Lady Blackrose’s Blog

Bad, because it meant they'd been waiting for her. A theory proven by a faint tremor rumbling up through her ice caked boots, only just enough to clock if one were already on the alert.

That the servants door opened on her second knock was both good and bad news for Luise: good, because it meant she was quickly able to escape the bitter morning freeze that bit at her face and fingers, ushered quickly into a kitchen large enough to feed several hundred, and already warmed from hearth fires preparing to do just that.

The kitchen boy who'd opened the door for her was a new one, his face twisted in worry as he helped her untangle the bundles of her scarf, shawl, and thick coat. Luise's skin puckered with gooseflesh with the loss of trapped heat, but it did nothing to quell the warm smile she sent his way. "He's been in a bad way today, eh?"

The boy nodded, dark hair flopping over his eyes. Her friendliness loosened his tongue a mite. "...mam says it'll knock the whole castle in, way it carries on."

Gossiping cooks. Luise blew a dismissive raspberry with her tongue, the boy's head lifting in surprise at such an unexpected sound. "Bunk. He may act the grump, but he's nothing but a big pussycat, never mind your mum." She hung her winter clothes over a broad, bare shoulder, offering the boy a conspiratorial wink. "But I'll have a word with him, yeah? The castle won't come down this day if I have any say in it."

Luise snagged a steaming roll off a nearby platter before weaving her way through a throng of frantic cooks fretting over the day's first meal as though the worry were part of the routine. She offered waves of greeting to those she was friendly with, noting with humour the naked relief in their eyes. A level of composure settled over the kitchen at her presence, something she found flattering and ridiculous in equal parts; cooks were a fussy, superstitious lot, and their proximity to her coworker made them antsy. She wasnt even certain the way they conspicuously avoided coming within arms reach of the iron door between the massive stone fireplaces was intentional, or just within their nature. People tended to avoid predators, after all.

Luise rolled her eyes fondly at them as she pushed through the iron door and descended the narrow stone staircase beyond.

The descent was long, lit only by the occasional sconce, and she took the stairs two at a time, eagerly seeking the wafts of warm air brushing her bare arms. The temperature rose, beating back the winter with every step until she'd gone from chilled, to cozy, to glistening with a thin layer of sweat.

The bottom of the staircase widened, then opened into a massive stone room big enough for the entire village to hold a fete if King Doran had any inclination to let them. The ceiling stretched to blackness before Luise could begin to make out details, sounds echoing eerily as they bounced off stone and the elaborate weave of giant metal pipes that burst from seemingly every surface, twisting and rolling in their organized tangle to converge near the back of the room.

Once, her predecessor had told her, this room had been a dungeon demanded by a wicked king forgotten by history, built large enough to hold his many foes. Later, another king with far fewer foes ordered a famous architect and inventor to fit the space with an enormous boiler and giant pipes to bring heat to every corner of the sprawling castle during the cold seasons. As much as Luise figured, the theory had been sound, but the project was abandoned after calculating how many resources it would require to stoke a boiler so large, the cost of fuel to burn and the manpower to burn it too excessive for a king who had already spent much of the royal treasury on piping. For a long time the project sat useless and abandoned, until King Doran's grandfather struck a bargain with their current boiler.

At the back of the room, the stonework had been dismantled to create an opening larger than a house, a series of natural caves visible beyond. The idea had been to install the boiler in the gap between the two, using the cave passage to recieve fuel deliveries and vent dangerous pressure in case of emergency. As such, all the pipes hung close to this area, waiting patiently to be attached to a machine that would never exist, and in the midst of these pipes lay a massive red dragon.

He was an elegant thing, beautiful in his awesome power, with sinuous muscles that rolled at the base of his wings as he shifted position, and beneath his long neck when he shook his head like a dog. Water arced off like crystals with the movement, more making languid trails down his spiral horns and scarlet scales to pool on the stone beneath him. Claws long as swords scored new marks along countless others in the floor, throwing up sparks in his restlessness. Thin tendrils of black smoke curled up from nostrils nearly as tall as Luise herself, jaw slightly parted to reveal enough teeth to rend a village into paste without so much as a blink of his yellow everflame eyes.

Those eyes locked on Luise in an instant, a low growling sound beginning in his deep chest and rising until it filled the room with his displeasure. 

She grinned. "Bad today, huh Snuff?"

The growl gradually grew more vocal, and by the time Luise reached her workstation it had morphed into a long, tortured groan. "I fear, dear Luise, that I am not long for this world. What a cruel twist of fate that a creature so magnificent as I should bravely battle the elements, risking life and wing against blizzard and blaze alike, only to die here underground, as if he were a common lizard."

"Cold's no better, eh?"

"It feels as though I have inhaled a cotton field and am attempting to irrigate it with mucus." 

Luise managed to add a sympathetic note to her laughter as she swapped her coat for her soot-blacked apron, giving the row of temperature dials leading from each pipe an initial check. "One of the kitchen boys was convinced you'd bring the walls down."

Snuff gave an irritated huff, jetting out more black smoke. "If this bloody ailment lasts much longer, I just may anyway out of pure rage."

"Of course," she soothed indulgently. Suneffessoat had been the castle's boiler for longer than she'd been alive, and regardless of his physical health he'd never make a move against the castle so long as the royal agreement remained intact: the exchange of heat for food and a salary (and a captive audience for his dramatics) was far too good a deal. "How's the snoot, you coot?"

She nearly felt the air shift with his powerful sniff, which he then released on a wavery sigh. "Primed and reh... r-ready, as always. Never let it be said that I am not a prepahh... prepared professional." He worked the muscles of said snoot, nostrils blowing wide enough in the process that Luise could've fit through without turning her shoulders.

She peered over her shoulder towards a slim tube tucked next to the temperature dials, the end feeding out into a shallow, empty tray.  Having worked this job for so long, she could normally track the incoming delivery of a request slip even through Snuff's insistently vocal sneezes, but the tube remained silent of its telltale hiss. "Judging by how you were shaking the ground, I suppose you're not far off?"

Indeed, his neck was beginning to pull back into a swanlike curve, chuffing breaths losing their rhythm while his flaring nose picked up the beat. "Clohhhhhser e-ehh... every minuhhhhhHH--"

Now she heard the swish of an incoming request, and from the way Snuff bit back on the rising urge she knew he had too. "Ach, you can vent that one. The way you're winding up, the next one will be along before the fire's even out your mouth."

"I resehhhhh... I reseeEHHHHH... HH! HuuhhhHHHHH--" From the base of his throat grew a red-hot glow, and even in the throes of a sneeze he swung his head round to bury his explosive snout into a low-set pipe. "HRUUHHH-X'SHUUUHH!"

Luise retrieved the request from the tray, slipping a tightly rolled scrap of parchment out of the sleeve. She turned back in time to see Snuff give another shake of his head, narrowed eyes unfocused. The next sneeze worked his chest like a bellows and set the smoke from his nose rolling in great black clouds. He didn't have long.

She read neat, looping script written on the slip of parchment. "Next one goes to the guest apartments." The Countess Iris was visiting from the southern kingdoms, and if her frequent requests were any indication, she had some strong feelings about the weather. "Can probably give her the one after, too, she's a delicate sort."

Snuff, in no state to respond, hazily twisted towards the correct pipe just as his sneeze crossed from "urgent" to "immediate". "Hh-HRRUAHHHSHOOO!!" He then settled, sated for the moment, tension bleeding from the lines of his shoulders and the base of his wings.

Luise turned to pin the parchment to her order board, but she caught the deliberately innocent slide of Snuff's attention in her direction. Behind her, he snorted. And then again, louder, just in case she hadn't heard the first.

She rolled her eyes good naturedly. Working together for decades, and still, heaven forbid he ever ask for help directly.

When she didn't instantly turn to acknowledge his discomfort, a chorus of little self-pitying moans joined the sporadic snorts and snuffles. Luise would put a day's wages on the fact that he were flexing his nostrils theatrically all the while, and she'd win that bet. "Is something the matter?"

A heaved sigh, heavy enough to move the hair on the back of her neck. "Nothing to concern yourself with. After all, dragons have proudly and steadfastedly withstood far worse than a maddeningly itchy nose."

He couldn't quite look away fast enough as she turned to prop a hip against her station, angling his head up and away from her. 'No, I wasnt looking at you, of course not, how dare you imply such!' "Truly, a hardship," she played along benevolently. "Is there any way a powerless human such as myself could assist in this travesty?"

Snuff held to his haughty aloofness for an entire second before eagerly snaking his head in her direction, smooth scales nearly skimming the floor. "I don't suppose you could take time out of your busy day to give me the tiniest scratch?"

She laughed, thick wire brush already in hand. "Just don't sneeze on me."

"I would never!"

Despite his affronted claim, Luise knew well the map of his muzzle, taught to her in serious, cautionary detail by her mentor: do not cross the threshold where the sturdy pebbled scales of his face smoothed into the plush pink interior of his nostrils. Use extra force on the septum, lest his body decides to register a tickle instead of a scratch. And above all, never stand directly in front of his nose.

When she described her job to friends, many of them thought she was sick in the head (though most of them rescinded the thought once she hinted at her salary). Admittedly, it had its struggles. But as she leaned her weight into each long stroke of the brush, Snuff's eyes drifting closed and contented hum rumbling where her body pressed against him, she thought again what an honour it was to work with such a magnificent creature so intimately.

She scratched the spots she knew he liked; just behind the hood of his nostrils, along the length nearly to his cheek, standing on tiptoe to rub tight circles on the crest of his snout like she would groom a horse. These were not things taught to her, and sometimes she wondered if her mentor had viewed Snuff as more of a beast of burden  and less of a companion, never bothering to learn his preferences and habits and quirks beyond what was needed to perform the job. Once they'd gotten comfortable around each other, Luise never needed to heed the warning about standing in front of his nose, because she could always tell when he was getting tickly by the way his inner nostril began to shiver and tic, the pink flesh growing steadily flushed until it nearly matched the shade of his scales.

Like now, for example.

He whined as she pulled away, chasing her until his snout bumped against her stomach again. No amount of shoving could move his giant head if he didn't want it to, so her cursory attempt ended in an affectionate pat. "Alright, you baby, nose in the air. You gotta sneeze."

"Do not," he grumbled, purposefully ignorant of how his nose twitched as though it had life of its own. A long tremor agitated the length of both nostrils from tip to depth like a wave.

Luise noted a crease like a snarl form in his scales. "It'll be a double, send them to the baths."

"S-smuhhhhhg bastard." For all his pouting, he followed instructions and unloaded two giant sneezes into the baths pipe. "HhhHHH'XHOOO-!! HAAH-SHOOO!!"

The day continued as such: orders delivered by way of parchment and tube, then executed through Luise's guidance and Snuff's unforgiving cold. His dramatics aside, it truly seemed like a bad one this time. Occasionally on high demand days, Luise would need to dump a wheelbarrow of coal or two into his open mouth to help stoke his inner flame. Today, her arms were already black with coal dust and soot from how many trips she'd made from the coal pile to Snuff, and still as the end of the day drew near, he was tiring.

Not that he'd ever admit it, of course. But she saw it in the hang of his head, the way his internal flame flickered at his throat, too low to properly reach his nose. The sneeze reflex and the flame were intrinsically linked, he'd told her once, and the lower the flame, the harder it would be to reach satisfaction. 

"Hhh-! HUHHT-- rrrgh... hhaH-HAAH-- HADT-!!"

Judging by his stuttering half-sneezes and ticklish false starts, Snuff must've been feeling very low indeed.

At the next sneezes to fizzle away, Snuff let out a frustrated sound between a growl and a roar, thrashing in place. At this point his little tantrum was probably warranted. "Blast this nose, blast this cold, I must sneeze! HEAHHHH--" for a moment it seemed like he would finally get his wish, maw agape and nostrils blown nearly wider than his muzzle. "HEEAAHHHHHH--!!"

And then, tragically, nothing, the elusive sneeze teasing at his nose before darting mischievously away, heedless of its host's desperation.

Enough was enough.

Reaching down her shirt, Luise retrieved a key kept on a leather cord around her neck and knelt beneath her table to unlock a hidden cabinet. It was near empty of contents anyone could have considered valuable, but the two items held within were far more dangerous than the king's entire army.

On the right, a small selection of long, brown primary feathers pilfered from the rookery.

On the left, sealed tightly, a tiny jar of glowing golden powder.

Luise worked from the floor, blocked by the cabinet door. More than once Snuff's sensitive nose had been set off by the mere sight of these implements, and the general rule of thumb in dragonfire and pixie dust both was 'a little goes a long way'.

Careful not to get any on her hands, Luise opened the jar as though she were handling explosives. Using a sturdy feather, she gave the jar's rim a quick swipe. The few grains that caught the light as she twisted the feather in her fingertips would be more than sufficient. On went the lid, back went the jar, locked went the cabinet, hidden went the key. Safe again.

Snuff's wobbly hitches stuck high in his chest, eyes rolled to the ceiling. He didnt look round as she approached, weapon tucked behind the bib of her apron. "Head down please, Snuff."

Even in his all consuming battle with his stuck sneeze, he complied, resting his chin against the stone and snorting against the tickle in his nose. So violently did it twitch and flare and shudder that Luise didnt dare lay a hand on it. Other things, however, were free game.

She adjusted her grip on the feather shaft, coming to stand directly beside his right nostril. "Alright, big guy, give me a nice big sniff."

The feather flicked forward, drawing a long, slow line along the division between tough scale and tortured membrane a split second before Snuff obeyed. The feather and its payload vanished down the dark wind tunnel of his nose, trailing a vibrant red flush in its wake.

Luise took several very large steps backwards.

For a tense second, Snuff went completely still save for the rapid fluttering of his eyelids.

"Hhhhhhhhhhaauhhhhhh..." So great was the urge to sneeze that he couldn't even move his head for his first true, unsteady hitch: while his chin remained solidly on the stone, his volcanic nose tilted towards the ceiling as his jaws creaked open, scaly lips ticking up to flash gleaming teeth.

He sniffed HARD, long neck arcing into the air. His nose danced at the end of his muzzle like a leaf in the breeze, and Luise could almost see the feather's leisurely path down his sinuses based on what sections shivered with sensation. Only a slice of yellow remained visible beneath his hooded eyes. "HhaaaAAAahhhhhh..."

How much it must have tickled! Snuff, by his own proclamation, was rather sensitive to the effects of pixie dust (though experience suggested he far undersold how much it affected him). Such a tiny but potent irritant, on such a delicate and wispy vessel, gently brushing and caressing and stroking nasal passages stripped of any defenses by illness. Was it any wonder why his jaw went slack, wings rising slightly as if to brace against the oncoming storm.

