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Yuna Hollander was a vicious, vicious woman.
Not in the sense that she was physically aggressive (God, Ilya couldn’t even imagine), or even in the sense that she was mean to the people she loved. It still blows Ilya’s mind sometimes, if he’s being honest, how loving both of Shane’s parents are, so unlike what he’d known of parental love himself. Well, at least since his mama had died.
No Yuna is vicious in the way that Ilya reveled in being. The kind accompanied by a toothy grin, sparkling eyes and usually, in Ilya’s experience, gloves hitting the ice.
Yuna Hollander was born to chirp.
More specifically, to chirp hockey players. Anyone who ever wondered about Shane would understand everything about his well…everything after 15 minutes with his mother. The woman knew more about hockey than some coaches Ilya had had. Watching hockey with Yuna was Ilya’s hands down favorite way to consume the sport he played professionally. Unless he was playing himself, of course, in which case he’d come to still hope Yuna was watching. Luckily, since he and Shane had both transferred to Ottawa, he knew she was watching because she was…well, there. With David, at damn near every game, beaming just as proudly when Ilya scored or passed as when her actual son did.
If Shane hadn’t been basically born in a PR firm, Ilya cannot imagine how much of a menace Yuna Hollander’s son would be on the ice. It’s not that Shane had never dropped his gloves, his penalty minutes had regrettably skyrocketed (well, for him) when he started playing on the same team as his husband. But Shane Hollander didn’t start fights. He chirped, sure. But no one expected much chirping from Hollander, to be honest. Hollander’s chirps weren’t….creative. They didn’t really hurt, they blended into the ubiquitous noise of the ice.
Ilya, by contrast, prided himself on his creativity. He loved getting under his opponents’ skin - Boston had chosen him for a reason, all those years ago.
But Ilya Rozanov had a problem. After years in the league he was, though he’d never admit it, well…running out of material.
His material was just…stale. The rookies were too easy to rile up, they were always itching to prove themselves, and in doing so only succeeded in proving that they weren’t immune to Ilya Rozanov any more than anyone else was. And the older guys had played with and against Ilya for years. They were, for lack of a better word, used to it. He had a reputation for a reason.
Especially when he was in Boston; wild, reckless, throwing his emotions outward to avoid them creeping into his own mind. Into his heart, if he was being honest. He was calmer now that he was in Ottawa - tamer, as Twitter loved to remind him. An attack dog brought to heel by his husband’s beautiful freckles.
But well-trained did not mean tame.
He was just more strategic now. He was rarely the first one to drop gloves these days. If he could goad his opponents into dropping their gloves first, and then take a hit on the chin as though he were surprised that they’d chosen to sock him in the jaw he’d almost guarantee a power play.
And he and his husband were great on a power play. Better than great. Unfair, some would say.
The problem was, well, that strategy was just about as old as hockey itself. And Ilya found his usual taunts failing him. Players these days tended to roll their eyes and tell him to fuck off. The ones feeling particularly brave, the ones Ilya had known for almost his whole career, would raise a challenging eyebrow and ask if his husband knew he was misbehaving.
The first time it happened wasn’t even intentional.
They were playing Buffalo, who were putting up more of a fight than they frankly had any right to be in Ilya’s opinion. Tied in the third period, perfect time to goad someone, subtly of course, into an instigating penalty so he and Shane could bury this team in their upstate New York snow drift hellhole.
Binder’d been pissing Ilya off all night, if he’s being honest. He’s more of a pest than anything else, Ilya can maneuver around him, and had been, but it’s aggravating that he’s always in the way and Ilya had had to.
And now Binder had him pinned against the boards, while they both scrambled for the puck.
“Ah, Binder, I see someone told you about being on time yes? That’s why you are so excited to be on top of me tonight, so you are not late to the party?”
“What the fuck are you talking about Rozanov”
“Is not your fault I think, that you cannot get sponsorship bigger than bran flakes, when you cannot be on time to shoot anything. Maybe you are too busy yes? I understand.”
Binder was still pinning him into the boards, but his body had gone taught.
“Is okay Binder, I buy you new watch. The little sticks on the circle point to numbers and tell you time, even you can figure it out with practice.”
Ilya had barely even been thinking about what he was saying, but he’d never miss the shift in stance, or the whoosh of air that preceded an explosion of pain across his lip.
Now up by two (look, he said they were brutal on the power play) and sitting on the bench waiting for his next shift, Barrett had jostled his shoulder “what the fuck did you even say to him Roz? Binder hasn’t drawn an instigating penalty in like two months.”
“Ah, I told him I buy him watch, because he is always late.”
Barrett burst out laughing beside him, “what the fuck man, that’s…you could have given me a thousand guesses and I never would have guessed that.”
