Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander, Yuna Hollander, Irina Rozanova, Grigori Rozanov, Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov, OFC, OMC

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First meeting as children, Childhood Memories, Stillbirth, adding extra traumas in for fun, time skip, 1996 to 2008, Mistaken Identity, Kind Of, alternating pov, some of the POV is a five year olds POV, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, sometimes you put everything into a box and then bury the box, Slurs, Mild Sexual Content

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-09-16 Completed: 2026-10-05 Words: 41,312 Chapters: 4/4

Something Borrowed

Summary

"Maybe," Irina said, "I will ask. Maybe, Shane and Ilyushenka would like to go on ice together? Hockey maybe, or only skating?"

"Shane would certainly prefer to play hockey," Yuna said, as Shane stepped into the room, his eyes going suddenly bright when she glanced at him as the word hockey left her mouth. Sometimes she thought it was like having a little puppy hearing the word walk.

"Hockey?" Shane asked, still standing in the doorway, his whole body vibrating a little, "I can have hockey?"

The Hollanders go on a trip to Russia in 1996 to attend a wedding, and Shane makes a friend. In 2008, he meets his friend again. Part of him knows it's his friend, sadly, that part is not his brain.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

EDIT 06/10/26 to add cover picture :)

Wahoo! I had this story in my head while I was writing Best Possible Situation and I didn't let myself start actually writing it until I had finished.
From the 1996 to 2008 time skip, the story will mostly kind of follow the tv show plot and time skips :)

In regards to the stillbirth tag, go to the end note to get more details for content warning

1996

Shane Hollander was five years old, and he could write his whole name easy without any help even with remembering how many ells there were in Hollander, and he could recite the phone number for his house where he lived with his mama and his daddy and Grumpy Gretsky their pussy cat, and he knew that if he was lost he was supposed to find a mama looking person, or someone in a uniform that was not a school uniform, and tell them his name and that he was lost and could someone please call his home for him, and he could say this in English and in French.

And none of that mattered right now because everyone here was speaking Russian, and he had told his mama that he couldn't speak Russian and she had said it would be okay because they were staying with their friends and family and they would be speaking English and Japanese, and Shane could speak some Japanese, and it would be all okay, and they would put a tag in Russian on his jacket in the airport so if he got lost it would be fine, it had all the information needed to get him un-lost, and that was good, but he wasn't in the airport now and he didn't have a tag with all the un-losting writing on it and he had gone four days this week with a gold star every day for not getting upset and making the loud noise his daddy called the Shaney alarm, and he was worried he was going to start making the loud noise now and he wouldn't get his gold star and then the whole week would be ruined.

Hatsu, his cousin who wasn't his cousin but who was like his cousin because his mama said his mama was like her sister, hadn't wanted to take Shane with him and his friend Alyosha but his mama had said he had to, because Shane was too little to go to the park by himself, and Hatsu was such a grown up boy who could be responsible, and so Shane had followed Hatsu and Alyosha down a weird wobbly sort of street, and then down another one and then another one and he had asked where the park was and if they were close and if there would be ducks and then Hatsu and Alyosha had started to speed up a little and giggle and he had sped up too and then they had opened a gate and held it for him and he had run up to it and they pushed him through the gate and closed it behind him and they left and he couldn't reach the latch of the gate to open it and anyway you were supposed to stay where you were when you were lost unless it was in water or on fire or other dangerous things and then you were supposed to stay close to the spot you got lost in and -

He was making the loud noise, it was coming out of his mouth very loudly, and it was knocking on the doors and windows and walls and stones around him until they were all shaking a lot and shaking him and he was sitting down on his butt on the path made of lots of different coloured stones and it was cold which helped but the noise kept happening.

While Hatsu and Alyosha ran off down the streets they knew, towards the park that did in fact have ducks, Shane sat in the courtyard of Alyosha's babushka's house, and did not at first notice the door to the house opening. Stayed balled up and weeping over being lost and losing his gold star, and didn't hear the footsteps.

Alyosha's mama crouched down next to him, careful not to overbalance with her protruding stomach, her mama watching from the doorway. She did not reach out to touch Shane, kept her hands on her knees as she spoke softly.

She tried in Russian first, a very simple, hello. "Privet."

He startled, his head jolting up to look at her, and then he froze, wide eyed and wet faced, like a little wild creature trying not to be seen. His arms were locked tight around his knees. He did not say anything, so she tried again, asked if he was okay.

"Ty v poryadke, mal'chik?"

He stayed very still, only sucking his lower lip into his mouth, and blinking wetly at her. She gave him another moment to work up to speech, and it helped.

"No one talked me to talk Russian," he said, all of his words coming out small and even like each one was thought about hard before being spoken. "Sorry."

She smiled at him. Her English was not as good as she would like, but she thought maybe it was good enough to speak at a - she couldn't quite tell how old he was. She thought probably her Ilyushenka's age, but this boy was much smaller.

"Is okay," she told him. "I will speak English with you, hm? You are okay?"

His whole face brightened up, and he offered her a very small smile. "I am lost," he said, and then, in the manner of one reciting something long remembered, he began; "My name is Shane Hollander with two ells and my mama's name is Yuna Hollander with two ells, and I - oh no." His face fell again, chin trembling. The rest of his spiel was useless here, his mama and daddy were also in Russia, not at home with their phone, and he didn't have his airport tag.

"Oh, mal'chik," she said, one hand darting out, pausing, and then cupping his face. "Is okay," she told him again. "You say your mama is Yuna?Is she here for big party?"

He chewed on his lower lip again, thinking hard, and then nodded. She nodded as well, used her thumb to wipe away some of the drying tears on his cheek.

"She is staying with Mona and Hatsu?" She asked, and he nodded again, much more vigorously. "Ah, will all be okay, then," she told him with a big smile. "We are so close, yes? You want I take you?" A third nod. "Okay, good. You will walk? Ah? I carry you?"

She clasped her arms together like an embrace and rocked them, and he smiled and shook his head, released his legs and stood up. She stood up slower, heavy stomach, sore legs. Looked to the doorway. Her mama had gone back to the sewing, sitting hunched over the heavy table just inside, the lamp tipped low. In her place in the doorway was Ilyushenka, peering out at her and at Shane.

"Ah," she said, "moy mal'chik, eto Sheyn. Shane, this is my baby boy, Ilyushenka."

Ilyushenka looked at Shane, and then at his mama, frowned. Her boy could be solemn sometimes. She held her hand out to him, and he came, his eyes suspicious on Shane. She held her other hand to Shane, and Shane took it.

It was a quick walk, two houses down, little easily loop-able alleyways sliding between houses and real streets. While they walked, Shane and Ilyushenka darted solemnly suspicious looks at each other around her legs, and said nothing at all.

-

Mona and Yuna were discussing decoration when Irina knocked on the door. They had gone in circles about it all morning, because Mona's soon to be husband kept changing his mind about how traditional he was willing to go, and Mona kept changing her mind about how against her soon to be husband's wishes she was willing to go. Yuna had every so often been gently reminding her that even so close to the date, a wedding could be postponed, if, perhaps, there were more problems than just decor to be ironed out.

Her own husband, David, had been tasked with being a man with the other men, and was on a mission in a very rugged looking van to pick up several folding tables without wobbly legs, and she wished she had asked him to be relegated to be here with her, maybe making cups of tea and giving her calming looks so she wouldn't outright tell Mona to leave her fiance just because Yuna was a little miffed with his decision making skills.

She had been hoping it might be David at the door when she went to go answer it, and was taken aback to have her legs immediately run into, her son wrapping his arms around her like he had been away all day rather than all of ten minutes.

Her hand went automatically to Shane's head, her palm curving around it as she looked at the woman in the doorway. There was a blonde haired child wrapped around her legs as well.

"Privet," the woman said, "hello. I am Irina, you are Yuna, yes?"

Yuna nodded, darted her eyes down to Shane, who had sniffed once, and then been quiet. "I am, yes," she said. "Shane was supposed to be with his cousin Hatsu, and his friend Alyosha, what happened?"

"Ah," Irina said, her eyes closing briefly, expression washing over with understanding, annoyance, and then acceptance, all very quickly. "Alyosha is my older boy," she said. "Shane, ah, I found him in my mama's back yard. I do not know how."

"Shane?" Yuna asked, stroked her hand over his soft hair, and then cupped the back of his head to encourage him to look up at her. "What happened, baby?"

Shane's shoulders lifted minutely in a shrug, and he blinked up at his mama, guilt pooling in his stomach as he remembered how he had cried. "They shut gate," he said, "and leaved. I cried. Sorry mama."

"Oh, baby," Yuna soothed, reaching with her other hand to stroke Shane's damp cheek, and then to cup it as she crouched down in front of him so she could press a kiss to his forehead. "You were scared? It's okay."

He nodded, and then turned his head a little to glance back at Irina and her son, darting his eyes away quickly when Irina smiled at him, ducking his head.

"Thank you, Irina, was it? You know Mona?" Yuna asked, kissed Shane again and stood back up straight, "You should come in and have a cup of tea and some cake."

Shane's mama and Hatsu's mama, and the mama who had found and saved Shane were all sitting together drinking tea and talking, and Shane and the other boy Shenka were sitting next to each other between their mama's and were allowed to have one slice each of the little sweet loaf from the table and Shane had already finished his one slice and his fingers were a little sticky and Shenka kept making his eyes really wide at him so Shane kept making his eyes really wide back at him and when Shenka laughed he still had slice in his mouth and he laughed some right out onto Shane's arm which was very yucky and Shenka's mama sighed and Shane's mama sighed, and they were both sent to the wash room to wipe his shirt and Shenka's face.

"Mne zhal'," Shenka said in the little wash room, the first words Shane had heard from him, and Shane didn't know what they meant except that Shenka was pouting when he said it, his head ducked down even while his eyes were looking up at Shane, watching as Shane grabbed the wash cloth from where it was hanging over a rail on the wall and then turning the tap on just a little so it drip dripped slowly onto the cloth making it damp not wet.

"Alyosha is your big brother?" Shane asked Shenka, because he had been running the question around in his head because he was sure it was right but not sure enough to say it to his mama or Shenka's mama, but he wanted to know so he could know if Shenka might also shut him behind a gate and run away from him, and if he needed to be careful to make sure to leave the wash room first so he wouldn't get shut in because Hatsu had shut him in here just yesterday and it hadn't even been locked but he had slid a towel in the sliding part of the door from the outside and it had been blocked and Shane didn't have muscles big enough for that and he had had to wait until someone else needed the wash room to be found.

Shenka frowned at Shane, or, at Shane's words, and watched as Shane wiped at his sleeve with the cloth and then re-wet it under the drip drip drip of the tap again and began to wipe at Shenka's face where he had smeared loaf crumbs across his cheek all gross with the back of his hand and when he wiped at Shenka's face, Shenka made his eyes go all big again with his eyebrows up really high and Shane giggled, and Shenka giggled, and there was a big spot on Shenka's face that Shane had thought was a crumb but wasn't so he had wiped at it a few times trying to clean it off before Shenka batted his hand away with another laugh and turned them both towards the mirror, pointing at his own face.

"Rodinka," he said, pointing at the spot, and then moving his hand to point at another spot that looked similar on the other side of his face, "rodinka," he said again, and then moved his hand so it poked Shane's cheeks "vesnushki," he said, and Shane could see in the mirror that Shenka was looking at Shane's face now, eyes gone all squinting as he moved his finger poke, poke, poke, each poke landing on one of Shane's freckles, and Shenka said again; "vesnushki."

"Freckles," Shane said, pleased to be understanding what Shenka was saying to him, "freckles are vesnushki," he said, laying it out, before frowning because if vesnushki was freckles he still didn't know what rodinka was except it was like bigger freckles and Shenka had them and Shane didn't have them, and they weren't big loaf crumbs but maybe Shane didn't know the word in English because there wasn't a word in English, so it was good there was a word in Russian, and he turned away from the mirror so he could see Shenka properly and lifted his own hand to touch the rodinka he hadn't tried to wipe off, and said; "rodinka, I do not have rodinkas, but you have freckles, here -" he trailed his finger down to the bridge of Shenka's nose and Shenka tipped his head back and pretended to bite at Shane's fingers so Shane squealed and pulled his hand away and they both laughed.

When they came back to the mamas, Shane not getting trapped in the bathroom, Shane was going to ask his mama what a rodinka was and if there was an English word for it and why didn't Shane know what it was, and maybe was there a French word for it too, and what was that, but he got distracted right away because his mama and Shenka's mama were talking just the two of them, his Oba Mona gone somewhere else, and his mama was saying something about hockey, and Shane loved hockey so much and he had been sad he would not get to play hockey for a whole week and a bit while they were here in Russia because his mama and daddy had said there probably wouldn't be time, and they didn't know about rinks in the town, and so no they were not going to pack his skates because they were heavy and they needed the room in the luggage for Mona's wedding gift, but now his mama was saying hockey!

Mona had gone to answer the phone in the other room, and upon answering had immediately dropped into another argument, so Yuna was reasonably certain it was her fiance on the line. She turned back to Irina, and they smiled a little awkwardly at each other, now their mutual connection was gone and getting both louder and quieter as the argument ramped up and she went further away, closing doors behind her.

"Well," Yuna said. "Ah, so, I think I've finally worked it out - your mother - Eugenia - is the one who's sewing the dresses, isn't she?"

"Yes," Irina smiled at her, "she was to only do wedding dress, but I was able to come stay, so together we do all."

"That's lovely you could do that. I suppose we'll be seeing much more of you in the next few days then, I'm supposed to be getting my fitting tomorrow, according to Mona. So long as plans aren't changed again," she added, and then blushed slightly, knowing she should keep her mouth shut about her uncertainty about the ceremony. She shook her head, and asked, quick so neither of them could dwell on her impropriety; "Did you have to travel far to be here?"

"We are in Moscow," Irina said, fiddled with the delicate handle of her tea cup. "We took train here. Was long, but good trip."

"Was it just you and your two boys?" Yuna asked, "They must be a handful on a train, especially with a bump like that," she nodded at Irina's stomach, at the ballooned stretch of pregnancy in which you could almost always be correct about it being pregnancy and not a social blunder.

Irina's hand landed softly on the top of her bump, and she rubbed her thumb over the cloth, face pensive for a moment before returning to a smile. "Just us," she said. "The boys' papa is, ah, away on work. Could not come."

Yuna nodded, hoped she hadn't overstepped, and she was mis-reading the wary look under Irina's smile. "That's a pity," she said. "You're braver than me! My husband, David, and I had Shane on the plane and had our hands full enough with just him. He has a lot of energy, and sitting still for so long disagrees with him."

Irina was nodding along, face very focused as she took in Yuna's words, a reminder of the translation occurring silently. "Yes," she said, a short time after Yuna had finished speaking, and Irina had figured out the gist of everything she had said. "Ilyushenka and Alyosha are full of bouncing. On train they ran in, ah," she held up her hands, parallel to each other, "seats," she said, and then flicked her thumbs forwards between her palms. "Boys."

"Between the seats?" Yuna asked.

"Yes, I think yes," Irina said with a short laugh, a nod. "Noisy, many complaints. What can I do? Already I told them all my stories and said to them be quiet."

"It's a tough job," Yuna agreed, "I think a lot of people really don't realise that we only have so much control of our children. I can tell Shane to have quiet hands as much as I want and he will still wave them around everywhere, or that it's time to sit down, but if he still has energy he will still start running in circles until he collapses or I hold him still."

Yuna had been speaking slower, but she could still see Irina was struggling a little with following her speech, so she sat on the rest of her words and waited for Irina to catch up, give her a chance to lead the conversation. From the wash room they could hear loud giggling, which was a very good thing. She hadn't heard Shane giggle since they had arrived here, even when David had done all the voices in his story last night.

"So much running," Irina said, "my boys run much, nicer running here, less busy streets. For best energy, they do, ahhh, on ice. Blades. Khokkey."

Yuna grinned, "Ice skating," she said, "and hockey! Yes, my Shaney loves hockey so much. He would be in his skates all day every day if we let him. He was very sad when we said there would be no hockey while we are here."

Irina's face brightened again with this new connection, and she nodded along, rolling her eyes with understanding. "Ilyushenka is same," she said. "I was skater, before," she waved her hand at herself, her stomach, the direction of the giggling in the bathroom. "I taught my boys to skate. Alyosha is big fan of…hockey, Ilyushenka, yes, likes too, but most he loves skate fast and - ah - spin?"

"So lovely," Yuna replied, "oh, it's a pity Hatsu and Alyosha don't want to spend time with Shane, he would have loved to play hockey with them. Do you think Alyosha might be willing to try again with Shane, for hockey?"

Padding footsteps down the hall indicated their boys coming back to them, intermittent giggles as well, and both Yuna and Irina smiled at the doorway, and then at each other.

"Maybe," Irina said, "I will ask. Maybe, Shane and Ilyushenka would like to go on ice together? Hockey maybe, or only skating?"

"Shane would certainly prefer to play hockey," Yuna said, as Shane stepped into the room, his eyes going suddenly bright when she glanced at him as the word hockey left her mouth. Sometimes she thought it was like having a little puppy hearing the word walk. "Little hockey fanatic, seriously. But just ice time would be nice for him. Oh, damn, I just remembered…Sadly, we left his hockey skates at home. We didn't think there would be any opportunity to use them. He did try to pack them."

"Hockey?" Shane asked, still standing in the doorway, his whole body vibrating a little, "I can have hockey?"

"Khokkey?" Ilyushenka asked, small blonde brows furrowed as he looked first to Shane, and then to his mama.

"Po-angliyski eto hockey," Irina said to her son, "Oni zvuchat pokhozhe, hm?"

"Da," Ilyushenka said, then looked back to Shane. "Hockey?"

Shane's face shifted from enthused to ecstatic, and he grinned hugely, gap-toothed, at Ilyushenka, his hands squeezing into tight fists over and over again but staying very politely down by his thighs. "I love hockey!" He said to Ilyushenka, "I play hockey at home all the times and I am real good and I can make goals lots and my coach says I'm small but so speedy fast so maybe that will make up for my being small when I'm older."