Everything picked up speed as the feather continued its journey, spurred on by his rapid reflexive sniffles. "Hh! Huh... huuhh... HH-HUUHHH--" His voice plummeted as his fire rose, throat glowing with the promise of release. Huge, gasping breaths stoked his internal flame, his nostrils and mouth gaping so widely Luise could see soft embers flickering in their depths.

As he didnt seem to be of the mind to take instructions at the moment, she didnt offer a pipe suggestion to put this sneeze through. Honestly, she didnt even know if they'd be able to withstand it.

Finally the feather did its job. The fiery gradient of his neck surged upwards just as Snuff threw his head forward. "HRRRUUUUUAAHHHH-T'CZHOOOOOOOO!!"

Flame shot from his mouth and nostrils in a deadly torrent, spanning the entire length of the room and splitting into starbursting jets upon hitting the far wall. Louise shielded her eyes until his sneeze ran its course, light twisting eerily in every shadowed corner of the room, exposed skin buffeted by waves of intense, rebounding heat.

After the blaze flickered out, she gave a low whistle at the giant scorch mark he left behind, coating the far wall and a twenty foot streak on the floor with black soot. A strange smell filled the room, the subtle scent of burnt rock. "You want to aim for the vent pipe next time, mate?"

Snuff's head hung low, eyes hooded and mouth slightly open as he caught his breath. One final, searching sniff saw his nose to relieved satisfaction. "If you think I was not perfectly in control through that entire ordeal, you would be most sorely mistaken. I'd sooner bite my own leg off than kill you, you're hardly more than a morsel and it would be an inefficient waste of fire."

She heard the apology for what it was and waved it away with a hand. "Feeling any better now?"

His voiced sigh was the clearest it had been all day, repeated nose-clearing sneezes having burnt away the bemoaned morning congestion. "All this dreary awfulness today has served its purpose, I suppose." So, yes, despite the extra throaty growl on the edges of his words. Another huff, and he shifted his great body to curl around himself, pointedly resting his head near his haunches and away from her. Suneffessoat had officially clocked out.

Which meant it was time for her to follow suit. Luise smiled affectionately at the back of his head, trading dirty apron for dirty coat. "See you tomorrow for more dreary awfulness."

He didnt look round. "Your dying in the cold would inconvenience me severely, so do try to be considerate."

“Bless you. Again. Now go get high on Sudafed.”

“I won’t get high—“

“Dude, relax, I know. Breathing through your nose doesn’t count as performance enhancing, I checked.”

“Fuck off.”

Shane’s response was half-hearted, but he still wasn’t looking at Hayden. His eyes were watering, and his upper lip was already glistening with more moisture. It kind of looked like he was crying, but Hayden knew that any time he caught a bug, Shane’s whole face turned into a leaky faucet. He also knew that Shane absolutely hated both the sensation and the loss of control.

Despite all of it, pissy, overstimulated Shane was replaced by Captain Hollander the moment he got his shoes on. Hayden had seen the transformation hundreds of times over the years, but it still gave him the heebie-jeebies sometimes. 

“Right, I’m gonna go,” Shane said flatly. He still sounded undeniably sick. 

“Feel better, snot monster. I hope you manage to turn back into a human by the time we meet up.”

Hayden rolled in to the stadium an hour later, but Shane wasn’t in the dressing room. He was immediately cornered by a concerned J.J.

“Pikey! Où est notre capitaine?”

“Probably in medical still. Surprise, he’s sick,” Hayden shrugged. 

“Crisse, sa pa ka fèt,” J.J. swore, but he looked more worried than angry. 

“Shit, really?” Andropov looked up from taping his shin guards. “He seemed fine this morning.”

“Of course it had to happen in Boston,” Comeau grumbled, seeming more concerned about the game than his teammate. 

“I didn’t know cap could get sick,” Schneider, their rookie, marveled. “He’s never missed a game in his whole career. I thought he just ordered his immune system to wait for the off season.”

“Guys, chill. He’s not that sick,” Hayden reassured them. “He just has to get cleared for the game and take some meds.”

That seemed to do the trick, and the anxious tension in the room dissipated. Hayden awarded himself a point on his internal ‘nailing the alternate captain thing’ scoreboard.

“At least is not just us with a sick capitaine, eh? You hear about Rozanov?” J.J. commented. Hayden had no idea where J.J. picked up his real-time gossip, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. 

“Is that confirmed? I was pretty sure we heard him sneezing in the background on ESPN,” Hayden speculated. 

“Might not mean anything. That asshole is always sneezing all over the place, I remember from Russian junior team,” Andropov snickered. 

“Whatever. I hope he’s too sick to skate straight,” Hayden said. “I’m gonna go find Hollzy and see what’s taking so long.”

With that, Hayden made an about-face and left the rest of them to gossip in the dressing room. As expected, he found Shane in the medical clinic. Unfortunately, he looked just as bad as he had an hour ago. At least someone had found him a tissue box; he was holding on to it like a life raft.  

“Dude, I thought I told you to do drugs,” Hayden teased with an undercurrent of concern. 

“Hi, Hayd. I didn’t take anything yet, doc wants to time the meds so they last through the game,” Shane said tiredly, his voice raspier than before.

“So, what, you’ll sit in all the pre-scout sessions with your brain leaking out of your nose?” Hayden asked skeptically. “You hate when anything messes up your routine.”

“I’ll be fine. S’just a cold, my…hihhh! my brain isn’t going aehhhhnywhere except—hhh!—my s-skull— Ihhhh’DJSSHhhuuhh!”

As usual for Shane, the sneeze was a fucking mess, soaking the tissue he’d covered with. Hayden watched with morbid fascination as Shane pulled at least four tissues from the box and swapped them with the ruined one, then gave a sopping wet nose blow. He didn’t even bother folding them before dropping them in the trash can. 

“Bless you. Should I tell the trainers to have tissues on standby?” Hayden was only half joking.

“Fuck you,” Shane replied automatically. “I’ll be fine when we get on the ice.”

“Okay, okay. I guess we don’t want to jinx it,” Hayden conceded. 

“Right,” Shane said curtly, then coughed lightly into his elbow. 

There was a knock on the open door of the clinic. Matt McCann, one of the assistant coaches, poked his head in. 

“Oh, good, you’re both here. Hollzy, doc says you’re a bit under the weather?”

Shane looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, but he squared his shoulders. “Yeah, just a bit. I’m fine, really—heehh-kZSCH’ssshh! ehhh’khTJSshoou!”

Hayden winced. Two in a row, forceful and crackling with loose congestion, they sounded undeniably sick. Shane’s body was perfectly still as he mechanically wiped under his nose with a tissue, then folded it neatly into quarters and dropped it in the trash. 

“Excuse me,” Shane said, voice devoid of emotion. 

“Gesundheit,” McCann said jovially. “That looks like a hell of a cold. Theriault is not gonna be happy.”

“Is he ever happy?” Hayden wondered. “We won the fucking cup last year, he barely cracked a smile.”

McCann’s lips twitched upward, but he didn’t comment. Shane coughed again, then sat up straighter. 

“It’s not that bad. Doc will give me something before the game. He said I’m good to play as long as I stay hydrated,” Shane’s voice was hoarse but steady, and audibly congested.  

“Good, good. I’ll talk to Theriault about managing your minutes—don’t argue, Hollander,” McCann gave him a look born of years of experience with hockey players’ stubbornness. “It’s Boston, LeClaire’s gonna hard match you, there’s no point in wearing you out against their second line when you’re not at 100%. We’ll save you for Rozanov.”

Shane looked like he was about to correct what McCann was saying, but he bit his tongue at the last second. Something wasn’t adding up. As far as Hayden could tell, McCann was probably right about the line matching. Was this about the Rozanov illness rumors? What did Shane know that McCann didn’t, and why was he keeping it to himself?

* * *

On a hunch, Cliff decided to show up early at the arena and stop by medical. Not that Roz didn’t know his own body, but he had a wicked stubborn streak. Case in point. 

“Rozanov, how many times are we gonna have this argument? Take the goddamn decongestant,” Doug’s exasperated voice echoed down the hallway. The team doctor was a veteran of years’ worth of arguments on the topic. 

“Dod’t d’eed it. Is od’ly id’ by d’oze, I play like this all the tibe id sprid’g,” Rozanov said stonily, so congested that Cliff had a hard time making out the words from outside the room. 

“And every time you do it’s a bad idea,” Doug said matter-of-factly. “Seriously, Rozanov, why do you hate your own sinuses this much?”

“Is other way aroudd. By siduses are traitors that hate mb’e,” Roz grumbled, half a register lower than normal, just as Cliff reached the door of the clinic. 

“I had a feeling we’d be doing this again,” Cliff said, standing in the doorway. 

“And I was hoping you’d show up.” Doug looked genuinely happy to see him. “You’re better at convincing him.”

Roz glared at both of them. Cliff was unimpressed. Getting into a staring contest with Roz was usually a bad idea, but in this case his cold was on Cliff’s side. It didn’t take long before Roz’s scowl cracked, replaced by pure, irritated need. 

“Huh’GHXXDT’chh! yhH’KDTJ’zzhhh! huhhh… hYEH’KGXZz’hdtt!!”

He crunched forward over his lap, face obscured behind yet another t-shirt-turned-snot-rag. The sneezes sounded so painfully clogged up that Cliff felt phantom pressure behind his own eyes. Roz followed it up with an attempt at blowing his nose, but the pathetically choked-off sound made it clear that the gunk in his head wasn’t budging. God, his sinuses must feel like a lead brick. Cliff couldn’t for the life of him think of a reason to willingly spend any more time in that condition, let alone go out and play three periods of hockey. 

“Those were wicked gnarly, even for you,” Cliff commented. “Why do you put yourself through the ringer like this, Roz? That can’t be comfortable.”

“Do I look fuckigg cob’fortable?” Roz snapped. 

“No. But you will be if you take the goddamn pills,” Doug prodded. 

“I do nd’ot—“ Roz started, but was interrupted by Cliff and Doug completing him in unison: “take pills.”

The stony expression was back on Roz’s face. Whatever issue he had with pills made him obstinate to the point of stupidity, but Cliff could never get him to talk about it. 

“I would give you a nasal spray, but we all know it’ll just make you sneeze your head off,” Doug continued. “So unless your nose has magically gotten cooperative, you’re stuck with the pills.”

“Or I cad suffer ad’d suck it up,” Roz shrugged entirely too casually. 

Doug groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And get another sinus infection in the process.”

“B’aybe,” Roz conceded, but he didn’t look too concerned. Cliff wanted to slap him. 

“What about the actual game we’re playing tonight? You really want to drop two points to Montreal because you can’t breathe through your nose?” 

Roz had the nerve to smirk. “Ah, but is d’ot just mb’e. Hollad’der is also sick, reb’ember?”

“We don’t actually know that—“ 

Cliff was interrupted by someone knocking on the door of the clinic. 

“Doug, you there? I have a request for a medication from the Metros’ doc.” The unfamiliar woman’s voice was muffled by the door, but it sounded strained. Doug opened the door a crack, not letting her see inside.

“Sure thing, what do you need?” Doug was equally short. The league mandated that medical staff share resources when needed, but it could get awkward. Doug was probably eager to send her on her way before she got any intel on Roz. 

“Just Sudafed,” the woman said, impatient. 

Cliff exchanged a glance with a smug Roz as Doug busied himself fulfilling her request. The medication in question was already right in front of him, so it didn’t take long. 

The silence stretched after she left, broken only by Roz’s sniffling. The three of them looked at each other. Cliff spoke first. 

“Okay, so Hollander is sick, but he’s a big boy who takes his medicine,” Cliff taunted. 

Roz bristled, but didn’t manage a retort before his cold spoke for him. 

“yKGGHZXD’ttttch! hhh-GDJJCH’zhhh! Huhh- uh’GXXHJ’TCHeuh!!”

The sneezes sounded like they’d gotten trapped in his swollen sinuses before they could fully escape. They were followed by another honking nose blow, which ended in a defeated sigh. 

“Fide. Give mb’e the fuckigg pills.”

* * *

Look, Hayden got that Shane was self-conscious about being sick in front of the guys, but this was getting ridiculous. 

“Buddy, you planning on hiding in here until the team meeting?” Hayden pestered, trying to keep his voice light. “You’re not gonna have time to do your weird yoga stretches.”

That seemed to get through. Apparently, the thought of playing with tight ligaments was more horrifying than being seen with a runny nose. Shane sat up straighter, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shrug off his anxiety. 

“You’re right, Hayd, m’sorry. I just really hate…this,” Shane said weakly, gesturing vaguely at his face. “Especially in front of the guys.”

“It’ll be fine,” Hayden said dismissively. “I keep telling you, we’re all hockey players. Dealing with gross teammates is part of the job description, why else would I put up with Comeau’s B.O.?”

Shane wrinkled his nose in agreement, which seemed to set him off. He managed to grab a handful of tissues from the nearly-empty box, in time to bury his face in them.

“Hehh’dZZS’sshhhhh! Ihhh-djCH’sshoouh!! Fug’ck!” 

They were still uncharacteristically harsh, instantly soaking through the tissues. Shane dropped the soggy bundle in the trash, swapping it out for another handful. 

“Ugh, I feel like a leaky faucet,” Shane griped as he mopped up the remaining mess on his upper lip, wincing as the tissues brushed his chapped nostrils. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna go ask for another one of those,” Hayden gestured at the tissue box, which was now empty. 

With the critical supplies acquired, Hayden and Shane made their way back to the dressing room. 

“Capitaine! You live!” J.J. called out from across the room. 

“I wasn’t dying. It’s just a cold,” Shane said flatly, his illness as audible as ever. 

“Well, your cold has shitty timing,” Comeau complained. “Did you have to get sick right before a game?”

“Shut up, Comey. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s the middle of the season. We’re always right before a game,” Hayden retorted, earning a few snickers. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Shane said firmly. “I’m cleared, and it won’t affect how I play. If coach makes any adjustments, we’ll discuss it in the meetings.”

Shane turned sharply to face his stall, putting his back to the room like the matter was closed. But Hayden was right next to him and yeah, no, he could see the real story. Shane was just trying to hide his face as his nose overflowed again. 

No one on the team seemed eager to question Shane further. Messing with another guy’s rituals was taboo anyway, but doubly so when it came to their captain, who had his routine timed to the exact second. Shane seemed relieved to be left alone, keeping his back to the room as he wiped the mess off his upper lip yet again. Hayden had a feeling that the new tissue box was not long for this world. 

It was probably best to let Shane do his thing for now. Hayden grabbed a protein bar from his bag, then joined Andropov and J.J.’s recounting of the previous night’s exploits. Apparently Schneider had managed to leave the club with a girl, but refused to share any details. 

