Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"I won't be able to join you in Vancouver until after your first game," Svetlana told Ilya over the phone. "Warner Brothers is trying to freeze us out of the sets we want for our next project."

"Okay." Ilya's voice sounded faint, as it often did when he was on a flying airplane. "Do you want me to stay with Marly, then?"

"Whatever is more convenient for you is fine," said Svetlana, a little surprised that she didn't hear even a little huff of a complaint. "Be at my suite on Wednesday evening, though, win or lose. I have something I want to talk to you about in person."

"We won't lose," said Ilya. "And I'll be there. I have something I need to tell you too."

"Something?" prompted Svetlana.

"Um. . . it's about." Ilya stopped talking. "I can't tell you about it right now, but it's not bad. I don't think."

"You can't find a seat in the back of the plane?"

"I'm on passenger flight," said Ilya.

"You're not on the Bears' plane?"

"No, it's. . . I'll tell you about it Wednesday," said Ilya. "Good luck on your Warner meeting, all right?"

Svetlana recognized a dismissal when she heard it. She bit back a question about Wynn's status. "Play well, Ilyusha."

"I will," Ilya said. A second later, the click announcing that he'd hung up hit Svetlana.

So he had been to Montreal, then.

Svetlana saw discussion - which at the time she had dismissed - on one of the Strife channels populated by bonafide MLH superfans. Someone had shared a blurry picture of a blond man with broad shoulders in line at Montreal-Trudeau International Airport, and another one of him buying a cheap plastic flower and bottle of vodka. Both had been lambasted for their low quality despite the fact that modern phones had superb cameras. Svetlana had scoffed at the notion that Ilya would ever purchase airport vodka.

She also hadn't given them much thought because the idea of Ilya leaving his team in the middle of the playoffs to visit his favorite sidepiece was absurd. Was supposed to be absurd. Against her will, she thought that her father would be rolling in his grave.

Don't waste time on that, she thought, then told herself to put the matter aside. She had to focus on her upcoming meeting.

It went well. Svetlana managed to outbid the old bastard determined to cross her, an aging fool who'd gotten an Oscar nod once in his career and had been chasing the high ever since. And failing to catch it. Svetlana had interned for him during her last year in college and ever since, he'd held grudge because she'd dodged his every attempt to "mentor" her by getting her alone in one of his many offices. He'd smirked when she'd agreed to pay way more than the sets were worth, but Svetlana had money to burn. Even if the film failed, she would treasure the knowledge that she hadn't let the old asshole get in her way.

A cool LA breeze caressed her face when she stepped out of the building where the meeting had been held. She didn't mind the noise, or even a faint whiff of rotting garbage (or worse) in the air. She decided they were charming - stubborn blemishes invading the supposedly nice part of town. She wouldn't let such details keep her from enjoying a victory, small as it was.

She decided to walk towards the suite she was currently sharing with none other than Rose Landry. Though their respective schedules had forced them to push back their plans for their prestige horror film, they had achieved something that could be called friendship. More importantly, they were ready to move forward with the film itself. The sets that Svetlana had just secured were for their project, in fact.

"We have the location," Svetlana said, when she entered their suite.

"Great," said Rose, glancing up from her phone screen for maybe a second. Her narrow shoulders were tense. She was wearing a faded Voyageurs sweater, one that had been a Christmas gift from her mother. It always makes me feel better, she told Svetlana when they started sharing details of their lives.

When Rose started sharing details. Svetlana kept hers close to her chest.

She sighed and started taking off her boots, then walked over to the windows, intending to move the curtains aside to let in some sunlight so they could enjoy the view.

"Paps got wind of my location," said Rose. "So unless you'd like rumors of a possible lesbian affair following you around. . ."

"I can't say I've factored any into my plans," said Svetlana.

"We could fly Ilya down here." Rose smirked at her phone. "Make it a little more scandalous."

"He's about to start another playoff series," said Svetlana, uselessly. The one in Toronto hadn't stopped him from running to Jane.

"I saw," mumbled Rose. "The hit Wynn took was awful."

"Do you actually care about the paps?" asked Svetlana. She didn't want to think about the now much poorer prospects for the Bears. Ilya and Wynn were their heavy hitters.

Rose made a dismissive gesture with her free hand, so Svetlana shrugged drew the curtains. Light streamed through the window, immediately livening the suite. Svetlana took a moment to take in lovely view of the coast and then went to get a cup of red wine. She ordered room service for the both of them and then settled on the couch with her laptop. With any luck, she'd have preliminary schedules ready before flying to Vancouver.

"Did you really like my last movie?" Rose asked, less than fifteen minutes later.