Ilyushenka blinked, very obviously taking in little, if any of Shane's words, except for hockey.

"Quiet hands, please, Shaney," Yuna said softly, and then, "Ilyushenka and his big brother Alyosha do ice skating, and hockey sometimes too, but we didn't bring your skates, remember? Maybe we could ask to go watch them skate?"

Shane's hands opened and closed twice more, and then froze. He closed his mouth and made it very small, his lower lip sucked entirely in and bitten down on. He nodded. Ilyushenka frowned from Shane to Yuna to his mama.

"Ah," Irina said, reached out to touch Yuna's arm lightly. "We have, maybe, my mama's house skates? Old, but still good. Maybe right size."

"Oh, well, that would be so lovely," Yuna replied, smiling gratefully at Irina. "If they were the right size, I know Shane would really like to borrow them, wouldn't you, Shaney?"

Shane had his hands behind his back now, fingers gripping at each other tightly and twisting. He nodded.

-

Mona was still arguing, so Yuna popped her head into the argument room just briefly to let her know she was going quickly to Irina's mother's house, and she'd be back soon. The boys were waiting by the front door, apparently both excited about maybe going skating together, and were pulling faces at each other again, giggling between each new expression.

Eugenia was still at the sewing table when they arrived, and Irina spoke to her in a quick flurry of Russian before Eugenia looked up at Yuna and Shane and smiled.

"Sheyn," she said, "Yuna. Nice to meet."

"Mama is not knowing English much," Irina said, once Yuna had smiled and nodded back at Eugenia. "She think maybe older skates in shoe chest, so we go look?"

The shoe chest was in the other side of the house, a room crammed with boxes, and books, and Yuna, Shane, and Ilyushenka all helped move several stacks of both from on top of the long chest before it could be opened. Yuna waving away Irina's attempts at bending and lifting any of it, and Irina pausing, smiling, and stepping back.

The skates were found under a pair of chunky wading boots, Ilyushenka spotting them with a yell, and grabbing them out quickly to thrust into Shane's hands, and they all watched as Shane sat down thunk on the floor and began taking his shoes off. Irina eyed up the socks Shane was wearing, and the size of his feet, and then the skates, and turned to her son.

"Odolzhi yemu svoi noski?" She asked him, adding, with a glance to Yuna, "Bigger socks maybe help?"

He nodded, and ran full pelt out of the room, slamming into the wall to turn the corner. His babushka yelling out a warning, him an apology, and running a little slower the rest of the way. He was back again by the time both of Shane's shoes were off and he dropped the thicker socks in Shane's lap. Shane picked them up, not confused for a moment, and pulled them on over his quickly before reaching for the skates.

Yuna had only just stopped lacing them up for him, and only because he insisted he could do it by himself, and she was proud of his little bits of independence. Still missed it, a little, holding his baby foot in her lap and tightening his laces. He did it himself, a tiny bit clumsy, slower than she would, but still all by himself, and when it was done, he held his foot out to Yuna in a silent bid for approval.

"Very good," she told him. "How does it feel on your foot? Squishy or loose?"

"Good," he said, "good with socks. Thank you Shenka," he added in a rush, turning to Ilyushenka, wide eyed, and then smiling.

Irina laughed when Ilyushenka smiled back at Shane and then looked to her, a questioning expression on his face.

"Spasibo," she said to both the boys. "Shane, in Russian is spasibo."

"Spasibo Shenka," Shane repeated politely.

"Pozhaluysta," Ilyushenka mumbled back, and then shot the same look as before at his mama.

"He is saying, ah, you are welcome," Irina said to Shane. "Pozhaluysta. Is also for please, good word for knowing."

Shane repeated the word, and she repeated it again, slower. Shane's next attempt sounded better, and she smiled, and smiled wider when Shane spoke again.

"Spasibo," he said.

"Pozhaluysta," she replied, "fast learning."

-

There could be no immediate skating, Yuna had to go back to Mona's to try and get the decor conversation back on track before they really ran out of time, and Irina had to go back to helping her mama with the sewing. After a moment of hesitation, Yuna suggested that when David got home, maybe he could take the boys to the rink, and until then, if they would like, Ilyushenka could come play with Shane at Mona's house, seeing as Irina and Eugenia had much more intricate and hands on tasks than Yuna or Mona. Irina suggested it to Ilyushenka, who looked between his mama and Shane sadly taking off the skates again, and seemed unsure until Irina reminded him how at Mona and Hatsu's house they had a little football goal in the backyard. Irina checked with Yuna, Yuna checked with Shane, football was agreed upon.

Hatsu had been using the goal in the back of his garden to park his bike in, and also his scooter, and his skate board, so Shane and Shenka had to move all of them first and they got dirt on their hands but that was okay because they would probably have gotten dirt on their hands soon anyway and it was fun to get dirty when you were allowed to and he was allowed to because his mama had said they could play football outside and she would have made Shane change if he wasn't allowed to get his clothes dirty so it was all okay, and Shane wasn't very good at football because he wasn't used to the way the ball felt against his feet but he had asked Hatsu if he wanted to play the other day and Hatsu had said he didn't even like football anymore because he was learning tennis and Shane had asked if Hatsu wanted to play tennis with him and Hatsu had said that he only played with kids his own age, so that was okay and made sense but it still made Shane feel a bit sad.

But now he and Shenka were playing together and it didn't even matter that talking was all jumbly between them because they were doing words with their feet and the ball instead and it was easy to say you wanted a turn being the goalie when you just had to go stand in the goal and grin and then the other person knew what you wanted and would try and kick the ball in and they could talk by laughing and laughing and by making silly faces, and Shenka didn't seem to care that Shane was smaller, and when Shane caught the ball with his face and it made his nose run and feel all hot and too big and his eyes watered a lot and he made a little noise in his throat Shenka didn't even laugh at him about it he just came and crouched next to Shane in the goal and peered at Shane with such a worried face that eventually Shane had to giggle about it which made Shenka giggle about it and made Shane forget his nose even hurt very much.

When they were both tired for now of kicking and running and chasing they both lay down under the netting in the goal and Shenka was holding the ball in both hands holding it above their heads and making chirping noises like it was a big fat bird, and then zooming noises like it was a plane, and then it slipped in his hands and he dropped it on his face thwonk like that and he made a squawk noise and Shane grabbed the ball and they looked at each other and Shenka's nose had a big smear of dirt on it and was turning pink and his eyes went all watery from the shock and then Shenka laughed big and loud and Shane laughed too because he was relieved and because Shenka looked so funny and surprised when it had happened.

Shenka sat up then, maybe so he couldn't accidentally drop the ball on his face again, and so Shane sat up as well, pulling his legs criss-crossed and bouncing his knees up and down up and down so they looked like butterfly wings flapping, and Shenka held the ball up in his hands again and looked at Shane and then he nodded at the ball and said; "myach," and Shane scrunched his face up and made his knees be still and Shenka said myach again, this time holding the ball with one hand and tapping it with the other and Shane nodded and reached out to tap the ball as well and to say myach, and then he followed that up by saying; "ball," and Shenka repeated that a few times while Shane repeated in Russian, so they were sitting there saying to each other myach ball myach ball myach ball until that was too funny and they were giggling again.

Shane's mama had them come inside after that and wash up again and them come to eat some lunch and Hatsu and Alyosha were back and when Alyosha and Shenka saw each other they stuck their tongues out and Alyosha said things to Shenka that Shane didn't understand but made Hatsu laugh and it wasn't fair that Hatsu could speak Russian and English and Japanese and Shane couldn't speak Russian and so it made him feel little and silly again and he knew he was pouting but he couldn't make his face stop doing it which made him feel sillier and littler and he sat at the table next to Shenka with his head down so low it almost hit the table top so he wouldn't have to see if any of the words he didn't know were being said meanly to him because when they were Hatsu always looked right at him with a big smile on his face and when Shane saw the smile it always made him feel angry and sad in a squirmy way that felt like it would make a loud noise if he kept feeling it and he didn't think he had actually lost his gold star this morning because his mama hadn't said he had, but if he made the loud noise here at the table he would.

"Vesnushki," Shenka whispered to him underneath the clamour of Hatsu and Alyosha, and the lower calmer hum of Shane's mama and his Oba Mona talking to each other at the head of the table, he had reached out and tapped Shane's knee, and when Shane looked up sideways at Shenka, Shenka darted his eyes at the boys on the other side of the table and then pulled a silly face, and Shane smiled a little, so Shenka made another silly face and Shane smiled more, and Shenka smiled back at him, and then pointed at his plate, and Shane sat up a bit straighter and began eating his lunch properly, and he wiggled his leg until he could kick Shenka's calf lightly and Shenka made an oof sort of noise and then kicked Shane's calf back and it was okay again.

David, the other men, and the non-wobbly-legged tables arrived home shortly after lunch, and after the tables had been unpacked and the men fed, he had been more than happy to do a rink trip. The trip now involved Hatsu and Alyosha as well as Ilyushenka and Shane, and when he took this group of boys down the street to Eugenia's house to check in with Irina this was okay, Irina said she would come with him so there would be at least one hand per child.

Yuna had filled him in on the adventures of the morning, and he wasn't surprised to see how Shane kept placing himself on the other side of David to his sort of cousin, and his sort of cousin's friend, Alyosha. He was surprised to see the way Shane was walking side by side with Alyosha's younger brother, Ilyushenka. Not because Shane was not a friendly boy with other children, when he wanted to be, but because he was often too shy at first to be comfortable being friendly, and it usually took a few meetings, or a much more prolonged exposure before any kid got that amount of smiles out of him.

When he had been introduced by Yuna and Mona to Alyosha and Ilyushenka, both of the boys had called him sir, which made him amused at first, and then uncomfortable, and he'd asked them both to call him David, which in turn appeared to amuse and discomfort them. He felt like there was a good chance neither boy would address him at all, to get around this conundrum.

At the rink, he and Irina watched the boys get their footing and then zip off in their two separate pairs. Hatsu and Alyosha had appeared a puck out of nowhere, and collected sticks on their way in, apparently both familiar with how and where to get them, and were already off passing puck stick to stick. He could see Shane staring longingly after them, but still choosing to follow Ilyushenka to the other side of the ice.

"Yuna said you are also a skater?" he asked Irina, who had brought some sewing with her, and already had it in her lap, needle pinched between her lips while she arranged fabric.

She took the needle from her mouth and shrugged a little. "Was," she said. "Almost good. Figure skating," she added, and then before he had a chance to comment on it, "you also? Skate?"

"I played hockey all my life," David replied easily, "not professionally, unless you count university, but I like skating a lot. I think Shane is already better than I ever was, though!" he laughed and nodded at their sons. "Your Ilyushenka has great form, too, does he have lessons?"

Irina smiled, watching Ilya twirl on the ice, and then stop and watch Shane attempt the same movement before repeating it for Shane to see again. "He started, ah, soon ago. Only skating with me before. Alyosha is in hockey, and their papa wants Ilyushenka in hockey too."

"Do they like it, then?" David asked. "Alyosha looks to be having fun."

"Alyosha likes having sport with his friends," Irina said, smiling now at her older son, at the way he and Hatsu were still only passing the puck to each other, chatting all the while. "Ilyushenka, ah, he is - he likes, yes, he is more -" she trailed off, her face pinching with annoyance at not having the words to express herself properly.

"Free spirited?" David suggested.

She laughed, nodded. "Free spirit," she repeated, wistful sounding. "He is good, strong learner," she said after a few moments of sewing filled silence. "Already he is good with hockey. Your Shane, also?"

"Yes," David laughed now. "Our little Shaney, he's very good. He really likes it, too, which is nice. Sometimes he has trouble having fun."

"Trouble having fun," Irina repeated, almost under her breath, as if it was a riddle to solve. "Yes, me also," she said after a moment. "Fun is, ah, can be scary. Yes?"

Across the ice, Ilyushenka and Shane were crouched down low on the ice now, holding each others hands in front of them, beginning to turn in circles. David could imagine them picking up some real speed, spinning around like a two headed top.

"I guess I've never really thought of it like that," he said. "I'm not sure I fully understand, but… yeah. I think sometimes Shaney thinks he needs permission to enjoy himself, and just… won't, until it's given."

He looked at Irina, whose eyes kept focusing to and from the ice and the small stitches she kept pulling through, somehow invisible in the buttery soft fabric collected in her lap.

"What do you do for fun, then?" he asked.

She flicked him a glance between her gaze's journey from ice to cloth. "I skated," she said, "was my best fun. Ah, this is nice," she nodded at the sewing in her hands. "I read, lots and lots, not so much now. Only books for my boys."

David winced. Yuna had said to him that Irina had seemed… sad, she'd said, or withdrawn. Maybe overworked. Had recounted the train trip with two boys and a heavy pregnancy by herself, and nodded when David had whistled in disbelief over it. He supposed it was dangerous to skate while you were pregnant, only if you fell over, but it wasn't like you could be sure you wouldn't fall, even if you were as good as he imagined Irina must be.

"I feel like I have read more Winnie the Pooh in the last year than I have read anything else in my entire life," he said, attempting understanding. "And I like Winnie the Pooh, and I don't mind doing the voices, but I miss the days I had the brain space left over to read a good mystery for myself."

She smiled, and nodded, and said nothing. Kept sewing. Kept watching the boys. He watched as well. Startled when she spoke again, a few minutes later.

"Where do you find your fun?" She asked, "if not in reading misties?"

"Um, well," he paused, turned his life around in his head to look at it from an outside perspective. "I mean, I play hockey still, just in a beer league with some guys from work, but I have fun with that. It's very casual. And I enjoy my job. I love cooking, which is useful, because Yuna can cook but doesn't enjoy it, and Shane can be very picky about food."

"Ah," she said, "I wish my husband would love cooking, I also do not enjoy so much. A little, but not so much I am not tired of it every day. Lucky for me, I think, my boys will eat anything and say is still good."

"Good boys," David laughed, "I once put a plate of something new in front of Shane and he didn't like the look of it so much he just refused to eat anything that night at all, even when I pulled out his favourite snacks. He's better at eating now, but still sometimes he has… trouble."

Irina glanced at him, away. Almost surreptitious. She spoke to her sewing. "You send him to bed with no food?"

"Oh, no," David shook his head. "We tried very hard to send him to bed with food. I even offered to make him mashed potatoes, he just wouldn't eat. He was very hungry in the morning, though, we were very relieved he was eating again."

"Ah, yes, okay," Irina nodded. Cleared her throat. "Growing babies need food."

It kept being difficult for David to work out how much of their conversation was tonally changed accidentally by translation, and how much was intentional, Slavic bluntness.

"Yes, absolutely," he said. "And, uh, when is your little one due?"

"Hm?" She frowned at him, not understanding.

He tried again, gestured to his own stomach, and then at her. "When is the new baby coming?"

"Ah," she huffed out a half laugh with understanding. "Two months more," she said, "hoping. My boys came late. She will maybe come early, for, ah, to make fun."

David laughed. "Arriving early to show up her brothers," he said, "that would be funny. You and your husband must be excited?"

Irina's smile came out a little more grimace than anything else, but she nodded anyway. "Da," she said, eyes back on the ice, away from David. Her hands were stilled in her lap, needle pinched tight between two fingers. "He is very pleased we will have girl. Says I will treat our boys like boys when I have girl."

"Hm," David said, unsure how to proceed. He followed her gaze out to the ice. Alyosha and Hatsu were hitting each other cheerfully with their sticks now, and Shane and Ilyushenka were racing each other up and down the side of the rink, cheeks pink, hair flying. "And what do you think?" he asked.

Irina did not look back at him. "I think I will love baby like I love my first babies. Best I can."

"That's all any of us can do," David said. Picked up a dropped thread from earlier that he hoped would stop Irina's face from falling into the grimace of a forced smile she had on now. "Tell me about the books you like to read?"

Staying with Oba Mona and Hatsu was much more fun now that Shane could go skating and could play with Shenka instead of tagging along behind Hatsu and Alyosha and feeling silly and unwanted, and instead he could get dressed in the morning and eat breakfast and he was allowed to walk down the path by himself and knock at the front door of Shenka's babushka's house and then he and Shenka could play and sometimes they played at Shenka's babushka's, in the room Shenka was sharing with his big brother and there were old yellowing paged books in the pretty writing that meant it was in Russian and it was okay that Shane couldn't figure out how to read it, he could just look at the pictures and sometimes Shenka would point at a picture and say a word and Shane would repeat the word and then he would say the word it was in English and Shenka would say it in English as well and they did that with all sorts of things until they had a net of Russian and English Shane and Shenka words between them, tossing words to each other and filling in gaps with grins and shoves and playing.

Every day Shane's daddy would take them to the rink, Shane and Shenka, sometimes Hatsu and Alyosha would come as well, but mostly it was just just Shane and Shenka which Shane liked best and he liked it extra best because it meant he and Shenka could take the sticks and the puck without Hatsu or Alyosha bothering them about it and Shane could practice his passing with Shenka and they could both practice their shots, and his daddy would help as well by doing the puck drop for them and acting like a ref except he was always too funny about it and making jokes but it was okay because they were just playing so Shane didn't need to be upset about it being wrong and Shenka was having fun too and Shane liked it best when they were playing hockey or playing twirling or just playing and Shenka was grinning at him so big it was like his smile was in Shane's chest making him smiling as well.

Sometimes Shenka's mama would come to the rink with them too, with Shane's daddy, or just her bringing them because Shane's daddy was busy with doing things Oba Mona asked him to do, there was a lot of things to do right now and Oba Mona had lots of instructions to give and more and more people kept coming and crowding into the kitchen at breakfast time and Shane didn't like a crowded house so he was extra pleased he could go to the rink or to Shenka's, and he liked Shenka's mama because she always smiled so nice at him and she would give him and Shenka big hugs against her soft hard soft big tummy where she said there was a baby girl a devochka a little sister mladshaya sestra for Shenka and Alyosha, and she had a pretty necklace that she let Shane touch to see how it felt in his fingers, and she gave them sweet pastries that Shenka's babushka made and they were so yummy Shane didn't even care that he didn't know what they were.