Hayden glanced over to check on Shane, who had completely zoned out the room as he stood on one foot, his other leg bent into an improbable position. Hayden was just in time to watch him almost lose his balance in his haste to grab a tissue.

“Hehh- yhH’DTSSSHhhooo! IHH’DZZSsshuhhh!”

Glances were exchanged around the room as the team collectively decided to look the other way. Definitely the right call. Shane hated to be interrupted when he was trying to lock in, and he’d basically told them to drop it. 

Theriault, who chose that moment to walk in early, apparently hadn’t gotten the memo. 

“À tes souhaits. Again,” the head coach said, looking Shane over with a critical eye. He huffed in displeasure. “That’s unfortunate.”

Shane’s face was impassive, his posture perfectly straight. 

“It’s not ideal, but I can play,” Shane still sounded like his vocal cords were in a battle with a river of snot, but his tone didn’t betray even a hint of discomfort. Still, he had to be pretty miserable. Whatever timing the doc was attempting, Hayden hoped he wouldn’t hold off on the meds for much longer.

“Of course you can. You’re not the type to be a little bitch about a head cold,” Theriault said gruffly. From him, that was almost a compliment. The head coach sighed again. “It had to be Boston.”

* * *

Cliff was seriously contemplating strangling Roz. Which would be a shame, considering all the work he’d put in to ensure that bastard could breathe during the game. 

“Fuck off! It’s my turn, we listen to Skrillex. End of the story,” St-Simon said angrily. 

“If I wad’t to liste’d to dial-up ind’terdet, I go back to 2005,” Roz drawled, his blasé tone at odds with the painfully distorted consonants. 

“You have listened to this song every day last week,” St-Simon argued.

“That was before mb’y head feels like is full of wet cod’crete,” Roz retorted, a bit more snappish this time. 

“Fine,” St-Simon threw up his hands in exasperation. “I’ll give the aux to Sebb, but next time we listen to the whole of Bangarang.”

Roz leaned his head back against his stall and closed his eyes without bothering to acknowledge the compromise. Cliff glanced at his watch to check how long ago Roz had taken the pills – just ten minutes. He was pretty sure Doug had said they had half an hour to wait. This was going to be a long twenty minutes. 

Sebbin, now in possession of the aux cable, put on a flat out boring pop song. Cliff had definitely heard it multiple times, but he didn’t remember a single lyric. 

“…Better.” Roz still had his eyes squeezed shut. 

The peace lasted exactly ten seconds. 

“Still terrible.”

“You just said it was better!” Sebbin protested. 

“Yes, I said better. Did d’ot say good,” Roz clarified without opening his eyes. 

Sebbin shot him a fearful glance, then wordlessly passed the cable to Feller. Cliff wished that he’d picked literally anyone else, but he kept his face-palm internal. Sure enough, a country song started playing. Half the room immediately groaned. 

“Seryozno?” Varkov ribbed his defensive partner. 

“It’s one song!” Feller said petulantly. 

“It’s the same one as this morning,” Cliff had to open his mouth, but he immediately regretted feeding the fire.

“It’s not—“

“Huhh’KGHDZZ’txhh! yyG’DJXX’Tdch!! Hhhh-! UH’hGDDHJJZ’dttt!!”

Their captain’s triple sneezes were background noise at this point, and the team usually ignored it. This time, he sounded so obviously sick that the whole room stopped to look at him. He was doubled over his lap, face buried in another spare t-shirt. Eyes closed, he made an attempt at blowing his nose, but only managed a grating squeak. He peeled open his eyes and scowled. 

“What are you all lookigg at?”

“Nothing,” Sebbin blurted out, at the same time as Cliff quipped: “Just want to see if any concrete comes out.”

Roz rolled his eyes. “You have nd’ever heard of mb’etafora? They do d’ot teach id’ Ab’ericad’ school?”

“I’m Canadian,” Cliff retorted. 

Roz waved a hand dismissively as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Cliff glanced at his watch again – seventeen more minutes. Nobody spoke for a few seconds, leaving the country song to play in the background. 

The silence was broken by Varkov. “Marly’s right, it is same song from this morning. Always singing about trucks.”

“This one’s about tractors,” Feller protested. 

“Is sab’e thid’g—ahh’KGHXX’Dtxhh!-hGDTJJ’ZHh!! HUH-YGKHX’Ttjj!! Blyad!”

The sneezes were, impossibly, even more pathetically congested. Roz stayed hunched over for a few seconds and let out a low groan, before straightening and tilting his head back. It hit the side of his stall with a soft thunk. 

“Jesus Christ, bless you,” Connors said uneasily, exchanging a glance with Cliff. Cliff shook his head slightly, hoping it came off as reassuring. 

“I dod’t thig’k he approves of b’y lifestyle,” Roz said tiredly, then pointed at Feller. “You do d’ot deserve mb’usic choice. Give to sobeod’e else.”

Without waiting for acknowledgement, Roz closed his eyes again and raised both hands to his face, massaging his cheekbones. Feller looked at Cliff, arms raised in a ‘what should I do?’ gesture. Cliff shrugged, which Feller apparently interpreted as a request for the aux cord. Well, it would probably be better if Roz directed his ire at the A, rather than the kids. He scrolled through his playlists, deciding on a hard rock mix that he knew Roz worked out to sometimes. 

As soon as he heard the opening riff of Seven Nation Army, Roz opened his eyes and looked around the room accusingly. “Who has aux nd’ow?” 

“Me,” Cliff said, crossing his arms.

“…Really?” Roz scoffed, the rolled R coming out stronger than usual. 

“What?” Cliff asked neutrally, inviting the challenge. 

“I expeg’cted better,” Roz narrowed his eyes. It was probably supposed to be threatening, but his flaring nostrils made it clear that he was actually holding off more sneezes. 

“I’ve known you for five years,” Cliff narrowed his eyes right back, biting his tongue to stop himself from laying into Roz. 

“Ad’d you’ve disappoid’ted—hhh!—m’be for f-faaahive—haA’KGHDJ’ttsch!- yGHXDT’Chh!-kGXDTT’xhjj!! huhh- ekh’GXDZZ’xheu!! HYEH’DGJXXZ’TChh!!”

The sneezes must have scraped something on the way out, because they immediately transitioned to a fit of hacking coughs. Fuck, that sounded wicked rough. Cliff was still annoyed, but he straight-up winced looking at the guy. The fit left Roz panting, t-shirt held over his lower face. He spat something into it, then pressed the palm of one hand into his eye socket. Finally, he looked up and met Cliff’s eyes. 

Cliff raised one eyebrow, trying his best not to look concerned. Roz responded better to being chirped than to being babied. 

“Roz. That soundtrack is flat out worse than anything we could put on the speaker. Go hang out in the showers, get some steam, come back when you can breathe.”

They stared each other down for a few seconds. Roz was usually a stone wall in a stare-down, but he lost it when he had to duck his head and cough into his shoulder. For a split second, he looked dead on his feet. But then his face remembered that he was supposed to be an asshole, and went right back to pouting. 

“So cruel, sed’digg ill captaid’n to exile. N’dow who will save aux cord frob’ your terrible b’usic?” Roz tried to make it seem like Cliff was twisting his arm, but when he stood up his feet were already pointed toward the showers. 

* * *

To the surprise of literally no-one, the Metros’ coaching staff had thrown a wrench in the line matching strategy. Shane had done his best to maintain that he was just ‘a little under the weather’. Hayden didn’t know who he thought he was kidding. Everyone already assumed the forwards would be called in for a last-minute extra meeting.

As a veteran, Hayden knew what to expect. It was too late to make any in-depth tactical changes, but the coaches could decide who to send out on the ice at any given time. Shane would be playing fewer minutes, which meant other lines would be getting more ice time than usual. The question was which of the Raiders’ lines they would be facing, and most importantly – who would have the pleasure of taking face-offs against Rozanov. 

The twelve forwards settled on the benches in the dressing room. The atmosphere was mostly boisterous and competitive, but Hayden noted an undercurrent of anxiety. He could only hope that Theriault’s buzzkill attitude wouldn’t drag the whole room down. Shane usually left the hype work to his alternates, so the damage control would be Hayden’s problem. He was already mentally prepping a speech for after the meeting. He was relieved to see McCann walk in. 

“Alright, boys, here’s the deal,” the assistant coach clapped his hands and rubbed them together, as chipper as ever. “LeClaire loves to hard match, and he’s been trying to contain our top line for years. Thing is, Hollzy is a beast.”

Hayden glanced at Shane, who had a tear leaking from one eye and a wad of tissues pressed under his nose. He looked about as far from a beast as a human could get. Well, maybe some kind of creature that got dragged out of a swamp. McCann was either completely blind, or, more likely, just playing dumb to give Shane some privacy. 

“Normally, we let LeClaire have his fun,” McCann said with some satisfaction. “He rolls the Carmichael line against our first line more than we’d like, but you three still find ways to score on them.”

Hayden made a face at the reminder. Rozanov would always be his number-one headache in Boston games, but the Raiders’ second line was a close second. Carmichael was one of the best shutdown centers in the league; trying for a zone exit with that guy on the ice was just a massive pain in the ass. 

He glanced at Shane again to catch his reaction, and found him completely distracted. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears leaking from the outer corners, and his nose was pinched in a vise-like grip through the tissues. 

“Either way, Hollzy has enough minutes in him that there’s enough left to deal with Rozanov when we really need it—“

“Hihhh- ehh’DTJj’SSSsshhh! EH’DHJSSSsshhhhue! hnngh…”

McCann was interrupted when Shane lost his battle with his nose. He pitched forward into the tissues with two miserably wet sneezes. Hayden was pretty sure only he heard the soft groan that followed. 

“Bud’ zdorov,” Andropov said, sounding both sympathetic and grossed-out. 

Shane, who was in the process of swapping out his soaked tissues with a fresh handful, froze. Hayden was close enough to see the flush creeping up his neck. 

“What he said,” McCann added, still either ignoring or happily oblivious to his star center’s embarrassment. “Hollzy, I know you don’t want to hear this, but there’s no way you’re logging twenty-five minutes tonight.”

Shane scowled, but he didn’t argue. Or maybe he just wanted McCann’s attention off of him so he could tend to his nose in peace. Now that he’d lowered the tissues, Hayden could see that the rosy, chafed hue had spread from his nostrils to his philtrum and upper lip. That had to be painful, and it was the exact sort of discomfort that drove Shane up the wall. Hayden was pretty sure he would rather skate on a broken ankle than irritate his skin. 

Hayden felt a sudden flash of irritation at Boston Lily for making Shane so miserable, but he immediately felt like a jerk. It wasn’t her fault, and she was probably suffering just as much as Shane right now. He needed to save the hate for the real enemy – the Boston Raiders in general and Ilya Rozanov in particular. 

His train of thought was interrupted by McCann. “We have to manage your ice time, so when you’re out there, it needs to count. Here’s how the rest of you guys are gonna pick up the slack. ”

The changes were straightforward. No double shifts on the power play, fewer defensive zone starts, replacement on the penalty kill as needed. It all seemed pretty reasonable, so Hayden had no idea why Shane was chewing his lip like that. His musings were interrupted by a woman’s voice outside the dressing room. 

“Are you all decent? I have good news and bad news.” Hayden recognized the voice as one of the newer trainers. 

“Lovely,” McCann called back. “We’re good, come on in.”

The trainer entered and unceremoniously shoved two pills and a water bottle at Shane. “Enjoy breathing through your nose.”

“That does sound nice,” Shane said hoarsely. “Thanks.”

She nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to McCann. “So, the bad news: the Raiders definitely know about Hollander.”

“Goddamnit,” McCann swore. “I was hoping to keep LeClaire in the dark at least until puck drop.”

Shane’s eyes narrowed; he looked pissed. Which seemed a little ridiculous, honestly, because there was zero chance they were keeping his cold a secret. His nose was so red that any Raiders player who came within ten feet of him would immediately figure it out. 

“You haven’t heard the good news yet,” the trainer grinned. “Rozanov is also sick. Actually, he sounded worse than Hollander.” 

McCann actually laughed. Shane looked…nervous? Hayden wasn’t sure why. As far as he was concerned, anything that slowed Rozanov down was the opposite of nerve-wracking. 

“Oh, excellent,” McCann said, still laughing. “I swear, it’s like nature wants to keep the rivalry even.”

“I think is just karma,” Andropov shrugged. “Rozanov sleeps with a different girl each night, while half the city is sick. Is not surprising.”

“Then what happened to Hollzy? He never leaves his fucking house.” Comeau sounded like he was joking, but his tone rubbed Hayden the wrong way. Shane would probably shrug it off, but Hayden wasn’t gonna let it go. He knew exactly what had happened to Shane, so he could tell everyone Comeau was talking straight out of his ass. 

“Maybe not his house, but he definitely leaves the hotel sometimes,” Hayden smirked, elbowing Shane in the ribs. Big mistake. Hayden winced as the contact triggered a fit of wet coughing. 

“Shut up,” Shane croaked, red-faced and glaring at Hayden. It would have been intimidating if Shane’s nose hadn’t chosen that moment to start running again, forcing him to look away as he buried his lower face in yet another tissue.

“Alright, you can discuss Hollzy’s love life later,” McCann cut in, now a bit exasperated. “Piker, do us a favor and try not to kill your linemate.”

“Sorry,” Hayden said, meaning it. “So, Rozanov is sick. I’m guessing that changes things?”

“Yes, and no,” Shane piped up, hoarse but suddenly energized. Were the meds already working? Hayden was pretty sure that should take longer than two minutes. 

“I don’t like it, coach, but you’re right. The way you’re deploying me makes sense regardless of Rozanov. But since he’s also sick, the math changes. They have more defensive depth, so I’m guessing they pulled him off the PK completely. That means that even if you only give me one look on the PP, our conversion rate goes up. Plus, if they’re protecting him with heavy O-zone starts it actually works in our favor. It means I won’t be taking as many draws against him in our end, and he won’t be leaning on me all night.” 

Shane’s words spilled out in a flood of precise analysis. His voice was steady but sounded like sandpaper, his gaze fixed on the air to the left of McCann’s head. Hayden glanced around the room and saw that everyone was staring at him, their assistant coach included. Shane, completely in his own world, just kept right on rolling. 

“Of course, if they know I’m sick, they have ways to fuck with us. Their forecheck is nasty even without Rozanov, so they’ll dump and chase heavy to force board battles below the dots. They might try to get me to take more face-offs, but that would gas Rozanov just as fast. If it looks like he’s slowing down we could try driving down the middle lane on zone entries, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Our best bet is east-west plays. He’ll bite and chase the puck every time because it usually works, but tonight it’ll wear him out. Oh, and pressure Varkov on the breakout, he usually ices the puck if you force him onto his backhand.”