After a beat, Svetlana looked at her. Rose seemed to be focused on her phone screen, but the way her thumb moved showed that she was scrolling mindlessly, trying to distract herself. There were few things that could be on her mind. Two specific things, actually, neither of which Svetlana considered worth any grief. She sighed. "Is it one of your exes, or critics?"

"It's actually both," said Rose, making a face at her. "Remember I told you I hooked up with Arnold Buth about a year ago?"

"Yes, and I remember being embarrassed on your behalf," said Svetlana. Buth was an older film critic who worked for The New York Times; handsome enough, in a silver fox kind of way, but also dripping with condescension towards the masses. And the masses liked Rose Landry.

"He says - quote - Landry is as gorgeous as ever, but she struggles to project the gravitas of a high power criminal defense attorney locked in battle with the comically corrupt -"

"- I get the idea," said Svetlana. "The important thing is that the film was a hit at the box office, which at this point in your career matters way more than what a pretentious film critic thinks. We've been over this."

Rose shrank in on herself, glaring at her phone screen.

Good God, but Svetlana was surrounded by children. She bit back a lecture - a longer lecture - and reminded herself that Rose had been acting for as long as she'd been conscious. It was hard work and required discipline and determination, both from her and her parents, but it didn't create an environment that fostered adequate education. Rose was literate enough to read scripts and pick up relentless advertisements, but she wasn't equipped to understand marketing. She was lucky her family loved her.

Anyway, there was no point in reminding her that since she was a beautiful woman achieving success in a very sexist society, there was way more money to be made tearing her down than complimenting her. Or that her best bet was to continue taking the occasional bombshell role to keep her legions of salivating male fans happy while making safe gestures about women's liberation. Eventually, she would age out of that niche and, assuming she made the right moves and seized the right opportunities, she could transition to dignified Oscar-bait roles.

"Maybe we should try to cast an unknown actress for our project," said Rose. "I would hate to bias people against my friend's script; she's really passionate about it."

A hit movie could potentially launch a career even if it was panned by critics, which they'd gone over before.

"Rose," Svetlana started, trying to project calm authority. "There's no point in wasting time or energy looking for recognition from people who fundamentally do not think you're worth it."

"Easy for you to say. . ."

"Really? Easy for me to say?" Svetlana raised an eyebrow. "Daughter of a pro hockey player and a model. An heiress in her mid twenties. Do ou think people are tripping over themselves to take me seriously? You don't seem to be."

"That's not true. . ."

"I'm willing to invest actual capital on your skills as an actress, but that's nothing compared to a critic saying you suck," insisted Svetlana.

Rose put her phone on her lap and sighed loudly. Her cheeks went as red as her hair and she covered her face with her hands. "You're right; oh my God." She rubbed at her eyes. "I'm being so self-centered and whiny. I know I shouldn't let them get to me."

"You shouldn't," said Svetlana, determined to reinforced the lesson.

"Tell me more about the sets," said Rose, squaring her shoulders. "How much time will we get for filming? Enough for any flexibility, or will we have to make do regardless of weather?"
Svetlana jumped at the opportunity to direct her attention to something useful - their actual project. They spent a good hour going over the details and solidified most of the schedule. Since Rose would be the star, they needed to confirm her availability before booking the supporting cast. It would be far from easy.

A good portion of Rose's year was eaten up by filming and promoting of those odious X-films. They paid well enough, but also contributed significantly to her reputation as a frivolous, fleeting It Girl. If she had any gumption, she would be ruthless when renegotiating her contract with Warner Brothers in two years time. Svetlana had already advised her to refuse any deal that required her to spend more than two weeks a year on promotion tours no matter what number they threw at her.

"I just won't take a vacation this year," said Rose, glaring at her schedule. "I have two weeks free here." She pointed a blank spot on her calendar. "With any luck, I won't have too many scenes in the next X installment, so we might have some wiggle room for reshoots here." She pointed at a block reserved for 'X6'.

"When do you get a definitive schedule from Warner Brothers?" asked Svetlana.

"A couple of weeks before filming, if I'm lucky." Rose rolled her eyes. "The script is the last part of the project they bang out."

Excellent, Svetlana thought, mentally grunting in annoyance. They would have no choice but to work with what they had.

They spent the rest of the evening watching the next Voyageur-Sharks game. Rose was a proud Montreal superfan, so she was having an exciting hockey season, to say the least. The Voyageurs were playing well, delivering cute promotional material on social media, and winning through a horrendous kidnapping of their superstar forwards. Hollywood was already talking about "adapting" Hollander and Merrell's weekend with the deranged SportsBet gamblers for the big screen.