Alyosha and Hatsu let Shane and Shenka play hockey with them on the fifth day, and Shane's mama, and Hatsu's mama, and Shenka and Alyosha's mama all came to watch and first the mamas put them Shenka and Alyosha against Hatsu and Shane because they said it was fairest that way for size and language and Shane huffed but did his best even though he didn't think Hatsu was doing his best and the first game was all turned over and upside down because Alyosha and Shenka had a fight after Shane got his first goal and Hatsu started skating circles around the rink blowing raspberries, so when everything got soothed down Shane and Shenka got to be on one side together and Hatsu and Alyosha on the other and it was much much much more fun and Hatsu and Alyosha were big boys but Shane and Shenka had their Shane and Shenka language and Shenka could do slippery swirly twirls away from hockey sticks trying to poke out the puck from his stick, and Shane could feel Shenka's big grin like a spotlight so it was so easy to send a pass or catch the puck because he always knew exactly where Shenka was like Shenka was his arm or his leg or something like that and all the mamas were cheering and Shane's mama was smiling so pleased with him, but then when Shane and Shenka had two goals and the bigger boys had no goals, Alyosha knocked Shenka down and started another fight, and Hatsu yelled at them all, and the mamas decided no more hockey today.

By the time the day of the actual wedding arrived, Yuna was mostly relieved rather than excited, because it meant there could be no more last minute changes, unless either the bride or groom got cold feet. She understood the pull to have a large, fancy, intricate wedding, but she and David had gotten married in their local park and had a barbeque pot luck afterwards, and that had been perfect. Mona had always liked more, all through their high school and university years she had striven for that extra pizzaz that Yuna didn't see the point of. She liked pizzaz plenty, when it was a good amount of pizzaz. Pizzaz was easy to over do.

Shane had been a little sad he wouldn't get to sit with her during the ceremony, and then sad again when he had been told he also couldn't sit with Shenka during the ceremony, because Mona had assigned seating, and the pew David and Shane were going to sit in was far removed from where Eugenia, Irina, Ilyushenka, and Alyosha would sit.

She had been spending more time with Irina over the last few days, some of it being pinned into her dress by Irina herself, some of it over cups of strong tea, coffee, wine, and some at the rink. She enjoyed the way they both had to be blunter with each other to get their meanings across, and the little smirk that would light up Irina's face when they were sharing a joke. She knew Irina and David had been discussing books, working out which ones they might have in common, and then discussing how they thought the plot had failed. Mona had told Yuna the first night they had met Irina that she had heard things were rocky between her and her husband, and that Mona thought probably she was staying here with her mother to try to begin separating. Mona hadn't met Irina's husband, but she said Alyosha talked about him nicely enough, so he couldn't be that bad.

Yuna kept her thoughts about it to herself.

The ceremony passed much quicker than the dragging dredge of the planning and lead up to it had, barely feeling worth it to Yuna. Not that it was hers to judge the worth, of course, and Mona looked pleased. There were so many relatives to greet - none that were actually Yuna's relatives, of course, but plenty who felt like she may as well be theirs for how long they had known her and Mona as a package deal. They hadn't been a package deal for years now, Mona moving to Russia to follow her then boyfriend, now husband, and their communications happening mostly via letters, and then emails, and occasional phone calls. A few visits back to Canada over the years, but Yuna and Mona both had changed, and they didn't fit into the same roles they had assigned to each other. The love was still there, though, so they ignored the package and let it be how it was.

How it was right now was that Shane was clinging to the back of David's suit pants, his little face getting crinklier and crinklier as more and more people from Yuna's youth discovered him and cooed at him over looking just like his mama, and let me squeeze your little cheek. She was busy with her maid of honour duties, couldn't slide out of the squeeze of tasks and people to intervene. David was good and solid, but he also sometimes reacted slowly, noticing the problem and then not knowing what to do about it, so just…doing nothing until his brain came to a conclusion.

She watched from between the press of Mona and the rest of Mona's bride's maids, smiling and laughing for the photographer, as Ilyushenka crept between suited and frocked bodies and slid into the small space beside Shane, his hand tugging at Shane's elbow. Watched, keeping her camera smile fixed on her face, as Shane looked up at David, saying something, and then disappearing into the crowd, hand in hand with Ilyushenka. David turning to watch them go.

By the time Yuna could make her way out of everything and get to her husband, he was standing outside the church with Irina and Eugenia, watching Ilyushenka and Shane race each other up and down the long side of the church. The two of them crouching, setting positions, yelling to start, sprinting, tumbling into the grass at the end, wrestling and laughing. She probably would have stepped in if this was the first time the tumbling and wrestling had occurred, trying to keep Shane's clothing clean, but because it was obviously too late for that, she let it rest. Looped her arm through David's and leaned against him. Spoke past his chest.

"I am so impressed, Genia, Irina, with your dressmaking abilities. I feel so…regal in my dress."

Irina smiled, then repeated - probably - what Yuna had said to Eugenia, who also smiled, and then nodded at Yuna, waving one hand as if it were no big deal.

"Thank you," Irina replied to Yuna. She had both hands gripping her stomach, one on the top curve of the bump, the other pushing on the lower curve, as if trying to work a muscle pain. "My mama made all our clothing when we were young. She is very talented, I am very lucky to have learning from her."

"Oh, absolutely," Yuna said, sighed, "my mama made me some clothing as a child, but she was not as skilled as your mama. I always felt like a potato."

"Ah," Irina shook her head, "but potatoes are so good, yes?"

"The best," David said, let out a happy sigh. "I'm getting hungry. I didn't dare risk the the finger food, they're so small I thought if I had one I'd end up having an entire table full, and I don't think that's a good look."

"A compliment to cook," Irina offered, shaking her head. She winced suddenly, and then smoothed her face clean of pain, and smiled again. "But dinner soon, will be big and good."

"If you need to head home, to get some rest," Yuna said, "we can make sure Ilyushenka and Alyosha get back safely. We'll keep an eye on them."

Eugenia said something, and Irina murmured something in reply, shaking her head, hands still on her stomach. Eugenia responded, and this time Irina nodded, and then turned back to Yuna and David.

"Is just cramping. I saw doctor yesterday and he says is fine. But yes, I will go rest. If you are true good with my boys?"

"Yes, of course," Yuna said immediately, David nodding alongside her. "Go rest up."

Shenka and Alyosha stayed the night after the wedding, Oba Mona and her husband gone off and away for a sweet holiday, leaving Hatsu with Shane's mama and daddy in charge, and it was very exciting that one of the first things they did with being in charge was to say yes to a sleep over and Alyosha and Hatsu got to build a fort in Hatsu's bedroom which looked really cool but wasn't as cool as Shane and Shenka getting to top and tail together because his bed looked really funny made up on both ends with a pillow like both ends were the head end and they were both the head end and the thought of there being only head ends made him giggle and Shane giggling made Shenka giggle and it had been a long day with a lot of people and Shane had been so tired and so grumpy but he wasn't tired and grumpy anymore even though it was bed time and he was full of things that were like dumplings, and meat, and yummy sauces, and cake, because he and Shenka were both at the head end of one bed and their feets were kicking at each others' feets, and if they put the bottoms of their feet together they could do leg wrestling and Shenka won lots but sometimes Shane won which made him very happy because he was strong even though he was little and then they were giggling and whispering in their Shane and Shenka words and then Shane was asleep.

When Shane woke up, Shenka had gone sideways in the bed so they were like a big x marks the spot together, his head hanging off the side of the mattress, and Shane had giggled and poked at Shenka's side until Shenka had woken up and when he spoke his voice was all snotty sounding from being upside down and he sniffed really noisy and gross and funny and sat up and then flopped back down next to Shane and they added more words into their Shane and Shenka net, podushka pillow, hand ruka, kolenka, knee, and so on until their tummies (zhivotiki) growled, and they tumbled out of the bed and into the kitchen where Shane's mama and daddy made them breakfast and they sat eating while Alyosha and Hatsu came in as well, all yawning and tummy grumbling, and they got breakfast as well, and Shane asked if they could go to the rink today because they hadn't gone yesterday and Shane's daddy had said they would see, and Shane asked what they had to see, and his daddy said they had to see if they had time today, and Shane asked when they would know if they had time today, and his mama had said he had to be patient, and to remember to keep quiet hands and watch out for his cup on the table so he sat on his hands until Shenka tugged one of his hands out and tugged him back to his bedroom so they could get dressed for outside.

And then when they were dressed Shenka showed Shane a funny clapping hand game where they did lots of quick little clap smacks and chanted words that Shenka made sound good but came out all a little crooked from Shane's mouth and it didn't matter that they were crooked because Shenka did his grin at Shane so it was okay and the hand clap game was fun and good because it was playing and okay and not having noisy-Shaney-hands because that was a different thing, and then his daddy came in and asked if they would like to watch a movie with Alyosha and Hatsu because they were going to put one on in the lounge soon, and Shenka nodded so Shane nodded as well, and they couldn't do the hand clap game while watching a movie but Shenka knew another hand game where you had to trap each others' thumb while you had your fingers curled into each others' fingers like you were making a big fist together, or like holding hands except you were fighting about who was holding the hardest.

After lunch Shane's daddy took them to the rink, and he was making his face smile but it wasn't working very well, and Shane's mama had given Shane a kiss on the forehead and gone to Shenka's babushka's house instead of coming to the rink, and when Shenka said he wanted to go home to see his mama, using careful Shane and Shenka words to tell this to Shane so Shane could say it to his daddy, his daddy said that Shenka's mama was feeling a bit sick today, and she was having a doctor come see her, but maybe after their rink time, and Shenka had frowned very tight, his eyes getting all shiny and wet, and Alyosha had looked a little worried about his mama, but when Hatsu saw Shenka's sad face he laughed and so Alyosha just laughed instead as well and said some words that Shane recognised but mostly words Shane didn't , and Shenka's face had gotten tighter and meaner, and Shane had taken his hand, and his daddy had crouched down between the brothers and said words all slow about being nice to each other, and Shane didn't think Shenka understood most of the words, and he didn't know how much Alyosha knew in English because he didn't really talk to Shane, and he and Hatsu talked in Russian to each other.

Shane and Shenka skated laps and laps and laps of the rink, Shenka's face all tight for lots of the laps, even when Hatsu tripped himself up on his stick, so Shane tried doing the twirling movements Shenka had shown him and when Shane had fumbled the same one three times Shenka's face got less tight and became all funny frowny instead and he showed Shane how to do it for real again and again until Shane could do it all smooth instead of crunchy and then there was a big bug on the ice and they helped it off carefully, crawling on their knees off the rink to protect the blades, and showing it to Shane's daddy before they crawled back onto the ice barking at each other because now they were puppies, and puppies didn't know how to walk on ice so they made their hands and knees slip and slide all over the place and yelped and pawed at the ice and each other until they were a pile of yelping laughter and somehow it was funny enough for Hatsu and Alyosha to join in and then they were all big dogs racing each other on the ice, and Hatsu and Shane howled with each other and they all laughed and woofed and barked until Shane's daddy called them all a wolf pack and said it was time to come off so they could get warm and dry and eat some food.

Shane's mama was back at the house and she smiled at them when they came in but her smile was all wobbly and weird and she shook her head a little at Shane's daddy the way she did when she wanted daddy to come to the kitchen with her to talk in quiet voices and so they both went off to the kitchen and they told Shane and Shenka and Alyosha and Hatsu to get changed and cleaned up and that they would get dinner on the table so chop chop and Shenkas's chin went wobbly and he grabbed onto Shane's sleeve and they went into the washroom near the lounge and not the bigger one Hatsu and Alyosha were in.

Yuna didn't know why Eugenia had called and asked for her to come, her, who could not speak Russian anymore than Eugenia could speak English, or French, or Japanese. Irina had said her mother spoke Greek, but that was not useful. She especially did not know why she had been asked for when she wasn't even legally allowed to drive in Russia, surely, and that was what Eugenia was asking her to do, putting the car keys in her hand and ushering her into the front seat of the little blue car. Yuna let herself be ushered and put in place because she had seen the blood on the floor, the trail of it, and the tears on the old woman's face, and because she wanted to help in anyway she could.

It was easier than she had expected, following Eugenia's gestured directions, and she would just have to really hope that if they got pulled over, Eugenia would be able to talk them out of trouble. Yuna had some money on her, which might help as well, but she wasn't going to think about bribing anyone unless she had to.

They parked outside what she had thought was going to be a hospital, but looked more like a large clinic, and she wondered how far away the nearest big hospital was, and how people got to it when needed. Followed Eugenia through the carpark and in through big swinging doors, down corridors, pausing only to check a sign or two before nodding to herself. Yuna trusted that Eugenia wouldn't be above asking for directions if she had needed them.

They ended up in a small room with a few chairs, and a bored looking woman at a desk. She and Eugenia talked for a few moments in rapid Russian that Yuna couldn't even begin attempting to follow, and then Eugenia pointed at Yuna and said some more things, and the woman sighed a little and nodded, gestured to Yuna.

"No Russian?" She asked, and when Yuna shook her head she sighed again, and continued. "Ok. Eh, she has… beremenn - pregnant problem. Inside. Platsenty, platsenty, is uh -"

"Placenta?" Yuna guessed.

The woman nodded. She held up both her hands now, one in a fist, the other wrapped around the fist. She wiggled the fingers of her wrapped hand and said; "Inside stomach," and then tapped her fist, and said; "placenty," before dragging her fist away from the palm of her other hand. "Otsloyka platsenty," she said, "placenta…off."

"Oh," Yuna said, staring at the hand marked as the placenta, sitting in a loose fist on the top of the desk now. "Is Irina - is she okay? Is the baby okay?"

"Big lost blood," the woman said, "she is having new blood. She is to be okay."

Yuna nodded. Glanced back at Eugenia, who had sat down on one of the chairs, and had her head bowed, her hand moving fluid and quick in repetitive movements of prayer.

"And," Yuna prompted. "The baby?"

The woman's nose scrunched a little, and she shook her head. "Too long with placenty broke. doctor take baby out, already gone."

Oh. Yuna said something to the nurse, and moved on slow feet to sit next to Eugenia. She held her hand out, and Eugenia took it, gripping to her tightly, head still bowed, the sign of the cross still repeating. Irina was to be okay, the woman had said, but Yuna didn't think that was true. She didn't think Irina had been okay before this. She had enjoyed spending time with Irina, even with the short comings of their shared language, but she had been all too aware of the underlying heaviness Irina had seemed to carry beneath even her brightest smile. Yuna hadn't known how to address it, literally didn't know the right words to even try. She had just tried to be a friend.

She had lost three babies before Shane. None of them this far along, not even close. Two in the first trimester, one in the second. All three had been devastating, painful, physically and mentally. They had agreed on Shane being their last attempt, and they had been on tenterhooks the entire pregnancy. She didn't know how she would have handled it to have gotten to seven months and to lose him. She'd done so much reading about pregnancy over the years of trying and losing, and trying and finally keeping, and she knew that losing a baby this late was no longer considered a miscarriage, but instead a still birth. She didn't know how much the distinction mattered, personally, in the end, if you had already imagined the thing inside you as your baby. If there was a name picked out, maybe.

Time passed oddly, perhaps slow, perhaps not, Yuna did not know. At some point, a man came in to the room and spoke to the woman at the desk, and then the woman came over to them and spoke to Eugenia, who nodded, relieved, and then she spoke to Yuna.

"Blood stopped. Irina asleep. Okay now."

A while after this, another woman came in to the room, spoke soft and gentle to Eugenia, and Eugenia nodded, and then, without letting go of Yuna's hand, stood, and allowed the both of them to be walked down a new corridor, and then another, and then into an even smaller room, cool air, a small blue body cleaned and swaddled. The woman left them in there, and Eugenia approached the small crib/casket/thing.

"Ah, Ludmila," Eugenia sighed. She reached out and touched the bundle, hand soft and curving around the small shape.

-
Yuna drove Eugenia home after she had been let in to see Irina - Yuna waiting outside this time. Walked Eugenia inside and made her a tea while Eugenia got the phone from its hook on the wall and sat at the table with it for a few long moments before picking the receiver up from the cradle and dialling a number slowly.

She spoke slow and sharp on the phone to whoever it was on the other side, and patted Yuna's hand when Yuna put the tea in front of her, held on. Yuna sat next to her. Was kind of expecting it when after a few more sharp words, Eugenia handed the phone to her.

"Hello," Yuna said, tried to speak clear and slow, unsure how much English this new person would have. "This is Yuna speaking."

"Grigori," the voice on the other side replied, curt. "My mother in law asks to ask you to keep my sons another night while I travel. You are okay with this?"

"Oh, yes," Yuna said quickly, "of course, is there anything -"

"Thank you. Goodbye." The phone clicked as he hung up, and then beeped. Oh.

"He hung up," Yuna said, put the phone down, feeling it clunk back into place. She looked at Eugenia, who looked unsurprised at the call being ended. "I- Ilyushenka and Alyosha will stay with us tonight," she said, speaking slowly in case some of the words were familiar enough for Eugenia to understand the meaning.

Eugenia nodded. Patted Yuna's arm. "Spasibo," she said.

-

Yuna went back to Mona's house with a note Eugenia had written, Alyosha's name written on the front. She only knew this because Eugenia had written it and said Alyosha very clearly as she did so.

She wasn't sure when and how to give the note to Alyosha. Certainly not when all the boys arrived home, damp and noisy. She and David sent the boys to clean up and went into the kitchen to start dinner and talk. She filled him in on the hospital, and the details she managed to pick up, and the details she didn't know, and the way Irina's husband had sounded on the phone. They agreed to have dinner before giving Alyosha the note. Let them all be fed and warm. She didn't know what the note said, but she doubted it was all hugs and kisses.