By the time he’d finished, Shane’s voice was basically hanging on by a thread. He gave a tiny shake of his head, eyes snapping back into focus and darting around the room. Everyone was still dead silent, staring at him. 

“Respectfully, cap, what the fuck?” Schneider, their rookie right winger, said incredulously. 

“I, uh—hihhh-!”

Hayden saw the disaster unfolding before it happened. Shane had been completely checked-out, distracted by the scouting report he’d apparently managed to do in his head in real time. He hadn’t noticed the tickle in his nose until it was too late. 

“Hehh-dJZZ’SSSSHhhhuh! Ehhd’TSCH’ZSSssshhh!!”

At the last second, Shane managed to get his hands up in front of his face. The pair of sneezes barreled out of him, forceful and audibly pretty messy. His hands did nothing to absorb it, but at the dozen or so people staring at him were spared the sight of snot spewing from his nose. Hayden winced. Even by hockey hygiene standards, that was kind of gross. Shane’s face was as red as it had been after Lily had called earlier. 

The silence stretched, so Hayden decided to break the tension. “Bless you, man. Maybe, uh, go take a break?”

Shane nodded behind his cupped hands, then fled in the direction of the bathroom. McCann cleared his throat. 

“Right. Good to know Hollzy’s IQ is still the best in the league, even if the rest of him isn’t at 100%,” McCann’s cheerfulness sounded a bit forced, but Hayden appreciated the effort.

“Is that what’s going on in his brain? All the time?” Schneider said, sounding slightly awed. 

“Yup. He’s just like that,” Hayden grinned. “That’s why we’re going back to back this year.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” McCann rebuked them. “We still have a game to win.”

* * *

Roz returned just as the boys were filing into the meeting room, and Cliff craned to get a look at him. The sounds that had echoed out of the showers after he’d left were kind of nasty. For his own sanity, Cliff had done everything in his power to tune them out. Hopefully all that sneezing, hacking and nose-blowing was a sign of the meds working to break up the congestion and not a preview for the rest of the night.

Cliff caught only a brief glimpse of Rozy’s face before LeClaire pulled him aside, clearly trying to see if he could actually go tonight. It seemed to be a mixed bag. His nose still looked like it had been to war, but the glassy, dead-eyed stare was gone. Cliff could only hope his attitude had cleared up in tandem with his sinuses. 

Apparently satisfied, LeClaire clapped Roz on the back and headed to the front of the room. Roz took his customary seat between Cliff and Connors in the first row. 

“So, how are you liking the benefits of modern medicine?” Cliff needled him. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Roz replied, but his earlier spitefulness was gone. He lowered his voice as he continued. “You were maybe kind of right. Is nice not to feel like my face will explode.”

Yeah, he sounded much less stuffed up, and he was actually, if grudgingly, conceding an argument. They might make it through tonight after all. 

“Glad to hear it, man. Really,” Cliff said earnestly. Sincerity wasn’t their usual style, but neither was Roz folding on an issue like this. 

Roz looked at him for a long moment, then smirked. “Of course you are. Is first and only time you will ehhh-ver w-win ahhh!-argumehhnt—Huhh’DJZSH’EUuh! yHH’DTZCH’SHUue! Haahh-PJZSCHhihh!”

Roz twisted away from Cliff at the last second, bending over double in his seat to sneeze openly at the ground. Well, it would be too much to hope that the meds would completely eliminate any sign of Roz’s cold. Especially his sneezes; Cliff kind of doubted that any drug in existence could do that. At least they didn’t sound like they had to punch through a brick wall on the way out. 

“Well, that sounds like a sign that we should get started,” LeClaire said dryly, but his voice carried enough to get the attention of the twenty unruly hockey players filling the room. “There have been some developments.”

The room stilled completely. “Rozy, please tell us you’re still cleared,” Connors begged. St-Simon nodded vigorously beside him. 

“Yes, yes, Doug is smart man, he says I can handle tiny cold,” Roz said airily. Cliff kept his mouth shut about the half-dozen other warnings the doc had tacked on to that sentence. The important part was true. 

“He did say that. He also said you’re getting less ice time, but you knew that already.” LeClaire said amiably, holding up one hand to forestall Roz’s objections. “Enough, Roz. We need you rested for the road trip next week more than we need you to pull double shifts tonight. Besides, you already got us a consolation prize.” 

Cliff grinned in anticipation. Roz’s mutinous expression melted into a small, private smile. 

“Are you talking about Hollander?” Connors asked excitedly. “Cap, what did you do? I thought you were joking about the biological warfare thing.”

“Yes, Connie. I invite captain of Metros to my house so I can sneeze on him and infect him with illness I did not know I have,” Roz said, dead-pan. 

Connors laughed delightedly. Cliff snorted, marveling at Roz’s ability to say the most ridiculous things with a completely straight face. Although, come to think of it, if Roz had actually hooked up with his Montreal girl last night, that was exactly what had happened to her. Wherever she was now, Cliff hoped she wasn’t too pissed off at Roz. 

LeClaire pinched the bridge of his nose. “What I meant to say is that Roz and Marly got us accidental intel. But yes, Hollander is also sick.”

“Great,” Carmichael said, for once not even slightly sarcastic. “I was not looking forward to taking extra face-offs against him.” 

“Too bad, you’re still taking them,” LeClaire declared with a resigned determination. Sure enough, Carmichael and Roz objected simultaneously. 

“But shouldn’t we save Roz for—“

“There is no need, I can take Hollander—”

“I said enough!” LeClaire barked, banging on the table to shut them up. He shot an annoyed look at Roz. “You’re getting less ice time, and so is Hollander. Theriault will avoid starting him in their defensive zone so he can focus on scoring. Which is exactly what I’m going to do with you. Mikey is perfectly capable of shutting down the Hollander line, that’s what we pay him for.”

It was mostly true. LeClaire’s current game plan against Montreal’s top line was to let Hollander and Roz have at it in the first period. In the second, he’d use the combined power of Carmichael and the long change to trap them in their zone and cycle them to death. That usually left them gassed and less dangerous by the third. It would be less effective without Roz out there to stir up shit, but not a total disaster. 

Carmichael looked a bit more compliant now that he’d had his tires pumped. Roz was still mutinous as he scrubbed his knuckles roughly under his nose. He closed his eyes for a beat, swallowing whatever complaint he had left, then shoved his game face back on.

“Is not bad idea, but there is one problem,” Roz said thoughtfully, his voice still a gravelly baritone. “If they know about me, then Hollander will expect this. Mikey slows down the game, is how he makes life hard for players who use speed for attack. Hollander will not do this tonight. If you give him space to think, he will play chess with Mikey. Is low-event game, but he is good at chess.”

LeClaire was still a bit ticked off, but he was listening. “Do you have a different idea?”

“Yes. We do not give him space to think. Hollander hates being sick, will be easy to annoy him. When he gets comfortable, send us out to rile him up, then let him waste energy on Mikey.” 

Roz’s face settled back into his trademark heavy-lidded stare. Combined with his accent in that low, guttural voice, he sounded like a movie villain laying out his master plan. The whole tough-guy image was immediately ruined when he scrunched up his nose and scrubbed it against the back of his hand like a toddler.

LeClaire gave Roz another long look. He seemed impressed that the guy’s brain was still firing on all cylinders, but Cliff could see the edge of concern in the coach’s eyes. “I’ll consider it. Moving on, we can’t know exactly how this will affect the Metros’ game plan. We put our heads together with the analytics guys to come up with a baseline. Let’s start with—“

“haA’kGXTJ’SHeuhh!”

Roz pitched forward with another sneeze. Thankfully, it was the normal loud kind and not the wicked blocked-up ones that sounded like they rattled his teeth. He drew a few nervous glances from the kids, but was mostly ignored. LeClaire, who was used to that particular disruption, just kept talking. 

“—their forwards. We expect them—“

“Huhh’PTXZSCHhh-eu!”

“—to shelter the Hollander line, which means Comeau—“

“Ihh’kGHX’SCHuhh!”

“—is going to swallow up more hard minutes and d-zone draws. That’s good news for you three,” LeClaire, still ignoring the interruption, nodded toward Cliff, Roz and Connors. 

Cliff exchanged a satisfied look with Connors over a  bent-double Roz, who had yet to look up after his latest sneeze. Cliff was definitely looking forward to running over Montreal’s fourth line. The Raiders had no qualms about playing a heavy, greasy game. But those three idiots took it too far, and it was galling to watch the Metros escape with their choirboy reputation intact every time. Cliff blamed Hollander and his picture-perfect media-trained captaincy. 

Of course, LeClaire wouldn’t let him have too much fun. “Marly, keep your nose clean tonight. No stupid penalties. I can’t have you in the box when we’re already down one of our best penalty killers.”

Several guys jeered, and Roz briefly stopped bullying his nose to blow a loud raspberry. LeClaire was obviously fighting a smile as he kept going. 

“Speaking of the PK, we’re not entirely sure what we’re up against. Their PP1 has Hollander running the point, so he can try to win with his brain instead of his legs. He won’t cycle down low, but he can still pick us apart from the blue line if—“

“yhH’KGDHx’schueh!”

“—we give him time. Pressure him up top, make him skate. He—“

“Huhh-PdTX’SSHhh!”

“—wants to log the full two minutes, but if we make him work he’s going to—“

“Aah’GDHXxt’SHIIIh!!”

“—gas out early, bless you. Bottom line, they’re still dangerous. We’ll get more detailed in the PK meeting.”

The sneezes drew more attention this time after LeClaire’s offhanded blessing, but everyone looked away before Roz could catch them. As Roz righted himself, Cliff nudged him and raised his eyebrows in a silent ‘you good?’

Roz rolled his eyes and flicked his wrist carelessly, then scrubbed his knuckles roughly under his nose. That was probably Roz-speak for ‘leave me alone, you should be used to this by now.’ Fair enough, as long as he stayed that way for the next four hours. 

* * *

Author’s notes:

Shane wants the ground to swallow him whole, and that was before his teammate blessed him in Russian. Ilya plans to do more than just annoy him. 

Ilya would rather piss everyone off than experience a single moment of emotional vulnerability. This is an airtight plan and Shane will definitely not disrupt it by existing in his general vicinity. 

Hockey analysis - I wrote my best attempt at analyzing how each team’s tactics would adjust to this situation. I’m just a hockey fan without personal experience so my knowledge is limited, hopefully some of it makes sense. There’s maybe too much jargon, but I erred on the side of keeping the discussion in character. Both coaches are doing fairly standard stuff, but with slightly different emphasis. McCann is focused on load management, LeClaire is playing chess with match-ups. Shane is being autistic detail-oriented about his special interest, Ilya is engaging in psychological warfare. 

ESL speakers - Ilya isn’t the only one. Varkov and Andropov are Russian, so they’re gonna drop articles and use weird prepositions. Victor St-Simon is the most Quebecois name ever. He definitely grew up speaking French, he’s been speaking English for a while but he messes up verb tenses and idioms sometimes. J.J. is Haitian-Canadian, so he’s also a francophone. Plus he can swear in a combination of Haitian creole and Quebecois sacres, which is fun. I made a whole meta of where I think players are from based on their names, if anyone’s interested I can post it. 

Nicknames - around their team, hockey players almost never refer to each other by their full surnames. The lack of nicknames in canon bugs me almost as much as the lack of Russian diminutives. Hockey nicknames usually have 1 or 2 syllables, based on the player’s last name with an ‘s’, ‘y’ or ‘er’ suffix. Sometimes it’s an inside joke or a reference to a distinctive attribute (a redhead could be Red or Rusty, a tall player could be Tiny, etc.) For the sake of clarity I went with the boring options here, but I love the silly ones. My irl favorite is A/rber X/hekaj, nicknamed WiFi because his surname looks like a default password you would find on the back of a router. 

“Um…” Kia, doubting her memory enough to double check the state of the weather through the windows as she takes a quick detour, collecting a towel before circuiting back to her bonded as they meet by the fireside, points outdoors. “It’s…not raining, though?” She delivers her statement as a question, because…well, just in case. Invisible rain would hardly be the strangest thing she’s ever encountered, after all.

“No, darkling, not hhH… *snf!*” Cerberus presses a forefinger firmly underneath his nose to force a rising need into submission – a fairly tenuous one, he’s well aware, the way the day’s gone so far, but he manages a submission nonetheless, and he exhales carefully, a little shakily. A directed command, much more certain, transforms the quietly crackling hearthflames instantly from little more than a flicker to radiant blazingwild intensity. “Not here. Can’t say the same for the Realm, though.” Another sniffle and an undertoned sigh of irritation. “Practically all damn week, in fact. Ridiculous place.” He gives his bonded a wry smile as he weaves a hand through Kia’s hair, kisses her with a craving undisguised. :I’ve missed you every second, love.:

Immersed in the moment, Kia reciprocates his kiss ardently, accompanied by a heartfelt :Oh, sweetheart, I’ve missed you too: before she wraps an arm around his waist, and the immediacy of other matters pulls her attention elsewhere.

“Whoa, you are freezing!” She gathers a handful of his shirt sleeve, lifting it briefly away from where the fine linen clings to the contours of his arm, damp and chilled, and waves the towel at him with insistence. “Babe. Here.”

Cerberus gets as far as reaching to accept it before the frisson of dissonance between worlds and temperatures becomes too much and he gives a short apologetic shake of his head, focus collapsing unstoppable, turning from Kia posthaste.

“Hh-TSSCHH-uu! Excuu… hh­-hH…” He Creates a handkerchief in a breathcaught pause of expectation, brings it to his face in cover immediately. “AHHTSSCHuu! Ugh, sorry, excuse me,” he says, and sweeps chaotic wet hair back from his eyes with another sniffle, blows his nose, sniffling again immediately afterwards.

“Bless you, honey.” Kia, voice far steadier than heartbeat, passes him the towel again, more successfully this time. “You seriously need to warm up.” She casts an assessing gaze over her beloved, rainsoaked and sniffly and significantly more dishevelled than his meticulous norm, with concern in her eyes but also something much more primal, covetous – ohgods how does anyone even have the right to be this damn gorgeous it should be illegal or something it’s not fair ohgods – which she suppresses for the moment for the sake of practicality. Almost. With a glint in her eye, she affects an air of command.

“Strip.”

Towel in hand, Cerberus pauses to quirk a half-smile at her, more than a little intentionally wicked, and raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look,” Kia faux chastises with a laugh. “Come on, you have to get out of these wet clothes or you’ll catch cold.” If you haven’t already. She moves to unbutton his waistcoat while he roughly towel-dries his hair. “Gods, babe,” she murmurs as she undoes the final button, begins doing the same to his shirt. “You travelled like this?!”

