Chapter Text
““Oh my god, another killer clown,” Connors announced, like this was breaking news and not the fifth time this week.
Cliff Marleau did not bother to look this time. He already did not like clowns courtesy of a cousin showing him the movie It when he was six.. He had no desire for his teammates to become aware of this. He could see it now, clown dolls left in his stall, and people showing up to practice dressed in clown costumes. Yes no thank you Connors, also why are you so obsessed with this stupid internet craze? It was probably a hoax.
“Yeah, no thank you,” Cliff muttered, rubbing at his jaw like he hadn’t heard anything. “Why are you so obsessed with this stupid internet craze anyway?”
Connors gasped like he’d been personally attacked. “It’s not a craze. It’s, like, a phenomenon.”
“It’s stupid,” Cliff said, with the quiet confidence of a man choosing denial as a lifestyle.
The only other occupant in their room was their morose Captain. If Roz heard Connors, he did not show it. Roz’s light eyes were gazing down upon his phone. Cliff would bet his next bonus he was re-reading Jane’s messages. Mysterious, elusive, Montreal Jane.The only person Cliff had ever seen reduce Ilya Rozanov,who routinely flattened grown men for a living,into something soft and uncertain. Turned the Raiders’ captain into a blushing middle school girl no matter how many times he protested Russians do not do this.The one he disappeared to see every time they were in Montreal, slipping out after curfew with a muttered excuse and that look on his face Cliff pretended not to notice.Cliff had been covering for him for years.Missed curfews? Cliff handled it. Teammates asking questions? Cliff deflected. Coaches sniffing around? Cliff lied, easy and smooth.Jane was important. That much was obvious.Even if Roz never talked about her.Which was weird. Because Roz talked about everything else. Women, dates, disasters, triumphs,usually with a level of detail that made Cliff regret having ears. But Jane?Nothing.And then, whatever had happened… had happened.
And Jane had broken his heart. No, she had ripped it out of his chest and stomped on it.
“Hey Roz?” Cliff said as gently as he could. The Captain still startled letting out a few Russian curses. In all of the years they played together those were the only words really that Cliff had learned. Maybe he should change that, but he can mull that over later. He’d been thinking about this plan for weeks. They had a bye week, so they actually had off, “there’s a Bad Bunny concert I got two tickets for…,” as he’s talking, he caught Connors staring wide-eyed at him, “wanna come?”
Connors was wildly shaking his head no, also mouthing your funeral. Go back to your fucking killer clowns, Cliff thought. Roz inhaled through his nostrils. He did not immediately dismiss it which was something. He did not respond with an shut your idiot face Marly or more bag skates? The prolonged silence was not great, but Cliff settled on sitting on the edge of his bed, “no big-
“Da. I’ll come,” Thatta boy, Cliff thought, “where?”
“Laval?” Cliff knew it was close to Montreal, about eleven kilometers but it wasn’t Jane’s city. It was the only concert date that fit their schedule. Roz went back to re-reading the messages, over his head he gave Connors the middle finger. Connors clutched his chest like he’d been wounded.Cliff ignored him.
The concert ends up being the first time Cliff sees it.The real Ilya Rozanov.Not the quiet, hollow version that had been drifting through practices and games like a ghost wearing his captain’s jersey. Not the brittle, sharp-edged thing that snapped at teammates and then went silent for hours.This one, this one laughs.
Loud, unrestrained, head tipped back like he doesn’t care who’s watching. He shoves Cliff when the crowd surges, mutters commentary in Russian that sounds half like insults and half like admiration. He sings along, badly, loudly, with complete confidence, when he knows the words, and fakes it when he doesn’t.
They both drink.More than they probably should.
***
“Marly?” Ilya tried again. They had stumbled out of the venue, Marly mostly resting on him. He had never seen his best friend so drunk.It did not help that Ilya himself was far from sober. His thoughts were a step behind his mouth, his limbs just slightly too slow to respond. They must have looked ridiculous, two professional athletes stumbling down the street, smelling like vodka and sweat and whatever cheap cologne someone had sprayed in the bathroom, “where is hotel?”
““Hotel?” Marly echoed, like the word itself was unfamiliar. His head tipped forward, then sideways, then landed heavily against Ilya’s shoulder as if it had become too much effort to hold it up.