Over dinner, without the wedding hanging busy over them all, she noticed properly for the first time that Shane and Ilyushenka were actually speaking with each other now, rather than interacting with gestures and play only. Small mouthfuls of words, and a lot of hand waving to get the point across - more gestural than the way Shane would so often flap his hands, or squeeze them into repetitive fists, so she didn't need to tell him to have quiet hands over it. It was always a little awe inspiring to see how malleable small minds were. The way her five year old and Irina's five year old had met just over a week ago and were already sharing a language and a friendship that seemed both more knowledgeable and deeper than the one she had made with Irina. God. Irina. She hadn't wanted to leave Eugenia by herself, but she had waved Yuna off, and she was pretty sure Eugenia was packing a bag to go back to the hospital and stay with Irina over night.

After dinner, while Shane and Ilyushenka helped David wash up in the kitchen, Yuna sat Hatsu and Alyosha down at the table. Hatsu so he could help translate, and so Alyosha wouldn't feel so alone. She was basically a stranger to him. She explained in simple terms to Hatsu that Alyosha's mama was in the hospital, that she was okay, but she needed to be looked after, and that his babushka was with her, and had given her a note for him. That Alyosha's papa was on the way. Hatsu had looked very serious about this, and repeated it hopefully accurately in stumbling words to Alyosha, who looked struck, his eyes blinking hard. He looked to Yuna, and she gave him the note. He was about ten, she thought. That was how old Hatsu was. He still read slowly, though, eyes moving over the letters, face screwing up, crumpled. Hatsu looked away. Yuna put her hand tentatively on Alyosha's shoulder. He wrinkled the paper in his hand and leaned into her hug, sniffed hard.

After a long moment of quiet, he spoke, English clumsy in his mouth. "Papa come," he said. Cleared his throat. "we go home."

"Yes," Yuna said, "da."

Alyosha and Shenka were having a talk in the kitchen with Shane's mama after dinner and dishes and Shane didn't know what they were talking about except that Shane's daddy took Shane and Hatsu into the lounge with some books and they sat on the couch on either side of him while he read to them about rabbits with fun names and scary thoughts and when Shenka and Alyosha came into the lounge Alyosha had a weird face and Shenka had a wobbly lip and they both climbed onto the couch and Shane's mama looked at the book Shane's daddy was holding and shook her head and she put a video tape in and the TV played a cartoon that looked very funny even though Shane couldn't understand most of what was said, and Shenka pressed up against his side like they were being a two headed creature.

When they went back to their top and tail bed after TV time, Shenka wiggled around until they both had their heads on one pillow and he trailed his finger over Shane's freckles, and counted aloud, slow, in Russian, and Shane counted, slower, in wobbly Russian, and then Shane held up his fingers in front of their faces and he counted them in English, putting a finger down for each number, and Shenka repeated after him and then Shenka put his face in the pillow and chewed at the side of his hand and looked at Shane and said in a stumble of English and Russian that his mama was sick and the devochka was gone and he didn't know where and his papa was coming to get him soon and he didn't want to leave and he wanted his mama, and some of the words Shane didn't understand very well but he figured out most of it and Shenka was crying so he was crying too.

Morning time was very quiet when Shane woke up, Shenka was awake too, fiddling with the frayed bit on Shane's sleeve where he chewed it sometimes when he couldn't sleep, and the bed was kind of wet and Shenka's face looked very sorry and sad so Shane patted his cheek the way his mama did to him sometimes just to say hello everything is okay baby, and then he got them both up out of the bed and even though his mama or his daddy usually did shower time with him he was big enough and tall enough to know how to turn it on and he said to Shenka to not take of his pyjamas and they both got in with their pjs on at first so they both had wet pants and shirts and not just Shenka's pants were wet, because this felt like one of the times when the way the big boys would say to Shane not to snitch was actually a good idea because it was for being nice not for being mean, and they left their soggy pjs on the shower floor and Shane tried to wrap Shenka up in his towel the way his daddy wrapped him up, all tight like he was a sushi roll.

Shenka didn't have any clean clothes to get dressed in, so Shane gave him one of his outfits to wear and the clothes were a little small but they were okay and Shane got dressed as well and they pulled the sheets and blankets off the bed and bundled them into the laundry and then they tiptoed into the room Shane's parents were sleeping in and Shenka stood in the doorway while Shane shook his daddy's arm and when his daddy woke up he said that someone peed the bed last night but it was okay because they already washed and put the sheets in the laundry and so no one needed to be in trouble, right, and his daddy had blinked at him and then said no one was in trouble and he got out of bed and picked Shane up and when they got to Shenka in the doorway Shane's daddy offered an arm to him as well and Shenka put his arms up so they were both carried by Shane's daddy, one hip and one arm each and he took them to the kitchen and asked what they would like to eat for breakfast and he let them stand on the same chair together to help stir the pot on the stove.

There was rain hitting the windows so hard the glass looked all smeared and spotty so they weren't going outside today, and Shane's mama got up and said it was still very early but that was okay if they were awake they were awake and did they want to do some crafting and Shane said yes so she got out pens and pencils and markers and paper and Shane went and got some of the special smooth stones he had found while he was here and he brought them out to the rest of the supplies and he told Shenka about how he had heard or maybe read or maybe seen people having pet rocks, and how they were cool because you could take them everywhere and they wouldn't die, and Shenka nodded along even though Shane knew sometimes he didn't understand everything Shane was saying even though Shane was trying very hard to use as many of their Shane and Shenka words only as possible and he must have done a good enough job because Shenka said to him; "you draw for me?", and Shane had nodded, and so they both sat and drew on the special stones and Shane gave his stone a big smile and his freckles because Shenka liked them a lot, and Shenka's stone had big eyes and a little smile and a crooked little heart and Shane liked it so much and when Shane asked what the stones were called Shenka said the one Shane did for him was called freckles, and the one he did for Shane was called Rodinka.

Grigori arrived at Mona's house at half past three, the rain still pouring outside, the boys all equally restless and lethargic from being stuck inside and from not knowing how their mama was. Yuna wasn't sure what exactly Eugenia had clarified in her note, if they knew about their baby sister, or just that their mama was sick.

He did not come in. Stood in the entrance with his face taut and his arms folded and thanked David stiffly for watching his children. Yuna supposed it was fair, he must be grieving, must be worried sick for his wife. She wished he would at least lend some comfort to his boys, though. He was older than she had expected, enough so that she wouldn't have been too surprised if he had said he was Eugenia's husband, or maybe, younger brother. Irina was… Yuna didn't know for sure, but she had been assuming she and her were around the same age. She seemed like she could be so vibrant.

Alyosha joined him first, thanking both David and Yuna in his clearest English, and then doing a complicated hand movement/shake with Hatsu, before going to stand beside his father, shoulder bag held by the strap in one hand. His father patted his shoulder once, and Alyosha slung the bag over his shoulder instead, like the pat had been instructional not comforting. Ilyushenka had lingered. He had not smiled when Yuna had come into the lounge where all four of them were flopped in various poses of quiet-ish activity. Reading, drawing, playing thumb war. He had nodded and gone to collect his bag, and Shane had gone with him. Grigori looked tense as they continued to wait, and Yuna supposed he must have come straight here to pick the boys up and was dying to go see Irina. She told him she would go see what the hold up was and went back inside, past David who was doing his best to look normal, and Hatsu who was miming something at Alyosha.

Shane and Ilyushenka were hugging in the bedroom, bag on the floor. Both of them saying words at each other in very serious little voices, so muddled together it was hard to tell who said what.

Vesnushki, freckles. vesnushki, freckles, vesnushki, freckles

-

Shane was quiet and grumpy the rest of the day. The mattress which he had so sweetly obfuscated about was still damp by bedtime, so she let him come sleep between her and David, and he lay there like a little log, arms crossed and brow furrowed until he fell asleep like that. If Yuna wasn't also feeling bereft and confused she would have giggled about it with David, and they would have gotten out the camera and taken a photo of the sweetest, smallest, grumpiest baby that existed.

Instead, she and David whispered about it all over Shane's sleeping head, and got no further than I wonders and what ifs.

The next day they had to clean up and pack. The plan had always been to go meet Mona and her husband at their honeymoon destination today, to drop Hatsu off with them so he felt included more in the wedding. It would have been sad leaving Irina and her boys, either way, but this was was so much worse.

She had walked to Eugenia's house in the morning, and knocked, and knocked, and no one had come, so she assumed they must all be at the hospital. When she went back at noon, it was the same. And just after lunch, when they were putting the final things in the entrance, and the cab had been called, she darted down again and found the house still empty. Left a note in the letterbox, weighed down with a small stone.

2008

Shane was a grown man (almost, kind of, he played a sport like a grown man), and he talked to people who were ostensibly much more intimidating, like refs, and GMs, and coaches, and interviewers, lots of adults who could have a hand in his entire future, so this should not have been scary at all. This, being the opportunity finally to say hello and introduce himself to Ilya Rozanov, alone, without the peer pressure of team mates or coaches to act on this weird assumed rivalry people were talking into existence just because he and Rozanov were the most promising players around. That was why he so badly wanted to say hello. Because it was true about them being the most promising, the two of them in a league of their own among their peers, both of them playing really, really good hockey in a way that Shane wanted to get to talk about with someone who understood it.

So he pulled himself together, because his mother had not spent years speech and media training him just for him to chicken out of a simple meet and greet that he had been hoping for, which it appeared fate had now provided him. He'd even done a little homework for this, that was how much he had wanted it to happen.

Ilya Rozanov was leaning against a wall outside, attempting to light a cigarette, which wasn't the most auspicious of beginnings, but he could overlook the smoking for the insane fluidity of his skating.

"Ilya Rozanov? Privet," he said, hoping his accent wasn't too off, held his hand out. "Menya zovut Shane Hollander," he added, though he hoped Rozanov would know who he was, too.

Rozanov had startled slightly at Shane's greeting, and taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he turned to look at Shane with his eyebrows drawn down low, like he was annoyed, or confused maybe. Had Shane fumbled his introduction so badly? He wasn't very confident in his Russian, the words he felt he was best at weren't very conversational, and he hadn't used them for years, so they probably weren't actually good either.

Eventually Rozanov did take Shane's outstretched hand, shook it once, eyebrows still furrowed, and then dropped it.

"Um," Shane said, "you're an awesome player to watch." He had considered trying this in Russian as well, but he was glad he hadn't even attempted to put it together now, because he was already embarrassed by how badly he must have fumbled his first attempts.

"Yes," Rozanov said, his eyes darting across Shane's face. "Okay."

Okay. Shane nodded. Should go. Should leave. Fuck. It was so awkward. But he had worked himself up for this and he didn't want it to be just this. He wanted to try. Fuck. He turned in a circle that felt awkward as he did it, and leaned against the wall next to Rozanov, who continued to watch him like maybe Shane was a blow fly he was trying to decide whether it was worth it to get up and shoo out.

"You speak more Russian?" Rozanov asked, surprising Shane enough that he jerked a little against the wall. "Or only hellos?"

"Um," Shane said, "mostly only hellos. Some other words," he could stop there, "um, ruka, kolenka, myach, krovat', vesnushki, -" he could absolutely stop there, except his brain had finally answered a question he had years ago and never got around to answering before, his eyes catching on Rozanov's moles - "rodinka!" he finished, a little too triumphant, and also pointing at Rozanov's face.

He lowered his hand quickly, flushing. Couldn't believe how badly this was all going so far. He should have left it alone. He should have admired Rozanov from a distance. Should not have come out here and given him an abundance of chirping material. Apparently Rozanov was known for his creative chirping, and Shane had thought it would be fine because he was probably only so good at chirping in Russian, but now he would know bilingual ways to chirp Shane, and Shane was an idiot.

Rozanov blinked at him, one hand moving slowly up to his face, brushing against a mole on his cheek, his eyebrows still making him look intense, though maybe not as angry as Shane had first assumed.

"Sorry," Shane tried, sucked his cheek in and bit it once before releasing it and continuing. "I didn't mean to point. That was rude. Sorry."

"Many sorries," Rozanov said, his hand dropping from his cheek. "No need for them." He lifted his hand again and pointed at Shane's face, eyebrows raising. "Vesnushki," he drawled, and then raised his pointed hand palm up, shrugged, as if to say see? "You are needing sorry now?"

Shane snorted, shook his head. "No," he said, "sorry."

Rozanov made a squawk sort of a noise, and shook his head. "Sorry again?" he demanded, "Why?"

"I don't knowwww," Shane groaned, resisting the urge to apologise again.

Rozanov laughed, once, bark like. "Thank me instead," he instructed with a smirk, "for being sooo awesome to watch, hm?"

"Shut up," Shane rolled his eyes, but then did it anyway. "Spasibo," he said.

Rozanov grinned at him, all his teeth showing. He had a fake one already, but his real teeth were a little squished, a little sharp looking, wolfy. It was a good grin, even if Shane thought it was probably a grin at his expense.

"Pozhaluysta," Rozanov replied, sweet even through his sharp teeth. "So polite. All Canadians like this?"

"Probably," Shane shrugged, "I'm not special."

Rozanov laughed at this as well, shaking his head. "Oh, so humble, Hollander," he said. "I hear all day is how Hollander is one to watch for, Hollander made many points, blah, blah."

"I'm not specially polite," Shane retorted with a grin, "I am special at hockey, and I am the one to watch for. The one you should watch for."

Rozanov's grin changed shape, still wide and smug, but somehow softer, more real. "I will," he said, "you will not be so, ah, brave, when we beat you."

Shane laughed again, couldn't help it, it felt like it was bubbling in his chest. He ducked his head. "That's not going to happen," he said. "But if it somehow does, I'll only come back stronger next time."

"Is deal then," Rozanov said, eyebrows raised. He stuck his hand out, offering another handshake. "We will both watch out, and we will both be winners."

Shane tilted his head to the side, as if contemplating not taking the proffered hand, and then shook on it. They grinned at each other, and then Shane's phone beeped loud in his pocket. Almost definitely his mother.

"Oh, I've gotta go," he said, dropping Rozanov's hand, "they're waiting for me."

"Okay," Rozanov said, took a step back. "I will see you on ice then."

"Yeah," Shane agreed. Shoved his hands in his pockets. Didn't move. "Bye. Rodinka."

Rozanov's face twisted oddly, and then he grinned again, "do svidaniya, vesnushki."

-

In the car, driving back to their hotel for the night, Shane waited for his mother to finish talking about the way she thought the zamboni for the rink wasn't working correctly, or the driver was doing something wrong, somehow, because there was something off with the end result, and then he took the hoodie cord out of his mouth so she wouldn't catch him chewing on it when he spoke.

"Remember when we went to Russia for Oba Mona's wedding?" he asked.

Yuna glanced at him. "Yes," she said. "Of course. Why?"

"I was just thinking about it," Shane said. "I, um, I spoke to Rozanov earlier. I guess, I tried saying hi in Russian, and I guess it reminded me."

"Oh, how was Rozanov?" She glanced at him again, eyebrows raised.

"Kind of a dick," Shane said, grinned, "but funny."

"You've got to be funny if you're also kind of a dick," his mother agreed, "or else even your own room will hate you."

"I've heard he's really good in the room," Shane said, and while he did kind of want to keep talking about Rozanov, for some reason he didn't want to do it with his mother, and also, he had other questions to ask. "Do you remember, um, the family who lived down the street from Oba Mona's? The boy my age. Shenka."

"Yes, of course," his mother frowned slightly, whether at the end of discussing Rozanov, or at the new subject, Shane didn't know. "It was Eugenia's house. She was the woman who Mona hired to make the wedding dress and the bride's maids' dresses. Her daughter Irina was staying with her, helping with the dresses, with her two sons. Alyosha, and - was it Shenka?"

"Yeah," Shane frowned back at her, "I mean. I know that's what I called him, and he didn't correct me."

"Okay," she shot a smile at him, eyebrows furrowed, somewhat diminishing the smile. "You two really hit it off."

"I remember," Shane nodded. "Like, not a lot of details, but… bits and pieces, and I remember, um, missing him. Why didn't we stay in touch? I mean, I'm sure I must have asked if I could, like, call him. Maybe?"

"You did," Yuna said. "And, well. I left my email at Eugenia's, and didn't hear anything. It was kind of… messy. When we left."

Shane tried to recall anything more than the general sense of unease he felt when he thought about the end of their Russia trip.

"Shenka and Alyosha stayed with us, for, um, a couple of nights?" Shane asked, "I remember, like, leg wrestling with Shenka."

"Mm, yes," she nodded, seemed distracted, "yes. Irina - their mama - she had to go to the hospital, and her mama was staying with her, so we looked after the boys."

He hadn't thought about any of this for so long, talking about it now felt like trying to recall a dream out loud, catching onto memories and trying to discern if they were real. "She was pregnant, right?" he asked. "Something happened? Um, early labour?"

"I don't have all the details," his mother said. They paused at some lights, and she looked over at him again with a sombre expression. "She lost the baby," she said. "Late term losses like that can be… well, fatal for both the baby and the mother. She lived, but that's the most Mona could tell me for sure, except that they had all gone back to Moscow, Eugenia as well."

"Oh," Shane said. Some little cog in his brain whirred and unlocked a box of half buried memories and feelings, knocked them all over the front of his mind. "Devochka," he mumbled, "the baby was a girl. Shenka said her name was Ludmila."

"Yes," his mother looked surprised, opened her mouth to say something, saw the light had turned green, swore instead, and drove forwards, through the intersection before speaking again. "Eugenia said that as well. So sad."

"Yeah," Shane frowned, looked away from his mother, out the window, blinked hard. "Um. Shenka. I don't - did something else happen?"

"I don't think so," Yuna said, "apart from the hospital. Irina's husband came from Moscow to pick the boys up. We dropped Hatsu off with his parents. Then we flew home."

Shane knocked his head lightly against the car window, and then sat up to wipe the glass with his hoodie sleeve because this was a rental car and he was paranoid. Tried to think. It made sense that the memories around the end of the trip made him feel sad, now he remembered a little about the hospital and had more context around it. But he had a niggling feeling that there was something else as well.

"Do you still have that pet stone?" his mother asked. "You carried it around with you for months after we got home. Rodney?"