“Well, it was either travel through it or remain in it, darkling. *snf!* Given th…the… Oh, I…” Cerberus breaks off with a staggered gasp, rubs his nose with strong determination against the insistent itch that’s refused to be sated day-long. He’s not going to succeed and he recognises the fact of it quickly, places a firm hand on Kia’s shoulder to halt her motion, and with rushed apology and a surrendered, desperate inhale, turns to bury his face in his elbow. “Huh-AHSSCH-uu! hhh… Huh-TSSCHHuu!”

Kia proffers a whispersoft blessing though she well knows he isn’t done – and clearly so does he, his expression expectant, encouraging culmination, his breath incremental, erratic, preparatory. She reaches across and takes a couple of tissues from the box on the side table, presses them into his hand mere moments before he capitulates, powerful, absolute, twice and twice again. “Hhh-AHTSSCH-uu! HUHschuu! Hh...hh-HH… hhAHTSSCHUU! Ah-HEHTSHhuu! *SNFF!* Ah, gods.”

“Bless you!”

Cerberus exhales heavily and wipes his nose firmly, repeatedly, Mindsending an apology-laced :Thanks, love:, another series of sniffles accompanying it. “Excuse me,” he says, once more pushing back strands of displaced ebony, and moves to claim another tissue, blows his nose. He catches Kia’s look of scrutiny and attempts a bit of damage control as he immolates the used tissues in a flash of aetherfire.

“I’m alright, darkling. It’s just too much time out in the cold. It’ll pass.”

“Hmm…” Kia, unconvinced, sits cross-legged on the thick rug by the fire, motioning for Cerberus to join her. He does, though not before first taking another tissue, then, upon further consideration, the box with him.

Kia smiles to herself, more than a little knowingly, at this. “I mean, if you’re sure, babe,” she says, and resumes unbuttoning and removing Cerberus’s shirt, fixing her stunning beloved with a look of mild challenge as the hearthside warmth envelops them both. “It’s just that thi…”

Her sentence collapses alongside his focus and the sharp catch of his breath; he mutters a barely audible fuck, and quickly turns from her again.

“hh…HXTchu! Uhh…” Stifling was never going to suffice; he inhales again, deep and immediate, and he doesn’t bother trying such follies a second time. “Huh-TSSCHH-uu! *snf!*Damn it, excuse me.” He shivers and wipes his nose, shifts a little nearer the fire.

“Aw, bless you, sweetheart.” Kia places a soft kiss on his shoulder as she moves to nestle alongside him, traces the muscular contours of his arm, her touch lingering and indulgent. “It’s just…well, you know this sort of thing kind of tends to come with consequences,” she finishes.

Cerberus, with a light sniffle, considers this only briefly. “As far as I can tell, love, after far too much time spent having to deal with idiots and inclement weather, the consequences seem to be that I’m finally home in front of the fire with my wonderful, beautiful bonded—” He cups her face in his hand, tilts her face towards him and kisses her tenderly. “—who I’ve not seen for a week. I can certainly think of worse consequences, darkling.” Meeting her gaze with a smile both disingenuous and suggestive, he raises an eyebrow. “And I’m half naked.”

Kia collapses into laughter. “Gee, lucky you told me, or I might’ve missed it,” she says with a grin, and brushes some of his still slightly damp hair aside to touch a kiss, and another, another to his neck, down his chest. :You wouldn’t be playing down how you feel because you’re horny, now, would you?: she Mindsends, her cadence teasing, flirtatious.

:And if I was?: Cerberus wraps his arms around her, drawing them together, and murmurs in sotto voce midnight velvet, “Would there be further…consequences?”

He raises the ambient heat with an elegant wave of one hand, curls the other through Kia’s hair and kisses her deeply.

She makes a small sound of pleasure, involuntary, needy. “You,” she purrs, dark and sensual, “are shameless,” before pointing at the redoubled fire and adding a more mischievous, “And I know you did that just to get me naked too.”

“I hope you’re not after a denial, love.”

Kia, heatcaressed and heartpossessed, presses a finely manicured hand to his chest, pushing him back onto the rug as she straddles him, rich mahogany waves tumbling over her shoulders. She looks down at Cerberus, her eyes vivid desire cast bright blue.

“Oh, that is definitely not what I’m after.”

Mini Crash Course on Plants + Pollen

What's the deal with plants? Like, where do I start if I know...nothing? You can start right here!! Okay, so there are a lot (and I do mean a lot) of different ways we classify plants. For the purposes of this post, I'm going to to break down a few of the key ones in a way that (hopefully) isn't too overwhelming.

The Linnaean Classification system: This is the standard method of classifying all living organisms, using taxonomic binomial nomenclature (a formal, 2-part naming system in Latinized forms).

🌱 FUN FACT: Common names of plants often vary from region to region, culture to culture, and era to era. You can learn a lot from a plant's common name, and often a lot more from its binomial nomenclature. For example, the plant known as Common Sneezewort (Achillea ptarmica) derives its binomial species name (ptarmica) from the Greek word ptairo ("sneeze") which means "causes sneezing!" -- Thus, the plant's full scientific name translates to "Yarrow that causes sneezing." Pretty on[in?]-the-nose if you ask me.

Do all plants produce pollen? Nope! Not all plants produce pollen. I've put together the following chart which helps break down how we further classify plants --specifically in the context of what plants produce pollen and how they are pollinated, which all leads us to understanding what makes them more/less allergenic and why...we'll get into shortly.

Why do plants produce pollen, and what exactly is pollination? It's how plants get it on, bay-bee! 🐝 Pollination is how the male parts of a plant transfer genetic material to the female parts of the plant, allowing plants to produce seed and fruit, and ensure the genetic diversity of its species is maintained. Let's talk about it!

Reproductive Categories: Both Angiosperms (flowering) and Gymnosperms (non-flowering) have male structures which produce pollen and female structures which develop seeds and fruit.

In Angiosperms, the part of a flower containing the male reproductive organs is called the stamen. At the tip of the stamen is the anther, which is where pollen is produced! The part of a flower containing the female reproductive organ is called the pistil, which contains the ovary. Once fertilized by pollen, this part develops into the mature fruit/seed.

Flowers (and cones) can be male, female, or bisexual -- and there are even more categories I'm not going to get into but...Nature is queer, y'all! And it's awesome.

Monoecious plants have both male and female unisexual flowers on the same plant, which means they are self-pollinating. Examples include: Birch, Oak, Spruce, and Pine trees; and vegetables like pumpkins, cucumbers, corn and tomatoes. Dioecious plants have unisexual male and female parts on separate plants, and need to be cross pollinated in order to produce seed. Examples include: Juniper, Poplar, Maple, and Willow trees; and vegetables like asparagus and spinach.

🌱 FUN FACT: On monoecious conifer trees, female cones grow on the upper branches of the tree, where they can be fertilized by the pollen of male cones blown upwards from the wind.

Okay, so exactly how are plants pollinated? Biotic Pollination (by animals - primarily insects, but also birds and small mammals). In exchange for pollination services, these plants provide animals with food (pollen is very high in protein and nutrients).

Abiotic Pollination (by natural phenomenons - like wind, rain, or water). These are strong, independent self-pollinating plants who don’t need no bugs.

What makes some plants more allergenic than others? It all has to do with how they're pollinated!

Insect-pollinated plants generally tend to be the least allergenic, as the pollen grains are generally larger and stickier, allowing them to easily stick to insect bodies. I mean, just look at these guys. They’re absolutely lost in the sauce:

Wind-pollinated plants, on the other hand, tend to be the most allergenic as their pollen grains are smaller and lighter. They also tend to produce a lot more of it in quantity, since their distribution method is a lot less targeted (they rely on the variable forces of wind and water vs relying on, say, a bee that is reliably going to fly from flower to flower).

Depending on the anatomical structure of a species’ flowers, it may be both animal and wind-pollinated. Privet, for example, is primarily insect-pollinated, but because it has anthers that protrude considerably from its flower (hubba hubba), its pollen can be distributed by the wind, as this article explains.

🌱 FUN FACT: Some bees have special structures known as pollen baskets (or corbiculae) to help them efficiently store and carry pollen!

How is allergy season defined? The peak flowering/pollen times for plants varies by region, even if the same plant species grows across a wide geographical range. This is influenced largely by climate, and may vary slightly year-by-year. Ragweed, for example is abundant throughout all of central-eastern continental US, but pollen levels may peak at different times, depending on what state you're in (the state of allergic misery perhaps). For example, someone who usually prepares accordingly for ragweed season to hit them in mid-September where they live might be in for a bit of a surprise if they travel to another part of the country in mid-late August...!

What is hay fever, exactly? Is it the same as seasonal allergies? Essentially, yes. Hay fever is actually bit of a misnomer, as it was originally believed that the scent of freshly-cut grass (later dried to be used as hay*) was triggering allergic symptoms. Grass pollen of course can be a major trigger for allergies, nowadays the term is used almost interchangeably with the more-accurately described allergic rhinitis. *Consider also, if you really want to put your character in a Situation, the fact that dried hay often contains not only pollen, but mold spores and dust/dried plant particles...

Why does pollen make people sneeze? In simple terms: pollen allergies are an immunological response to the proteins found in different types of pollen. This article, titled 'Allergies: The Radical Theory of Sneezing' goes into much further detail. Also, um, hello?!!? That name???

🌱 FUN FACT: This paper is the first recorded medical description of 'hay fever.' In case you want to read it. For science, obviously.

A Selected List of the Sneeziest Plants

🌻 wildflowers + weeds

Asters, Daisies, Sunflowers (Members of the Asteraceae family) in general  Ragweed (members of the Ambrosia genus): specifically Common Ragweed (Ambrosia artemisiifolia) and Great Ragweed (Ambrosia trifida) Mugworts (members of the Artemisia genus) - particularly Common Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris) Pigweed (members of the Amaranthus genus) Goosefoot (Chenopodium album)

💐 cultivated or cut flowers

Baby’s breath (Gypsophila paniculata) and its relatives in the same genus Chrysanthemums or 'Mums' (members of the Chrysanthemum genus) Asters, Daisies, Sunflowers (Members of the Asteraceae family), including: Dahlias (members of the Dahlia genus) Gerberas (members of the Gerbera genus) 

🌾 grasses

Timothy grasses (members of the Phleum genus) Sweet vernal grass (Anthoxanthum odoratum) Bermuda grass (Cynodon dactylon) Kentucky bluegrass (Poa pratensis) Ryegrass (members of the Lolium genus) Orchard grass (Dactylis glomerata) Bahia grass (Paspalum notatum)

🌳 shrubs/small trees

Common Sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata) Hazels (members of the Corylus genus) Juniper (members of the Juniperus genus) Cypress (members of the Cupressaceae family) Privet (members of the Ligustrum genus)

🌲 trees

Alder (members of the Alnus genus) Ash (members of the Fraxinus genus) Beech (members of the Fagus genus) Birch (members of the Betula genus) Cedar (members of the Cedrus genus) Elm (members of the Ulmus genus) Hickory (members of the Carya genus) Maple (members of the Acer genus) Mulberry (members of the Morus genus) Oak (members of the Quercus genus) Olive (members of the Olea genus) Sycamore (members of the Platanus genus) Poplar (members of the Populus genus)

🌱 FUN FACT: People who are allergic to the pollen of one plant species are more likely to also be allergic to species in the same plant family. For example, those who are Ash tree pollen may also be allergic to the pollen of Olives and Lilacs, as all three are members of the Oleaceae family.

🏅special mentions (plants that may or may not necessarily be allergenic but still deserve to be mentioned)

Highly fragrant plants (known to or most likely to trigger scent reactions) Lilies – particularly Asiatic hybrids such as Lilium orientalis (aka the Stargazer lily) Hyacinths (members of the Hyacinthus genus) Lilacs (members of the Syringa genus) Wisteria (members of the Wisteria genus) Lavender (members of the Lavandula genus) Jasmine (members of the Jasminum genus) Freesias (specifically the highly fragrant Antique White Freesia aka Freesia alba) Viburnums (Specifically the Burkwood Viburnum aka Viburnum × burkwoodii) Roses (members of the Rosa genus)* *There are certain types of hybrid Roses that have been bred specifically for traits like fragrance (eg. the variety known as “Mme Isaac Pereire”) but honestly...most of my knowledge pertains to wild rose species and I'm not researching this topic any further because people who grow cultivated/hybrid roses can be Extremely Serious about it and I’m genuinely a little scared of them. Small, fluffy seed heads (wind-distributed seeds that are very tiny and light and easy to breathe in...Do you see where i'm going with this? You see the vision?!) Dandelions (Taraxacum officinale): Willowherbs (members of the Epilobium genus) Cottongrasses (members of the Eriophorum genus) Asters (members of the Aster genus) Goldenrods (members of the Solidago genus) Pearly Everlasting (Anaphalis margaritacea) Hypoallergenic plants (these species tend to have thick/sticky pollen that does not become airborne, or needs to be intentionally disturbed by specialist polinators in order to disperse). A pollen allergy to any of the following plants would extremely unlikely, but an objectively hilarious affliction to give to a character. Orchids (members of the Orchidaceae family) Cactus (members of the Cactaceae family) Irises, Crocuses, and Freesias (members of the Iridaceae family) Columbines (members of the Aquilegia family)

🌱 FUN FACT: Many flowers have been cultivated (intentionally bred or hybridized to for specific traits) to produce less pollen. We call these varieties "cultivars." For allergy sufferers, hypoallergenic cultivars are great to grow in their garden (or to purchase at a florist). For pollinators who expend energy to search for a food source, it's not so great. It's even less great if these cultivars are native species which are subsequently planted or introduced into the wild, as it can compromise the genetic integrity of that species' wild populations, and negatively impact native pollinators.

💥 Sternutatory or Errhine plants Sternutatory (adjective): Also sternutative. causing or tending to cause sneezing Errhine (noun): a medicine to be snuffed up the nostrils to promote sneezing and increased discharges.

Important Disclaimer ⚠️ DO NOT TRY THESE AT HOME ( I cannot stress this enough). This is for information purposes only and should not be used as a how-to guide. Many plants, including some on this list and the resources at the end of this guide can be extremely toxic, dangerous – or even deadly – if used, consumed, or prepared incorrectly. Misidentification of plant species can also be deadly. Seriously, do not be silly in your pursuit of snz. Stick with chhinkni, folks.

Wait, so…plants can make you sneeze even without pollen? Heck yeah, friends! We've all heard about pepper as a snz trigger, of course...Well, Black Pepper is just the common name for the plant also known as Piper nigrum. Peppercorns are its dried fruit, and it's what we grind up to get black pepper seasoning! And chhinkni? It's all plant parts! We'll get into that later, too.