Ilya shrugged, grinning “what, is true! I hear his sponsor dropped him because he was never on time to shoot anything and they got pissed.”
“Well fuck man, that’ll do it.” Barrett is almost crying now, “where did you even hear that?”
Now that he thought about it, where had Ilya heard that? Hockey players didn’t exactly spend all their free time obtaining business related highly specific gossip on players on other teams they had no connection to and didn’t even like.
And then it had hit him.
Yuna. In her living room, shouting at a tiny version of Binder on the TV.
Ilya couldn’t stop the grin that crept across his face, nearly whooping with joy even as blood dripped from his lip. Because of course - what had he even been worrying about, when his mother-in-law was a walking encyclopedia of half the league’s deepest darkest secrets.
Oh this was perfect. Oh this was going to solve all of Ilya’s problems.
His husband was almost certainly going to hate this.
But Ilya knows Yuna. And his mother-in-law? Is going to love it.
***
His mother in law is looking at him like he’s grown a second head.
“You want me to what?”
“Is easy Yuna, you tell me what to say and I say it yes?”
“Ilya” Yuna scoffs, an eyebrow raised as a mini version of Ilya is currently frozen mid punch in her living room “I hardly think you of all people need my help coming up with chirps.”
“Yes, yes is true, I am good. But you are the best Yuna. You must know this.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about Ilya.”
“Yuna if chirping was Olympics you would have gold medal like your son. Is generational talent.”
“Ilya I can’t do that, it’s unprofessional!”
“David,” Ilya turns to his father in law, who’s engrossed in a crossword puzzle and trying very hard to pretend like he’s not suppressing a smile, “tell your wife she should help her poor son who is asking very nicely for her greatness.”
“Oh I’m not getting anywhere near this, son.”
Ilya sighs, and pulls out the big guns, widening his eyes just a smidge, tilting his head so his curls fall just so, the picture of innocent boyish mischief, “please mama? Will be fun I promise, and not unprofessional! I have reputation for this kind of thing, really when you think about it you’ll be just helping me maintain my brand image.”
“Brand image” the look on Yuna’s face is one he’s seen on his husband’s a thousand times, the one that conveys ‘you have got to be fucking kidding me’ better than any words in any language Ilya’s ever known.
“Yes exactly, so see is responsible! Is what manager would do. You will be helping me!”
“...fine, but don’t tell Shane” Yuna finally responds. And though he knows she’d deny it, Ilya sees the smile tugging at her mouth.
***
Mama Hollander
Capitals tonight, right?
Ilya
Yes, but I know you already know that Yuna….
Mama Hollander
I was just asking because
Ilya
Because you have chirp for me!! YES, I KNEW you would like this.
What is it
Plz tell me
Mama Hollander
<video file received>
Two hours later and Ilya can barely contain himself. He just has to wait for the right moment, but he’s giddy. He feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin.
“What’s got you all riled up cap?” Hayes prods, just as they’re about to skate out for warm ups.
“Nothing, am just excited.”
Hayes laughs, a short aborted chuckle that makes Ilya smile in return “for the Capitals? Sure Roz, whatever you say.”
He gets his chance halfway through the first period, when he passes in the nick of time to avoid a check.
“Hey Carson!” he shouts across the ice, to where the Capitals defensemen is changing direction from where he’d been speeding towards Ilya to try to catch the play “is good to see you have been getting faster, maybe this time you will be able to catch jetski before it falls off your dock, yes?”
That had happened, Carson sprinting down his dock to try to prevent a lake related disaster, only to not quite catch the falling jetski and basically run himself straight off the dock and into the lake. Where on earth Yuna had gotten that video from, Ilya will never know. But Ilya had the video. And it was incredible.
Carson’s so busy looking at Ilya in utter bafflement that he runs into the boards at full speed.
Ilya can’t stop cackling. “Maybe I post video on Twitter yes?”
“Fuck off Rozanov, how the - what the - hey go fuck yourself man.” Carson’s blushing as he hurries past Ilya, back into the second half of his shift.
They win the game, no fights needed. Still, not his best chirping performance.
Ilya
Did you see Carson run *himself* into the boards? XD
Mama Hollander
I KNEW that was you
Ilya laughed at Mama Hollander’s message.
Ilya
No fight though.
Mama Hollander
I saw, so room for improvement then. /10?
God, Yuna is so much like Shane it kills him sometimes. Competitive to her core about anything.
He gives them a six. Points for the surprise, and for the hilarious impact, but not quite the desired outcome.
***
Their next attempt is about a week later, against Carolina at home. Ilya’s pretty sure this one will work, for one thing Koller’s a winger, and they’re always sensitive about this kind of thing. And for another, it’s more of a classic chirp just…with a twist.