"Rodinka," Shane mumbled.

Chapter End Notes

Irina is seven months pregnant in this fic, and while a lot of what happens is vague, filtered through a five year olds' lens, or an outsider's perspective, there is in text cramping, mentions of blood on the floor, blood loss, and a small scene seeing the stillborn baby, swaddled, after. Implied vaguely in text, but never stated fully clearly - Irina suffered placental abruption, meaning that the placenta dislodged from the uterine wall, cutting off the supply of nutrients to the baby. Often this is marked immediately by heavy bleeding, but in some cases, such as this one, the bleeding is blocked by the position of the placenta or the baby, and can take a while to actually break through. Some other symptoms, besides bleeding, is cramping, sore back, and tender uterus. The placenta might only partially detach initially, and then fully detach later. The main cause of fatality for the pregnant person is in blood loss. Irina survives.

Chapter 2

Back in Ottawa, for the first time in maybe a decade, Shane picked Rodinka up from the shelf with his timbits and peewee trophies, and a few other stones and rocks he'd collected as a kid. It was dusty, but not massively, so probably the shelf and all the clutter on it had been dusted a few times in the last decade, just, not by Shane. He wiped the stone off carefully, worried about accidentally cleaning off the marker, but relaxed a little when the drawing didn't seem to budge. It was a very little stone. He remembered it had felt bigger, but of course it had felt bigger, he had been five. It sat in the middle of the palm of his hand now, unobtrusive.

He couldn't work out if he was being stupid or not. He thought he had to be, because for one thing, Shenka was not Ilya, for another thing, surely his mother would have said something at some point about the name Rozanov if it had been Shenka's surname, and a third thing was that Shane did his best to be a realist. The likelihood of Shane stumbling into the best friend he'd ever had, from twelve years ago, in his slated career rival? Very slim.

After the game, in which team Russia had won, and Rozanov had winked at Shane and said he'd see him at the draft, and was looking forward to seeing Shane come back stronger, Shane hadn't been able to get the idea out of his head. Something about Rozanov's grin. Something about the ease of the laughter they'd briefly shared. Something about -
There was no way this was anything more than some weird part of Shane's brain trying to make a connection just because - because he admired Rozanov.

That didn't stop him from looking Ilya Rozanov up online. He had before, often, but mostly just his stats, videos of him, hockey related information, and photos. So he would know which player he was. The photos and videos hadn't been clear enough, evidently, because he hadn't even seen Rozanov's moles until they were face to face, and if he had known about them previously he might not have had that weird little belated epiphany that probably made him seem somewhat unhinged.

This time he was looking for personal details. Family, location, age. He knew Shenka's mama's name, and he knew his older brother's name. Shane's mother had seemed unsure that Shenka had been Shenka's name, so maybe Shane had been calling him a nickname? He wasn't sure how you'd get Shenka from Ilya, but (that reminded him of a joke he'd heard in class a few months ago that he hadn't been able to get out of his head for some reason, even though it was such a dumb joke he hadn't even laughed when he'd heard it. 'How do you get Dick out of Richard? You ask nicely'. When he hadn't laughed, a girl in his class asked if he didn't get it, and then explained it to him while blinking a lot. He got it. Dick was a nickname for Richard. Okay. It was a pun. Cool. It wasn't very funny, in fact, it just made Shane feel weird whenever he spoke to the assistant coach at training because his name was Richard, and whenever Shane saw him, he - well. It was a dumb joke, and he didn't know why he kept thinking about it.).

It took a little bit of digging, but eventually Shane was able to gather enough information to affirm that there was no way his Shenka could be Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov had an older brother called Alexei, not Alyosha, and no information about his mother. They did grow up in Moscow, but, so did a lot of people. Nowhere on the internet that Shane could find was there a nice handy article detailing Ilya's family tree, a babushka on his mother's side, maybe, or whether or not his family changed last names.

He even emailed Hatsu, who he barely spoke with, but both their mothers' encouraged them to email every so often, as if they were hoping he and Hatsu would form the same kind of bond Mona and Yuna had with each other. Shane very much doubted that would happen, even if they didn't live in entirely different countries. Still. He emailed his not-cousin and asked if he still had contact with Alyosha at all, and if he remembered Alyosha's last name.

2009

By the time Hatsu emailed back, Shane had gotten busy again with hockey, school, his girlfriend. He had basically forgotten all about it, or been trying to forget about it, to not think about it. Rodinka sat on his desk now. Occasionally in his hoodie pocket. It was a nice weight. Something good to hold. He was always careful not to leave it in a pocket, afraid it would get put through the wash, or his mother would find it in the process. Not that it would be bad if she found it, it was just that for some reason Shane felt like there was something almost shamefully private about it. He didn't know how to explain it, and he also didn't know how to explain to anyone why he was carrying it around again. Easier not to. Not to think about it at all.

Hatsu's email was brief, like they always were. He said they'd lost touch, and he couldn't remember his last name, no. lol remember when they played hockey and Alyosha got mad his little brother was better than him? What was his name? Ildarchik?

So. Okay. Not useful and also maybe a little useful at the same time. So Shenka probably was a nickname, somehow. He ended up on Wikipedia, looking at the name Alyosha, and how it was apparently something called a diminutive, a… sweetening of the name Alexey. Which was not Alexei, but also, well, kind of was, actually. Ildarchik had been a sweetening of Ildar, though, which still wasn't Ilya, and Alexey/Alexei was probably a common name. Shenka must have been introduced maybe as Ildashenka, because according to Shane's attempt at research, shenka was a common addition in diminutive form. His brain hurt a little. He had had no idea how many variations of names there were in Russia. He found a website where someone had helpfully listed out common Russian names with their diminutives, and while Ilda wasn't on it, Ilya was, and uncomfortably, Ilya was paired with Ilyushenka.

The draft was less than a month away, Shane would be seeing Rozanov again there. He could talk to Rozanov again, hopefully, and maybe find some proof that Shane was creating a fantasy, not putting together reality puzzle pieces. Unfortunately, even with his life crammed so full with working out, practicing, home work, team social events, sleeping, and his family, his brain still found time to be impatient and also to get his nervous system to fuck him up. Too anxious about who the hell knew what to go to sleep. Which was why his father found him at three AM sitting in the den by the open cupboard that held photo albums, and boxes of loose photos - those that were not deemed important enough to get put into an album. His mother had kept meticulous album records, at least one album per year. Shane had already trawled through all of the 1996 and the 1997 albums, unsure exactly what year it was, and found exactly zero photos of their time in Russia. He had moved on to the loose boxes, which were less meticulously kept.

"Shaney?" David asked.

Shane jolted, adrenaline zinging down his spine. He hadn't heard his father walking down the carpeted hall, and hadn't expected anyone to get up at this time. "You scared me," he huffed, staying seated on the floor and twisting his torso around to look up at his father.

David let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You scared me," he shot back. "I heard rustling, and I thought we had a robber."

"Pretty sure a robber wouldn't bother with stealing our photos," Shane said.

"Ah, well," his father leaned against the doorway. "After all the work your mother's put into those albums, I'm sure they're worth a pretty penny."

"Yeah, sure," Shane smiled, rolled his eyes. Untwisted, and kept riffling through the box he had in his lap.

His father moved slowly, lowering himself down to the ground next to Shane with a low groan, and peered in at the box. "What are we on the hunt for?"

Shane swallowed. Like Rodinka, he felt. Embarrassed. Somehow. About his sudden re-interest in Russia, and in his forgotten friend. Like if he told his parents more, or asked too many questions, they'd see something about him, he'd reveal something. He didn't know what.

"Um," he said, "our trip to Russia for Mona's wedding?"

"Ah," his father nodded. "Yes. Your mother didn't put them in the album. We have a couple of Mona's wedding photos on our photo wall in the hall, though."

"Yeah, I know," Shane shook his head, grimaced. "I don't care - I mean, I'm not looking for photos of the wedding. We spent, like, two weeks there? Almost two weeks. I thought we'd have photos."

"It was a chaotic time," David said, reached for one of the boxes Shane had not yet gone through, and took the lid off to start searching. "We didn't take many photos, but I know there were a few. Yuna took at least one of you four boys on the ice."

"Yeah?" Shane glanced at his father, bit his lip, tried not to sound overeager. "I, um, I emailed Hatsu recently and he reminded me about that time. Um, he said something about Alyosha getting mad that his younger brother was better at him than hockey."

David laughed lightly, nodding absentmindedly. "Those two boys were like opposing ends of a magnet half the time," he said. "Unlike you and Ilyushenka. Stuck so close together I wouldn't have been surprised to find you velcroed."

Shane's body sent the adrenaline up his spine this time, shuddering and prickling at him. "Ilyushenka," he murmured. "I always, um, called him Shenka, right?"

"Mm, yes," David had pulled a photo out, and he laughed at it. Showed it to Shane. A photo of David and maybe four year old Shane, both standing on a deck with their hands behind their backs, looking at a sunset. "So cute."

Shane smiled at it, nodded. "Um," he said, "did you know that Ilyushenka is a, uh, it's a diminutive? Like a nickname, kind of thing."

"Huh," David put the photo back in the box and kept looking, shot a glance at Shane, eyebrows up. "I did not. I mean, I wasn't unaware about nicknames, but I didn't know about Ilyushenka in particular."

"Right," Shane ducked his head, found himself nibbling at his pyjama shirt collar where it was sticking up oddly, and made himself stop before it got damp. "I didn't either," he said. "But I, uh, I heard recently someone… um, that Alyosha was the nickname for, like, Alexei, and so I was interested, and looked up some more."

"What did you find?"

Shane would prefer to hide the main information in a handful of red herrings, but his brain had chosen this exact moment to flush all other knowledge of Russian nicknames, besides the obvious, so he attempted to swallow it down a little, like if he said it quiet and casual enough it wouldn't stand out all by itself.

"Uh, that Ilyushenka is a nickname for Ilya."

"Hm," his father said, and then, "oh!" He pulled out a photo, and handed it to Shane. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear," he said proudly. "Here's the four of you, Shaney. I think - yes - that's you and Ilyushenka - well, Ilya I suppose? With the puck."

Shane made himself not rip the photo out of his father's hand. Took it in a perfectly normal way, and held it a perfectly normal distance to his face. He was pleased he'd grabbed his glasses, he forgot them a lot when he wasn't in his bedroom.

The figures of Shane and Shenka were clear enough to make out smiles, but very little else. Shane's dark hair, Shenka's lighter hair. Shane smaller, Shenka bigger. Shane couldn't tell if Shenka's rodinka by his mouth was on the same side as Rozanov's. If he even had a mole there, or if Shane had made up the placement in his head when he saw Rozanov's. If Shane had seen Rozanov and wanted —-

Something.

"Are there any more?" He asked, eyes still on the photo.

"I don't think so," David said, quiet sounds of photo on photo, a soft sort of stick and flick noise, as he thumbed through them. "Unless they're really mixed up. I feel like there was a photo of you sleeping on the plane, maybe? I remember your mum and I kept meaning to take more photos, but then, well, with what happened at the end, I think we were kind of relieved we hadn't, in a way, like they would just be sad."

Shane frowned down at the photo. "With Irina?" he asked. "And her baby?"

"Yes."

When Shane looked at his father, his father looked very sad, regretful. "I know Shenka and Alyosha were always around," Shane said, "did you guys spend much time with Irina?"

"A reasonable amount," David nodded. "Yuna and I both felt like she needed a friend, and, well, she was a very nice friend to have. I'm still sorry we never swapped emails, or phone numbers, even. It wasn't until her husband picked up the boys and left that we realised we'd never swapped contact details."

Shane wondered if when they had arrived back in Canada after Russia, his parents had done to their feelings and memories what they had done to the single photo of their time there. Hidden it away in an unsorted box, and forgot about it. He knew not entirely.

"Mum said she asked Mona about them, and Mona didn't have any contact info either," Shane said.

"Yes, Mona is not the most reliable source of helpful information," David said, and then rolled his eyes and elbowed Shane. "Remember when they all came to visit us in Canada and we kept asking for the dates they were here and she kept forgetting what the dates were?"

Shane snorted. "Yeah, they turned up at our empty house while we were three hours away at a tournament. Hatsu complained about it the entire time they were here. Said he froze his balls off."

"I recall. I also recall you getting annoyed and telling him he'd have had to have already grown a pair to have frozen them off."

-

Shane had been hoping that Irina would be at the draft. Well. Not exactly that. He had been hoping that if he was somehow right, if Rozanov really was Shenka, if fucking… fate or something had actually realigned like a gift - he was hoping for a sign. And if Rozanov's parents came to the draft, like Shane's parents were, and most of the other players' parents, that he knew of, would be, then. Well he hoped Irina would be there, and that Shane or his parents would recognise her. He only had vague sort of floaty memories of what she'd looked like. Curly, light coloured hair. He didn't know if he was reimagining it to look more like Rozanov's hair, layering over his faded memories with his own wants. She had a nice smile. He remembered the crucifix she wore around her neck, that it wasn't like the kind he usually saw. He mostly remembered how pregnant she'd been, which didn't feel fair.

In his seat, surrounded by a small sea of players and parents, all hoping for their name to be called much sooner than later, everyone's lives held in a weird sort of shared hope and stoicism, Shane tried to keep his expression even. He'd been able to spot Rozanov, a few rows away from Shane and his parents, but he couldn't tell who Rozanov was sitting with. There was a man on one side of him, and a woman on the other, and they could very well be his parents, or they could just be the people he was sitting next to. Either way, he couldn't tell from behind if the woman was Irina, because he didn't know how much of his memory of her hair had been real, and also, people's hair changed all the time, so he actually knew nothing.

Being drafted second was surprising and not at the same time. He was disappointed because he had worked so fucking hard to be the best, and here was the ultimate proof that he wasn't. And he was relieved, because if it wasn't him going first it had to be Rozanov. They were crowded together, the three first drafts, holding their new jerseys up for the flashing cameras, and Rozanov grinned at him, mean and big and fun all at once. Shane found himself grinning back, wide and happy, like his smile knew the mean edges of Rozanov's weren't actually sharp.

"Well, vesnushki," Rozanov said, under cover of the low rumble of the crowd and the click of photos, "you will be twice as stronger next game, yes?"

"I will be," Shane shot back, "I hope you've had enough of winning, because it's my turn now, rodinka."

Rozanov's grin curved impossibly wider, his eyes crinkling and sparkling, and a photographer called out for them to look at the cameras please boys, c'mon, great smiles, keep holding those jerseys and fingers up!

-

After Shane and his parents finally finished being talked to by the Montreal Metros GM and coaches, who all seemed to think it was perfectly appropriate to say to his mother how pleased they were that Shane added diversity to their team, Shane took a swing. He had seen Rozanov up on the balcony, they had even made eye contact for a moment. He hadn't been able to see the figures behind Rozanov very well, but they were probably his parents, and, he had been considering this, on the nights he still couldn't make himself sleep through the pulsing anxiety of the upcoming draft. If Rozanov's parents were here and they met Shane's parents, surely, surely, even if they didn't immediately recognise each other, they would work it out.

"We should go congratulate Rozanov," Shane said to his mother. "Like, for good will."

She looked at him, a little surprised, and he took a quick sip from his flute of champagne, and then immediately regretted it, grimacing, as he remembered for the third time that night that he did not like it. Too dry.

"That's a nice idea," she said, "always a good idea to scope out the enemy a bit closer."

Shane's father laughed, his hand coming to rest briefly on Shane's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "They're not enemies," he said, "not until they're on the ice."

"Ah-ah," Yuna shook her head, though she was smiling, "Boston and Montreal are age old enemies. It's very Capulets and Montagues, once you're part of one family, the other family is automatically your enemy."

"What," David snorted, "and does this make Shane and Rozanov their Romeo and Juliet, then?"

Shane's brain unhelpfully provided a series of images of him and Rozanov dressed up like they were in a school play, sharing furtive kisses, melodramatic lines, and then dying in each others arms. His stomach jolted, and his chest felt hot. He could tell he was blushing a little, because this whole thing was silly.

"I just want to be a good sport," he said stiffly.

"Yes, yes, okay, it's a good idea," his mother soothed, reaching out to pat his cheek gently before smoothing her palm over the top of his head, fixing some errant hair probably. "Where are they?"

Rozanov and his… father were still on the upper level, and were standing alone together when Shane and his parents approached. Shane wondered if Rozanov's mother had gone to the bathroom, or for a drink, or if he had only brought his father with him. It was probably expensive getting here, he hadn't considered that, maybe they didn't have enough to pay for both parents' tickets?

Ilya Rozanov saw them first, his eyes flicking away from his father, who was speaking to him in a low, terse voice - although Shane couldn't tell if it was just the Russian making him sound terse -, to Shane and his parents, before saying something to his father. His father turned around, and Shane heard Yuna inhale a little oddly, but he was already stepping forward, his hand outstretched, because he'd worked out the script for this days back, and he needed to stick to it.

"Mr Rozanov?" he said, and Rozanov's father looked at Shane's face, and then his hand, his own face impassive, and nodded. Took Shane's hand and shook it firmly. "Shane Hollander," Shane continued, "your son is the only other player here I wouldn't feel bad about coming second to."

His mother made another odd noise.

"Yes, well," Mr Rozanov said, stiff with his English. "We will see if he lives up to first, yes?"

Shane didn't know what to say to this, it didn't really fit into his script. "I'm sure he will," he said, cleared his throat, and then waved his hand back at his parents. "These are my parents, um -"

His mother helpfully stepped in here, smiling politely and extending her hand, his father stepping in on Shane's other side.

"Yuna Hollander," his mother introduced herself, shaking Mr Rozanov's hand firmly, she was still smiling and polite, but there was something weird underneath it as she said; "It's nice to meet you."

"Yes, yes," Mr Rozanov said, and then when Shane's father also held out his hand, Mr Rozanov turned slightly and shook it as well. "Grigori," he said this time. "Grigori Rozanov."

"David Hollander," Shane's father said, his eyebrows for some reason very high, like he was surprised by something. "You have an impressive son, here, Grigori."

