Work Text:
Nicole is working international passport control today. It’s her favorite post. There’s always something new to learn about all the people traveling to Canada for work, education, family or pleasure—those can overlap, but they don’t have to. Nicole has learnt to spot the difference. She’s also not bothered by some people’s broken English or French; she enjoys the challenge. Besides, Nicole is a bit of a language nut, and she’s learning Spanish, Korean and Swedish on the evil owl app. Just the basics, of course, but enough to light up people’s faces when they’re greeted in their native language.
Currently she’s getting a lot of people from the 68 from Seoul and the 200 from Bogota. There are also a few European flights, but those are from Spain and France, so it’s mostly returning Canadian tourists.
She finishes with a Korean student coming back from visiting his family over the summer break and looks up to her next customer.
She manages to get out a professional “next” even though the man approaching her booth is wildly attractive. Like could be a movie star attractive. He’s tall, and even through the black hoodie he’s wearing against the airport’s overly chilled air, she can tell he’s broad-shouldered and built. He’s got a wild mop of honey-colored curls, messy from a long flight but still let-me-run-my-hands-through-them gorgeous and incredibly handsome features. There’s a mole on his cheek she’d boop if she had less impulse control.
“Hello, sir. Welcome to Canada,” she greets him, and if she’s a little bit friendlier than usual, well. Nicole is only human, and she might be married, but she’s not blind.
He looks up from where he’s been fiddling around with his phone.
“Oh, hi.” There’s a slight accent to his voice that sounds Eastern European.
His hand goes to his pocket, and Nicole is always a little annoyed at people who don’t have their passport ready—because people know they have to show their passport, so why not be prepared instead of holding up the line?—though she’s not feeling as irritated as usual. It might be the size of his hands or the way the cupid’s bow of his lip purses. But then she watches his eyes go wide, and he mutters a curse under his breath. He keeps patting down his pockets, and now Nicole really does get annoyed because how does anyone lose their passport between going through security at their starting destination and getting to their final destination?
“So, this is very embarrassing,” he says with a contrite smile that’s still charming. She bets that smile got him out of a lot of trouble in his life. “And I am very sorry, but I think my husband has my passport.”
Nicole looks behind him, but there’s no possible husband, just two young women standing next in line.
The guy makes a face. “Ah no, he is Canadian citizen, so he probably already is through customs.”
Well, things were really going too smoothly. Nicole tries hard not to roll her eyes because the man in front of her looks honestly chagrined.
“Okay,” Nicole says, going into problem-solving mode. “If you can call him to come to the passport control exit, we can arrange for someone to bring your passport. I can’t let you through without it.”
He nods quickly. “Of course. I will call him.”
He puts his phone to his ear, and even from where Nicole is sitting, she can hear the automated voice announce that the person he is trying to call is not available.
“Blyat,” the guy says. He adds a “fuck” for good measure. “Okay, maybe you can call for him on the announcement thingy?” The guy says, waving up toward the ceiling. “His name is Shane.” He cringes a bit. “Hollander.”
Nicole blinks at him.
Nicole isn’t really into hockey, but she is still Canadian, and Shane Hollander is something like Canadian hockey Jesus. He brought the Cup back to Canada, to Montreal specifically, after a sixteen-year drought, three or maybe four different times now, and his admittedly very pretty face is on every billboard. It was a whole thing when he left Montreal a year ago, after he famously got outed and then got married to his husband, rival Russian hockey player Roza-something.
Who must be the guy standing in front of her now.
Nicole can’t stop staring. Her friend Shannon got Idris Elba twice already, which was just unfair. Nicole’s never had someone actually famous come through her booth. Certainly not someone whose husband all of her cousins venerate like a saint, so maybe the famous people scales are balanced now. Plus, this guy is certainly as attractive as Elba.
“I know, I know,” Russian hockey player Roza-something says quickly, misinterpreting her silence. “Sounds insane, but look.”
He does something on his phone, then holds it up to her. The Google search bar reads Shane Hollander husband and there are pictures of Shane Hollander with the guy currently standing in front of Nicole. Google informs her that his name is Ilya Rozanov.