“Da,” Ilya said, patient, because clearly patience was required here. “We must go to it.”
Their flight from Boston had been delayed—some nonsense about the pilot not showing up, which Ilya still did not fully understand. How does a pilot not show up? This is not optional job. This is plane.Cliff had called and checked them in via phone but Ilya hadn’t been listening to the name of the hotel, he was regretting that now. He fished his phone out of his pocket with one hand, nearly dropping it when Marly shifted again. The screen was too bright. Aggressive. He squinted, thumb fumbling as he opened the Lyft app and then held it directly in front of Cliff’s face.
“Hotel?”
Marly grumbled, staggered forward but grabbed the phone. He managed after about six attempts to type something in. Ilya squinted. Had Marly memorized the address of the hotel? He was too drunk to really think about that. The Uber said fifteen minutes. The Raiders found a pole to sit against.
“Is good to see you Roz,”
“You see me always Marly. Practice? Games? Yes, you remember hockey, yes?”
““NO, I mean-you-you,” Marly said, voice rough, suddenly more insistent.
He jabbed a finger into Ilya’s chest. Not hard. Just enough to make the point.Ilya blinked down at it, then back at him.
“Me, me?” he echoed.
“You’re not the same since…” Marly’s head bobbed with each repetition, like the thought itself was slipping away from him. “Since… since…”
Ilya went still.Something in his chest tightened, sharp and immediate.
“Since what?” he asked, quieter now.
Marly blinked.For a second, it looked like he might actually say it.Like the word was right there. Ilya almost wanted him to. It’d sober him up.Marly’s face crumpled into something uncertain. Guarded, even through the alcohol.
“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I cannot say.”
Ilya let out a short breath through his nose, something between a laugh and a dismissal.
“Is fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “You are drunk. You say many things.”
But he did not look away.
Marly shifted beside him, shoulder knocking into his. “No, I’m….” he squinted, searching for the word, “I’m right. You’ve been… weird.”
“Weird,” Ilya repeated flatly.
“Yes,” Marly said, with conviction. “Like… not here.” He tapped Ilya’s chest again, softer this time. “You’re here, but you’re not here.”
Ilya swallowed, “That is very deep for man who almost opened camera app instead of typing address.”
“Shut up,” Marly muttered automatically, but there was no bite to it.
Silence stretched again.Longer this time.The kind that wasn’t entirely comfortable.
Marly leaned his head back against the pole, eyes half-lidded. “It’s just… you used to tell me things.”
Ilya’s jaw tightened, “I tell you things.”
“Not… this,” Marly said, waving a vague hand in his direction. “Whatever this is.”
Ilya felt his stomach twist. He could not talk about it. Not to anyone. Not that he had the words in English to explain it. Being drunk was certainly not helping his English.
“Is nothing,”
Marly made a quiet, disbelieving sound. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I am serious,” Ilya insisted, sharper now. “It is not big deal.”
“Then why do you look like someone died?” Marly shot back, eyes opening just enough to pin him with something far too clear for how drunk he was.
“Fuck off Marly,” Ilya huffed tugging up his knees to rest his head on them. He checked his phone again.Eight minutes.Eight eternal minutes.
Marly did not say anything for a while. Ilya turned to look at him to find his head resting against the pole, his mouth hanging open. He took a picture. For later. The car arrived.Ilya wasn’t entirely sure how he got Marly into it. There were vague flashes,an apologetic “sorry, sorry” to the driver, Cliff leaning too much of his weight at the wrong moment, Ilya nearly dropping both of them before managing to shove him into the backseat.
The driver said nothing.Not a word.Just one long, assessing look in the rearview mirror before pulling away.Ilya respected that.He pressed his head back against the seat, closing his eyes for a second, then reopening them when the motion made his stomach flip.
“Do not throw up,” he warned himself quietly. “You are better than this.”
Beside him, Marly had somehow folded himself into the corner, head tipped toward the window, breathing steadily like he hadn’t just been dead weight thirty seconds ago.
“Useless,” Ilya muttered.
The car stopped.Ilya blinked, dragging himself upright as the world tilted slightly.They were… somewhere.Not a hotel.Definitely not a hotel.This was a condo building. Nice one, too. Clean lines, glass, the kind of place that required either money or connections or both.Ilya frowned.
