Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Svetlana Vetrova, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander

Additional Tags:

Fix-It, Svetlana Vetrova Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Good Friend Svetlana Vetrova, POV Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Dialogue Heavy, Mild/Implied Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers)

Language:

English

Series:

Part 9 of Inty's Gay Hockey Boys (Heated Rivalry fics)

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-02 Words: 4,228 Chapters: 1/1

Alright, What’s the Plan?

Summary

Svetlana finds out exactly who "Jane" is before Ilya heads to the cottage—and like hell is she going to let her best friend move to Ottawa!

Notes

For those who have read my other fics, this one is more of just a short worldbuilding fix-it thought experiment As I’ve been reading hockey meta on tumblr, I just keep getting more and more annoyed at the contrived plotline that brings Shane and Ilya to play together in Ottawa, and I couldn’t get this alternative out of my head. So I finally decided to jot it down!

---

Beta’d by the inimitable and fantastic sunless_garden!

“I’m coming to the cottage,” Ilya blurted out. 

There was a brief moment of echoing silence, broken only by a tiny, almost voiceless exhale from Shane—just long enough for Ilya to begin to second-guess himself—and then Shane said, “Really?” 

His voice was soft and high-pitched—like a little boy being offered a toy that he wasn’t sure he would be allowed to keep—and Ilya felt his heart melt within him. 

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I want… I would like a chance. To be alone. Together. With you.” 

A small gasp. Then Shane said, “I want that too. Ilya. God, I… I want that so much.” 

They were quiet a little longer, just listening to the sound of one another’s breathing, then— 

“I should go,” Shane said. He sounded like he regretted it, at least. “I was watching with my parents, they’re going to start wondering what I’m doing.” 

“Yes, me too,” Ilya admitted. “I have guests over, to watch the game.” 

“Okay,” Shane said. “So, you’d fly into Ottawa, or—” 

“Yes. I will cancel my flight to Moscow now. Tell you the dates I can come. It will be soon—I was supposed to leave the day after tomorrow, I have many preseason responsibilities later in the summer.” 

“Yes, good. I’m ready to go whenever.” 

Ilya didn’t want to hang up the phone. He thought that perhaps Shane didn’t want to, either. But Svetlana would likely come looking for him soon, and if she didn’t, one of the boys from the Raiders who hadn’t had family or friends to visit in the offseason would probably stumble across them. 

“Goodbye, Shane,” Ilya forced himself to say. “I will see you soon.” 

“I’ll see you soon, Ilya,” Shane said, sounding breathless with it. Ilya wanted to see his face so much—see the small, genuine smile that he knew would be there, the wondering look in his eyes. Wanted to touch him and see the wonder turn into heat. 

He made himself end the call instead, pressing the cool screen to his forehead for a second before turning around. 

Svetlana was standing directly behind him, right next to the lamp. 

“Son of a bitch,” Ilya swore in Russian, jumping. 

Svetlana, unflappable as always, just raised her eyebrow. “So,” she said. “And how is… ‘Jane’?” 

She slurred the opening consonant of the name, making it sound almost as if she’d said… 

“How much of that did you hear?” Ilya asked, his heart sinking. 

“Where exactly is this cottage?” she said, answering the question with another question. As he gaped at her, she crossed in front of him, heading toward his bedroom. “Most of Canada is warmer in the summer, yes? Should I pack a swimsuit for you?” 

“Sveta…” he said, trailing after her, then let his words trail off. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything to say. 

“He is good for you,” she said quietly, as she began to open drawers and pull clothing items out. “He knows how lucky he is, now?”

“I… I think so,” Ilya said—repressing his first thought, which was that he was the one who was lucky. 

“Good. And you will let me know how I can help you?”

“Sveta, you have already—” 

“No,” she said fiercely, turning on him. Her eyes were bright, and Ilya felt his own begin to sting. “You will call me if you need anything. In fact, you will call me at least once, on this romantic getaway, whether you think you need me or not.” 

“I can’t—” 

“Promise me,” she said, her face stern and entirely uncompromising. “Or I will track him down and tell him that he is not good enough for you.” 

Looking at her, he knew that it was not an idle threat—and he would not be willing to place money on a matchup of himself and Shane versus Svetlana. She was far too ruthless, and knew where his every weak spot lay. 

“Alright,” he surrendered. “I will call.” 

