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"Hope next time we play, you show up!" Shane Hollander's sweet voice is not made for chirping, Scott thinks.
It's bad enough they lost by four points; Scott has already dealt with Rozanov the day before and he did not have the energy.
"Cheap" he spits on the ground.
"True" answers Hollander. Scott is amused to see how awkwardly builds up the spit.
Scott just wants to go home and talk with Kip, and cuddle with Kip, and sleep.
"You're starting to sound like him" he says, not thinking.
"What the hell does that mean?" Shane sounds anxious, angry, and confused.
Scott couldn't care less. He had enough of the hockey couple from hell. Rozanov and Hollander are going to have to coordinate so they don't piss of Hunter more than necessary. So he drops the bomb.
He straightens, looking straight into Hollander's eyes.
"1-2-2-1." he says slowly. Hollander looks like he's about to shit himself and Scott nearly wants to laugh. Then Canada's Golden Boy drops his gloves and lunges.
Scott had never seen Hollander fight and he realised quickly that it's because he doesn't.
Scott easily dodges the first punch, shaking off his gloves as he moves. Hollander turns and nearly makes contact, but at that point the referees had reached them. Hollander is still lunging at him and three of his teammates have to join the ref in holding him back.
"YOU FUCKING PUSSY" He shrieks. "YOU'RE FORTY YEARS OLD, GO HOME"
At that, Scott cracks. The same damn insult that Rozanov uses all the time.
"YOU STILL FUCKING SOUND LIKE HIM" He shouts back.
Scott faintly wonders if he should lay off, Hollander looks about two seconds from a stroke. His pretty boyish face is red and he's breathing heavily.
So Scott lets his teammates lead him away as Hollander glares at him, fuming.
He's back home and cuddling Kip on the couch. His stomach is comfortably full and he's had a good nap. That's when he realises.
"Kip." He sits up suddenly. "I fucked up"
"What? What happened?" His boyfriend has a worried crease in between his eyebrows.
"Hollander knows. Hollander knows that I know."
Kip pulls a face. "O-kay" he says slowly. "That's bad..." he purses his lips, deep in thought.
"They're gonna kill me" Scott adds. Kip sits up and takes Scott's face in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eye.
"Everything will be okay" he says, pressing a quick kiss to Scott's lips. "Maybe now they'll be kinder, no?" Scott laughs at that. Then sends a silent prayer out that Kip is right.
It was a few weeks later when the Admirals met the Bears again.
Scott steps onto the ice to begin his stretches when he feels the prickle on the back of his neck. He slowly spins and sees the most terrifying sight he's ever seen.
Ilya Rozanov is standing, straight, one hand on his stick. And he's staring right at Scott. Even from far away, Scott can sense the murderous Slavic look that must be painted on that man's features.
Scott sends a glance to Kip who is hiding his laughter in a bucket of popcorn.
His friend, Elena is beside him and from her amused expression, it seems that Kip has explained the situation.
"Help. Me." he enunciates to Kip.
Glancing back at Rozanov, he sees the Captain sink into a stretch, never taking his eyes off of Scott.
Scott wonders for a moment if he could just run away.
"Hunter" Vaughn's hand clapping onto his shoulder makes him flinch violently. Vaughn doesn't notice, his gaze is on Rozanov. "Why is Rozanov looking at you like that?" He asks.
"I don't know, to freak me out I guess" Scott shrugs nonchalantly, trying to hide the fact that it's working.
The warm-ups are done and now, Scott is skating to the center to face-off with Rozanov.
"Hey Rozanov" he says. To his mounting anxiety, Rozanov doesn't respond, eyes locked on the tip of his stick. Scott is now certain he's going to die.
Rozanov would never pass up an opportunity to make a comment on Scott's age during the face-off.
Annoyingly, the tactic works and Scott misses the puck. Rozanov takes off.
In the second period, Scott has the puck and he's just passed the blue line when Rozanov comes out of nowhere. Scott barely has time to brace before the man's full weight is slamming him into the boards. Scott expects him to bounce off and leave but Rozanov traps him against the glass.
"You never tell." He says, his thick accent making the hairs at the back of Scott's neck stand up.
"Yes." Scott gasps out through empty lungs and bruised ribs.
Rozanov finally pushes off and Scott hears a quiet "Good." Before he's gone.
Scott automatically gives a reassuring smile to the people behind the glass that saw the exchange.
As he skates away he realises he'll never tell anyone. Not even torture will convince him to face the wrath of Ilya Rozanov.