Work Text:
December 21
Boston @ Montreal
The Metros’ locker room was normally this loud at this point on a game day. Hayden says hello to fellow players he knows want to be greeted, nods hello to others, and completely ignores the ones who are already solidly in their pre-game rituals and can’t be disturbed. He finds his captain right where he expects to, sitting on the bench in front of his stall, staring at something on his phone.
“Quit sexting before the game,” Hayden says, loud enough to make Shane give a start and slam his phone face-down on the bench beside him. Probably Lily, then. He always gets cagey and spooked easily when texting Lily. “And listen up, ‘cause I’ve got the best news.”
“Jackie’s pregnant again?”
Hayden freezes. He and Jackie had agreed to keep that a secret until after the holidays and the end of her first trimester, just like the times before. Hockey wasn’t the only thing Hayden was allowed to be superstitious about. She wouldn’t have told his best friend without telling him she was going to tell his best friend, right? Then he realizes that was Shane guessing. Maybe it was even Shane’s idea of joking. So Hayden laughs it off as convincingly as he can as he settles down on the other end of the bench, in front of his own stall. He doesn’t reach for his equipment though. The news is too good not to share immediately. “Pollux’s neighbor’s girlfriend’s sister got a job at the downtown Hilton.”
Shane stares at him blankly. Blinks. Finally says, “Oh, um, congratulations to Pollux’s sister’s…”
“Pollux’s neighbor’s girlfriend’s sister,” Hayden rattles off easily.
Shane is quiet and still for a moment, trying to figure out the significance of this statement. Then he reaches for his phone to continue what he was doing before Hayden arrived.
Hayden groans. Shane doesn’t understand how good this news is. Yet. Because he’s buried the lead. “It’s the hotel the Raiders are staying at.”
Shane gives his head a half shake in confusion. “I don’t think so. They always stay at–”
Hayden’s way ahead of him here. “It’s full. There’s some convention of physicists or psychologists or something like that in town. So the Raiders are at the Hilton.”
“And… you think a change of hotel is going to throw Boston off its game against us tonight?”
Well, stranger things had happened. “Of course not.” Hockey players stayed at so many hotels throughout a season, they could hardly remember what city they were in, let alone be particular about the hotel property or brand. This amazing revelation of his isn’t playing out the way he’d imagined in his head. Shane isn’t asking the right questions, and it is going to take all night to explain at this rate. “Okay, so Pollux’s neighbor’s girlfriend’s sister is a hotel clerk and was at the front desk when the Raiders arrived to check-in last night. Apparently, a few of the players were coughing.”
This does not hit the way Hayden imagined, either. No light of understanding behind Shane’s eyes. No smile of sudden understanding. No immediate leap to his feet, fist pumping the air in victory. His captain has a hockey IQ that’s through the roof, yet he can’t already see how this is the best news ever? Hayden realizes he’s going to have to spell it all out.
“You know how it is when there’s a bug going around a hockey team, especially this time of year.” Enduring cold weather in almost every city, braving airports packed with families traveling for the holidays, sharing water bottles and towels on the bench, getting packed together on planes and buses.
Finally, Shane seems to understand. “You think some Boston players are sick?” He reaches for his socks with an expression of skepticism on his face.
Hayden nods enthusiastically. Apparently, Shane needs some more convincing. “It’s cold and flu season! I know some Boston players are sick. The front desk clerk apparently said one of them had already lost his voice and could only whisper to her.” No reaction. “She said one looked so tired he had to lean against one of the coaches on the way to the elevators.” Still no reaction. “She also said that Rozanov sneezed.”
Shane’s head snaps up. “What?”
“Yep. And not just one. A whole fit of sneezes. Like… like remember that time Ruby came home from preschool with a runny nose?” He shudders at the memory. Within a week, the whole family had caught cold. And Hayden had shown up to the rink sneezing nonstop and insisting he could play thanks to the biggest bottle of non-drowsy Benylin he could find at the Circle K between his house and the rink. But Shane, their head coach, and the team doctor had practically pushed him out the door and made him go home anyway.