“Good,” she said, acknowledging her victory with nothing more than a brief, triumphant curve of her lips. “I love you, Ilyushenka.” 

Ilya lost the battle against his own tears, and pulled her into a hug to hide it. “I love you, too.” 

“And do your teammates know?” David Hollander asked. 

“No!” Shane said, his stress clear in his voice. “Nobody knows!” 

Ilya winced. “No, is not true.”  

Shane turned to him with a look of shock, and Ilya quickly put on his most apologetic expression. He hadn’t wanted to add to Shane’s anxiety—but if he didn’t say it now, he’d essentially be lying. And Shane had asked for honesty. 

“My best friend, Svetlana,” he said to the Hollanders, pretending not to see the way Shane’s expression hardened. “We have known each other since childhood. She was there, when I called you after the final,” he explained, turning back to Shane. “I went to other room, but she followed me—I did not know she was listening.”

“Fuck,” Shane muttered, putting his head in his hands. 

“She will not tell anyone,” Ilya reassured him, leaning in and putting a steadying hand on the back of his neck. “She is like… like sister, Shane. She supports us. Made me promise that I would call her to tell her ways she could help.” 

“You should have told me,” Shane said, quietly enough that there was a chance his parents hadn’t heard. 

“I know,” Ilya admitted. He pressed his forehead to Shane’s temple, getting close enough that a tiny whisper would be audible to only him. “I tried… But I was afraid you would be angry… Or scared. I should have tried harder. I’m sorry.”

Shane breathed out slowly. “Okay. Okay.” He looked up at his parents, who were both looking at them with stunned, soft expressions. “No one but Svetlana knows. And you two, now. No one but family.” 

Ilya squeezed his eyes closed so quickly that it was almost painful. Family hadn’t been a word that he’d associated with anything but negative feelings for a long time. 

“Yes,” he agreed. “No one but family.” 

“Mom, can you take three steps back, please?” Shane burst out. “I’m not going to come out or anything yet. We just want… a future, I don’t know.” 

His mother took a deep breath, clearly about to say something else, and as he watched Shane about to spiral out, Ilya had a lightbulb moment.

“What if we call Svetlana?” 

“What?” Shane and his mother asked, almost in unison. 

“She made me promise that I would call if I had a way she could help,” Ilya said, understating slightly. “If we are making plans for future… She is very good at this. Very… how do you say, when you can see many plans, ideas, ways people think?” 

“Insightful?” Shane’s father suggested. 

“Yes, this,” Ilya confirmed. “She told me the year when we would win the Cup, knew that your goalie was hurt. She guessed this year that it would be Hunter, although I did not believe her.” 

David Hollander laughed quietly. “Yuna called that one, too.” 

“I think you would like each other, very much,” Ilya said, smiling at Shane’s mother, then turned back to Shane. “So?”

“I… yes, alright. If you… I would like to meet your family,” Shane said quietly, his entire heart in his eyes for Ilya to see. “Even if it can only be by telephone for now.” 

But it turned out they could do a little better than that, because Yuna Hollander had a fullscreen monitor set up for video calls in her study, on the wall where it could be pivoted between her desk and the small seating arrangement nearby. Svetlana looked almost life-size on it, sitting in her living room with the Moscow evening skyline behind her. When they’d started the call, she’d taken in their positions—Ilya and Shane next to each other on a small couch, while David and Yuna sat in armchairs nearby—and immediately grinned, sending Ilya a congratulatory wink. 

He truly didn’t deserve her. He would have to buy her a car or something, after this. 

“That is a horrible idea,” she said, almost immediately after Shane was done laying out his plan. “Ilyushka cannot move to Ottawa.”

No, he was wrong. He was going to have to murder her. 

“Hey!” Shane objected, looking as offended as a kitten who’d fallen into the bathtub. “Why not? They need a star center, they’re closer, Ilya wants Canadian citizenship…And it lets us cool off the rivalry a bit—” 

Svetlana rolled her eyes. “The only reason Ottawa and Montreal are not strong rivals right now is because Ottawa has been terrible, one of the worst teams in the League, for many years. And they will not be bad for long if Ilya moves there. Or if they are, he will be miserable. How would you like to go back to your rookie year, Hollander, missing the playoffs because your team is lousy?” 

Ilya grimaced. He was confident that he could make Ottawa into a contender, given enough time, but it was true that he wasn’t particularly looking forward to the first year or two. He hated losing. 

