Chapter Text
There are a few things Cliff Marleau knows to be true.
Fact: Ilya Rozanov is a deeply troubled individual.
Fact: Ilya Rozanov is deeply in love with a girl in Montreal.
Fact: Ilya Rozanov is going to kill him for what he has done to Shane Hollander.
He didn’t mean it, okay. Hollander was supposed to move. He was supposed to move out of the way, but he was looking over his shoulder. He wasn’t even looking straight ahead! How is it possibly Cliff’s fault that–
Roz enters the locker room without a word, seemingly going through the motions of taking off his gear. In all the years he has been a Bear alongside Ilya, Cliff has never seen him look the way he does now. Not when he came back from the Olympics in Sochi, not when his dad died, not even during whatever happened in 2016 to make him so miserable.
Cliff sucks in a breath. Ilya doesn’t look angry. His face is pale, his jaw is clenched and he hasn’t looked at a single person in the locker room since he walked in. He looks stricken.
“Roz,” Cliff says under his breath, suddenly nervous at the sight of Ilya Rozanov seemingly fighting back tears. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for–”
“Don’t,” he chokes out, his voice gravelly. He doesn’t even look up at Cliff before he turns and leaves the locker room.
Fuck.
Cliff spends the rest of the night thinking of how he will make this better. The last thing he remembers before he falls asleep is one final truth.
Fact: Cliff Marleau will fix this.
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Waking up the next day, Cliff is vaguely aware of a faint beeping noise coming from next to him. He tries to reach over and turn his alarm off, but he’s only able to lift his arm so far before a sort-of muted pain runs through his shoulder. His eyes feel heavy, too heavy to open, but he can sense the fact that all of the lights in his room are on.
Great. Just great. Yeah, Cliff gets paid enough money to pay to keep every single light in his house on all the time. But like… you know. Pollution and shit. Flying around North America to play hockey does enough harm to the environment. He’s been trying to work on his… conversation? Conver– conser–
He lets out a groan, the line of thought worsening the headache he woke up with. He didn’t fully register the sound of people talking around him until they stopped and the room went silent. He felt someone grab his hand gingerly, panic bubbling within him. He lives alone.
“Shane, honey,” a soft voice floats in his ears, a voice he doesn’t recognize. A name he doesn’t recognize. “Are you awake?”
He cracks one eye open, coming face-to-face with a middle-aged woman who looks vaguely familiar. He searches the rest of the room with the one eye he was able to open.
Okay. Hospital. He’s been here before, there’s no need to panic. Probably just went down during a game or something. Cliff isn’t going to think about why he can’t remember the hit, or why the last thing he remembers is falling asleep in his own bed.
There’s a man sitting across the room, his tired-eyes brimming with worry. Again, vaguely familiar, but he can’t quite put a finger on it. But hey, if he can’t even remember going down, it probably makes sense he wouldn’t remember the people by his side… right? No need to panic!
He opens his other eye, slowly, carefully. The full room is coming into focus now. There’s a knock at the door, and he turns his gaze towards the sound.
All that stuff he said about not panicking? Forget about it.
Cliff is a reasonable man, but he might be legitimately insane, because what other possible explanation would there be for his own body standing nervously in the doorway.
He hears his heart monitor speeding up a bit, and he’s trying not to think too hard about what is going on because he woke up with a pounding headache, his body feels like pure jelly and he has a strange urge to at least pretend to be okay for the other two strangers in the room.
“I– um…” he hears the man (himself?) squeak out, almost nervously. He has never heard his own voice take such a tone. “I’m Cliff… Marleau. I just wanted to, you know, apologize for the hit. I really didn’t mean it.”
Cliff looks back to the two strangers in the room. Or, Bed Cliff does. Bed Cliff is just going to pretend Doorway Cliff isn’t there, because that’s a lot easier to process. Surely the other two people in the room are just as confused as him right now. How could he possibly be in the hospital bed and checking on himself at the same time?
Weirdly, the two other adults don’t seem confused. The woman is already looking back at him, clearly worried, probably from the spike in his heart rate that accompanied his brief panic. He’s not sure what look is on his face, but whatever expression he is making makes the woman school her features and look up.
“Okay, thank you for coming by. He just woke up, so he’s not really ready for visitors right now,” the woman says, her voice flat. She seems angry at Doorway Cliff, but her tone is steady and her face stays neutral, save for the slight downward pull of the corner of her mouth. He gives the woman’s hand a slight squeeze, trying to provide some sort of comfort for her.