“Okay, Mr. Rozanov,” Nicole starts, aiming for professional, as if it’s completely normal to deal with a passport mix-up for the most famous couple in hockey, and doesn’t get further, because behind her there’s a really loud, “Tabarnak, Ilya Rozanov!”
Contrary to Nicole’s lukewarm interest in hockey, her colleague Dave is an absolute hockey nut. He has a Montreal Metros mug at his station and religiously wears his vintage 2014 Canada Hockey scarf as soon as the temperatures allow, and sometimes even when they don’t.
Rozanov looks up. “Yes,” he says, pleased. “That’s me.”
And then Dave is there, ignoring all regulations as he squeezes into Nicole’s booth and says, “This is so unprofessional, but could I get a selfie?”
“Of course,” Rozanov says magnanimously, and Dave leaves the booth and actually walks up to Rozanov for a bro-hug selfie.
Nicole doesn’t have the heart to scold him, because Dave has been gloomy after his girlfriend broke up with him and this is the first time she’s seen him really smile all week.
Dave’s very exuberant excitement and his anti-regulation behavior attract everyone else’s attention, and then two guys from security come over, and of course they also want a picture.
“Holy shit, bys, I never t’ought I’d see Ilya fucking Rozanov himself,” Alfred exclaims, the words almost unrecognizable in his strong Newfoundland accent.
“Fuckin’ rights,” Kit agrees in a way that probably means everything from Yes, I agree with you over I still can’t believe it to this is the best day of my life. “Mr. Rozanov, could we also get a picture? My in-laws are from Ottawa, and they honest to God cried when you brought home the Cup.”
“Anything for the in-laws,” Rozanov says happily, and poses with Alfred and Kit for more pictures.
Nicole worries about the other people in the queue being annoyed at Rozanov holding up the line, but in a blatant violation of the no pictures rule at customs, everyone has their phones out and is taking pictures. She wonders if everyone knows Rozanov or if they’re just taking pictures because he’s obviously famous. Or handsome, judging by how the two young women next in line are giggling.
“Okay, Dave, how about you sort Mr. Rozanov’s passport situation, and I keep going here?” Nicole says after they’ve taken several pictures, and Rozanov has recorded a message for Dave’s beer league and Kit’s in-laws.
“Oh, yeah yeah,” Dave says and waves Rozanov off to the side. He’s beaming like Christmas just came early, and Alfred and Kit happily follow along, apparently completely forgetting that they’re actually here to do a job.
They’re not entirely out of earshot, so while Nicole processes the two young women from Spain who are doing an exchange semester at McGill, she hears bits and pieces of the conversation between Rozanov and Dave.
At first it’s about the passport situation and tracking down Shane Hollander.
“Shane Hollander, oh my god,” Dave says faintly, apparently just realizing that Rozanov being here means Hollander is also here, and Kit adds, “you know, I think my father-in-law cried the first time when you brought Hollander back to Ottawa actually.”
“Well, technically, he brought me to Ottawa,” Rozanov says, and the entire group oohs and aahs, and Dave says, “well, yeah, that makes sense actually, not many other reasons to go to Ottawa.”
Whatever Rozanov replies makes the group laugh, and then the conversation changes to hockey.
“Man, his OT goal in game three against Colorado was sick! And you know, we were all kinda mad when he left the Metros at first, but like, we get it now, and we still love him; the front office really screwed him over.”
“Yes, Shane is second best hockey player, and yes, Metros management has shit for brains.”
After that the conversation turns to their vacation.
“This was on a hike. I want to be lazy on vacation, but no, Shane says hiking is Canadian, so if I want to become Canadian I need to hike on vacation.”
“That’s true,” Dave says earnestly.
“Is ridiculous. But the view was nice.”
Nicole looks over once, and apparently Rozanov is showing pictures. The group has grown with two more security people and someone from maintenance having joined them.
“The food was so good, though I don’t think hotel calculates what two hockey players can eat from buffet.” Rozanov sounds very pleased with himself.
“Yeah, but it’s the off-season.”
“Shane still needs to work out, remember? Also was second honeymoon…”
The group’s laughter rings loudly through the arrivals hall.