Grigori Rozanov grunted slightly, and Rozanov twitched behind him. Looked startled when Shane's mother took another step forward, her hand held out to him, but then recovered himself and shook her hand.

"Ilya," he said, his voice not at all sounding like the confident tease Shane had heard before. "Is nice to meet you, Mrs Hollander."

"Boston is lucky to have you," Shane's mother said, which was much nicer than what she'd been saying before.

"Is me who is lucky," Rozanov replied, wide eyed. Looked just as startled when Shane's father held his hand out to shake as well. "Nice to meet, Mr Hollander."

"Call me crazy," Shane's father said, once he'd let go of Rozanov's hand, looking to Grigori and then to Yuna. "But have we met before, Grigori?"

"I do not come to Canada," Grigori replied.

"Well maybe we met in Russia," Shane's mother said, apparently on the same wave length as Shane's father, the exact wave length Shane had been hoping they would find. "I don't suppose you know Mona Kozlova? Although I suppose she was still Mona Nakano -"

"I do not know her," Grigori said, he grimaced slightly, looking from Yuna to David, and he shook his head. "I have good memory for names and faces. We have not met."

"Ah, well, sorry," Yuna said, "we must have met your clone, I suppose!"

-

"Who did you think he was?" Shane asked, the moment he and his parents were far enough from the two Rozanov men to go unheard.

His mother clicked her tongue once, frowning, and his father put his arm around her waist.

"Embarrassingly," his mother said, shook her head, "I thought he was Irina's husband, Grigori. I think it was just because they share the same name, and I've been thinking about - well - about Irina, recently."

Had all three of them been sitting around their house in Ottawa thinking about the same people this whole time?

"Silly of me, really," his mother continued, suddenly falsely breezy. "Ilya is your age, and Alyosha and Shenka didn't have another brother -"

"Shenka is short for Ilyushenka," Shane said in a rush, because if they were all thinking this, then it wasn't weird for Shane to be hung up about it as well,"which is a nickname for the name Ilya."

"Oh," Shane's father said, "this is why you were looking for photos of you and Shenka?"

"Yeah," Shane mumbled, knew he was blushing properly now, hoped the event photographer didn't get a shot of him looking like this. "I just - I thought maybe - it was stupid. Ilya is a common name in Russia, I think? Maybe?"

"Maybe," Yuna agreed, "and so is Grigori."

"And there's no mention of Rozanov's mother, in any of the like, wikis," Shane added, his gaze on the ground. "But Ilya - Rozanov - he has. Um. Rodinka. Moles. Like Shenka had."

Both his parents paused now, looked at Shane, and Shane looked extra firmly at the floor. There were some pockmarks, like someone had worn stiletto heels and stepped too hard. How did anyone ever balance on such small points? Although, he balanced on blades.

"Maybe there's a chance Grigori just… didn't recall us," Yuna said, her brows knitted. "I know he said he didn't know Mona, and he seemed very confident that he didn't recognise us, but we've changed a little in the last ten years, so maybe -"

"He said he was good with names and faces," Shane pointed out, "and I read on the wiki that he's police, so."

"So it's all just a big coincidence?" David asked. He didn't sound convinced.

Shane shrugged. Some people who Shane knew were officials in the league, but couldn't remember exactly how, what, or why, approached, and he put his game face back on.

-

He hadn't been able to sleep. Again. He'd hoped that after the draft, and after getting some sort of confirmation one way or the other about Rozanov, he'd go back to normal. He hadn't. He wanted to blame his restlessness on simply not being the first draft pick, but he knew that was only a small part of it. He would have been able to sleep through that small bite of disappointment. Harder to sleep through was the disappointment over Rozanov not being Shenka. Not just the disappointment, but also the… shock, almost, of realising he was disappointed. He had wanted it. Badly, he was beginning to realise. And he was sad it hadn't worked out. Which was all very stupid, because, really, what did he think would happen here?

A long time ago he had made a friend with a kid, and it had seemed intense and special, and then he had basically forgotten all about him until now, where they would meet and instantly have that same intense friendship and be best friends, and laugh, and hug, and kiss, and - well, not kiss, or like, maybe on the cheek because they would be best friends, but -

Anyway. It was a childish idea. And Shane knew better than to be a child. He knew how to take the hits and roll with them, so this hit should be easy to get over.

Trying to ease his way through it with realism was still not helping him sleep, though, so he got up and went to the hotel gym where he hoped he could maybe simply exhaust himself enough to sleep.

-

The man getting onto the stationary bike next to him had huge, impressive thighs, at first glance, and when Shane allowed a second glance, he discovered the huge, impressive thighs were Ilya Rozanov's. Not conducive to trying to calm his brain down enough to sleep. He sat up a bit more, not wanting to be so slumped over the bike like he didn't have the energy to hold good form in front of Rozanov. Because he was another player, a rival player even, and Shane's mother was always reminding him not to show weakness in front of them. Anything could be a chirp, and he was already likely to have cruel chirps tossed at him, so don't feed into it, don't give them anything to back up their biases.

Somehow, Shane allowed himself to be wordlessly goaded into a competition. Him and Rozanov cycling harder, faster, turning up the resistance on their bikes, swapping glances, trying to beat each other at this like it was another game. Shane's hips were beginning to burn, and when he stole another look at Rozanov and found him already looking at him, he diverted his gaze quickly from Rozanov's face to his hands instead, clutched tightly around the bike handles. Shane's mind suggested a thumb war, to add to things they could compete with, and then also suggested an image of Rozanov's hand wrapped tight around Shane's -

He got off the bike, breathing hard, feeling faint and wobbly. Collapsed against the closest wall. Rozanov got off his bike too, so, it didn't really count as losing for Shane, because he had already been on the bikes for a while before Rozanov showed up, so if you took the timing into account -

Rozanov let out a noisy whoop of an exhale and sank down opposite Shane, his hand wrapping around a water bottle that Shane hadn't noticed before, his hand making the bottle look small. Shane's brain suggested the image from before again, and he blinked hard.

"Another win for me?" Rozanov asked, then took a quick drink from the bottle.

"Fuck off," Shane shot back, was still panting. Sweat was dripping down Rozanov's face, down his neck, and his tendons and muscles were bulging and shining, catching his eyes.

Rozanov grinned, and then settled further, his legs flopping apart, and Shane could see how his thighs were even more impressive to see now the muscles were activated and pulsing with blood, the hard lines of them slick with sweat. He realised he was staring, and tore his gaze away, bumped into Rozanov's gaze on him, and looked away even further, staring at the far wall while trying to calm his beating heart. Still thumping so hard and fast from the cycling.

"Was everything you dreamed of?" Rozanov asked, and Shane's eyes darted back to his face, the smirking angles of it, the moles. "Today?"

Shane exhaled, licked his lips to wet them enough to speak. "Almost."

"Sorry," Rozanov said, not sounding or looking sorry in the slightest. It made Shane snort, made him feel fondly annoyed.

"No you're not."

"No," Rozanov agreed. "I am not."

Neither or them spoke for a moment. Rozanov drank some more. Then he leaned forwards, holding his bottle out towards Shane. Shane didn't move, and Rozanov shook the bottle. Either Shane could accept, or look… rude? He took the bottle, their fingers brushing, and Shane's brain had the image right there -

He drank, squirting the water into his mouth, eyes on Rozanov, and when he lowered the bottle, saw Rozanov shake his head, mouth more, and did as instructed without a second thought. When he lowered the bottle a second time, Rozanov didn't lean forwards to take it back immediately.

"So, ah," he said, "you have visited Russia before? This is why you have some - very little - Russian?"

"Yeah," Shane said. Reminded himself that his theory had been wrong. "When I was five, so, ages ago. I've not been back since, and I've had no one to practice what I learned with, so you can't chirp me for not knowing much."

Rozanov shrugged. "Of course I can chirp this," he said, "I skate up and ask if you have learned rest of song in Russian yet."

"What?" Shane frowned at him.

"You have, ah, hands, knees, those words, now you need… head, shoulders, and, uh, toes."

Shane stared at him a moment more, and then rolled his eyes. "Asshole," he said, "that doesn't make sense. Hands isn't part of it."

"Is in Russian."

Shane opened his mouth, and then shut it again. "I think you're lying to me."

Rozanov grinned at him, so guileless that Shane was laughing suddenly, and then Rozanov was laughing with him, both of them still a little breathless, the laughter airy.

When the laughter died down, Shane took another quick squirt of water, and then leaned in to hand the bottle back. Ilya took it, his hand overlapping Shane's, awkward, and surprising, and oddly nice.

"We were there for a wedding," Shane offered. "My mum's childhood best friend. Mona."

Rozanov's eyes were sharp on him in a way they hadn't been before, like he was trying to peel something up, carve it out.

"How was wedding?" Rozanov asked, casual, like his eyes weren't doing their best to be laser beams. "Worth the trip?"

"Um," Shane said, because, well, aforementioned laser beam eyes. "I don't remember much about the actual wedding, to be honest. I mean, I was five."

"Mm. So, what are you remembering?"

It would be… pathetic, maybe, to keep trying when he was working on convincing himself he had been proven wrong. What would Rozanov think of him if Shane just started telling him about this supposed best friend he had made back when his brain wasn't storing memories properly, apparently, and how he thinks he's missed him this whole time even when he didn't know what he was missing, and he's pretty sure him and Rozanov share a name, and so do their brothers, and fathers, and, like - maybe - would it be so crazy -

"Don't laugh," Shane mumbled, eyes on his knees,"but. Skating."

Rozanov didn't laugh exactly, but he huffed in a way that sure sounded like it could have been a laugh. "Ah, yes," he said. "Even as small baby, Shane Hollander is wearing skates all places. You wear them on plane?"

Shane rolled his eyes, amused, and shook his head. "No. We didn't bring my skates. But Mona had a neighbour who loaned some to me. She um. Had two grandsons. Who I skated with."

He hazarded a glance back up at Rozanov whose face was impassive. No sign of the laughter from before, and the laser eyes had been retired.

"Lucky for you," Rozanov said.

"Yeah," Shane nodded, bit his lip. "Um. So - I felt like I might have - or my parents - might have, like, offended your dad? I wanted to say sorry for that."

Rozanov's impassive expression slipped into confusion, and he cocked his head to one side as he stared at Shane before answering. "No," he said. "He is only, ah, strict. Sounding. Is just how he is."

"Oh, okay," that was a little bit of a relief, "so, just your dad came? Is your mum still in Russia? It's a long trip to take, so it makes sense."

Confusion to something crooked and then back to impassive. "No," Rozanov said, "she is dead."

Shane blinked. "Oh," he said, which was probably the wrong thing to say. "For how long?" Also probably definitely the wrong thing to say.

"Long time," Rozanov replied, brisk. "I was child."

1996

Sometimes when Ilya's papa came home Ilya was happy to see him. Wanted papa to see him and be happy too. On days Ilya's papa came home and hung his coat up in the hall and called out a hello in his low calm voice, Ilya would come and get a pat on the head. His papa might ask him what he had done that day. His mama would get a kiss from papa. His brother would get a pat on the back. On days when Ilya's papa came home and hung his coat up in the hall and then stalked down the hall to his office without a word, Ilya would hide until he was called for.

The last time Ilya had seen papa before Ilya, Alyosha, and mama went to go stay with babushka, papa had not looked at him. He had not looked at Alyosha. His mouth was a thin hard line. Mama's blood from her lip was on his hand. Mama sat on the floor. Papa looked like he was the tallest thing in the world.

When they first got to babushka's house, mama was sick for a while. There was some bleeding babushka said was from baby in mama's tummy sitting wrong. Mama told him and Alyosha it wasn't baby's fault. Ludmila was doing her best. At night when Ilya was meant to be asleep but couldn't. He sat in the hall and listened to babushka and mama. Babushka saying it was papa's fault for the bleeding. Ilya had seen papa make mama bleed. Never before without touching. Like papa had secret scary magic powers to hurt mama with.

-

Shane's mama had said Ilya and Alyosha's papa was here. Ilya had not heard him call out hello. Alyosha had said mama was sick again, baby sitting wrong, blood again. Ilya knew what quiet papa meant. He knew what sick mama meant. He wanted to crawl into the bed he had shared with his Shane. He could not, because he had ruined it. He had been weak and scared. The mattress was still drying, the bed base sat bare.

His Shane hugged him. Ilya told him he didn't want to leave. Wished he had more words to say this. He was scared. Papa would hurt them. Mama. Ilya. Alyosha. Baby Ludmila. He didn't know. Quiet papa was a surprise. He did not want to be alone. His Shane said to him that Freckles would be with him. Freckles sat heavy and smooth in Ilya's pocket. Ilya said freckles. It felt good to say. His Shane said vesnushki. Like it was important to him.

-

In the backseat of the car Ilya and Alyosha were quiet. Papa had said be quiet. When papa parked the car he said stay. Ilya and Alyosha stayed. Stayed quiet. Papa got out of the car. Went into the building. Quiet. Papa came back with mama, and babushka. His arm around mama. Stiff. He put her in the car in the front. She did not say anything. Papa must have said be quiet to her too. Babushka got into the back. Ilya moved into the middle seat. Babushka took one of his hands in his. She did not speak. Papa's magic scary powers maybe.

The car stayed quiet when papa got back in. While he drove. Stopped being quiet when he turned the car the wrong way. Did not point it towards babushka's house. Babushka was soft first. Said politely papa took wrong turn. Papa did not reply. Mama tried. Said babushka's house was other way. This way leaves town. Papa did not reply. Babushka said something else. Mama crying too loud to hear babushka. Crying Ludmila, Ludmila, Ludmila. Only stopping when papa hit. Mama's cheek first, then steering wheel. He said to car to be quiet. Said he would leave babushka on the side of the road. Said they would leave all of this here. In this town. Everything that happened here. Mama crying so quiet. River rushing from across a field. Babushka soothing. Papa first, saying we will leave. Mama next, saying she is in your heart.

-

At home in Moscow. The house feeling cold and empty. Everything the same as when they left. Mama sick in her bed. Ilya asked babushka if baby was sitting wrong. Babushka said baby was gone. Ludmila had left to heaven. She was there waiting. One day they would all meet up there. Alyosha said they were not supposed to talk. Not about baby. Not to say Ludmila. That the months at babushka's were gone. Ilya asked if they were in heaven too. Alyosha hit him.

He kept Freckles always in his pocket. At night when he changed to pyjamas, he held Freckles in his hand. The stone warmed to his heat. Smooth and heavy. Sat on his chest. At night he dreamed. Twirling on ice with his Shane. Speaking words heavy one at a time. With his Shane. Running fast through tall grass. His Shane. On ice and mama bleeding. Heavy words not coming. Running too slow. Grass too tall. Crying, crying, crying. Ludmila. Angel. Made of blood. Ludmila waiting for him. For mama. For Alyosha and babushka. Losing Freckles. On a beach of stones. Freckles dropped. Gone forever. Like his Shane.

-

Sometimes when Ilya got too scared. He dropped bits. Of what was happening. And. What had. Happened. Before. Splintered out. Wooden stick in hand. Ice. Blood. Held stone in hand. In pocket. In hand. Pocket. Cold on skin. Skin cold. Bad dream in daylight. At night he wet the bed. Too old for that. Wrong. Mama said to him. Ilyushenka. She said. Said. Later. After. Ilyushenka. Alyosha held. Last. Forget.

1998

Ilya was seven when babushka died. He watched mama put in a cloth with babushka. Ludmila embroidered on it. She said. Ilyushenka, sometimes all you can do is forget. That is how we survive. He put Freckles in babushka's pocket. Keep him safe. Keep her not lonely. Her body. Babushka said she would be in heaven with Ludmila. They were waiting. For him. For mama. For Alyosha.

2009

Sitting across from Hollander, gym floor sticking to his sweaty calves, Ilya had been feeling good. He had come first in the draft, which didn't mean his father was pleased with him in any outward way, but Ilya knew he was. Pleased. In his own way. He had gotten Hollander to grin and laugh with him during the photos, and then Hollander had sought him out afterwards to compliment him to his father's face, and then Ilya had come to the gym to work out until he could actually sleep, and here Hollander had been again. Ready to compete, to play, to laugh with Ilya. To share looks, heated, wanting.

When he had first met Shane Hollander, at the prospect games in bum fuck Canada, he had not expected who he had gotten. For years before the meeting, Ilya's coaches, his teammates, his trainers, they all brought Hollander up. They told him that if he really thought he could get into the NHL, this was who he was up against. Some fucking whizz kid. Hollander, who always looked so serious in any photo Ilya was shown. Hollander, who articles called immensely talented, focused, and reserved. He had heard from teammates who had heard from coaches who had heard from whoever that Hollander was known to be… quiet, was a nice way to put it.

So he hadn't expected Shane Hollander, the world's newest model of the hockey robot, to seek him out, greet him in Russian, and then laugh and joke with him so easily it felt like Ilya was fizzing.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Hollander after that. Hollander and his freckles. Hollander and his pretty eyes. Hollander and his smile, his laugh, the way he said rodinka and vesnushki like it was scratching something itchy in Ilya's brain. He had a crush on him. To be childish about it. To be crude; he wanted to fuck him.

And it had been going so nicely. Sweaty, flirty, laughing. And then Hollander got weird about it. Saying… things that made Ilya's brain buzz. Like a warning. Something about a wedding, making all the sweat on Ilya's body freeze and itch. Asking about his mother. Like he knew something. Like he knew. Ilya opening his mouth and replying even though he wanted to spit at Hollander and tell him to fuck off. He got to his feet while Hollander was still struggling with how to respond to Ilya's statement of how long his mother had been dead for. Cut through Hollander's obvious difficulty.

"Sleep now," he said, his voice scratched him as it came out. Brusque. He sounded like his father. "You better win next game, or I will think maybe is only me who knows how to win."