Had Cliff… rented something?An Airbnb?That seemed excessiveBefore he could finish the thought, Cliff was moving.Awake enough to function, apparently.He stumbled out of the car, nearly taking the door with him, then steadied himself with one hand against the frame. Ilya followed more slowly, squinting up at the building like it might explain itself.
“Marly?” he called, suspicion creeping in.Cliff did not answer.He just walked,no, staggered,up to one of the units and, instead of pulling out a key or entering a code like a normal person, raised his fist and started knocking.
Knocking.On a random condo.At,what time even was it?Ilya’s stomach dropped.
“Marly?” he hissed, taking a few quick steps forward, grabbing at the back of Cliff’s shirt like he might physically stop this terrible decision. “Marly, where the fuck are we? Whose condo is this?”
Cliff leaned his forehead briefly against the door like he needed the support.
Then, very calmly, like this was all completely reasonable, he said, “Shhh.”
“Do not shhh me,” Ilya snapped, voice dropping but no less intense. “You are knocking on stranger door. In middle of night!”
“Shhh its fine,”
“Marly!”Ilya dragged a hand down his face. Somehow Marly had a terrible radar, swinging towards picking up the most crazy fans. One had even stalked him, “I swear to….if this is some fan you met….,”
“It’s not a fan,” Cliff mumbled, “trust me they do not like the Raiders,”
“Fucking wonderful. Then who-
The lock clicked.Ilya froze.The door swung open just enough for light to spill out into the hallway. The person on the other side had clearly been stirred from sleep. It took Ilya’s drunk mind another few seconds to catch up because he knew this person. Or of them. Shane Hollander’s fucking best frined. The remarkably boring Metros winger.
Ilya turned, very deliberately, to look at Cliff, “Marly,” he said, dangerously calm. “Why are we at Pike’s condo?”
“Yes Marly,” Hayden was clearly more awake now, “why the fuck are you at my condo at three in the morning?”
His eyes nervously shuffled between Marly and Ilya. There was also something weird about his voice. And it wasn’t a Canadian accent. Ilya glared at him. Was he drunk too?
“Hello,” Marly said to Pike, “we are lost,”
“Clearly,” Hayden snapped, still more nervous than he ought to be. It was then that Ilya realized there was metal in his mouth. Hayden Pike wore a retainer to bed. Ilya hoped he remembered that in the morning. Marly did something then, he crossed over to the threshold, lowered his gigantic body and nearly took Pike down with him. He rested his head on Pike’s shoulder. Pike looked horrified, confused, and mortified all at the same moment, “what did you do to him?”
“I?” he repeated, incredulous. “I did this? You think I carry around unconscious men for fun?”
“Yes?” Hayden shot back immediately, still struggling under the weight of Cliff’s entire upper body. “You’re both drunk, you show up here, he’s half-dead….this feels like your fault somehow….”
“This is slander,” Ilya said, stepping forward, but not to help. Not yet. He was observing. Assessing. “He drank. Many drinks. Too many drinks. This is consequence.”
“Great,” Hayden snapped, “Could you maybe-oh, I don’t know-get him off me?”
Cliff shifted.Somehow leaning more. Almost nestling his head into the crook of Pike’s neck.Hayden let out a strained sound as his back hit the wall just inside the doorway.
“Marlow,” he tried, voice tight, “buddy, you gotta…..”
“No,” Cliff mumbled into his shoulder, completely unbothered. “This is good.”
And then he tenderly kissed Pike’s cheek. Pike looked like one of those cat videos, where they put tin foil and the cat malfunctioned before a deep blush overtook him. He adjusted himself away from Marly, gently patting his shoulder. In response, Marly’s large hand came up to ruffle Pike’s hair before resting there.
“Not here,” he tried to whisper just to Marly, “come I’ll put you on the sofa,”
“Interesting,” Ilya said aloud.
Hayden’s head snapped up, “Don’t,” he said immediately, still flushed, still half-pinned against the wall by a man who outweighed him by a significant margin. “Whatever you’re thinking—don’t.”
“I am thinking many things,” Ilya said thoughtfully.
“I don’t want to hear any of them. Fucking help me Rozanov,”