Chapter Text
It started with an official statement released by the Raiders, “Due to health related reasons, Ilya Rozanov won’t be attending the next game against Nashville in Boston.” To say that Marlow was surprised to hear the news was an understatement. In the almost ten years that Cliff Marlow has been friends with Ilya Rozanov, he had never once seen Rozy sick, and has definitely never seen him pull out of a game due to an illness. Cliff remembers vaguely, a couple seasons ago, when Rozanov came down with a cold. He had been coughing so much throughout that week that he lost his voice and was suffering from a constant runny nose. Cliff had tried to mention it to him. A quick, “Roz, are you feeling ok?” But his efforts were quickly shut down, Rozanov yelling something about how Russians don’t get sick…all evidence to the contrary.
Marlow’s plan was simple, he would bring soup and some flu medicine to Rozanov’s house, make sure he was alive, and leave. Maybe they could watch the new fast a furious movie that recently came out? Marlow knows Rozanov fucking loves the franchise. Marlow had found a little Russian restaurant a couple months ago, and was trying to find a good time to bring Roz. He decided to get a container of Куриный бульон, a chicken soup type dish that he read was good for colds, to go. He would bring Rozanov to the place another time. He headed towards Rozanov’s house, added the nearest CVS as a stop on the way. It was mid-day Friday and they didn’t play Nashville until late Saturday so he had time to spare.
Marlow had spent his Friday morning in his apartment, bored out of his mind. They lost their game yesterday against the Metros 3-0, and Marlow was still feeling salty. Losing any game stung, but it hurt a whole lot more when it was against the fucking Metros. After the awful game, Marlow went out to some bar hoping to get drunk and find a hot chick to fuck. He couldn’t even have that because without Roz there — who’s now been passing every woman who throws herself on him, to Marlow — his likability amongst women, has lessened. Not that Marlow can’t pick up his own chicks, it’s just, you know, Rozanov.
Rozanov who before now, would bring home at least one girl every time they went out. Rozanov who now, is glued to his phone whenever they go out, texting his Montreal Jane. Marlow knows about Jane, like everyone else on the team. What he doesn’t know is when, or why they became exclusive. Rozy has been hooking up with Jane for as long as Marlow has known him, so he knows the signs when Rozanov is texting her, he gets this small smile, like he’s trying to keep it a secret. He also gets weirdly defensive when someone teases him about texting her, he always denies it. That part about Roz’s relationship with Jane has always confused him.
Marlow’s spent hours theorizing with himself on why Roz hides her; maybe she’s married, maybe she’s an old lady, and much more. The one that makes the most sense though, is that she works for the Metros. That would explain why they only meet when the Raiders are playing in Montreal, and vice versa. It would also help to explain Rozanov’s secrecy regarding her. He understands that her working with the rival team could cause some issues between the teams but it’s not worth hiding a whole relationship over. Plus, Marlow really wants to meet her.
Marlow is thinking about exactly this when he gets back in the car from being in the pharmacy. He had grabbed enough cold and flu medicine to fill a medicine cabinet but, hey, better safe than sorry, Marlow thinks to himself.
Once he secured the goods—both the soup and a small assortment of flu medicines he picked out from, he headed towards Rozanov’s house. The drive wasn’t too long and Marlow always loves the way the trees in Boston turned into different shades of orange and red in the fall. After a short time, he arrived to Roz’s house.
As he’s pulling into the driveway he immediately noticed the second car in the driveway. Parked directly next to one of Rozanov’s overly flashy sports cars sits a white jeep-looking car… definitely not something Rozy would drive, Marlow thinks to himself, he gets out of the car nonetheless. Marlow climbs out of his own sleek black car and approaches the front door, the small pebbles of the driveway crunching under his feet as he goes. Once he arrives at the door, he rings the doorbell.
A moment passes before he hears the soft patter of feet on hardwood floor. Then, Marlow hears a quiet “oh shit” before the sound of walking returns, this time, moving away from the door. Marlow stands there a moment, waiting. Was that Jane he heard? The voice was definitely not Russian enough to be Rozanov but it also sounded too deep to be a woman’s.