Unfortunately, Shane turned to him at just the wrong moment and caught the expression on his face. Ilya quickly pasted a confident smile on, but he had a feeling it was too little, too late. 

“Shane, it is fine,” he attempted, reaching for his boyfriend’s hand. “I am best player in the League, remember? I can make any team great, just as I did with Boston, just as you did with Montreal—”

“But that requires a general manager who knows how to build the team around you and a coach with enough balls to enforce discipline and back your plays,” Yuna pointed out. “I’m not sure that Ottawa has either.” 

“So little faith in your home team,” Ilya couldn’t help himself from saying, with raised eyebrows. He had a feeling that after her ‘loyalty is important’ line, she would not mind a little chirping. 

Sure enough, she just grinned back at him. “Shane is from Ottawa,” she retorted. “David and I are from Montreal. We only moved here for his job.” 

“And she made sure I never actually fell so low as to actually root for the Centaurs,” Shane said, chuckling a little. 

“Which is exactly what I am talking about,” Sveta said, from the screen. “You think that Ottawa and Montreal get along better because they are both Canadian teams? No. There have been more fights in preseason games between Ottawa and Montreal than between any other two teams in the League. And if you move to Ottawa and make them a threat, Ilyushenka, Montreal will hate you just as much—more, perhaps—as they hated you in Boston.” 

Ilya pivoted to look at the Hollanders. Yuna had an unhappy expression on her face. 

“I hate to admit it, because I would love to have you both here more often,” she said. “But I think Svetlana is right.” 

“I knew you were a woman of good taste,” Svetlana said, beaming at her. 

“So then, what do you think we should do, instead?” Shane asked, and it was a genuine question, no silent resent behind it. “Ilya wants Canadian citizenship—” 

Yuna pursed her lips. “The truth is, this will be a shitstorm in the media whenever you come out, no matter what, or who either of you are playing—” 

“Agreed,” Svetlana said. “But there are two ways I can see that it might be okay, after a little while. That will allow you to get your teams, and eventually the fans, on your side.” 

“Two?” Yuna asked, her forehead creasing. “I could see, maybe if Ilya was on a West Coast team. Edmonton would be best, or Vancouver, if he wants to stay in Canada. If you two only play each other once or twice a year, the rivalry will die down, as long as you don’t face each other in the Cup finals. But—” 

“That would be horrible,” Shane objected, making a face. “All the West Coast teams are nearly as bad as Ottawa, and he’d be across the country. We’d never get to see each other—” 

“Yes, they suck right now,” Svetlana acknowledged. “But Edmonton has some good prospects. They’ve pulled several promising first-round picks the last few years, and their goalie isn’t bad. With Ilya there, they could build fast. And it would be farther, but you could both fly to Toronto whenever you have a day or two off. It would be a short hop for both of you, and you wouldn’t get so much attention. You wouldn’t see each other much less than you do now.” 

“I don’t know…” Shane muttered. Ilya squeezed his hand. 

“But there is the second option,” Svetlana pressed on. “No one would care—or perhaps even notice—if you are together, if you are on the same team. Teammates are expected to be seen together. Teammates can hug and kiss each other on the ice, and no one will say anything, as long as there is no tongue. Maybe even then, after a Cup win.” 

Shane jerked up his head. “How—who the hell could afford us both?” 

“There is going to be an expansion draft next year,” Svetlana pointed out. “They just announced last month that Quebec City won the bid. You could both ask to be exposed, and they could build around you.” 

Ilya turned to look at Shane; he was silent, for a long time. “Montreal would hate me,” he said finally. “Bad enough to move anywhere, but basically next door? For an expansion team? I’d trash my brand.” 

Ilya bit the inside of his cheek. Shane hadn’t asked him to move away from Boston. Had objected to the idea, in fact, at least at first; he had asked Ilya if he was sure, reminded him of how the fans and his friends on the team might react. Besides, Ilya’s brand was based around being a bad boy, an asshole—Boston loved him, but they wouldn’t think it was wholly out of character for him to take an offer where he would make more money. Shane Hollander was Canada’s golden boy; he had to think about keeping his image clean. 

Which just made Ilya wonder if he could ever fit into that image. 

“No, not Quebec,” Yuna said softly. When Ilya lifted his head up, her eyes were shining, a slightly smile stretching her lips. “Montreal.” 