Svetlana's assistant had already linked her to a porn parody of their time handcuffed to a pole at an abandoned strip club.

"He's hotter now that I realize he can speak in full sentences," said Rose, gesturing at the screen, where Jake Merrell was giving a post-game interview.

The lines of his neck glistened with sweat and his face was flushed pink, making his marble-blue eyes stand out. The Voyageurs had won, three-to-two, taking the series to the same score. If they won their following game, they would advance in the playoffs.

"I feel pretty good about winning," Merrell said. "The Sharks played a great game, but this our home turf."

"You're fully recovered from your ordeal with the kidnappers?"

"What's there to recover from?" said Merrell. "I wasn't hurt."

Svetlana rolled her eyes a little. The few times Svetlana had met him, Jake Merrell had struck her as a steady, intelligent guy. Still a man, though, it seemed.

"Did you see your rookies in Miami?"

"We reviewed the tape and I'm proud of how well they did," said Merrell. "I can't wait to see how great they'll be after more development."

"I mean at the restaurant," said a reporter. "When they were out joking and playing while you and Hollander were missing."

Merrell's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, they sure didn't look worried. Some people might wonder why you don't seem mad at them."

Ah. The conspiracy that the entire kidnapping had been staged to drum up publicity for both the MLH and SportsBet was getting traction, then.

"Am I mad that my rookies were trying to distract themselves while I was being held at gunpoint by SportsBet gamblers?" said Merrell, humming theatrically. "No, I'm not mad at that. I was glad they were doing what they could to cope. What did surprise me a little was learning that this league won't even stop advertising for SportsBet, but what do I know? I just play hockey."

The feed cut to the ESPN commentators at the studio, who promptly began discussing game highlights without acknowledging what Merrell had said.

Rose rolled her eyes and went for her phone. "I really can't believe the league isn't cutting ties with SportsBet," she said. "Isn't this bad PR for them? I guess all publicity is good publicity."

"Not always," said Svetlana. "I imagine the contract SportsBet has with the MLH - and all the other major leagues - is airtight."

Rose projected her phone's feed to the suite's smart screen TV. "They could at least make some noise about how SportsBet should moderate their pools better, like the NBA and the MLB. Crowell's outright defending them. The other leagues aren't doing that."

"ECH's father is in business with Crowell," said Svetlana.

"Who?"

"Emmett Christian Hall, the CEO of SportsBet," said Svetlana. "His father and Crowell have some business ties, so it wouldn't surprise me if the SportsBet has a more favorable contract with the MLH than with any other league. Or if Crowell is sticking by friends." There was a degree of honor among sharks. Sometimes.

"Figures," said Rose, frowning. "Let's see what the boys are doing in social media. It's always more entertaining than ESPN droning."

The first video that showed up was of Wynn in his hospital bed, arm secured in a sling. He glared at a plate of hospital food while a tall, older woman with severe features stood beside him. One of the younger ESPN reporters was trying to interview him, but Wynn was giving short, clipped answers. At his other side, there was a bespectacled doctor giving vague responses about his condition. It wasn't Jerry, Svetlana noted with considerable relief.

"We're hopeful," the doctor said, "but we need to wait to see how physical therapy progresses before making any definitive statements about when he'll be ready to get back on the ice."

"When do you expect you'll return, Wynn?" asked the reported.

"How would I know?" said Wynn, glaring at the camera. "As soon as my injury heals, which will hopefully be very soon."

"Has Dallas Kent reached out to you?"

"With a public relations generated apology, yes," said Wynn. "Which I do not accept. I've seen replays of what happened. He had no reason to go after me."

"Not very sportsmanlike of you."

"Neither was attacking me," said Wynn.

"That savage nearly killed my boy," said Wynn's mother.

"Let's not exaggerate either, Mother," said Wynn, glancing at her. "If you watch a replay, it's clear he became angry and for some reason decided I was responsible, but the truth is players slam into each other like that often. An argument could be made that I should have seen it coming, stupid as it was. If I had, I could have braced myself for impact."

The woman started speaking in Finnish, distress obvious in her tone. Wynn responded, also in Finnish. Svetlana bet that there were many translations of what she was saying online.

"Why do you think Kent attacked you, to use your words?" The young reporter sounded delighted.

"That, you would have to ask him," said Wynn.

The video cut off, prompting Rose to keep scrolling. "That hit was freaking crazy," she said. "You have any idea what it was about?"

"No," said Svetlana. She hadn't had a chance to talk it over with Ilya either. Or even to speculate.