“Yeah, I totally understand,” his (evil?) clone says from the doorway. He’s very timid for an evil clone. Maybe he’s some sort of nice clone. Or maybe—and this makes a lot more sense—Bed Cliff is losing his fucking mind. “I’m just… could I speak to him, maybe? Alone?”
The woman in the chair tenses, her spine straightening and her shoulders positioning themselves back. Bed Cliff knows she’s about to decline, knows she’s about to send Doorway Cliff packing. This is the only chance he has to potentially figure out what is going on.
“I don’t think–”
“‘S fine,” he says softly, his voice sounding strangely foreign to his own ears, “I’ll talk to him.”
The man stands up and walks toward the woman, holding out a hand.
“Come on, Yuna,” the man says softly. “Let’s find some coffee.”
The woman—Yuna, apparently—looks at him tentatively for a couple more seconds, before grumbling a quiet agreement, and exiting the room.
Bed Cliff looks at Doorway Cliff, who waits for the two others to close the door behind him and stalks towards the hospital bed. Okay, maybe this wasn’t a great idea. He probably is an evil clone, and he just successfully got him alone by luring him into a false sense of security. Bed Cliff starts to reach for the call button, immediately regretting every decision that led him to this point.
“Wait, Marleau, are you… is it you?” Doorway Cliff, or now, Bedside Cliff, stops him from reaching the call button, his eyes wide with panic.
“What’s going on?” Cliff says, his voice still not sounding like his own. It does sound vaguely familiar, almost like Shane—
“—Hollander. It’s me, Shane Hollander. I don’t know how this happened. I woke up, and I was you. And now looking at you… or looking at me… Fuck. I think I’m losing my fucking mind,” Hollander speaks quickly, running a hand through his own hair. “Marleau, please tell me you are somehow trapped in my body right now.”
Cliff lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Okay, at least it's not an evil clone. And maybe Cliff is losing his mind, but at least he’s not alone in that.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” he says, trying to clear his throat, but his voice still keeps coming out wobbly. “Thank god, dude. I thought you were an evil clone sent to kill me or something.”
Hollander lets out an indignant huff, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Marleau, that makes zero fucking sense. Evil clone? What is this, some sort of comic book?” Hollander snips, pinching his eyebrows together. “Not that this makes any more sense than that. Fuck, what are we going to do? I can’t be stuck like this. I have… stuff to do! I’m busy, I don’t have time for this. Have you ever heard of this happening to anyone else? I’ve literally never heard of this ever happening before. But it must have, right? I mean we can’t possibly be—”
“Hollander,” Cliff cuts him off. Damn, that man can spiral, and fast, too. “Bro, relax. If you’re gonna be me, you’ve gotta be more chill.”
He watches Hollander close his eyes and suck in a deep breath. His shoulders fall slightly from their position at his ears.
Cliff just kind of stares at him while he seemingly recenters himself. There’s really not much he can do from his position on the hospital bed. Even if there was, he’s way too tired, and his mind doesn’t fully feel present. They must have him on something for the pain, but definitely not something strong enough, because he can practically feel his bones under his skin. They feel like wet velvet, and they’re aching. Shit, is this what it feels like to get checked by himself? Every player he has ever put in the hospital should be like… suing him for damages, or something.
“Okay. Okay,” Hollander reaches a hand toward him and places it on the crown of his head. His eyes are closed in concentration, and he’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Cliff blinks at him owlishly.
“Dude, what are you doing right now?” he says after a moment of nothing happening. Shane’s eyes snap open, his brow furrowed.
“I thought maybe we would like, switch back or something. I don’t even know,” he grumbles, removing his hand from the crown of his head and taking a step back. “Okay, Marleau… Cliff, can I call you Cliff? I feel like I should be able to call you Cliff at this point. I will figure this out. You just… be me. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. My parents are Yuna and David, that’s who was with you when you woke up. You’ll probably get some visitors from the team. Probably just Hayden. Pike. Hayden Pike.”
Cliff still just stares back at him. His body looks like his own, but surely doesn’t sound like it. He has never been so stressed in his life.
“Shane, seriously dude, you need to chill,” he says carefully, trying not to sound too amused. “I don’t think I have ever been as stressed as you are right now. My body probably can’t even handle it, you’re gonna give me like… a fucking heart attack or some shit.”
Hollander rolls his eyes, but takes another deep breath, trying once again to steady himself. He rubs at his temples a bit.
“Okay, just… they have you on concussion protocol, right? Just try to follow the rules, let your body—um, well, my body—heal,” he sighs wearily. “Just remember, you’ll probably mostly be with my parents. If anything starts getting too weird, just blame it on the pain medication. I’m always a little weird off that stuff anyway. And listen, you won’t even be allowed to look at screens, eh? But if you do, just don’t text Lily. Don’t call Lily. Don’t talk to Lily. Okay?”