He left. Back to his hotel room. Showered. Thought about Hollander saying vesnushki. Thought about Hollander sweating and panting, red faced and glowing on the bike. Tried to jerk off about it. Something in his mind shying away, going dark around the edges, trying to push in over the image of Hollander Ilya was trying to hold up over his other thoughts. Like paper to fix a leak. Bleeding through. They did this sometimes. His thoughts. Memories, maybe. He would smell something and it would take him back. Sometimes to a nice memory, maybe one he had not forgotten. Usually not. He would dream something and wake with the after image rancid on his tongue. Shane Hollander would say normal words and ask normal questions and Ilya Rozanov's brain would respond by shaking and shaking and getting mean like a scared dog, baring teeth, arching back, growling.

It had nothing to do with Hollander. He knew that logically. Ilya had let his father's negativity get into his head. He'd let himself lose sight of how much he had accomplished, just to dwell on the wish he had of making his father proud. he should have pushed through the wave of dread. He could have been pressing Hollander down on the dirty gym floor and sucking his cock right now.

He would do better next time.

-

He hated coming back to Russia after he'd been in Canada or the USA. Like he was so close to escaping, and then tugged back at the last moment. He knew it was all part of the process. The way to get out, but still.

Back home in Moscow he visited his mama and babushka's graves. He sat between them and told them about the draft, about how next year he would be in Boston, about how he would miss them. But he would be back. He kissed his mama's crucifix, tucked it back under his shirt, warm metal. It had been his babushka's, first, his mama had told him that. She gave it to Ilya's mama when she married Ilya's father. He was relieved to have that memory. To know he could carry both of them at once.

When he sat for too long in silence between the headstones, his mind would struggle to recall their voices. He remembered how much he had loved his mama's voice. How it had soothed him always. How she could quirk it up to make him laugh. Could not remember what that had sounded like. He had one short slice of her voice left in his mind. Her voice aching and desperate and crying out for a daughter Ilya was supposed to have forgotten. It made him angry sometimes. That he could recall that moment, those words, the pain in his mama's voice, in what felt like perfect clarity, but his memory had baulked against saving any even small recording of her happiness in her voice. No soft echo of Ilyushenka for Ilya. His babushka's voice was even harder to reach. He had been without her for much longer than he had been without his mama. Whenever he tried to imagine her speaking to him, her voice came out of like the static fuzz of a mis-tuned radio.

On his way home from the graveyard he picked up a smooth stone. Round. Felt the small weight of it in his hand, and slid it into his pocket.

-

He skated, trained, studied. He kept his mind busy and turned off in turns. Devouring his attention with pushing himself further and harder on the ice, in the gym. Blacking himself out at clubs in the evening, drinking, dancing, fucking.

In small moments, groggy with waking up, or catching his breath between shifts, his mind itched at him. Hockey still pushed Hollander at him, a constant barrage of it, as if he should still be worrying about living up to Hollander when it had been Ilya who had won against him at every opportunity. He kept his mouth shut about it. If he pushed back it would be more and more about Hollander. He would think about Hollander's freckles. His mind would shake him. He would think about the fear he had felt so visceral and sudden, pinning him down in a hotel gym at Hollander's casual words. He would want Hollander anyway.

-

Ilya was all too aware of the fact that they were in Hollander's hometown. Ottawa. He had seen the posters. His coach had drilled him on it. How it was more important than ever to smash Canada's team here, the home of their little hero. One of the problems with Hollander was that he was as good as everyone said he was. Ilya had only played against him the once, and he knew. He could see it in the way Hollander moved. Russia had won last years prospect cup because of him, but Hollander had been the reason Canada hadn't lost badly. If it had been just Hollander and Ilya on the ice? Ilya didn't know who would win.

His brother called. Sometimes when he called he started off sweet. Not true sweetness, a playful cruel sweetness that let Ilya know he was drunk, or high, with friends who thought it was funny when he babies his little brother and then called him a faggot in the same sentence. His brother called and started with saying Ilyushenka, and ended with saying that if Ilya did not win he would be putting Alexei out of pocket, so he better be ready to pay up if he was a loser. Oh the advance bonus is already gone? Oh I snorted it? Better whore yourself out to make up the money I need.

Ilya turned his small stone over and over and over inside his hoodie pocket. He said. Bye Alyosha. Said it cruel, sneering, angry. Underneath soft and pleading. Alyosha. Remember when we would fight but it wasn't real.

On the ice, warming up pre game. He looked into the crowd and saw Hollander's parents. Yuna and David. Who had shaken his hand and shown more pride for him than his father had. For a moment he saw the woman sitting next to them, long honey gold hair, sunlight catching in the curls. He was a child looking at his mother looking at him. His mother looking happier than he had seen her for so long, happy to see him happy, playing with his friend.

The woman turned and the memory broke, her face so different to Ilya's mama. He shook the remnants of it away. Shaking his head, shaking his hands, like a dog to dry itself.

His father was not here for this trip. Ilya had to be the one to remind himself to pull it together. To stay focused. To shut up and listen.

Shane Hollander won the game. He did what he promised he'd do. Came back stronger. Better. Ilya has been planning on doing his best to ignore him, couldn't help himself. Took Hollander's hand in the handshake line and held it tighter than he should. Promised to see him soon. Like it wasn't a terrible idea. He thought maybe Hollander should frown at him. Be angry for the way Ilya had left it at the draft. He wasn't. Or if he was, he hid it well. Smiling at Ilya and squeezing his hand back. Saying he was looking forward to it.

After the game, Ilya turned his phone off. He would deal with his family's disappointment in him later, and they could just add their annoyance at his avoidance on top. Efficient. He went to sleep and dreamed about Shane Hollander calling out to him Ilyushenka, his voice echoing over the ice, Ilya's name bouncing, fragmenting, Shenka, Shenka, Shenka.

2010

When CCM got in touch with Ilya's agent to ask about doing an ad shoot, his agent told him that they already had Hollander booked as well, so if he took it, they could maybe work the whole thing into the rivalry narrative. Ilya disappointed his agent by asking him to send a request to CCM that they do their shoots together. His agent was not pleased when the request was accepted. He told Ilya's father. Ilya's father called to yell at him. Ilya had no defence, so just took it. He had done it because he had wanted to do it. That would not have worked as an answer to his father. The shoot would still add to the rivalry. It was to be a face off. Ilya thought maybe his agent just didn't like being told what to do.

-

Hollander was still just as desirable as he had been in Ilya's memory. More so, even. In training for the new season. Their rookie season in the big leagues.

Ilya wasn't expecting Yuna Hollander to approach him while Shane skated and posed for his single shots. He had sat himself alone in the bleachers so he could watch Hollander without being so easily seen to be watching. He liked the way Hollander skated. Like it came easier to him than walking. Like a memory. A non-fragmented one. A blink and you'll lose it one. Fluid.

She sat down in the seat one away from him. Ilya didn't know if that was so he or she had some space from the other.

"We've met before," Yuna said to him, "but I wouldn't want to assume you'd remember - it was a busy night -"

"Yuna, yes?" Ilya asked. Swallowed. "You are Hollander's mama."

"Shane's mum, yes," she smiled at him. "I know hockey is a last name kind of sport, but it's weird being called Hollander's mama, like I'm my mother in law."

He smiled back, felt his face tighten. Didn't know how to relax it. Hoped it didn't show.

"Yes," he said. "Shane. Uh, he is, he is very good."

"He is," she agreed, smiling fondly down at her son on the ice. "I'm very proud of him."

Ilya nodded. Yuna was looking at him oddly.

"Your mother must be proud?" She asked. What was it with Hollanders and asking about Ilya's mother? "And scared, I'm sure, having you moving so far away."

He nodded again. He was scared. He hoped his mama was not. Not anymore. He didn't want to talk about his mama.

"Polina says distance will make me stronger," he said.

"Polina?" Yuna repeated. "Your mother?"

He nodded. One sharp jerk. Step-mother, technically. He never called her his mother, or step-mother. She was his father's wife. He did not want to get into the specifics of it. Not with Yuna Hollander. With her perfect son, and her husband, and her smiley life. Her sitting here, looking at him with soft eyes. It made Ilya feel sick with wanting. To ask for a hug. Please. To spill out his guts. He was not this person. The person who became so weak and emotional at the tip of a hat.

"Ah," Yuna said. She still smiled at him, but it was less. "The shoot's going well," she said, brisk now. "I wanted to talk to the director before the joint shoot, though. I'll see you later, Ilya."

"Goodbye, Yuna," he said, as she stood up.

He did not watch as she left. Focused back on Shane.

-

They laughed together again. On the ice. Him and Hollander. Ilya was good at being part of a team, at being a leader, at making the room feel good. It wasn't usually like this, though. Laughter raw and surprised out of both of them. The kind where it felt immediate and like trying to keep it in would be harmful.

Letting it out was harmful as well. Ilya kept wavering on what he was doing here. First he was going to leave Hollander alone entirely. He knew how bad an idea it was. Then he was going to just fuck Hollander. Attempt to, at least. And then every time they met up it was like something unlatched in his brain, and all this…wanting escaped out of it. He wanted to make Hollander laugh more. He wanted Hollander to make him laugh. He wanted to skate with him, and work out and compete about it, and be quiet together. And also still fuck him and kiss him, yes, but that was a normal wanting for him to have. If it was just his cock that wanted him that was much easier.

In the showers, after the shoot, he tried to whittle his want back down to the basics. Simple. Saw the way Hollander tried not to look and looked anyway. It could be so simple like this. A bad idea still, sure, yes. But good. He had jerked off to thoughts of Hollander before, but it was so much more rewarding seeing Hollander see him do it. To see Hollander get hard over it. Stripped it all down. Bodily basics. Not here was permission for somewhere. An offer to forget about it, an obvious desire to not.

-

When Hollander let him in to his hotel room, it was easy to push past the stumble of words. Hollander's mouth was moving, but he didn't sound convinced by himself. Much more convinced by Ilya's mouth on his. Hollander kissed back so quick and easy there was no room for doubt. They moved together fluid and hot, Hollander's hand on him and on him. Fast until Ilya's shirt was off and Hollander was mouthing at his skin and then stopping. Pulling up, face all weird.

He touched his hand briefly to the crucifix at Ilya's collarbones, eyes darting from it to Ilya's face.

"What's this?"

Ilya couldn't have kept his confusion in if he'd tried. His dick was so hard in his pants. He could feel Hollander hard against him as well. Why were they stopping to ask about jewellery?

"Necklace?" Ilya asked, could feel how his face furrowed as he stared at Hollander's face, trying to work out his expression. It was usually easy. Ish. Hollander kept his face still mostly, but his eyes were always so loud.

"I mean," Hollander said, his words sounding like they were sticking in his throat, "it's not like, a normal crucifix."

"Okay?" Ilya still didn't really know what the sticking point was here. "Is Russian. Pravoslavnyy krest. Uhhh … or-to-doxy? You know?"

"I've seen one before," Hollander replied, "I didn't know what it was, though. Or-to-doxy? Orthodox? Is that a word?"

"I don't know, Hollander," Ilya growled, "you are one with English."

Hollander rolled his eyes. He was still touching the crucifix, fingers gentle on it like he knew it held everything left of Ilya's mama and babushka.

"I don't know much about, um, religion. We don't really - are you?"

Ilya wanted to also roll his eyes, at Hollander's stuttering questions, at the distraction from what they should be keeping simple. Sex. Not stopping to dig and pry and get to know.

"Was my mama's," he said. "She was more than me. I am maybe - ah - does not matter. Hollander. What is this? You are scared? Making distractions?"

"What?" Hollander's hand dropped from Ilya's chest, and his head jolted up so he could glare at Ilya. "I said I'm not chicken. I was just - curious -"

"Do I make you curious?" Ilya asked, pressed his hand to Hollander's crotch to make his meaning clear. "You make me curious."

"Fuck - yes," Hollander gasped, hips juddering hard at Ilya's touch. "You've - you've done this before?"

"Mm, yes," Ilya kissed him again.

"Another player?" Hollander asked, and this time his questioning didn't mean he stopped pressing in to Ilya again, tilting to kiss, hands sliding over skin.

"No. My coach's son. In Russia. Not serious thing."

"Just curious?" Hollander asked.

-

Getting dressed after - once Hollander had had a little tiny panic about what they had done, and Ilya had packaged his own panic away for later - he slid his hand into his jacket pocket to feel for his constant companion and found nothing but lint.

Hollander was still on the hotel bed, watching him, some tender, fragile bravado-esque look on his face. Ilya tried to search without being seen to be searching. Patted his trouser pockets while his eyes desperately scanned the floor where his clothes had been. Grey carpet. His stone, his smooth pebble, his little piece of Moscow and mama, babushka, fear, comfort. It would so easily disguise itself in the grey on grey pile.

"Lost something?" Hollander asked.

Ilya didn't look at him. Kept his eyes on the carpet, scanning as slowly as he could with the ticking of some type of panic crowding up the back of his throat.

"My key card," he lied. Cleared his throat. "I will find."

"I can help -" Hollander began, and Ilya shook his head hard, and he paused in his half started movement to get up. His legs folded back onto the mattress, and when he spoke his voice was snippier. "Jesus. Okay."

Ilya swallowed. Crouched down next to his shoes and shook out his socks, tipped his shoes over. Nothing. Put the socks and shoes on, still sitting on the floor. No sign of the stone anywhere around him. This was stupid. It was just a stone. Just a stone. It wasn't special. It didn't look special. If Hollander found it here he wouldn't give it a second thought. He could leave it. He didn't need it. He didn't need it.

The mattress creaked a little. The noise louder when not accompanied by heaving breathing and orgasms. Hollander padded slowly across the carpet towards him. He was still entirely naked. Looked like he had forgotten. Ilya was still sitting there. On the floor. Knees drawn up. He was going to stand up and leave now. He was going to leave the stone and Hollander here. Both were weaknesses. Made Ilya stupid. Hollander bent, and then sat on his knees next to Ilya. Didn't touch. Close enough that Ilya could feel his warmth. Escaping off his bare skin in waves.

"I can help look," Hollander said. "And if we can't find it, we can - I can speak to the front desk, if you want. To request a new one. But if it's in here - if it was dropped in here, I think we'll definitely be able to find it."

The front desk wasn't going to have a new stone for him. If he wanted a new stone he could go outside and just grab one. It wouldn't be his stone. It wouldn't be. It was so stupid.

"No," he said.

"No?" Hollander asked. There was still a sort of pissed off air to him, but his voice was patient. Calm.

"Is not card," Ilya said, brought his hands up to shove his knuckles into his eye sockets. Pressed in hard until it hurt. "Was lie."

A short pause. "Okay," Hollander said. "So what are we looking for, then?"

Ilya was going to get up and go.

"Kamennyy," Ilya whispered. Shook his head. Dropped his hands to his knees. He was going to leave now.

"Kamennyy," Hollander repeated, and when Ilya, who was not getting up and leaving looked at him, he saw he was frowning slightly. "That's, umm, like, pebble? Stone?"

Whoever had taught Hollander the handful of words he knew had done a weird job of it. A part of Ilya wanted to sit down and hear every single word Hollander knew in Russian. Spread them all out and look at them. Like he could understand something real if he could just see them.

He nodded.

"Okay," Hollander said. Ilya searched for the judgement in his voice, but it was the same flat even voice Hollander used most often. "What colour?"

"Seryy. Grey."

"Right, grey carpet makes it harder," Hollander said. And then he was slapping the tops of his naked knees, and standing back up. "Okay, I'll go look around the door."

Ilya nodded. He should be looking too. Fanning his hands out in the carpet and feeling among the bristle for the smooth stone. He watched Hollander get back to his knees in the entranceway. Like he had for Ilya before. Surprising Ilya with it again. Watched as Hollander reached out and picked the stone up. Easy as that. He didn't stand up. Just walked on his knees over to Ilya and held it out. Ilya took it. Stupid small stone. Put it into his jacket pocket. Eyes cast down.

He should say thank you. Get up. Leave. Never ever make eye contact with Shane Hollander ever again. Let alone touch him again.

"I have a lucky stone too," Hollander said. Blurted it out.

Ilya blinked, looked up at him. Hollander was flushing. Like Ilya wasn't the one who just had a freak out about losing his lucky stone, as Hollander put it.

"Mine has a face and everything," Hollander continued, in a rush. "I - a friend made it for me when I was a kid. I made him one too. He gave my one a mole, and called it rodinka."

It felt like Hollander was telling him a story Ilya had heard before. Somewhere tucked between his mother's fairytale bedtime stories, and his brother's tall tales.

"I'm just saying," Hollander continued, when Ilya didn't reply. "That this is kind of like, what you said before. Same secret. If you were worried I'd like. I don't know. Gossip about it? I won't."

Ilya wet his lips. Managed to nod. He fumbled the stone back out of his pocket, held it up like an offering in front of Hollander.

"Is, uh, spotty," Ilya said. "I had stone with face when I was child. Freckle face. This one reminded me of old one."

Something weird was happening to Hollander's face. Ilya couldn't figure it out. Watched as Hollander reached out and touched the stone with just his forefinger. Frowning.

"What happened to the old one?"

"I think I forget," Ilya said. Knew he didn't forget. Knew where it was. He wrapped his fingers around the stone, slid it back into his pocket. Hollander's hand pulled away. "I put it somewhere for safe keeping."

"Oh," Hollander nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes my dad says half the things he's lost are things he put away very safely and then forgot where."

"Mm."

"Was your stone called vesnushki?" Hollander asked. "Or freckles?"

"I don't remember," Ilya lied. Swallowed. His head hurt. His lungs hurt. He felt like he'd inhaled an ocean. Salt and rough and tumble. He should be in his own room right now. Happily sated from sex. "I have to go."

"Oh."

-

When Ilya was a child in school, he asked his friends to call him Ilyusha, never Ilyushenka. He was good at making friends. His teacher said he had charisma, was outgoing. He didn't invite his friends home. He didn't talk about his family. He went to parties, he went to town, he listened to other people talking and complaining. He had Svetlana, but she spent half a year every year in America. He wasn't lonely. He always had someone around. At school, and then with friends, and then at hockey. At home there was -

In Boston his team called him Roz, Rozy, The Rozinator, Illya-killya. He was good in the room. With his team. He was a rook, but he was their rook, and they liked him. They said he was their friend. Took him out drinking. Invited him to their houses. Didn't press on subjects he avoided.