Indigenous peoples around the world have been using plants medicinally for millennia. Traditionally, sternutatory (yes, that is the fancy scientific word for ‘sneeze-inducing’) plants were used to treat or cure the common cold, headaches, or in some cases as a stimulant. Are you writing a fic with a character who is an herbalist, traditional medicine practitioner, healer, witch/wizard, etc? Perhaps they would be familiar with some of the following plants:

Sneezeweed (Helenium autumnale) - [crushed dried leaves and flower heads] Sneezewort (Achillea ptarmica)  - [dried powdered roots; possibly leaves?] Sneezewood (Ptaeroxylon obliquum) - [powder from wood, bark] Spreading Sneezeweed (Centipeda minima) - [squeezed flower heads] Kentucky coffeetree (Gymnocladus dioicus) - [dried crushed roots; dried crushed pods] Spanish chamomile (Anacyclus pyrethrum) - [powdered roots] Leopard’s Bane (Arnica montana) - [freshly crushed flowers; whole plant; dried/powdered] Scarlet Creeper (Ipomoea hederifolia) - [roots] Redberry (Deeringia amaranthoides) [powdered roots] Cypress vine (Quamoclit pennata) - [powdered roots] Ipecacuanha (Cephaelis ipecacuanh) - [dried roots and rhizomes] Southern Wax Myrtle (Myrica cerifera) - [powdered root bark] and its relatives Box Myrtle (Myrica Esculenta) and Swamp Bayberry (Myrica caroliniensis) Yopo (Anadenanthera peregrina) - [dried pulverized seeds] Mouse-ear hawkweed (Pilosella officinarum) - [leaves] Lemon balm (Melissa officinalis) - [powdered] Betony (Betonica officinalis) - [powdered herb/dried leaves] Rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis) - [dried powdered leaves often added to snuff powders] Bee Balm aka Wild Bergamont (Monarda fistulosa) - [dried tops of the plants] Pasque Flower (Pulsatilla vulgaris) [dried roots] Horse Chestnut (Aesculus hippocastanum) - [powder of the dried nuts] Sage, Marjoram, and Tobacco [referenced here as a “gentle” sternutative]

🌱 FUN FACT: Mugwort is considered one of the most important herbs ("the mother of herbs") in traditional medicine (and witchcraft, allegedly). It is both a sternutatory plant and a highly-allergenic plant. It sure would be a shame if your herbalist/healer/witchy character had to both grow/harvest it and prepare/pulverize it...

Okay, but how and why exactly do these plants make us sneeze? Excellent question, so let's get into it! Come on over to...

The Chhinkni Corner

Ever wondered why Chhinkni works? Why it's so effective? What the ingredients are? Exactly how/why these ingredients make us sneeze? Let's dive into some plant + snz science (Snience)!

First, let's break down the ingredients of Chhinkni:

Skimmia laureola [leaf, powdered] Box Myrtle (Myrica Esculenta) [bark, powdered] Indian sandalwood (Santalum album) [wood, powdered] Camphor tree (Cinnamomum camphor) [extract] Peppermint (Mentha piperita) [extract] Southern Blue Gum (Eucalyptus globulus) [oil]

Well, we know from the list of (some of the known) sternutatory plants above that the root bark of Myrica species is sternutatory, so that makes sense! But what about the others on this list? Let's get back to that important question:

What about these specific plants/plant parts make us sneeze? It all has to do with Transient receptor potential channels (TRP channels). TRP channels are primarily located on the plasma membrane of our cells. They detect environmental stimuli and translate this exposure into sensations of chemesthesis (irritation, burning, cooling, tingling) pressure, taste, and smell. There are six main categories of specialized TRP channels, which play different roles throughout our body. Here's a chart that helps visualize each category:

Woah, this is getting a little overwhelming. What the heck does this have to do with snz? Or plants?! Everything, my friend! Everything! Many TRP channels are heavily expressed in the epithelial cells of nasal mucosa. Each TRP channel is activated by different things (with some overlaps) including different chemicals found in specific plant families. Let's look at some of these TRP channels (and what activates them) and things will start to make a lot more sense:

TRPV is activated by: --- Capsaicin (found in Chili Pepper), Piperine (found in Black Pepper), Carvacrol (found in Bee Balm), Camphor (primarily found the Camphor tree, but also found in plants like Rosemary), Menthol, Cannabis, Incense, Ginger, Menthol (mint). TRPA is activated by: --- Mustards (mustard, radish, horseradish, wasabi), Cinnamaldehyde (cinnamon), Tobacco, Cannabis, Wintergreen oil (aka what gives mint candies/gum its flavor), Shogaols (found in Ginger and Sichuan peppers) TRPM is activated by: --- Eucalyptol (oils from Eucalyptus plants), Menthol (mints),  --- Cold temperatures

Hmm...does anything on this list sound familiar in a snz context??!?!?!?!

Wait, is this why things like pepper, cold temperatures, mint, spices, and strong smells make people sneeze? It sure is! When certain TRP channels are activated, they send signals to your body that trigger protective reflexes (eg. sneezing and coughing) to get rid of the irritant. Everyone's cellular make-up is as unique as they are, and we all react and respond to external stimuli in different ways. Some people might only get a runny nose when exposed to cold temperatures, while for others it might trigger sneezing.

🌱 FUN FACT: There have been studies examining TRP channels in the nasal cavity and the role they might play in allergic rhinitis. There have also been studies on specific TRP receptors in the nasal mucosa comparing patients with and without allergenic rhinitis. There is even this study on the nasal effects of camphor, eucalyptus, and menthol!

Learning Tools and More Resources

See where plants grow on a map: Want to know where specific plants grow? Input the plant species (or the genus or family -- now that you know what that is!) into the search bar, and it will show you its global distribution range based on user-submitted data. You can also narrow results down to a specific area. Note: This data is compiled through user-submitted data and may be erroneous. For best results, filter search results using the “Research Grade Observation” option. While the results don’t provide insight on historical range, native vs. introduced species, it’s a great tool to get you started! Pollen Allergen Tool: An interactive chart that shows common allergenic proteins and which plants produce pollens containing them. Repeated Disclaimer ⚠️ The following resources are shared for information purposes only. Many plants, including some on these lists are extremely toxic, dangerous – or even deadly – if used, consumed, or prepared incorrectly. Sternutatory Plants: A list of sternutatory plant species compiled by the USDA Sternutatory Plants: A second list, compiled using various data sources. This paper published in 2021 on the use of sternutatory plants in herbal medicine, TRP activity. and this banger of a quote: "Sneezing had great significance and value throughout history; it exerted a strange fascination on humans" I protest the use of past-tense, but alas. Folks, this paper is Snience (Snz Science) in action. If the following excerpt is any indication:

The End!!

THANK YOU for reading if you got this far, and congrats on making it to the end of this post! I hope you learned as much as you horned (if not more) and I hope this little guide can come in handy one way or another.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, if you ever have questions on any of these topics, please feel free to reply to this post (or send me an ask if you prefer to be anonymous) and I'll do my best to answer! 💚🌿

Shane was practically vibrating with excitement. He woke up bright and early the day Ilya was supposed to fly into Ottawa to spend Christmas with the Hollanders. It was their last Christmas technically apart since, next Christmas, Ilya would be living in Ottawa. Shane had been so excited all week as he prepared everything he needed to show Ilya all of the Christmas traditions his family had kept up since his childhood. He was helping his parents make sure everything looked immaculate as they would be spending the majority of the holidays at Shane’s childhood home and only really going to the cottage to sleep.

Ilya woke up the morning he was supposed to fly to Ottawa regretting many of his life decisions. About a week prior, there had been a nasty cold working its way through the Boston locker room. Ilya had mentioned it to Shane when he commented that nearly everyone was playing like shit. Shane had immediately freaked out, worrying that Ilya was going to get sick and it was going to disrupt their holiday plans. He started hovering; repeatedly telling Ilya to wash his hands more often, making sure he was taking extra Vitamin-C, drinking orange juice, and trying to tell Ilya to stay away from the infected group as much as he could.

He’d complied so he wouldn’t have to look at the angry kitten look on Shane’s face, but apparently it had been pointless. The second he woke up, he knew he was going to be in for a hell of a day.

His sinuses felt like they were packed full of concrete, his throat felt like he’d spent the last several hours gargling with gravel, and his head was pounding behind his eyes. Ilya tried to huff out a frustrated breath, but it immediately made him double over coughing. He clutched at his throat and his chest as he fought for breath, tears springing to his eyes with the effort.

Ilya immediately knew he was going to have to find some way to hide this from Shane. He didn’t want to see the disappointed look on Shane’s face because Ilya fucked up their holiday plans and he didn’t want to deal with the guilt of being the cause of Shane’s disappointment.

Even though the last thing Ilya wanted to do was get out of bed, he managed to drag himself to his feet and throw his exhausted body into the shower. Thankfully, the hot water managed to loosen some of the congestion. Unfortunately, that meant his nose was streaming down his face. It wasn’t so bad at first since all of the mess was immediately washed down the drain. It became impossible to ignore when the shifting in his sinuses ignited a sharp tickle deep in his nose. He had practically no warning before he was snapping forward at the waist, barely avoiding smacking his head on the shower wall.

“H’JYSZZCHH! ahH’yIISHhhuU! ehH? ehH-EH’TZZSHHuu! Ublyudok!” he groaned, sniffling frantically after the fit. He grit his teeth as he tented both hands over his nose and mouth and blew productively, letting the mess wash down the drain, cringing to himself as a voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Shane muttered, “Gross".

He finished his shower quickly after that, desperately needing a tissue and to dose himself with as much cold medicine as he could before boarding a plane. He shivered as the cool air hit his overheated body and quickly pulled on his warmest sweatpants and a hoodie he’d stolen from Shane, whining softly to himself when he realized he couldn’t smell the traces of his boyfriend through his stuffy nose.

Thankfully, Ilya had the foresight to pack the night before and the only things he needed to shove in his suitcase this morning were his toothbrush and toothpaste. He dropped his duffle bag in the kitchen as he went to rifle through his cabinets for any kind of cold medicine he might still have. He managed to find some liquid Dayquil that wasn’t expired and he downed a bit more than the recommended dose, washing it down with the last dregs of a Coke he had open in the fridge.

Right before he left the house, he pulled out his phone and texted Shane.

Lily 09:47:

            “Leaving the house now. Flight leaves at 11:30. I’ll see you soon. I love you”

Jane 0949:

            “Be safe. I’ll see you soon. I love you too.”

On a whim, Ilya shoved a handful of tissues and cough drops into the pocket of his sweatpants and walked out the door to wait for his cab.

~~~

            Ilya slept through the entire plane ride from Boston to Ottawa but he was still visibly drooping as he got off the plane. Thankfully, since he slept through the entire flight, he wasn’t forced to deal with all of his symptoms in front of the fleet of other passengers, except that meant they all felt exacerbated as he exited the plane. Even through the haze of his cold medicine, he could feel the tickle in his nose buzzing through the wall of congestion and the urge to cough was constantly there. It was only because he kept popping cough drops and drinking water that he wasn’t hacking up a lung as he slipped into the airport bathroom to try and make himself slightly more presentable before he saw Shane. He slipped into a stall to blow his nose, having to quickly stifle a sneeze into the bundle of tissues. Which quickly turned into three. Then six. He stopped counting after that. By the time he finally finished, he was panting and the tissues had become a sodden wad in his hand. He grabbed a handful of toilet paper and blew one more time, managing a squeaking breath through his nose for the first time that day after the effort. He unlocked the stall door, tossed the wad of tissues into the trash, washed his hands, and splashed water on his face before heading out into the parking lot to find Shane.

Shane was waiting in the car for him, wearing a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses so he wouldn’t be recognized. Ilya opened the back passenger door and thew his bags inside before dropping down into the passenger seat with a sigh. Thankfully, Ilya didn’t have to find an excuse not to kiss Shane right then since neither of them would chance it in the airport parking lot.

“How was your flight?” Shane asked once they’d pulled out onto the main road.

“Good. Short.” Ilya muttered, trying to avoid any words that would put his congestion on full display for Shane.

“Good. I can’t wait for you to see the house. Mom did a great job; it’s beautiful. We’re supposed to bake cookies when we get there, too, so they’ll be ready for the weekend.” Shane started, going through the entire list of tasks that were expected of them upon their arrival. Ilya leaned his head back against the headrest as he listened to Shane’s excited rambling. The soft sound of Shane’s voice would’ve been enough to lull Ilya to sleep if he wasn’t in a battle with himself to keep his sniffles to a minimum and his cough under control. He drank so much water on the drive to quell the itch in his throat that he practically had to run inside when they finally arrived to use the restroom.

While he was in the restroom, he splashed more water on his face to try and get rid of the flush that was slowly spreading across his face and down his neck and blew his nose softly.

When he walked out, greeting Yuna and David with a smile and a hug, he saw that Shane was already in the kitchen with a myriad of ingredients in front of him for making cookies. From scratch. Like they’d done since Shane was born. Ilya’s only experience with making cookies in his adult life came in the form of a tube of dough from the grocery store.

Shane quickly began instructing Ilya to mix the dry ingredients together while he dealt with the wet ingredients. Ilya nodded dutifully and grabbed the bag of flour to begin measuring.

That’s about how long he lasted in the kitchen. He measured out the required amount of flour, but when he dumped it into the large mixing bowl, a cloud of the white powder flew up into his face. It immediately sent Ilya coughing and spluttering. He took several steps back away from the food, holding his elbow tight to his face as he fought for breath. He stopped coughing after a moment, but as if the universe had it out for him, he hadn’t even caught his breath before his eyes were fluttering shut as his breath hitched.

“heEH! nNGgtt! – nnGgkT! Hh! nNGT'tshh!” he started, not bothering to lower his arm from his face after the first initial wave, knowing he wasn’t done.

“Bless you, sweetheart.” Yuna muttered, surprised at the reaction from a simple cloud of flour. Ilya just shook his head quickly, trying to signal that he wasn’t finished.

“hhn! nGKT'Chh! Ugh.” Ilya let out a pained moan during the brief reprieve, the effort it took to stifle his sneezes making his head pound even worse.

“Hey, stop that.” Shane muttered softly, coming up behind Ilya and rubbing a reassuring hand between his shoulder blades as his breath continued to catch. Shane’s touch was enough to ground Ilya for the moment, plus he was getting too tired to keep holding them in.

“hhiH! EH! dJJSHHhh! eh’H’TSHhh! hh! yyISHhhhUU!”

By the time Ilya finally finished, he was backed all the way against the cabinets opposite the counter they were baking at, he was panting, his eyes were streaming, and everyone was staring at him, concern written all over their faces.

“Bless you, baby.” Shane mumbled, pressing himself closer to Ilya so he could reach up and swipe the irritated tears off of his cheeks.

“I think, maybe, you should sit out of baking duty. It’s kind of inevitable that you get clouds of all the dry ingredients in the air, and that definitely doesn’t seem to agree with you.” Yuna reasoned, and Ilya nodded eagerly.

“Why don’t we work on this puzzle and watch them bake.” David offered, making Ilya smile softly and nod.

“Sure. Just… first…” Ilya muttered, trailing off as he gestured vaguely to the bathroom and his nose, which was running again after that display.

No one stopped him as he scurried off, embarrassed, to blow his nose. When he returned, his nose was pinker around the edges, but his voice was a bit clearer as he sat down on the couch to help David with the puzzle that was laid out on the coffee table.

Ilya only managed to get a few pieces in before he resorted to watching Shane and Yuna bake in the kitchen. His gaze kept trailing to his boyfriend; content to watch him laughing and happy in the kitchen with his mother. He leaned back on the couch, getting in a more comfortable position to quietly observe, a soft smile on his face.

Ilya didn’t realize he’d dozed off until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. When his eyes fluttered open, Shane was waving a cookie in his face while he had one in his mouth. Holidays seemed to be the only time that Shane indulged in eating a few sweets, so Ilya wasn’t going to discourage him. He took the cookie from Shane, smiling sleepily up at him as he bit into it.

“Very good.” Ilya mumbled, shoving the whole thing in his mouth when he realized it was still warm and the chocolate chips were still melty. Shane smiled proudly and flopped down next to Ilya on the couch, tugging him closer until Ilya’s head was resting on his chest.