Ilya is once again pinned against the boards. “Ah you are hitting gym Koller, good job. You must have good new trainer.”
“Stronger than you old man.”
“I do not think so, but then again, I would get new trainer too, if I was too weak to carry all groceries from the car in on one trip. I mean where is pride Koller? You cannot handle? I carry groceries and my husband in one trip, is no problem for me.”
Koller shoves him hard, “oh can it you piece of shit.”
Ilya grins, “even comeback is weak, wow Koller - if I was your girlfriend I would be mad too, maybe you will spend another night in, what is the English phrase, in dog house yes?”
He’s grinning like a madman as Koller’s gloves hit the ice.
He picks up his phone after the game (Shane has a strict ‘no checking your phone during intermissions policy’) to a text from Yuna already waiting for him.
Mama Hollander
So? How’d we do.
Ilya
You saw fight, no?
Mama Hollander
Yes, but I also saw that the ref must have heard you because he didn’t get the extra instigating penalty…
Ilya
Ah yes, ref spoils my fun, and now I am sure your son will also give me lecture. But it was worth it, I hope cameras captured his face Yuna - priceless.
Mama Hollander
Okay so improving, but still not quite. I’ll start thinking about Detroit, I think we can probably get up to a nine by then.
God, Ilya loves his crazy, crazy mother in law.
***
If only his husband weren’t quite so observant.
“You’ve been racking up more penalty minutes recently, Ilya.”
“Have I?” Ilya feigns nonchalance, standing in their kitchen idly flipping the eggs in the pan.
Shane pauses, eyeing him with suspicion, “yes.”
“Huh, strange.”
“Bood told me about what you said to Carson.”
“Oh?” he keeps his eyes resolutely on his breakfast, he can feel his husband’s gaze on him, like he’s a puzzle Shane’s determined to solve.
“Mmhmm. It was very…specific.”
“Shanya, I love you, but you are not world’s greatest chirper yes? Chirps are supposed to be specific, is the idea.”
“Yes, and that was my first thought, until I realized why this one stuck out to me.”
“And why is that, malysch?”
“...beacuse I’ve only seen that video one time, and it was at my parent’s house. Two years ago. And you weren’t there.”
“Hmm strange, maybe it got around.”
“Ilya I swear to god - “ Shane comes up short, “oh God. Ilya, are you - my mom - “
Ilya grins, “da, Hollander, your mother is fountain of information.”
“I cannot believe - “
“She is very helpful, and very like you - she even grades us out of ten!”
“Ilya you can’t - my mother can’t help you start fights! It’s unprofessional!”
“Relax, malysch,” Ilya drawls, turning to scoop finished breakfast onto their plates, “is just…bonding activity! Is good, very healthy, all therapists would approve I think. Bond with parents in law yes?”
“I am going to kill you” Shane hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The two of you are going to send me into an early grave.”
***
Detroit rolls around, and Ilya just feels it in his bones. It’s their night, they’re going to wipe the floor with these stupid Americans.
And he’s, personally, going to wipe the floor with Dallas Kent.
He doesn’t need Yuna’s help that much here, but scum like Kent are used to having so many insults thrown their way most of them don’t even register anymore. Perks of being a bigot, Ilya supposes.
But not tonight. Tonight, Ilya is out for blood. Well, metaphorically. And now that he thinks about it, possibly also literally.
“Hey Kent,” he doesn’t even make it to the end of the second before he’s decided now’s the time, “you are being very brave tonight, I think.”
Kent scoffs, “Hollander,” he calls out across the ice, “come get your mutt before he gets himself in trouble.”
Ilya grins, that toothy, cocky grin that should raise the hair on the back of Kent’s neck.
“This is what I mean Kent. I know how scared you are of little dogs, you are being brave to be so close to big scary mutt like me, yes?”
Kent whirls on Ilya, who’s tracking the play with his eyes, and very distinctly not looking at him. That’s how you sell it, after all.
“Good thing I am not yorkie, huh? You would be pissing yourself. Or wait…does that only happen with chihuahuas?”
Ilya grins. Kent swings first, and wildly. This time, he and Shane get their power play.
Kent leaps back onto the ice, still pissed as fuck after serving his time and out for blood. Ilya’s, specifically.
“Rozanov I am going to fucking kill you.”
“Careful Kent,” Hollander interjects, skidding to a stop a few feet away, ice spraying from his skates, “you’ll get a reputation.”
“Oh fuck off Hollander.”
“Hmm no. I know, maybe I’ll call your agent, see if he can get you into one of those puppy interviews yeah? Help your image. Or wait…are those dogs too tiny too?”
Ilay whips his head around towards his husband, jaw falling open in shock.
“What?” Shane shrugs, the tiniest tick of a smirk on his lips and mischief dancing in his eyes, “she’s my mother too.”