to look up. “Shane Hollander.” He motions towards himself. “ I--I wanted to introduce myself.”
Shane offers out a hand to shake hoping the gesture if not the words will make sense to the Russian. Rozanov looks confused but takes it, shaking quickly before getting back to trying to light his cigarette.
“Oh, I'm--I'm not sure you're supposed to smoke here.” Shane mimes the action like this might get the point across.
Rozanov glances sideways at the no smoking sign he’s stood next to. “Okay.” He says and takes another drag of his cigarette.
Shane smiles. English isn’t the trouble then, Rozanov is.
“You're an awesome player to watch.”
“Yes.”
Shane’s face lights up and he huffs out a laugh. God, what an asshole. He doesn’t know what he was hoping for, especially with the language barrier between them, and maybe he should have expected blunt and cocky but he wasn’t prepared for funny too.
Shane settles against the wall a couple of meters from Rozanov trying to think of something, anything, to keep the exchange going. But he’s never been good at holding a conversation, just at making situations awkward.
“Anyway, I--I should go. They're waiting for me. But, um, good luck in the tournament.” He holds his hand out again unsure of what else to do.
He’s worried he’s made another social mistake for a second before Rozanov takes his hand, less confused and more amused this time. As he turns to leave Rozanov finally speaks unprompted.
“You will not be so nice when I score on you.”
Shane turns around, smile back in place. “That's not happening.”
Rozanov tilts his head which Shane takes as a ‘we will see’. “See you in final.”
Shane walks away, smile still in place.
He knows Rozanov’s good, he’s watched his tape, he has every right to be cocky. But those words sounded like a challenge and Shane Hollander doesn’t back down from a challenge.
He decides right there in the parking lot on a freezing afternoon in Saskatchewan that he’s not letting Ilya Rozaonv score on him.
_/ |‾‾| \_
January 2009
Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada
00:05
The game time ticks down.
00:04
Shane keeps half an eye on it from his crease as he watches his teammates in Russia's zone work the puck loose and pass it up the boards towards a defenceman.
00:03
Smith pauses with the puck considering his options.
00:02
He pulls his stick back and takes one last optimistic shot from the right point.
00:01
With no traffic in front it’s an easy read for the Russian goalie and Shane can tell the puck isn’t going to make it in the net even before it’s gloved down.
00:00
Shane turns towards his net enjoying a quiet moment to himself.
He would wonder why he hadn’t been pulled but Canada’s 0 for 7 power play record for the game spoke for itself.
He tried to be rational about losses but it stung losing to Russia on home ice. 38 saves on 41 shots and it wasn’t enough.
He couldn’t have prevented the odd man rush at the start of the third that put Russia in the lead 3-2 but he could have come further out of the crease, forced the pass. He’d watch the game back later, he couldn’t change the game by dwelling on it now.
He knew what people would say to try comfort him.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Russia is a strong team, you shouldn’t be disappointed.”
“You didn’t make it easy for them.”
“Silver is still very impressive.”
But the only thing he would take solace in was the fact that he hadn’t let Rozanov score.
Canada had lost to Russia but him and Rozanov were even.
Shane heard skates moving towards him. His peaceful bubble was broken. He had to re-join his team. At least he could hide behind his mask for a little longer.