Cliff gives him a curious nod, just as the door to the room opens, and Yuna and David walk in. Shane straightens out as he looks to them, stepping away from his bed, meeting his gaze one more time.
“Well, I hope recovery goes well, Cl—Hollander. I’m sorry again,” he says with a weak smile, nodding towards his parents before exiting the room.
Yuna is back at his bedside in an instant, taking his hand into her own again. She uses the other hand to gently sweep his hair to the side, her worried eyes betraying her otherwise-neutral appearance.
“All good, Shane?” she says softly, still petting him.
Cliff just hums in response, closing his eyes. He’s suddenly exhausted, and he lets Yuna’s gentle touch lull him to sleep.
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He’s not sure how long he’s asleep, but the next time he rouses, it’s to the sound of three voices having a quiet conversation. He wets his lips with his tongue, slowly opening his eyes. It’s less bright in the room now, thankfully. The shades are drawn and the overhead light is off. He sees Yuna, who is standing with David instead of sitting by his bedside like she was when he fell asleep. He turns his head a bit, his eyes meeting the gaze of Hayden Pike.
“Hey buddy,” Hayden says, his voice gentle, which Cliff is grateful for. God, when is his next dose of pain medicine? He grimaces a bit, his eyebrows pinching together.
“‘S up, Pike?” he says casually, mentally facepalming himself. Shane Hollander does not seem like the kind of guy to say sup. Whatever.
Pike raises his eyebrows, chuckling before giving his arm a friendly pat.
“I always forget how weird you get with the medicine,” he says, brushing off Cliff’s weird ass attempt at a greeting. “How’s your head?”
Shane probably wouldn’t capitalize on that perfect set-up, but Cliff would.
“I mean, I’ve never had any complaints,” he says with a shrug, smirking slightly.
“Shane!” Yuna pipes up and slaps David’s arm as he tries to stifle a laugh.
Pike’s eyes go wide for a second, before he laughs again, a little harder this time. Cliff’s cheeks have gone a little pink; he kind of forgot Shane’s parents were present for that well-timed sex joke. Oops.
“I guess there’s a reason you’ve been able to keep Boston Lily around so long, eh, buddy?” Pike says with a returning smirk.
Cliff pauses for a moment, trying to think of where he has heard that name before. Shane did say something about someone named Lily, but Cliff has never seen or heard about the girl beyond that.
Pike must take his pause for avoidance, because before Cliff can say anything, Pike is rolling his eyes.
“My bad, man. Are we still pretending I don’t know you talk to some girl in Boston named Lily? As if you could hide those heart eyes you’re always making when you text her,” he says petulantly.
Seems like Shane Hollander has a mystery girl just like Roz. Cliff chuckles to himself a little. Huh. Shane’s girl lives in Boston, and Ilya’s girl lives in Montreal. What a coincidence.
Boston Lily. Maybe Cliff knows her. If she’s from Boston, and into hockey players, he’s sure to have run into her before.
“Where is Lily?” he says in response, ignoring everything else Pike said.
Pike tilts his head quizzically.
“Dude, I don’t know. This is the first time you’re even admitting to me that there is a Lily,” he answers unhelpfully.
They continue chatting for a bit, Pike telling him about the rest of the game and a story about someone named Arthur. Sounds like one of his kids, maybe. Cliff is having trouble just keeping his eyes open, let alone following the conversation.
Pike eventually sees himself out, wishing him a quick recovery and giving each of Shane’s parents a hug.
In the silence, Cliff closes his eyes, thinking about everything he knows about this Lily girl… which isn’t much. He doesn’t really have much better to do. The more he thinks about it, the more similarities he draws between Shane’s Lily and Roz’s Jane.
Okay, so Shane has a girlfriend (?) named Lily who lives in Boston. A very secret girlfriend, as in Hayden Pike doesn’t even really know about her. Roz has a someone in Montreal named Jane, who is an equally well kept secret.
Cliff wonders if Shane knows Jane. He should’ve asked that when Shane was there. Shane probably knows Jane. How big could Montreal be, realistically?
Shane. Jane. Shane. Jane. Cliff feels like he’s on the precipice of something. Of what, exactly, he has no clue, but it feels like it’s right in front of him. He’ll come back to that later, maybe when it doesn’t hurt his head so much to think about.
He thinks again about every girl he’s ever met in Boston, trying to think of anyone notable named Lily. Shane probably would have had to have met Lily while on the road for hockey, right? What other reason could he possibly have to be in Boston?