~~~

            After dinner, they all curled up on the couch to watch one of Shane’s favorite Christmas movies that they, apparently, watched every year. Shane had balked at him when Ilya admitted he’d never seen Home Alone and went on an at least ten-minute rant about why Ilya had to see it.

Shane had draped a blanket across their laps and dragged Ilya’s head down to rest on his shoulder so he could run his fingers through Ilya’s curls. Ilya managed to watch the first few minutes of the movie through half lidded eyes until Shane’s fingers in his hair and the lingering exhaustion managed to lull him back to sleep. Shane didn’t notice right away that Ilya had dozed off, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to wake him once he did, even though he’d been so excited for Ilya to experience all of their Christmas traditions. He just continued to run his fingers through Ilya’s hair as he let him sleep.

When the movie finally went off, Yuna and David announced that they were going to bed. Yuna pressed a kiss to the top of Shane’s head as she passed and David ruffled his hair.

“We made up your room for you boys. Just in case.” David commented, gazing pointedly at Ilya, who was still snoring softly on Shane’s chest.

“I think we’ll probably stay tonight.” Shane whispered, gazing down at Ilya, who looked so peaceful he hated to wake him, but they couldn’t sleep on the couch all night. David nodded with a smile before turning to follow his wife.

Once they were alone, Shane gently shook Ilya awake.

“Hey, Ilya. It’s time for bed.” He mumbled softly once Ilya’s eyes fluttered open. He nodded slowly, turning his head to muffle a yawn into Shane’s shoulder. He stood up first and stretched before starting to turn toward the front door, but Shane caught his hand and shook his head. “Let’s just stay here tonight.” He proposed, smiling when Ilya just nodded and turned toward Shane’s room. Shane stood up off the couch and followed him, finding Ilya already pulling back the covers to slide into bed.

That made Shane pause, furrowing his brows curiously. Ilya always wanted to shower before bed after being on a plane. He began to wonder if maybe there was something Ilya wasn’t telling him, especially with how tired he’d been today. Shane didn’t say anything, not wanting to spook him. He just went to quickly brush his teeth before sliding into bed next to Ilya, who was blinking slowly at Shane, like he was already half asleep. Shane leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead.

When he wasn’t met with any unnatural heat, he shook off his suspicions and figured Ilya was just tired from so much traveling and that he’d be fine in the morning.

“I love you.” Shane mumbled softly, leaning back in to brush a gentle kiss to Ilya’s lips.

“I love you, too.” Ilya mumbled, and it was clear that he was barely hanging onto consciousness, because it couldn’t have been more than two minutes since the words left his mouth before he was snoring. Shane grinned down at his adorable boyfriend. He dropped one last kiss to Ilya’s curls before snuggling up to him under the blankets and sighing happily as sleep overtook him.

~~~

The next morning, Shane woke before Ilya and went to help his dad start making breakfast. They were making omelets while Yuna gathered up all of the gifts so they could wrap everything together. They’d been doing it this way since Shane stopped believing in Santa as a child. His parents would put all of the gifts into boxes with whoever it was for written in sharpie on the side and then they would wrap gifts as a family. While father and son were busy cooking, Yuna continuously appeared and reappeared in the living room as she dropped off rounds of packages.

When Ilya finally emerged from Shane’s bedroom, he was still in his sweatpants but he’d pulled on a different one of Shane’s hoodies. He was scrubbing at his eyes and his curls were all over the place.

“Good morning.” Shane greeted brightly, kissing Ilya’s cheek as he passed, smiling softly when Ilya stayed in the kitchen to wrap his arms around Shane’s waist while he cooked, his head resting on Shane’s shoulder.

“Good mborndig.” Ilya mumbled into Shane’s shoulder, making him pause. Ilya’s voice was thick with congestion, which wasn’t necessarily abnormal. The man always woke up stuffy after having broken his nose so many times; but this was different. He sounded sick. Shane furrowed his brows slightly and turned around in Ilya’s arms to kiss his forehead. He felt a little warm but he mostly felt sleep warm, not fever warm. Shane sighed, hoping that if something was wrong, Ilya would come out and say it.

“Breakfast is almost ready. We’re having omelets.” Shane said, watching Ilya’s face for any hint that he didn’t want one. He nodded agreeably and wordlessly went to sit down at the table after retrieving a glass of juice and a ginger ale for Shane.

After their breakfast, it was time to wrap packages. Yuna briefed Ilya on the tradition over breakfast and he seemed excited to participate. They all piled in the floor in a circle with the wrapping paper and bows in the middle. David joined them last after putting on some Christmas music to play over the speakers. They each grabbed a package and a roll of paper and began wrapping.

Shane was still keeping a close eye on Ilya as they wrapped which was how he noticed that Ilya kept sniffling. They were soft, unobtrusive little noises that could barely be heard over the Christmas music, but Shane could also see how Ilya kept pressing the cuff of his sweatshirt against his septum and wrinkling his nose. No one else was paying attention, too wrapped up in their tasks, but Shane was only really watching Ilya. That was also how he noticed when Ilya gasped softly and ducked into the cuff of his sweatshirt. Shane watched as Ilya’s head bobbed eight times as he stifled his sneezes into silence. When he was finally finished, he sniffled softly and shook his head, his curls fluttering around his ears.

He glanced at Yuna and David first to see if they’d noticed. When he decided they hadn’t, his gaze shifted to Shane and he blushed when they locked eyes.

“Are you okay?” Shane mouthed to him, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention. Ilya nodded wordlessly and continued to wrap the present he was working on. When he finished, placing it into the pile with the rest, he stood up, stretched, and retreated to the bathroom. Shane listened carefully to see if he could hear the toilet flush. When he didn’t, but heard the sink turn on, he knew Ilya had gone to blow his nose in private.

He came back and resumed his position, not saying a word to anyone. Shane dropped the matter for the moment, knowing that he was going to circle back later when he and Ilya were alone.

He only lasted about half an hour before Ilya’s soft gasps drew his attention again. His brows were furrowed, his eyes were fluttering shut, and his pink nostrils were flaring wildly as he tucked his head into his shoulder. This time, Shane counted a whopping fifteen head bobs before Ilya practically scrambled up and retreated to the bathroom again.

“Is he okay? He doesn’t seem like himself?” David asked after Ilya’s quick disappearance drew his attention. Shane shrugged, having had enough.

“I’m gonna go check.” Shane said, getting up himself and following Ilya into his childhood bedroom, which was the bathroom he’d disappeared into this time.

As soon as Shane stepped through the door, he could hear Ilya coughing softly through the door before blowing his nose. Shane sighed heavily, silently shutting the door behind him and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

When Ilya emerged, his nose pinker than ever, he froze when he caught sight of Shane, who wordlessly held out his hand to Ilya to tug him down into his lap.

“Ilya, please be honest with me. I can tell you’re not feeling well. I just want you to tell me what’s wrong.” Shane pleaded, gazing at Ilya with open concern. Shane’s arms wrapped around Ilya’s back while Ilya’s hung limply at his sides. He glanced away from Shane, not making eye contact until Shane turned his head back to face him with a finger under his chin. His heart broke when he saw tears shining in Ilya’s eyes. “Baby.” Shane whispered softly, and that’s when Ilya broke.

“I'm sorry. Feel like garbage. Tried so hard not to get sick. Did not want to ruin your Christmas plans. You were so excited. I did not mean to fuck it all up.” Ilya cried into Shane’s shoulder, finally wrapping his arms around Shane, who was holding him tight and rocking him slightly. Shane craned his head back slightly to kiss Ilya’s forehead and, yep, definitely a fever.

“Baby, you haven’t ruined anything. You never could. I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me how you were feeling. I – we just want to look after you.” Shane told him softly, rubbing Ilya’s back as he let out soft, hiccupping sobs into Shane’s shoulder.

“I could not bake with you yesterday, did not even make it through wrapping presents, or your Christmas movie. I ruined everything.” He cried, still not looking up at Shane.

If Ilya’s father could die twice, Shane would be going to prison for murder in the next few hours.

“But you’re here. Spending Christmas with us. With me. That’s all I wanted, Ilya. I wanted you here. Everything else was just a bonus. I wanted you to have a good family Christmas. I didn’t want you to torture yourself and make yourself miserable because you were scared to tell me you were sick.” Shane whispered softly to him, moving one hand up to run his fingers through Ilya’s curls as his sobs tapered off into soft sniffles.

“But…” Ilya started, but Shane shook his head.

“No but’s. That’s the truth. I promise. I just want you here.” Shane adamantly told him, removing both hands to hold Ilya’s face, making him look into Shane’s eyes to see that he was serious. He studied Shane’s expression carefully and, finally, seemed to realize that he was being truthful.

“You promise?” Ilya asked softly, suddenly seeming much younger than he was. Shane smiled up at him and wiped the tears from Ilya’s cheeks with his thumbs before leaning in to kiss the tear tracks.

“I promise.” Shane repeated, then waited until Ilya nodded to continue. “Now, can you tell me how you’re feeling?” he asked softly, still stroking Ilya’s face.

“Stuffy. Head hurts. Throat hurts. Cold. Tired.” He listed, which thankfully just sounded like a bad cold rather than the flu or something worse.

“Okay. Can we give you some medicine? I think you have a fever.” Shane requested, but Ilya shook his head frantically.

“No pills.” He protested, but Shane shushed him softly.

“I know, baby. I know. I can see if we have any liquid medicine, and run to the store if not.” Shane offered, but Ilya shook his head again.

“Don’t want you to leave.” He mumbled, leaning to tuck his face into the crook of Shane’s neck again.

“Okay. What if I do a delivery order? I can get whatever you want, and it’ll come straight here.” Shane suggested next, which seemed to appease Ilya, who nodded, and rolled off of Shane’s lap and onto the bed next to him so he could pull out his phone and scroll through the delivery options.

Once he’d finished putting everything into his cart, he handed the phone to Ilya to look over it. He’d added liquid cold medicine, liquid fever reducer, tea, cough drops, lots of tissues, and some popsicles. Ilya nodded and handed the phone back.

“Okay. It’ll be here in about an hour. Do you wanna take a nap in here?” Shane asked, but Ilya shook his head.

“Don’t want to take you from your parents on Christmas.” He protested, clearly still feeling guilty.

“Okay. Why don’t we go curl up on the couch and watch a movie. They’re probably done wrapping presents by now.” Shane suggested, and Ilya smiled and nodded. Shane stood up and took Ilya’s hand, helping him to his feet before wrapping him in a hug. “I love you.” Shane mumbled, then kissed the side of Ilya’s neck. He felt Ilya droop further into his embrace.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.” Ilya mumbled back, following it up with a heavy sigh as he allowed Shane to lead him back out into the living room.

“Everything okay?” Yuna asked as they piled up on the couch and Shane draped a blanket over their laps. Shane glanced at Ilya, who nodded shyly and let his head drop onto Shane’s shoulder.

“Ilya’s got a little bit of a cold, so I think we’re just gonna rest here for a bit.” Shane said, immediately getting sympathetic looks from both parents.

“Can we get you anything, son?” David asked. Shane felt Ilya smile into his shoulder.

“I don’t think so. I’ve got a pharmacy order being delivered in a little bit.” Shane told them, which seemed to appease them. They both went back to putting the finishing touches on their last few packages and Shane turned to Ilya. “See. Nothing’s ruined. They just want to make sure you’re okay, too.” Shane whispered, kissing the top of Ilya’s head after. He nodded sleepily and gazed up at Shane lovingly, who took the opportunity to press a kiss to the tip of Ilya’s nose. He blushed and wrinkled it in response before ducking down to scrub his nose into Shane’s shoulder when the touch made him itchy.

“Sorry.” Shane apologized, but he was giggling softly when Ilya had to bring both hands up to his face.

“nN’TSCHh! – iiHTSHh!” Ilya grumbled when he finished and poked Shane in the side accusingly.

“Asshole.” He grumbled, while Shane continued to giggle.

“Sois béni.” Shane mumbled while both Yuna and David blessed him in English. The French made Ilya’s entire body flush red hot. “You like it when I speak French?” Shane asked teasingly, still giggling when Ilya nodded shyly. “Je t'aime.” Shane whispered into Ilya’s ear, grinning proudly when it pulled a full-body shiver out of him.

“Shane, stop teasing him.” Yuna admonished, making David chuckle.

“Yes, Shane. Stop being mean to your dying boyfriend.” Ilya added, making everyone laugh.

“You’re not dying, you drama queen.” Shane poked Ilya’s cheek, leaning in to kiss the spot he’d just poked when Ilya grinned.

“Boys, aren’t you supposed to be resting?” David asked, ever the voice of reason.

“I am trying, David. Talk to your other son.” Ilya replied with a pointed sniffle, then another. Shane just rolled his eyes.

They finally managed to sit quietly on the couch and watch Home Alone 2, which made more sense to Ilya after Shane explained the plot of the first, until the doorbell rang, indicating the arrival of Shane’s pharmacy order.

He hopped off the couch to retrieve the bags and came back with his arsenal, including a thermometer he’d pulled out of the kitchen cabinets.

“Under your tongue.” Shane instructed, tapping the underside of Ilya’s chin until he complied. He sat there looking all pathetic with the device under his tongue until it beeped and Shane swiped it from his mouth. “38.3°. Not too bad. Still need some Tylenol.” Shane mumbled as he started to pull items from the bag.

First, he handed Ilya a capful of liquid Tylenol, taking it like a shot. Then, he got a capful of liquid Dayquil and swallowed it down quickly.

“Gross.” Ilya grumbled, giving his head a shake.

“Popsicle?” Shane asked, offering him a neon green one. He nodded happily and took it, crunching down on the ice and sighing happily as it slid down his throat, the cold numbing the pain slightly. Shane tossed a box of tissues onto the couch next to Ilya and finally sat down next to him, draping an arm around his shoulders.

“Shane? I think your father and I are gonna start cooking for tomorrow. You two just hang out on the couch. We’ve got this.” Yuna told them, ruffling Shane’s hair as she passed and leaning down to kiss Ilya’s forehead, humming softly as if she didn’t trust the thermometer. “We may need to rethink the lightshow tonight. If he’s already not feeling well, we don’t need to drag him out in the cold.” Yuna mumbled softly to David as she walked into the kitchen, making Ilya’s head whip around.

“No! Please! I want to go!” Ilya exclaimed, which sent him coughing into his elbow. Shane rubbed circles on his back as he caught his breath and tossed a skeptical look over his shoulder at his parents.

“Ilya, are you sure that’s a good idea? You’re already shivering on the couch; do you really want to sit in the car for an hour with the windows down just to look at some lights?” Shane asked, starting to run his fingers through Ilya’s curls.

“I never had anything like this in Russia. I want to see what your Christmases are like. I will be fine. I promise.” Ilya reassured them all, before flashing Shane his pleading baby blues.

“We’ll see.” Shane finally mumbled after a brief standoff. Ilya seemed appeased at least for the moment and they settled back in to finish the movie.

Normally, Shane would be in the middle of the kitchen, preparing the food for Christmas Day, but he found himself perfectly content to lay on the couch with Ilya, even though he was periodically coughing and sniffling into Shane’s chest. Ilya also finally seemed content, snuggling with Shane and watching Christmas movies even though he felt like garbage.

After a while, the delicious scent of Christmas dinner began to fill the house. It wasn’t long after the smell began permeating that David came into the living room carrying turkey sandwiches.

“Lunch?” he offered, handing a plate to both of them.

“Thank you, dad.” Shane said, taking both and handing Ilya one. “They always do the turkey early and reheat it for lunch the day before. We usually have leftover turkey for Christmas and a fresh ham.” Shane told him.

“Good leftovers.” Ilya mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich. Shane snorted but didn’t say anything as he started eating his own sandwich. David and Yuna joined the pair on the couch with their own sandwiches. They all ate lunch together as they started watching A Christmas Story.

Once Ilya and Shane had finished their lunch, they stretched out on one side of the couch, Shane laying out across the couch with Ilya splayed out on top of him. Their feet were tangled together and Shane reached up to pull the throw blanket from the back of the couch and drape it across Ilya. Ilya sighed happily and tucked his face into the crook of Shane’s neck. It wasn’t long before his breathing evened out and he was snoring softly.

“What’re we thinking about going to see the lights tonight?” Yuna asked softly once Ilya started snoring. Shane hummed softly and turned his head to press a lingering kiss to Ilya’s forehead.

“He’s cooler now with the medicine in him than he was earlier. I think if he feels up to it, we can bundle him up and go.” Shane reasoned, knowing Ilya would be more upset if they didn’t go. He didn’t want Ilya to get worse, but he really didn’t want to see his boyfriend crying again, wracked with guilt over ruining Christmas.

“We can crank the heat up in the car, too. I think he’ll be okay.” David chimed in, smiling at Shane, who sighed in relief.

“Okay. As long as he’s not doing worse when he wakes up, we’ll plan to leave a little after dark.” Yuna stated before getting up, grabbing the lunch dishes and heading back into the kitchen. “Ready to get back to cooking, honey?” she called to David, who nodded and got up to follow her.

Shane sighed and relaxed into the couch, letting Ilya’s warm weight soothe him into an afternoon nap of his own.