Shane’s quiet for a minute, and Hayden knows he’s running through all the different possibilities in his mind: what plays they can try, what line changes they could make, what weaknesses they could exploit. Instead, he says, “I don’t know… rumors can get out of hand. Their lineup looks normal. Wouldn’t we have heard by now if some of the Raiders were sick?”
Hayden wonders where his best friend and captain is and what exactly this alien body snatcher has done with him. “You know teams don’t like that kind of news to get out before a game. And there’s no way Rozanov would ever admit to the press he was less than 110%. I think the fact that we haven’t heard that they’re sick is exactly the evidence that they are sick!” There’s no doubt in Hayden’s mind: they are so going to win this game tonight.
*
Predictably, the two captains are matched up to take the opening faceoff at center ice at the start of the game. Hayden keeps a close eye on Ilya Rozanov the whole time. He sees a couple players on the Raiders bench coughing and rubbing at remarkably red noses. And if he had to bet, he’d say that Rozanov looks a little pale. But it’s hard to tell once the game gets started. It seems like the Russian is playing a slower game than usual, but the score is still 0-0 at the end of the first. So maybe all this really was just bullshit and exaggeration? Maybe it was a plot by the Raiders the whole time to get the Metros to relax and drop their guard? Shane doesn’t say anything about it one way or the other in the locker room during intermission, and Hayden realizes he shouldn’t have put so much faith in the words of Pollux’s neighbor’s sister’s girlfriend. Or, wait. Pollux’s sister’s neighbor’s girlfriend? Pollux’s girlfriend’s sister’s neighbor? Shit. The whole thing had been suspect to begin with.
Hayden goes into the second period with a resolve to play like he never heard that story. It’s just another game against Boston that he’s committed to winning.
At a whistle and icing call against Boston, Hayden glides over to the circle to take the next faceoff. He sees Rozanov pat one of his player’s backs and swoop in to face off against him, and it suddenly feels personal. Hayden is used to the asshole’s chirps, so he isn’t surprised when Ilya gives him a cocky smile and says, “Pike, I got you Christmas present. I will give it to you after game. Is a loss on home ice.”
No matter how prepared he is for one of Rozanov’s chirps, they still land. Hayden grinds his teeth and fires back with the first thing on his mind, “Don’t look now, Rozanov, but your nose is running.”
It’s not true, of course, but maybe it’s just random enough to throw Rozanov off, because he hesitates a split second too long. Hayden wins and sends the puck back, hearing Shane’s blade immediately find it. The play fizzles out in the neutral zone, but Hayden can feel their momentum building all the same. And the next time the first line is on the ice, they make a play that works. Granted, they maybe get a little lucky and catch Boston at the end of a shift change, but Hayden would like to believe it has just as much to do with the Metros’ skill, if not more. Because when he sends a smooth pass across the ice and Shane takes the shot, Hayden gets an assist and then is wrapped up in a celebratory hug.
“Fuck yeah!” J.J. screams into his ear though it’s barely loud enough to be heard over the goal horn and the delighted cheers of the hometown crowd in attendance. Warmth and pride wash over Hayden. Nothing feels as good as scoring the first goal of a tight game.
But, as he skates behind Shane past players on his bench to bump gloves with them, he spots Rozanov skating to the Raiders’ bench looking incredibly pissed off. And, honestly, that feels pretty damn good, too. It feels even better when he sees Rozanov hastily make a grab for a small towel and bury his whole face in it. Rozanov is obviously sweating and rattled and… Hayden spins around to keep an eye on the Russian hockey player, whose body is shaking in a way it really has no business shaking. The man goes still for a moment, drops the towel over the boards at the feet of his teammates on the bench, and then glides back to center ice looking composed and ready to answer with a goal of his own.
Except he doesn’t. Ilya Rozanov doesn’t score a single goal in the entirety of the second period either, though the Metros score three more times. The locker room during intermission is filled with cautious optimism.
The third period starts with a score of 4-0 and all eyes are on Rozanov, especially Hayden’s. Whenever the Russian’s on the bench, he sits hunched over and only occasionally lifts his head to see what’s happening to his team on the ice. His annoying shouts are far less frequent than normal, and both his alternates try to advise the players on the ice at least twice as much.