Cliff's eyes are still closed, and he laughs to himself again. It’s objectively hilarious that Shane Hollander, a player from Montreal, has a girlfriend in Boston while his biggest rival, Ilya Rozanov, a player from Boston, has a girlfriend in Montreal. Even funnier, their names even sound alike. Shane, Jane. Ilya, Lily. What’s next, Jane’s last name is going to be Smallander?
Wait.
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Cliff doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must’ve drifted off. He is either extremely loopy, or he just put together the pieces of an insane puzzle.
His next visitor leads him to believe it’s the latter.
“Roz?” he says, his voice hoarse as his eyes adjust to his captain in the doorway. He does not look good at all.
He watches Ilya’s eyes dart to Shane’s parents in the corner—Shane’s parents, who look like someone just told them that pigs can fly.
“I, um, I just wanted to…” Roz starts, clearing his throat. “Are you OK?”
“Concussion and a fractured collarbone, but you know…” Cliff shrugs, before immediately regretting it, wincing. “Could have been worse.
“да, (Yes, ) could have been worse,” he says with a resolute nod. “Marleau feels terrible. He did not mean to hurt you.”
Roz looks almost wounded, like there’s one little string keeping him tied to the doorway and preventing him from rushing to the bedside.
Cliff looks to Yuna and David, trying his best to give them big pleading eyes.
“Could you give us a second, please?” he says softly, nodding his head slightly towards Roz in the doorway. He has to tread carefully, he could be reading this situation wrong, but he has an inkling that he is not, based on the fact that while his mind hasn’t fully caught up, his body is having a reaction to the man’s presence.
It takes a moment of convincing from David, but they leave the room arm-in-arm, closing the door softly behind them. Cliff beckons Roz over to his bedside, effectively cutting the thread holding him back. Roz grabs one of his hands, using the other to caress his cheek with the back of his hand.
“You scared me, Shane,” he whispers softly, his bottom lip wobbling. Up close, Roz looks even worse; Cliff doesn’t think he slept a wink, and his eyes are red-rimmed and swollen as if he had been crying.
“I’m okay, Ilya,” he says with a nod, trying his best to give him a weak smile, matching the other’s usage of his first name.
Before he fell asleep and woke up as Shane Hollander, he remembers thinking to himself that he would do whatever it takes to fix things for Roz. I mean, yeah, this is a little different than what he had been thinking, but it is fundamentally the same. He can provide some comfort to Roz. And plus, it’s probably not gay to comfort your bro if you’re in his boyfriend’s body. It’s just like… gold star allyship, probably.
If Cliff could move his arm, he would pat himself on the back. Yeah, he’ll comfort Roz, and that will be enough to switch him back. He will have fulfilled his mission of setting things right.
“—know it’s a bad time to say this, probably,” Cliff zones back in on what Roz is saying, and the next line out of his mouth stops him cold. “We can’t keep doing this, Hollander. Is too dangerous. We have to stop meeting up.”
Cliff may be dumb, but he’s not an idiot, and he’s surely not going to let Roz just walk away from him—er, Shane—now. He’s seen the way Roz looks at his phone while texting Montreal Jane, his cheeks pink despite the fact that Russians do not blush, Marly. He’s heard from Pike that Shane clearly feels the same way, probably has the same Boston Lily smile. Forget the comfort thing he said before. He knows how he is going to fix this.
Roz tries to pull away, to leave the room, and Cliff tightens his grip on his hand.
“Nah,” Cliff shakes his head resolutely.
“...nah?” Roz raises one eyebrow, biting his bottom lip a bit.
“Nah. We are not breaking up. I’m declining. I’m declining your request to break up with me,” Cliff is babbling a bit, but after his one conversation with Shane, that’s probably not too far off from what Roz is used to. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m good.”
“Ah, um… Not an offer, да? (yes? ) I’m saying, it’s over… It has to be, Hollander,” his face is pale and stoic, like he’s exerting a lot of extra effort to make himself seem unaffected.
“And I’m saying no, Rozanov,” he clips back, furrowing his eyebrows. “When I’m out of the hospital, I will come see you, and we can talk about this. But no, you’re not ending this… us.”
They sit in silence for a second. Roz doesn’t seem to know what to say. He opens his mouth, probably to argue his point further, but the door opens and Yuna and David return. He steps back immediately, dropping his hand in the process. Cliff lets him.
“Well, Hollander… Feel better, да?" (yes?" ) Roz nods his head in farewell to Yuna and David before exiting the room.
Cliff may have let him leave, but he’s not letting him go. Not without a fight.