~~~

            When Shane woke up, it was to the feeling of a gentle finger tracing lines across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His eyes fluttered open and met Ilya’s bright blue ones. He grinned when he saw that Shane was awake.

“Hi.” Shane mumbled, turning to muffle a yawn into his shoulder.

“Hi. You’re very pretty.” Ilya mumbled, leaning closer to Shane to kiss his freckled cheeks.

“You’re delirious.” Shane teased, lifting a hand to press the back of it against Ilya’s forehead and cheeks. Thankfully, he wasn’t any warmer than he was earlier. “How was your nap?” Shane asked as he pushed himself up into a seated position.

“Good. Ready to see the lights.” Ilya whispered excitedly, his grin lighting up his face.

“You’re sure you’re up for it?” Shane asked, still skeptical as he gazed at Ilya with his pink cheeks and nose. He shot Shane a halfhearted glare.

“Shane, I’m fine. I want to go.” He promised, gazing earnestly at Shane.

“Ugh, fine. If you insist.” Shane muttered teasingly, then turned to glance outside to see that the sun was going down. “It’s probably almost time to go. Let’s get dressed.” Shane said, tugging Ilya up from the couch and leading him to the bedroom.

Shane quickly tugged on a pair of jeans and a hoodie on over his long-sleeved shirt. Then, he began rummaging through their bags. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, a hoodie, and a beanie for Ilya.

“This is dramatic.” Ilya muttered as Shane also pulled a pair of fuzzy socks out of a drawer. When Shane shot him a withering glare, Ilya nodded wordlessly and began dressing. He rolled his eyes but he did sit down on the edge of the bed to pull the socks onto his feet. When he stood back up, Shane tugged the beanie down over his curls.

“You are hovering. Like mother hen.” Ilya grumbled, but Shane could see that the corners of his lips were fighting not to turn up into a smile. Shane just grinned then turned to pluck a handful of tissues out of the box on his nightstand and stuffed them into Ilya’s pockets.

“If you get too cold or start feeling bad, we can turn around and come back. Promise me you’ll tell me if you need to come back.” Shane requested, flashing Ilya his best puppy-dog look.

“Yes, I promise. Let’s go.” Ilya grinned excitedly, turning on his heel and heading for the door. Shane rolled his eyes and followed after Ilya, who’d been waylaid in the living room by Yuna, who was looking him over one last time before agreeing to let him out the door.

“One more dose of medicine before we leave, I think.” She said, quickly moving to pour out a dose of both the fever reducer and decongestant. Ilya took them both like a champ before practically skipping out the door.

“Is he always like this?” Yuna asked, her gaze jumping between Shane and the door Ilya had just walked out of.

“Stubborn? Absolutely.” He grumbled, rolling his eyes again before following after Ilya, who was waiting out in the cold by the locked car door. Even though Shane could already hear Ilya sniffling from the cold, he was practically bouncing with excitement on the balls of his feet. “Get in the car! Are you trying to give yourself pneumonia?” Shane grumbled once he’d heard the two beeps of the car doors unlocking. Ilya rolled his eyes and climbed in. Shane settled in behind the driver’s seat and Ilya shimmied himself into the middle seat, pressing himself against Shane’s side.

Before David and Yuna had even made it out of the house, Ilya was frantically fishing one of the tissues out of his pocket.

“heht-tissch’uh! Ihhsch’oo! …hhh? Ihhh’ischhh!” Ilya sniffled frantically and scrubbed his itchy, runny nose into the tissues before doubling over again with a surprise fourth. “eih’yishhshiew!”

He blew his nose quickly to head off any more while Shane rubbed his back.

“Bless you, baby.” Shane mumbled, moving his hand up to give the back of Ilya’s neck a gentle squeeze.

“Fuck. Sorry.” He mumbled, sniffling like he was still itchy. Shane knew him well enough to know that he was probably going to spend the whole light show sneezing. Being cold made his nose run, his nose running made his whole face itch, and any minor irritation tended to make him sneeze his head off.

“We’re still in the driveway. We can still go back inside.” Shane offered one last time, but Ilya was shaking his head before Shane could even finish his sentence.

“Might need more tissues, though.” Ilya admitted, but that was his only indication that anything was wrong. Shane grinned victoriously and pulled a travel pack of tissues out of his own pocket. Ilya grinned bashfully and ducked his head.

“I know you.” Shane replied simply right as David and Yuna climbed into the car. Ilya blushed and snuggled his head into the crook of Shane’s shoulder.

“Ready, boys?” Yuna asked, turning to glance at them before David threw the car into drive and started to pull away. They both nodded and settled in to watch the world go by as they drove toward their destination.

Ilya spent the car ride with his head on Shane’s shoulder, observing as much of the scenery of Shane’s hometown as he could in the dark until, finally, they turned off the main road onto a side road and the world immediately exploded into technicolor. Shane glanced down at Ilya to see that he’d lifted his head and was gazing at the lights with a childlike innocence. His mouth was slightly open in both disbelief and necessity, and Shane could see the colorful lights reflected in Ilya’s eyes.

Yuna began messing with the radio until she got to the right station to correspond with the light show, and cheery Christmas music filled the car.

“Ilya, honey, we’re rolling the windows down now. If you get cold, tell us and we’ll turn the heat up.” Yuna said as David pressed the buttons to roll all 4 windows down. Ilya nodded blankly as he continued to stare at the lights.

Although this was one of Shane’s favorite traditions, this year, he spent his time watching Ilya instead of the lights. He would mouth along to the words of some of the Christmas songs he recognized as they came on the radio and he kept his head on the swivel so he wouldn’t miss any of the lights.

“How do they do that?” Ilya finally asked after a particularly intricate display where the lights danced around to the beat of the song on the radio.

“I have no idea. I’ve always wondered that, too.” David chimed in from the front seat as they creeped along behind the line of cars ahead of them.

“It is beautiful.” Ilya mumbled softly and Shane couldn’t help but lean in and press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Thank you for bringing me.” Ilya whispered, gazing up at Shane.

Shane wanted nothing more than to shrink Ilya down and carry him around in his pocket. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe this huge, normally stoic, Russian hockey player had the capacity to be so cute.

Thankfully, Ilya’s cold symptoms seemed to be held at bay by all of the clothing Shane had bundled him up in coupled with Shane’s body heat and the heat blasting through the car. He did have to keep a few tissues clutched in his hand to swipe at his runny nose and to muffle the occasional, “heht-tissh’uh!” when the cold air became too much for him, but thankfully he was able to stay warm enough to avoid any full-fledged fits.

When they got home, Shane immediately shoved Ilya into a warm shower while he helped his parents make hot cocoa. When Ilya emerged in clean sweatpants and one of Shane’s hoodies, curls dripping, they all piled onto the couch under blankets to watch The Santa Clause.

Ilya managed to stay awake through the entire movie, even though he started blinking sleepily at the screen about halfway through. Once it was over and everyone had finished their drinks as well as a few cookies, it was almost midnight and, therefore, time to retire to bed. David carried the mugs to the kitchen and Yuna took the dirty plates while Shane pulled Ilya to his feet.

“Night boys. We’ll see you in the morning. Merry Christmas.” David called from the kitchen since he’d started rinsing the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. Yuna made her way over to the two boys, wrapping Shane in a hug and whispering something in his ear before moving on to Ilya.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” She whispered to Ilya as she wrapped him in a hug as well and kissed his forehead. “Feeling any better?” she asked, unable to resist mothering him.

“Much better. Thank you. Merry Christmas, Yuna.” Ilya whispered, trying not to tear up from the motherly display he’d missed so much.

“Goodnight, boys.” She told them both as they turned to head to Shane’s room.

Once they were behind closed doors, Shane wrapped Ilya in a tight hug, where he let out a huge yawn into the crook of Shane’s neck.

“Sleepy?” Shane asked softly as he ran gentle fingertips across Ilya’s back.

“Mmhm. And happy. Thank you for sharing this with me.” Ilya mumbled, pulling back slightly from the hug only so he could wrap his arms around Shane’s shoulders. They stood in the middle of Shane’s childhood bedroom, swaying slightly from side to side.

“Thank you for letting me.” Shane replied, pushing himself up slightly on his toes to press a kiss to Ilya’s forehead before planting a lingering kiss to his lips.

“You are wanting me to give you my cold for Christmas?” Ilya teased, but he didn’t pull back from where his grin was pressed against Shane’s mouth.

“I want to kiss my boyfriend on Christmas.” Shane reasoned, making Ilya’s entire body flush hot and he ducked bashfully into Shane’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get another dose of medicine into you and go to bed.” Shane instructed, giving Ilya’s back a pat before pulling away to go dose out the medicine. Ilya just nodded and joined Shane in the bathroom. He quickly swallowed down both capfuls then brushed his teeth side-by-side with Shane.

He whipped his hoodie off before crawling into bed but held his arms out for Shane to snuggle into when he fell into bed next to Ilya so he could steal his body heat.

They laid nose-to-nose for a bit, just breathing each other in.

“Merry Christmas, mon bien-aimé.” Shane whispered, tucking a stray curl behind Ilya’s ear. Predictably, he flushed a pretty pink at Shane’s use of French, but quickly steeled himself.

“Merry Christmas, dorogoy.” Ilya replied, leaning in to press a lingering, sweet kiss to Shane’s lips before nuzzling into his chest, tucking his head under Shane’s chin, and wrapping his arms tightly around Shane’s torso. “Ty luchshee, chto kogda-libo sluchalos so mnoy.” Ilya muttered into Shane’s chest.

Shane had been working on his Russian, but he wasn’t quite that advanced. He knew, though, that Ilya liked to express his more vulnerable thoughts in Russian. This time, Shane gave him a pass and didn’t ask for him to translate. He could tell by the tone of Ilya’s voice that whatever he’d said was something incredibly sappy that would probably bring Shane to tears.

Shane craned his neck down to kiss the top of his head, nuzzling his nose into Ilya’s curls and sighing contently. He began trailing his fingers up and down Ilya’s back, letting the rhythmic movement of his hand lull them both to sleep.

Shane hated that Ilya hadn’t been feeling well for their first Christmas together, but here, wrapped up in the arms of his love, he couldn’t help but feel like this had already been the best Christmas of his life. He fell asleep with a smile on his face at the thought that it wasn’t even over yet.

Translations:

Ublyudok - Motherfucker

Ya tebya lyublyu - I love you

Sois béni - Bless you

Je t'aime - I love you

Mon bien-aimé - My beloved

Dorogoy - Sweetheart