Dallas Kent just wasn't someone she concerned herself with. He was a decent enough forward, upper tier, but nothing spectacular and already trending down. At a mere twenty-six, he had performed significantly worse this season than last, wasting too many passes from his excellent winger - twenty-four year old Troy Barrett. Not only had his team been knocked out of the playoffs on the first round, he'd gone and behaved like a psycho during his last game. Rumors were already flying that he must have some kind of drug problem.

She barely felt curious about the whole thing, which could only be sign that she was close to burn out. Dallas Kent having a meltdown in the middle of a playoff game should interest her a more than a little, as should the resulting drama after one of his own teammates - his own enforcer - reacted the most violently. If not for the Hollander-Merrell kidnapping, it would be the juiciest scandal of the MLH season.

Rose stopped scrolling at Sienna's stream next. The date at the corner indicated that it was live, or very recent, at the least. Dylan Xie, long hair a little damp, took up the majority of the screen. He was seated at a couch with a massive cat laying on his lap.

"Aw, Ferdie," said Rose, turning up the volume.

Jeremy McAllister's cat, the gorgeous Maine coon he and his husband kept sharing videos of. Svetlana recognized it even though she didn't go out of her way to follow the Voyageurs online. She wondered how much the animal was pulling in brand deals.

"No, I can't visit you tomorrow," said Dylan Xie. "I'm so tired."

"But you won!"

"I'm still tired." The cat started playing a lock of his hair. "And I have skate tomorrow, plus tape review, and then I have to get ready for Miami, and then. . . where are we going next?" He looked up and yelled out, "Jer, where are we going next if we win?"

"LA!" McAllister yelled from off screen.

"That's so cool!" said Sienna. Her face was off on the corner, taking up less space than Xie and the cat. "Maybe I can go to the games?"

"I guess; I could probably get you tickets," said Xie.

"And for Lydia too?"

"No," said Xie. "Probably not. It's a playoff series in LA; my guess is they're sold out."

"But you're a Voyageur!"

"There's twenty-two of us."

"Fine," said Sienna. "Have you been using the skin care products I got you?"

"Sure," said Xie. He yawned.

"And how are they?" asked Sienna, in a clipped tone.

"Fine."

"Your skin is glowing!"

"If you say so," said Xie. His eyes looked puffy.

"Okay, what is your problem?" said Sienna. "Can't you take a compliment? Did winning your game not put you in a good mood?"

Rose snorted. "Their streams have been this awkward for weeks."

"You sound so gleeful about a couple of teenagers bickering," said Svetlana, as Sienna started babbling about skin care products.

"Oh, I have nothing against them," said Rose, sheepish. "It's just they're distracting me - and social media in general - from my latest not-fling with--oh!"

On the stream, Xie's tone had turned acrid. "Are you doing a fucking ad read for moisturizer right now?" The cat let out a mournful meow and jumped off his lap. "You know what? I haven't been using the stupid face soap. If my skin is 'glowing', it's because of the water from the communal showers at the Centre Bell!"

"Dylan!" cried Sienna. "You know what? Your face actually looks blotchy as hell."

"Then I did use the face soap!"

Rose chuckled and Svetlana couldn't help but share a smirk with her.

"I don't understand why you can't be even a little supportive of my career," said Sienna. "I've been following your team all season!"

"Oh, how nice of you," said Dylan. "It must have been such a sacrifice to talk about the most popular sport in Canada, and I bet it was such a hardship for your career when when I brought Voyageurs to your streams. I'm sure that didn't benefit you at all."

"Hockinator is right about you!"

"Like a I care what that loser hater is saying about me - Jamie, fuck off!" Xie glared at someone off screen before turning back to the camera. "You shouldn't be selling overpriced cream that says it 'protects' against wrinkles."

"You don't have any," said Sienna. "And you just said you've been using the products I gave you."

"I am nineteen!" yelled Xie. "Why the fuck would I have wrinkles?"

A large figure came on screen and bent down. Nikolai Babikov's face appeared, looking a little less alarming since his eyebrows had started growing back and he had a healthy playoff stubble already. He smirked at the screen. "Hi, Sienna."

"Hi, Nikki. Congratulations on your victory. I'm trying to have a conversation with my boyfriend, if you don't mind."

Xie opened his mouth, then froze when Babikov laid a hand on his shoulder. "He's got to wind down for tomorrow, unfortunately. Bye." He turned off Xie's feed and left Sienna sputtering.

"Oh my God," said Rose.

Sienna huffed, then made a brief joke about how men got during their playoffs season before pivoting to a discussion of a viral video of a woman going crazy at a Starbucks cashier.