Nicole quickly deals with a businesswoman who travels regularly from Seoul and has the process down to an incredibly efficient science.
Ilya Rozanov is now complaining, very lovingly, about his husband’s caution.
“So much sunscreen, Shane is obsessed!”
“Yeah, it’s because of the moles, right?”
Nicole looks up just in time to see Rozanov’s betrayed expression. “Not you too!”
“Skin cancer prevention is important!” Dave says.
“You Canadians and your prevention. The team doctor checks me out all the time.”
“Yeah, but is he a dermatologist?” Susan from security chimes in and Rozanov mutters something incomprehensible.
Nicole welcomes two Norwegian exchange students to the country, then gets caught up with a family of five from the Bogota flight. The children are absolutely adorable even though they do slow down the process a bit.
When she looks over the next time, there are even more people around Rozanov who are all cooing at something on his phone.
“She’s adorable,” Paul from maintenance says while Dave says, “fuck, I want one too.”
“Anya is the cutest,” Rozanov says, sounding like a proud parent. Huh. Nicole thought she would’ve heard if Hollander had a kid, but maybe she missed it.
“What do you do with her when you’re on the road though?” Susan asks.
“Most trips she goes to hotel,” Rozanov says, and Nicole clicks the wrong button, because what? “You know, nice dog hotel. But sometimes, Shane’s parents take her.”
A dog. Well, that makes more sense. Nicole manages to input the information correctly now and hands the passports back to the Bogota flight family.
“They would take her all the time, but they still work, and Yuna is always busy,” Rozanov continues.
“Oh my god, I can’t imagine having Yuna Hollander as my mother-in-law. Isn’t that super intimidating?” Dave sounds intimidated just saying Yuna Hollander’s name.
“Was at first,” Rozanov says, “but she is the best.”
“I wish my son-in-law said that about me,” the elderly lady who just walked up to Nicole’s station says, clearly having listened to the conversation.
Nicole laughs and takes her passport.
Suddenly, there’s a commotion and a group of three airport employees, two security guys, and a woman from admin come frantically running down the lane behind the stations.
“Rozanov. Where’s Rozanov?”
Everyone points to Rozanov and his own security guard posse, and once again everyone waiting in line gets their phones out for pictures. The Montreal news stations are going to have a field day with this.
Nicole focuses on processing the elderly lady from Seoul, here to visit her daughter and her son-in-law, who apparently does not speak as fondly of her as hockey superstar Ilya Rozanov speaks of his mother-in-law.
And her husband thinks her work is so boring. He’s going to sing a different tune after today. Maybe Nicole should ask Rozanov for a selfie before he leaves.
She gets the chance when Ilya Rozanov gets back into her line.
“Still need to go through, right?” His smile is very disarming.
“Absolutely,” Nicole says and takes his passport. “And next time…”
Rozanov laughs. “I keep telling Shane, during the season, I cross the border so many times, but he is Mr. Organization on vacation, insists on taking care of everything, says it’s easier. Now we see who’s right, yes?” Rozanov winks at her.
Nicole feels a little faint. It’s the only reason why she’d possibly forget her professional training and says, “Absolutely. Would you mind taking a picture? My husband, he’s a big hockey fan.”
“Of course!” Then Rozanov’s eyes narrow. “Montreal?”
“Vancouver,” Nicole says. “It’s where he’s from. But I know he thinks your husband is the best player in the league.”
Rozanov shakes his head. “Is very wrong, Shane is the second best player. Let’s do a video; we need to correct his mistake.”
And that’s how Nicole ends up with a twenty second video where she’s squished into the frame with Ilya Rozanov, whose curls are incredibly soft and who smells much better than anyone has the right to after a transatlantic flight, where Rozanov tells her husband that Shane Hollander, Canadian hockey Jesus himself, is in fact only the second best player in the league because he, Ilya Rozanov, is of course the best.
“But you were smart enough to marry a wonderful wife—we have that in common, being smart about who we marry—so you are not entirely hopeless,” is how Rozanov ends the video, and Nicole thinks she’s never met such a charming asshole in her entire life.
She might have to become a hockey fan after all.