Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Marleau you mother fucker!” Haden Pike started shoving at Cliff, taking swings at the man who stood at least a foot taller than him.

Cliff just put his arms out and held Pike off, still too shaken up to really move.

“It was a fucking clean hit Pike” the ref said, getting between them.

Cliff was still trying to look over the flustered Metros shoulder to Shane Hollander laying on the ice.

“I didn’t mean to..” Cliff said almost quietly. “Fuck I didn’t want to hurt him, I thought he would see me”

The ref pulled Pike away, and that’s when Cliff saw his Captain standing over Hollanders body.

The medics were working on Hollander and Rozanov was yelling for them to tell him what was happening.

“Is he okay, fucking tell me!” Rozanov yelled as Hollander was lifted onto a stretcher and rolled off the ice.

The ref pushed Rozanov away and he just, let himself be pushed. All the way over to the fucking Montreal bench.

As the medics cleared the ice, Cliff skated over to his captain and tried to catch his eye.

“Hey.” He said, putting a hand on Roz’s shoulder. That seemed to stun him out of whatever trance his was in, his eyes moving from the exiting stretcher to meet Cliffs gaze.

“I’m sorry.” Cliff said, he didn’t know why he felt like Roz needed him to apologize. He wasn’t the one who got hit, but this clearly shook his friend up really fucking bad.

“I never meant to hurt him” he said honestly. And he saw Roz nod, saw him pack something away mentally. And watched as he sniffed back some tears, wiping his cheeks with his gloved hand.

“Is okay.” He said, sort of to Cliff but mostly - it seemed- trying to convince himself.

“He will be okay” he said with the same determination.

Cliff nodded. “He’s tough.” He agreed. “I didn’t even see any blood. I hope I just rattled him.”

Roz adjusted his grip on his stick and dug his toe blade into the ice.

“Fuck we have to play the rest of this fucking game now?”

Cliff looked up at the clock. Shit, yeah. They were only thirty goddamn seconds into the game.

“We can try to get coach to get us updates on him between shifts.” Cliff said, he looked over Roz’s shoulder to the guys on the Montreal bench. One of them- JJ? Maybe? Gave Cliff a little nod. He must have overheard and he hoped he didn’t also see how fucking shaken up Ilya Rozanov was about this injury.

“We gotta get back in it Cap.” Cliff said, staring to gently guide them both back onto the ice. “They’ll be starting the clock again soon.”

“Right” Roz said, and Cliff saw a mask slip over his face. “Playoff clinch. Let’s go.”

—-

It was the worst fucking win Cliff had ever experienced. 1-0 Raiders but from the second he made contact with Hollander, no one on either team was truly in that game.

They all just ran out the clock.

Now they were in the locker room, a weird quiet settling over the whole space, and Cliff watched his friend rip off his gear and reach for his phone. Checking it desperately.

Cliff took a deep breath and stepped toward Ilya. He had had a weird feeling about his Captain for a while and tonight spotted some of the pieces into place. And he felt like Roz, like Ilya needed a friend.

“He probably doesn’t have his phone on him.”
He said quietly, a tone soft enough not to be overheard by the murmering in the room.

Ilyas head shot up and his eyebrows practically flew off his head. “I wasn’t-“

“Man.” Cliff said, putting a hand on Ilyas shoulder. “Whatever it is is none of my business but I know it’s something.” He said quietly.

Ilya stiffened a bit under his hand but he didn’t pull away. And he didn’t break eye contact. So Cliff kept going.

“We would have heard if it was serious. And you know it’s good manners for the captain of the team who caused the injury to check in. So you can probably go see him tomorrow.”

This idea seemed to relax Ilya just a bit. He took a breath and nodded.

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

Cliff squeezed his shoulder. “I am really fucking sorry man. He didn’t see me. I thought it would just be a shoulder check.”

A tear escaped Ilyas eye but he quickly wiped it away.

“Yes. It was not your fault. Was a clean hit.”

Cliff squeezed Ilyas shoulder again and stepped away. He kept an eye on the Russian while they both got out of the rest of their gear.

“I don’t think I’ll sleep a wink tonight because of it.” Cliff said again. “So I’ll be up and around if…if anyone needs anything.”

Ilya, who had been sitting on the bench for a few seconds, just staring at his socks, looked up at him and finally, finally Cliff saw something sink in. “Okay Marleau.” He said, and it sounded like thank you.

“Yeah.” Cliff got up to head toward the shower and leaned down to say quietly “Tell him I’m sorry when you see him.”

Ilya didn’t look up but he nodded “I will”

Cliff headed to the showers and left Ilya to his thoughts. He would wait for Ilya to be ready to talk, but until then he’d do the best he could to show him he had a friend.