"Normally, I would be of the girl's side just on principle," said Rose. "But using Dylan Xie's perfect face to sell make up. . ." Rose sighed and kept. scrolling.

After another meeting two days later, Svetlana headed to the airport. She'd been so busy that she hadn't been able to watch Ilya's first game, but the Bears had managed to squeeze a one-to-zero victory without Wynn. They had called up young and promising forward Misha Marken, son of a former Bear who'd married a Russian model at the peak of his career. According to Ilya, he was very proud of his heritage even though he had never been to Russia.

He keeps trying to talk to me in really in really shitty Russian, he'd complained. Shit our teammates won't understand mostly. And he sucks at hockey.

He'd been called up once earlier in the season, after a fourth liner had taken a bad hit to the ribs, and Ilya had been withdrawn until he'd been sent back to his team. Maybe that was why Ilya sounded so withdrawn on the phone?

Svetlana tried not to spend the entire flight to Vancouver ruminating about Ilya, but she had to admit that she failed. He sounded the different, both on the phone and on the short post-game interview he'd given after his last victory. Withdrawn and anxious. Not making any of his usual confident quips. It reminded Svetlana of the way he acted with the Russian press. She didn't think that it was the usual playoffs induced stress.

It's probably about Wynn, she thought.

Earlier in the morning, the Bears had announced that Wynn would be on injury reserve for an entire month. Bears fans were desolate, SportsBet was "predicting" that the team would be knocked off the playoffs shortly, and Kent's family announced that they'd been getting death threats. When someone reached out to Wynn for comment on the matter, he recommended that they hire private security. The video had brought a little smile to Svetlana's face.

Her thoughts returned to Ilya.

She'd been thinking, since Christmas, that she ought to stop resisting the inevitable. Ilya had been in her life in some capacity since she was eleven years old, always sweet and always wounded. He'd been there when Sergei died and refused to leave no matter how much Svetlana lashed out. For a second, and had been ashamed about that second for a very long time, she had considered accepting his marriage proposal.

What would her life be like now if she had said yes?

His accident last year had felt like a sudden earthquake. No - like a volcano she'd been unaware of erupting beneath her feet. The few days immediately after, when Alexei managed to block her from visiting him in the hospital, had been some of the worst of Svetlana's life.

The subsequent summer, which she'd spent taking care of him, had made her pathetically happy even though he'd never stopped pining for his Jane. It seemed like she had enough of a hold on him that he would abandon his team during the playoffs, and after one of his favorite teammates had been injured.

But how much did Svetlana care about that?

The truth was that she couldn't imagine her life without Ilya. It was, much as she hated to admit it, why she was putting off moving to LA even though it made sense for her to make it her primary residence. It was so far away from Boston. From Ilya. She kept telling her that it wouldn't be fair to ask him to move for her, that there was no way that he would dump the Bears to trail after her.

He'd done it for Jane.

Maybe, just maybe, he was so hung up on Jane because Svetlana kept rejecting him.

Voyageurs

Gilbert Comeau
you're such an asshole Dylan

Dylan Xie
fuck you

Gilbert Comeau
you think a stream is good place to break up with your girl?

Dylan Xie
I didn't break up with her on stream
I broke up with her after

Cole Passey
bro she's saying she broke up with you

Dylan Xie
like Melissa said I won't be addressing the issue
it's a personal matter

Hayden Pike
now hockinator is calling you immature and unprofessional
since you yelled at Jamie

Dylan Xie
fuck him too

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
guys I hate to interrupt
but we have a fucking game coming up
lock the fuck in

Shane Hollander
yes let's all imagine what it would be like if we didn't care what pop star Dylan is having a slap fight with

Dylan Xie
get fucked Shane

Jeremy McAllister
Fernando says it's better to make a clean break in these types of situation

David Taylor
at this point why not just add Fernando to the group chat since you're always telling what he says about everything?

Patrice Drapeau
he wouldn't be too bad to have on the chat

Greg Cornick
if Fernando can be on the group chat then I want to add my girl too

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
we're not adding WAGs to the group chat
or HABs

Jake Merrell
HABs?

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
Husbands and Boyfriends
Shane we are fully on board with the gay thing but the group chat is for the team

Shane Hollander
I'm not adding a HAB to the group chat
I wasn't even the one to bring that up

Jonas Raphael Carmichael III
Fernando is not even on the WAG chat

Jeremy McAllister
he is but he kind of has it muted

Hayden Pike
kind of?

Shane Hollander
guys
the fucking playoffs

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
yes dipshits
let's discuss the tape of our last game