“Roz? You ok? I just brought some food and shit, I wanted to make sure you were alive.” Marlow yells into the door. He tries not to sound to alarmed, but then again, who the fuck does Roz have staying over if not Jane? He ponders; Rozanov had never been the type of person who dated, before Jane. Sure, he hooked up with loads of women but Marlow can’t help but wonder if Rozy’s ever hooked up with the same chick twice, (Besides Jane) he thinks the chances are low. Well no, there was that one girl, Ilya’s friend from Russia, Svetyana, was it? Anyways, his point is Ilya has never invited a partner to stay at his home without sex and he definitely wouldn’t have someone staying over to take care of him while he’s sick because of course “Russians don’t get sick” And even if him and Jane are together, that voice did not sound high enough to be a Montreal girl. Maybe it’s his Russian friend, then. Is the conclusion Marlow lands on.
He hears the slam of a door closing and then finally, the door opens. Revealing a very sick but very much alive Ilya Rozanov. “What do you want Marlow” Rozanov asks, his voice sounding hoarse. For someone so sick, Rozanov still somehow looks like a Greek god. He’s wearing no shirt and a pair of loose, black sweatpants that hang low on his hips — not that Marlow’s looking. His hair is all messed up, looking like someone’s been running their fingers through it. He has soft purple bags under his eyes, contrasting the pale, almost green-ish tint to his skin. Marlow has always called Rozanov a beautician and even now it’s still true. But like, no-homo of course.
“Hello to you to Rozy” Marlow replies, trying to peer inside to see the mystery girl Rozanov is clearly trying to hide. He holds up the bags of stuff, “you look like shit. I brought you medicine and soup, i even went to a Russian restaurant to get like, a Russian flu soup or some shit like that.” He sees Rozanov grimace quickly before, finally, moving to the side, wordlessly inviting Marlow inside.
As he walks inside, the evidence of another person staying here becomes more and more obvious. To start, there’s a second pair of shoes (Way to big for a chick) right next to Rozanov’s and a hockey bag tucked in his mud room, Was that a Metros logo on the bag? No, that couldn’t be right. He continues walking into Rozanov’s home, heading into the kitchen. He sets the bags down and sees two things, well three; two dirty plates in the sink and one can of ginger ale abandoned on the counter.
“Hey man,” Marlow starts. Rozanov, who has resided on the couch, turns his head away from his phone to glare at Marlow, “what do you need now?” He asks, a scowl present on his face, Marlow takes a breath and then, “What the fuck is Hayden Pike doing in your house?” Rozanovs face flashes between a mix of anger and bewilderment before letting out an amused laugh. Marlow can also hear quiet laughter coming from the coat closet across from the mud room. Marlow is tempted to just go and open the door to see who’s behind it but, he doesn’t, staying in the kitchen.
Marlow feels just as confused as Rozanov looked. Before he can splutter out an apology Rozanov recovers, “you think me, Ilya Rozanov would have 15th best Metro player, in my house?” He asks, half hysterically. “I mean, yeah?” Marlow replies sheepishly, “I saw the metros bag and the shoes and stuff.” Rozanov doesn’t look convinced, “I know he has kids and shit man, so it would make sense? It’s still fucking weir-“
“wait, wait, wait. You actually believe he’s in my house?” Rozanov is off of the couch now making his way towards the kitchen, but his efforts come to a halt as he leans over himself and begins to cough like a maniac. Marlow rushes over, helping his friend find a seat and grabbing him a glass of water. Rozanov drinks, taking much longer than necessary to finish the glass. The question still lingers in the air. As if he can read Marlow’s mind, Rozanov mutters, “No. Pike is not the Metro in my house.”
It takes a moment for the words to register in Marlow’s head and then, “oh, shit.” Marlow tries to rack his brain of all the Metros players he knows, Pike? No J.J? That wouldn’t make sense either. Drapeau? Maybe but unlikely. Hollander..? Fuck no, Rozy hates the guy. Marlow is truly bewildered. If not any of them, then who? Rozanov has long recovered since Marlow finished his internal conflict. He leaves Marlow’s side and stalks towards the coat closet, no fucking way, Marlow thinks to himself, who the fuck is in there. Roz sticks his head in the closet, he whispers something to the mystery person in it and then slowly opens the door the rest of the way, revealing a very nervous looking…Shane Hollander?!?