It’s not a shock when, at 5-0, the Raiders replace their goalie. It is, however, a little unsettling when the goalie stumbles and almost collapses halfway across the ice and then goes straight down the tunnel to the locker room instead of warming the bench as his backup’s backup. Hayden’s coach reminds them to keep their head in the game and that they’ll now be facing a goalie who is fresh and rested. But Hayden really isn’t worried. A five minute warm-up after a lead this big isn’t much of a threat. Besides, Rozanov is still out there on the ice. And a pissed off Rozanov is a dangerous Rozanov.
Except Rozanov doesn’t score. Not one goal. Hayden can’t remember the last time that happened. And Hayden can’t wait to go home and listen to commentators during post-game coverage tear the egotistical superstar apart. He wonders if they’ll speculate he’s sick.
Because Hayden is sure now. Odd movements. Slower reactions. And not a single goal. As Hayden goes in to check Rozanov against the boards, he hears the man wheeze and, yes, sniffle. He’s sick. He’s damn good at hiding it, but he’s definitely sick. “Time for you and your germs to head back to Boston,” Hayden says before he skates off with the puck. Rozanov doesn’t get another shot on goal for the rest of the game. It is a glorious thing to behold.
The Metros get a shutout and their most decisive victory over the Raiders in a long time at 7-0. Their locker room is beside itself with the joy of demolishing their division rivals. Even Shane is grinning as he goes off to the after-game presser. It’s rare for their captain to be anything but calm and professional after a game unless he’s just won the cup.
December 23
Washington @ Montreal
“h’Ahhhshhhoo!” Hayden hears the sneeze the moment he steps into the Metro’s locker room and has a pretty good idea whose it is. The sound is all too familiar. And when he rounds the corner and sees Shane sitting on the bench by his stall, snuffling into a fistful of tissues, his fears are confirmed. His heart still sinks from what this means.
“Shit.”
Shane looks up with a sniff. “Most people say ‘bless you.’ And that’s one.”
Curse words shouldn’t count against him when he’s at work. Especially in a circumstance like this. Hayden sinks onto the locker room bench with a heavy sigh. “We had a five-game winning streak. Was hoping we’d keep that momentum going right up until the Christmas break.”
“Who says we c-ah can’t?” Just in time, Shane pulls another tissue from the box on the floor sitting between his shiny, black dress shoes. “Huhchoomm! hah-Ahhchuumm!”
Wincing, Hayden mutters a defeated-sounding, “Bless you” and scoots a few inches away on the bench. As he’s removing his tie and suit jacket, a thought pops into his mind.
The thought swirls around and around in his head as he listens to Shane repeatedly blow his nose. And it has taken hold by the time he hears Shane exhale a wheezey “Thank you.”
Hayden stands up and unbuckles his belt, looking down at his sick and miserable captain. “Did Rozanov do this to you?”
Shane’s head snaps up. Again. “What?”
“Rozanov. He had a head cold last game. Did he give it to you on purpose? Fuck, did he sneeze on you?” That absolutely seemed like something Ilya Rozanov would do.
Shane is quiet apart from snuffling into tissues. He doesn’t even call Hayden out for swearing.
“He did!” Hayden is enraged. He’d like to punch the wall, but he isn’t stupid enough to injure his hand right before a game. Besides, he’d much rather punch Rozanov. “I’ll kill him.”
“Hayden, no, sniff! If players on the Raiders were sick when we played them—”
“They were.”
“—some of us were bound to get sick, too. Sniff! It wasn’t personal.”
Somehow, it feels personal, though. “If that’s the case, how come you’re the only one sneezing? Huh? Answer me that. Either Rozanov gave you his cold or… or more people on our team would be sick now, too.”
“Ehshoo! Ugh! Who’s got the tissues?”
Hayden’s eyes go wide.
Shane grabs the tissue box. “I’ve got some here, Mitty. Catch!” He sends them across the room toward the goalie who reflexively bats the box away before bending down to recover it, pull out a tissue, and blow his nose.
“Over here dext!” says another player whose voice is so tired, deep, and stuffed-up with congestion Hayden doesn’t even recognize it as he sinks onto the bench, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. They are so going to lose this game tonight.