“What do you me—wait, are you kidding?” Shane asked, turning on his mother.  He pulled his hand out of Ilya’s grasp, using it to make an exasperated gesture in the air. “Ilya, in Montreal? They hate him here!” 

“I’ve lived with a Metros fan for forty years,” David said drily, “and I’m pretty sure they would forgive him the second you two brought home another Cup. Probably before.” 

“He’s right,” Yuna agreed immediately. “Nothing buys bygones like victories; and you know how much Montreal loves a winner. Stealing Boston’s captain, making him our star? We would love that. And it’s not as if we’ve ever personally hated Rozanov—I mean, Ilya. Not like Kent, or Lemieux. He’s never delivered any truly horrific, dirty hits, never put anyone in the hospital. Especially after he visited you in the hospital, Shane—that was a great display of sportsmanship, and the fans respected him for it, and for how good of a player he is.”

Ilya was not going to get choked up, just because someone he’d been certain hated him admired the one skill he was truly proud of. He wasn’t. He surreptitiously rubbed the skin underneath his eye. It was only wet because he’d been sweating. 

“I know it would be a hard sell, honey,” Yuna was saying to Shane. “But can you imagine the two of you playing on the same team?” 

Shane’s eyes went distant and misty. Ilya held his breath. He’d never seriously considered playing on the same team as Shane, barring the occasional flukes like the All Star Game. Had never thought it would be possible. But if it was…

“It would be fantastic to watch the two of you together,” David said, reaching over to squeeze his son’s shoulder.  

“Of course it would be amazing,” Shane said. He reached out and took Ilya’s hand again; Ilya gripped it tightly, feeling his heart flip over in his chest. “But there’s still the salary cap—” 

“Montreal has a lot of dead weight,” Svetlana said flatly. “Comeau, Andropov, Couillard—they could get rid of everyone making over three million on their roster except for you and Mitka, replace them with journeymen and rookies, and barely notice.” 

“Hey,” Shane objected. “A team is more than its individual players. You have to worry about cohesion, chemistry—if we replaced everybody, we’d be back to square one—” 

“You’re right, honey,” Yuna said readily. “You can’t get rid of everyone. But Sveta is right, too. You could replace five or six players—all the highest paid except for you, Hayden, J.J, and Soren—and the team wouldn’t suffer much. That would open up enough cap space for Ilya. And that would also get rid of the worst of the veterans who have personal axes to grind against Boston and Rozanov.” 

“And the ones who are biggest assholes about you being better than them,” Ilya muttered. 

Shane was silent. 

“When is your current contract up, Shane?” Svetlana asked. 

“June 2021,” he said absently. “I signed an eight-year after my ELC. NMC effective as of last season.” 

“Okay. And Ilya is a free agent next summer. Let’s say that he signs a two or three-year contract with a West Coast team, for some ridiculous amount of money so no one asks why he did it. Edmonton would be our first choice, Calgary or Vancouver as backups—” 

Yuna was nodding, clearly already seeing where she was going. “He pushes for more leadership responsibilities, a voice in personnel and strategy. Either they give it to him, and we can spin that into a narrative that he’s maturing as a player—” 

“Or they don’t, and we can use that to lay the groundwork for him moving again in 2021, at the same time that Hollander’s contract is up,” Svetlana said, cutting in so smoothly it was as if she and Yuna had been brainstorming together for years. “Which gives Shane four years from now to turn the Metros into a team that would welcome Ilya, with players and staff who won’t talk to the media if they see anything in the locker room. Starting with getting rid of Theriault.” 

“You’re absolutely right,” Yuna said, immediately. “I’ve never liked that man—ever since that bullshit about historically breaking down barriers that he came out with at the draft. As if he’d had anything to do with it—” 

“Mom!” Shane said, sounding shocked. “He’s been a good coach—” 

“You don’t have to use your media training on me, Shane,” she countered immediately. “He hasn’t been horrible, mostly because he’s stayed out of your way. But he hasn’t been good, either. And I don’t like what you’ve told me about how he runs the locker room.” 

“I haven’t said anything about—” 

“That’s what I mean.” 

“Shane,” David said. “Do you think that your coach would support you if you told him that you wanted to come out to the team as gay?” 

Shane was silent for a long moment. Finally, he shook his head. His eyes were bright, and tinting red around the rims. Ilya shuffled closer, wrapping his arm around Shane’s shoulders. 

