Chapter Text
“Rozanov!” Hollander’s voice rung clearly across the outdoor patio of the NHL function.
Hammersmith startled, fumbling his lighter, his flame going out after the several attempts it took to get it to light.
He groaned in annoyance, both at the loss and at the impending squabble that was sure to happen between the two rivals. He was really too old for this shit, as Roz would say. Not that he’d ever let the team captain hear that.
He glanced around and sighed. People were already taking their phones out to record and getting closer to the smoking area, hoping to see a fight.
“Shit!” Roz hurriedly tried to put his pack of cigarettes away, for some reason, but Hollander was upon them within seconds.
As soon as Hollander stepped in front of the two, Roz froze like a deer in headlights, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and pack barely in his pocket.
“Rozanov,” Hollander said evenly, staring Roz down and ignoring Hammersmith completely.
Hammersmith shuddered. For some reason, despite the other’s polite tone, he suddenly felt a shiver run down his spine.
“Hollander,” Roz replied around the cigarette in his mouth, moving to take it out. Hollander reached up and grabbed the cigarette first, turning to put it out on a nearby standing outdoor ashtray.
Hammersmith blinked. Roz’s hand hung in the air for a moment, before it slowly fell back in place at his side.
“How many times,” Hollander began calmly, swinging back around to glare at Roz, “have I told you not to smoke?”
“It was just one!” Roz whined, with his accent thicker than usual, like Hollander wasn’t acting completely unhinged. “I was going to put it out, you did not have to—”
“Only because you saw me—”
“—you never let me do anything fun—”
“—is caring about the health of my rival too boring for—”
“—trying to quit, anyway—”
“—is that why there's an entire pack of them still in your pocket?”
At that, Roz froze again.
Hammersmith, meanwhile, was struggling to catch up. What the hell was going on?
Not only did Rozanov let someone rip a cigarette out of his mouth, as if he wasn’t a grown adult who could do what he wanted, he let Hollander do that to him.
And instead of swinging first and asking questions later, he was… arguing and trying to defend his smoking habits? Saying he was trying to quit, like the team clinicians haven’t been on his ass about smoking for years to no effect? But when Hollander tells him—
…didn’t they hate each other? Did Hammersmith hallucinate the years-long rivalry between the two or…?
“This… is not mine,” Roz lied.
Hammersmith eyed him dubiously. Was he really going along with this? Why didn’t he just tell Hollander to fuck off?
“Sure.” Hollander crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. “So whose are they? Because I know Davidoff Red’s your favorite brand and that looks like Davidoff Red to me.”
What. How did Hollander know that? It wasn’t a secret that Roz smoked, but it wasn’t well-known that he preferred a specific cigarette, as he usually just went for whatever he could get his hands on.
“No, is not mine,” Roz insisted. “Hammersmith was letting me use, it’s his.” He grabbed the carton out of his pocket and shoved it at Hammersmith, who nearly dropped it.
“What!?” Hammersmith said. “Roz, these aren’t—”
His captain turned and glared at him, daring him to expose his falsehood. It was a look that promised pain and endless bag skates in his future if he didn’t go along with it.
“I-I mean, yeah. Yeah, this is mine,” Hammersmith said. “Sorry, I didn’t know that… you didn’t allow him to smoke?”
A sentence that he never thought he would say. What the fuck was happening.
Hollander’s gaze flicked to him and looked him up and down, still unimpressed, making his stomach drop. Roz looked like he was starting to sweat.
“Uh-huh. Well, fine. Let’s say I believe you,” Hollander said, turning his attention back to Roz. Hammersmith nearly sagged in relief. “You still know better than to be smoking. You’re gonna ruin your lungs.”
“You always say this, Hollander,” Roz groaned. “I am Russian. My lungs are fine.”
“Yeah, they’re fine, until they’re not. Then you’re gonna be coughing too much to play, and there goes my only competition.”
Okay. This was a really roundabout way to make sure that, what, he still had someone to play against?
Hollander continued, now sounding peeved, “If you don’t wanna be my rival anymore, you can just say so.”
“What! Are you crazy?” Roz cried, echoing Hammersmith’s thoughts. Hollander was obviously deranged. “Of course I want to be your rival! How can you say this?”
That… was not where he thought this was going.
“Obviously not, since you keep smoking!” Hollander said, though his body seemed to lose some tension, for reasons Hammersmith couldn't even begin to understand. He then hummed, as if thinking. “Maybe I should just find another rival—”
“NO!”
“I mean, Hunter seems to be able to keep up with me—”
“Hollander!” Roz advanced, moving close enough to tower over the other, forcing Hollander to look up in order to meet his eyes. “You would choose Scott Hunter over me? I would kill you both.”
Shit! Roz was obviously just as deranged as Hollander, spouting death threats in public, and Hammersmith really didn’t want a fight to actually break out, especially with all these phone cameras around. This was definitely going to end up on social media, if it wasn't being live-streamed already.
“Guys,” he started, moving to get between the two, but Hollander put up his hand, stopping him in his tracks without even breaking the staredown.
“I know you would," Hollander said. Again: WHAT. "So, if you want us,” Hollander waved his hand in the small gap between him and Roz, “to be rivals, you need to stop smoking. Or I find someone else.”
A moment passed. Two. Roz’s face continued to grow more and more thunderous at the ultimatum, Hollander looking back calmly and refusing to back down, not the least bit threatened.
“Fine!” Roz threw his hands up and huffed. “I will stop smoking!” He pointed at Hollander. “But do not let me hear you say anything about other rivals again.”
Hollander rolled his eyes but gave a small smile, suddenly transforming his face in a way that Hammersmith had never seen before, even in his many advertisements.
“Well, of course not,” he snorted, taking a step back away from Roz. “As if anyone else could ever match me as well as you.” Roz lit up.
“So you admit it! You think I am the best hockey player!” He teased, taking a step forward to match Hollander, mood completely changed as if he hadn't looked ready to commit murder-suicide two seconds ago.
Hollander giggled. Hammersmith’s heart nearly stopped at the sound of it. “Rozanov, that is not what I said—”
“Right, you said I’m your one and only—”
“Rozanov!”
“—and that there is no one else for you—”
Hollander was doubled over in laughter at this point, using Roz to hold himself up, the other smirking triumphantly.
Hammersmith stumbled away, Roz’s pack of Davidoff Red in one hand and his faulty lighter in the other.
Fuck smoking. He needed a drink.