“Then he should be replaced,” David said. “If not for you, then for any other player who doesn’t feel safe in his locker room.” 

Another long pause, and then Shane inhaled shakily and nodded. 

“Meanwhile, I will move to Toronto, so Ilya has a reason to fly east very often,” Svetlana said, tactfully calling attention away from how Shane looked like he was about to cry. 

They all turned to the screen—Ilya’s mind was buzzing with how fast the hits were coming. 

“Shane, I’m sure you must already know people there, or have business reasons to visit,” Svetlana continued, as if she hadn’t just thrown a bomb into the conversation.  

“You would move to Toronto for Ilya?” Yuna asked, sounding shocked. 

“Ilya is family,” Sveta said, shrugging. “And I like Toronto. The dealership has outlets there; I would be fine.” 

“We can definitely find business reasons for Shane to visit Toronto,” David said, looking soft around the eyes. 

Yuna nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course. There are a few companies headquartered there that have indicated interest in sponsorship, we have some family friends—” 

“And I can start talking to the Metros management about Theriault,” David said. “I’ve got friends with some pull there already.” 

“Shane?” Yuna asked. 

They were all silent, turning toward the reason they were all there. The person who tied them together. Even Sveta, who was here for Ilya, was looking at his boyfriend. Ilya himself felt like his heart might beat out of his chest before Shane could answer the question. He let his hand rub gently back and forth across the back of Shane’s neck as his boyfriend stared down at his lap and took shallow, shaky breaths, forcing himself to be patient. 

Finally, Shane took a deep breath and looked up, toward the screen. “Of course I want to play on the same team as Ilya,” he said to Svetlana. “I want that so much. I just never thought it was possible. You really think we could make it happen?” 

Svetlana smiled at him “I do.” 

He looked at his mother, next, and Yuna nodded. “I do, too, honey. I don’t know if the possibility would ever have occurred to me. Or maybe it would have, if you gave me more than a couple of hours to adjust to the fact that the two of you are even together!” 

They all laughed. Ilya felt like his heart was so light, it might actually fly out of his chest and make a nest on the ceiling, like a sparrow.  

“I don’t know,” Yuna was still saying, “I think maybe I’m still a little too invested in the rivalry narrative, myself. But it does seem like it would be possible. And just as a Metros fan… I would love to see the two of you playing together, there.” 

“And no matter what, this will let you line up your timelines and make your next contract choice together,” Svetlana pointed out. “There are plenty of players who have been on a line together for a long time, who choose to share an agent and market themselves to teams together. Creating a charity together—that part of your plan is a good idea. In four years, you can say to teams that you have discovered this amazing chemistry you have at All Star Games, that you have become friends working together on the charity, and now you want to spend the last years of your career creating a dynasty and winning Cups together. I don’t think Montreal would turn you down—but if they do, plenty of other teams would be happy to take you.” 

Shane nodded, slowly at first, but then getting faster. “And that wouldn’t be like allowing myself to be exposed in an expansion draft. If Montreal and I can’t come to a contract agreement, especially if we leak that I was willing to cut my salary but they still wouldn’t match my other requirements? The fans would understand me leaving, then.”

Ilya caught his breath. He’d been incredulously happy when Shane had told him he wanted a long-term future; but he’d assumed that of course, such a future would be contingent on them making it work within the plans that Shane already had for his career and his future. That Shane would never be willing to completely upheave his life for Ilya the way that Ilya was, for Shane. He’d even understood it—he didn’t have a family who loved and cared about him, and he’d still been unwilling to abdicate his responsibilities to them, to utterly overturn their expectations, until his father had died and Alexei had made it clear that Ilya would never be able to be the brother he wanted. This—Shane saying he would be willing to leave Montreal, the team that he’d grown up cheering for, the team that drafted him, his mother’s choice for him, if they wouldn’t let him play with Ilya? That was beyond Ilya’s wildest dreams. 

And even more insanely, Yuna—who just a few hours ago had been frowning at the idea that Ilya might choose to leave Boston—was nodding at her son’s declaration. 

“Ilya?” Shane asked, tugging on his arm. Ilya ran a hand over his eyes and pivoted to look at his boyfriend. “What do you think?”

Ilya had to take a second to even parse that Shane was actually asking him if he was okay with the plan—as if he genuinely hadn’t figured out, yet, that Ilya would do anything to be with him. 

He leaned forward and kissed Shane softly. “I think that I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a Metro.”