Svetlana was in Boston as well. Not all the time, but enough. She called him Ilyushka, Ilyusha, Ilya, Idiot.

He should leave his stone somewhere outside. Throw it away. He kept it with him. His brain referring to it as freckles like that was a safe thing to do. That had been the name of his special stone as a child. The one he left with his babushka. He thought so, at least. It was hard to remember details like that. When he tried to, it felt like the memories of it were tangled up with other memories. Tug on one, and they all tried to come through. The stone. A face drawn on it. Safety. Raining and raining. Mama. Someone saying Shenka, close to his ear. Friend. Safety. A long car trip. No sound but crying. Babushka holding his hand. Alexei holding his other hand. Letting go whenever papa looked into the back.

He kept the stone in his pocket. He kept Hollander there too, now. A jumble of too much pressed into one small object. It wasn't fair to his mama or his babushka, having to share with Hollander. It hadn't been Ilya's choice. Hollander was tangled in his mind as well. Knotted up with half memories and feelings that made no sense. A maybe dream he must have had at some point. Him and Hollander as children, skating together. An imagination of Hollander in Moscow, snow on his face. Maybe that was a memory from Saskatchewan. Mama.

-

On the ice, Ilya didn't think about it. In the room, Ilya didn't think about it. He skated like all his hopes and dreams were pinned on his every point scored. He got pucks in the net. He bragged and grinned to cameras. He built up the persona he had always been so good at holding. Charismatic, outgoing. Asshole. He watched interviews of Hollander being asked about Ilya, about their rivalry, and didn't know how to feel about Hollander's bland answers. Didn't know what he wanted Hollander to say. What he was scared Hollander would say. He answered the same questions as provocatively and he could while saying nothing at all. He thought about Hollander's stone with a mole. His brain floated vague impressions of a heart shaped mark on a flat stone. A smile.

He told himself that he would leave it alone. They had a game in Montreal. Ilya was going to be only Rozanov, number 81. He was not going to search Hollander out.

The crowd searched Hollander out for him. Him and Hollander together. The arena calling for them. For the rivalry. Face off.

Bent over on the ice, close, Hollander looking at him.

"Shane Hollander. Will you disappoint them?" Ilya asked, darted his eyes at the crowd and then back to Hollander's face.

Something about getting to say the Shane part of Shane Hollander was a thrill.

"Ilyushenka Rozanov," Hollander replied, like a bomb going off on centre ice. "I'll try not to."

He was lucky he had a few more seconds before the puck dropped. Needed all of them. Hollander's cheeks were pink, but his face didn't look like he realised the absolute chaos he had just unloaded into Ilya's brain. He had to lock in. Lost the puck drop. Not too badly. Took off after it immediately. He was Rozanov. Number 81. Ice. Skate. Puck.

Hollander did not disappoint Montreal. Ilya was lucky his team didn't seem disappointed in him.

Had it been a chirp? Ilyushenka. Had it been earnest? Ilyushenka. Why was it an echo in his brain. The tangle of back then memories. The dreams he couldn't be sure were dreams. Gutting pain.

He begged off drinks afterwards. Said he wanted to congratulate Hollander on his win. His team laughed, told him not to murder the guy. Said if he did be sneaky about it. He laughed back.

He didn't know what he was waiting to say to Hollander. Standing in the player's carpark. Had Hollander even driven? Would he carpool with someone else? Had he left already? Was Ilya here to congratulate him, or to cuss him out. Was he here to suggest they fuck again. Was he here to ask him why the fuck he thought that was okay. Calling him Ilyushenka like he was allowed.

Hollander came into the carpark with a couple of his teammates, the two of them talking cheerfully, Hollander in between them with a small smile on his face. A smile which lifted when he saw Ilya, and then smoothed into neutral as the other players saw him.

"Rozanov?" The man on Hollander's right said. He looked boring. "This is the winner's carpark, you guys are on the other side of the lot."

The man on Hollander's left laughed a little at this.

Ilya ignored them. "Can we talk?" he asked Hollander. "Alone?"

"Uh, yeah, I don't think so buddy," the first man said, speaking before Hollander could even open his mouth. "If you're feeling so sore about missing out on the face off, you should practice more and fuck around less."

Ilya felt like he should probably get a reward for not smacking this dumbass. He ignored him, very politely.

"Hollander," he said, to emphasise he had in fact been asking Hollander, not either of his apparent cronies.

"Yeah, okay," Hollander said, his eyebrows flat over his eyes. He glanced to either side of him. "It's all good," he said to his teammates. "We've hung out before."

Oh yeah. They'd hung out.

"Uh," Hollander said, to Ilya now, "do you…want to come back to mine? Grab a beer."

Okay, so Hollander wanted them to fuck. They could do that. That would be better than getting weird about being called something that felt like it belonged only to the Ilya of before. He nodded.

-

After what sounded like a quick argument in French with one of his teammates, Hollander walked Ilya over to the most boring car in the park, and they both got in. Ilya staying silent until both their seatbelts were on, and Hollander had turned the car on but made no move to pull out.

"You live in carpark?"

"Huh?" Hollander startled and looked at him.

"You are not driving. So this is your home?"

"Fuck off," Hollander snorted, pulled out of the park smoothly. "I was just. Taking a breath. Thinking about how reckless this is."

"Very bad for golden boy image," Ilya agreed, leaning back further in his seat, angling his head towards Hollander so he could watch him. "Hanging out with your big evil rival."

"We're the same size," Hollander said, as if on automatic. "And that's not why it's reckless."

"Yes, yes," Ilya rolled his eyes, despite the fact that Hollander was not looking at him. "If we talk off ice people know you love to suck dick, hm?"

"Fuck off," Hollander said again. Then shook his head once. Firm. "Yes. But no. Because I think this makes it more. Like. Normal. If we just. Act like friends -"

"Oh I see," Ilya broke in, "you want my dick but not my being friends? I am just body to you, Hollander?"

Hollander looked like he was going to add a third fuck you to the conversation, biting his lip visibly, but then just shook his head again.

"You're the one that keeps leaving," Hollander replied, his eyes on the road, cheeks pink again.

"You ask too many questions," Ilya shot back, his voice coming out angry without his permission. He wasn't angry. He was something else. His voice didn't know how to translate it. "Like you think you have - have right to know. Like you think everyone has happy happy family life like you."

A silence broken only by the soft clicking on the indicator as Hollander changed lanes smoothly. He was frowning, still chewing on his lips, biting at the insides of them like he thought that meant it couldn't be seen.

"I feel like I'm going crazy," Hollander said, voice low. "I'm trying not to be fucking weird, Rozanov, but you - I need to know."

Ilya felt like he was going crazy as well. He groaned. "Need to know what? You are scared again I will tell people you are gay?"

"I'm not -" Hollander began, and Ilya cut him off. Couldn't handle hearing it right now.

"Tell people you are fucking big fan of cocks!" He corrected himself. "Fuck, Hollander. What else? You think I will, what? Make us sound like lovers on ice by saying my sweet name like this? You call me Ilyushenka on ice like this and you still -"

"That's not what I'm scared about!" Shane interrupted, shoulders tense. "And I'm - fuck - I'm sorry about - I didn't know it would sound like that, I thought it was more of a like, a kid name. Because -" he paused, swallowing hard so Ilya could see his adam's apple jolting in his throat as he glanced at Ilya. "Can this wait until we get to mine? This isn't - I can't drive safely like this."

Ilya wanted to say Hollander should just drive unsafely, then, or even better, pull over and let Ilya out. But Hollander had just pointed out that Ilya was the one always fucking leaving. And he wanted to prove him wrong. Which was stupid, because he also wanted to leave. He didn't want to have to think about any of this. He didn't know what he had been hoping for. Would Hollander agree to drop this entirely if Ilya leaned over and began sucking him off?

He nodded sharply, and then turned his whole body so he could stare out his window, his back to Hollander. Listened to Hollander huff. Listened to the hum of the car. Listened to the echo in his head. Shenka, Shenka, Shenka.

-

By the time Hollander was pulling into the underground carpark of his apartment building, Ilya had decided that he didn't want to talk about it. They could have sex. And then Ilya would leave. Like he always did.

He followed Hollander silently upstairs, into the apartment. Was a little worried Hollander would have bitten his lips bloody by the time Ilya got to kiss them. They both took their shoes off, and Hollander dropped his gear bag into a cupboard in the entryway.

"Do you want a drink?"

Ilya stepped in behind Hollander who was closing the cupboard door, and leaned in to press his lips to the back of his neck. "No," he said. "I am thirsty for different thing."

He felt Hollander's skin prickle beneath his lips, and Hollander drew in a shaky breath, and another, when Ilya dragged his lips over Hollander's nape and kissed the side of his throat.

"Wait," Hollander said, "shit, stop, Rozanov."

Pulling away, and taking a large step back, Ilya wished he had just left his shoes the fuck on. So he could leave. Fuck.

"You do not want?" He asked. Wanted to have sounded maybe seductively disbelieving. His words came out choked.

Hollander turned to face him, leaning against the cupboard door, his eyebrows pulled down and furrows in his forehead. He was biting his lip again.

"I want," he said, gritty, shook his head. "But I want to talk first. You - I want to explain myself."

Shuddering, Ilya looked away. Explain himself. It didn't make any sense but it made Ilya feel like he was looking out a window in a moving car, and if he kept looking he was going to see it. He didn't know what it was. Just that he knew he wasn't supposed to look at it.

"Nothing to explain," Ilya said, spoke at Hollander's front door. He could leave without his shoes. "Nothing to see."

Hollander made a disgruntled noise, sniffed hard. "Please," he said. "Fuck, Rozanov. Please can I say what I need to say. You can leave afterwards. You can choose to never talk to me again, or ask me to never talk to you again."

"Okay!" Ilya snapped, lifting his hands to cover his face briefly, and then dragging them roughly through his hair. "Okay, fine! So much talking! Say it! Say what is so - so important you give up best blowjob of your life!"

He wasn't looking at Hollander, but he could still see the glare in his periphery.

"I had a friend in Russia," Hollander said, stiff. Words slow and taut. "When I was five. I was only there for about ten days. I called him Shenka. Short for Ilyushenka. We decorated stones for each other. He called my one Rodinka, and his one Freckles. His mama, Irina, was pregnant, and then something happened, and she lost her baby. A girl. Ludmila. I never saw Irina again. Shenka's father picked him and his brother Alyosha up. And I never saw them again either. We tried to get in touch and couldn't. And I miss him."

Ilya should have left when he had the chance earlier. He should have gotten out of Hollander's moving car and legged it down the road. He should have said nothing at the face off, and never heard Hollander call him Ilyushenka.

His mama crying for Ludmila. An ache deep in his gut. Guilt and fear. Freckles buried deep underground with bones and memories. His replacement stone sitting in his pocket even now.

"No," he said.

"No?" Hollander repeated. "No, like this makes no sense to you, or no, like -"

"No," Ilya repeated, harsh enough he made himself flinch. "I do not want to remember."

Silence. Heavy breathing.

"Oh," Hollander said.

"I have to go," Ilya said. Because saying it only in his head hadn't been making it happen. He grabbed his shoes, careful not to bump into Hollander. Stuffed his feet into them.

"Rozanov," Hollander said, his voice coming from a long way away. Above ground. Echoing down into the dirt with Ilya.

His hand fumbled on the door handle at first, but he managed to get it open. Got himself out. Shut it. Escaped.

Five years old and his bed was too big and too cold and he was scared and alone. Crying in the dark. Not the only one. Mama crying down the hall. Babushka hearing him. Took him to the kitchen for a warm drink. Calming. He said he wanted Shane. His Shane. Babushka patting his hair. Papa yelling. Somewhere in the house. Then in the kitchen. Ilya should have been in bed. Someone got hit. Someone cried. Mama like a flood in her room. Ilya like a hole in the ground in his. Escaped into the hole. Dark. Escaped into himself.

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

1996

Living with her mother, Irina felt like there could still be another life for her; her, her boys, and her baby Ludmila still waiting to be born. When they had first arrived to stay, she had felt so lucky even for this reprieve. Now they had been here nearly a month, it wasn't enough. Not enough to simply be a break from the life she was in.

Waking in the mornings calm, the only body beside her one of her boys, or both of them, soft and sleepy and full of love. Sewing beside her mama, like they had when she was a teenager. Imagining what it could be like to keep it.

To keep her Alyosha from feeling like the only way he could grow was to be like his papa. Watching him here, playing, mostly with the neighbour Hatsu, but also with Ilyushenka. Watching him not checking over his shoulder.

To keep her Ilyushenka from losing his smile like she had lost hers. She had had such a smiley little baby boy in Ilyushenka, and now, she could see the constant cloud in his eyes, the way he tried to take it from her. She wanted to bring him back into the sunshine.

To raise Ludmila with two happy brothers, and a mama who wasn't afraid every day, and a life that stretched out like an invitation, not a punishment.

To read books again. To skate again. To be Irina again.

-

The Hollanders were a surprise. The kind that got better and better with each layer. New people to talk to, ones who were willing to look past her shoddy English, her down turned face. Little Shane who made Ilyushenka smile so big, laugh so freely. Talking with David about books, like her opinion truly mattered. Talking with Yuna about parenting, about architecture, about sewing, music, anything because Yuna also wanted to talk about everything.

A dream of leaving Russia. Russia, who she loved, loved and feared. Russia, where she would have trouble forever avoiding her husband, even if she managed to arrange for a divorce. A dream didn't have to be sensible, or have everything worked out, it could be just a dream. A dream in which she moved her children to Canada, and they lived in a house with big windows, cushioned alcoved seats beside them for reading. Where Shane lived next door and kept Ilyushenka smiling and laughing and skating, and Alyosha learned to make friends with people who weren't scared of his papa, and Ludmila could choose to skate, or swim, or read, or dance, or anything she wanted.

She dreamed of full bookshelves, and a warm cat, a soft bed with only ever who she wanted in it, her face to feel easier in a smile than a frown.

2010

David was well aware that to a lot of people, his job seemed boring, but he liked it a lot. Had always been happy going into work, putting in extra time, making connections with his coworkers. Sure, sometimes he was a little miffed when a meeting was scheduled to run late, because he liked his job, but he loved his wife. He didn't think he'd resented a late meeting more than he had today, though, and it hadn't even been about Yuna. Well, it had in a way, the way everything in David's life was about Yuna in some way.

He had wanted to go to Shane's game in Montreal today. Yuna had as well, she always loved going to Shane's games. David loved going too, but today's home game had been against Boston, and -

David didn't make a habit of keeping secrets from his wife. This wasn't a secret per se, but it was certainly an omission. He had just been gathering information, was all. He wanted to be able to present his findings to her like a solution rather than a question.

Instead, they had watched Shane's game on TV, and David had been on the edge of his seat since the moment Shane and Ilya Rozanov faced off against each other. The camera had zoomed in on them, not close enough to get all the details, but enough to see Ilya's face drop its media ready smirk and fall into something that looked so close to despair it made David's stomach drop with it. It was a blink and you miss it expression, smoothed out almost immediately into nothingness, and when David glanced at Yuna, it seemed like she must have blinked.

"What do you think he said?" David asked, glancing at the screen again for long enough to see Ilya lose the puck, and then back to his wife.

She was focused fully on the screen, a small smile on her face as she watched their son handling the attention and the puck with ease.

"Rozanov?" She asked, "Probably something outrageous. I've heard he's a very provocative chirper."

"No," David shook his head. "Shane."

Yuna glanced at him now, a small frown on her face. "I don't know," she said, eyes back on the game play. "I will be the first to admit that he's still a little bit of a weak chirper."

"It looked like it cut deep," David pointed out, though he also couldn't see how it would - he had heard his son practicing his on ice retorts.

Yuna was frowning again, but still looking at the screen. "We'll have to ask him," she suggested.

David let it be for the rest of the game. He took note of the way Ilya's skating - though still very good - seemed… off after the face off. It had been a long time since David had skated or played hockey anywhere near professionally, but he still played a game every so often with his friends. Watched NHL very often, Yuna always turning it on, him happy to watch even if Shane wasn't playing. He couldn't not know good skating when he saw it, surrounded by it as he was. So he could see the difference in Ilya's skating, and he could see the only factor that might have affected him had been Shane.

David knew more than most parents, maybe, that having a nice, usually polite kid at home didn't mean that's what you had everywhere else. He'd grown up in locker rooms, where it was accepted you could be a good kid and still beat someone bloody on ice time. He'd watched Shane grow up in locker rooms. The nice boy down the street from them when Shane was eleven had been the apple of his mother's eye, all pleases and thank yous, saying hello to them on the street. Calling Shane a chink in the locker room when Shane won MVP and he thought he deserved it instead. His mother hadn't believed her perfect son would say something like that when David knocked on her door to talk about it. She would prefer to believe that Shane was lying about it for some reason.

So, he wasn't going to just believe his son was a saint, or that Shane wouldn't say something cruel in the heat of the moment, surrounded by people and culture that expected it of him. He could hope Shane wouldn't. And he did hope. He did think Shane wouldn't have gone in for a verbal hit when he knew how good he was on the ice, when he had never needed to throw someone off verbally to get a chance to score. And the fact that it seemed unlikely that Shane would have been purposefully cruel enough to garner such a reaction from Ilya just played further into the puzzle David had been attempting to piece together.

When they turned the game off, and both he and Yuna drifted into the kitchen to boil the kettle for a cuppa, David brought it up again.

"Rozanov was off his game after that face off," he said.

"He was a bit," Yuna agreed. "They had him on ice for longer than he has been for most games. A few extra shifts to play up the rivalry. He was probably just gassed."

David nodded, because he was sure that played into it somewhat. Made sense. "He did," he said, pulling down their favoured mugs. "It takes a bit of getting used to. But I also think he was still reeling from what Shane said to him."

"What could our Shane have said to him?" Yuna shot back, her voice a little sharp.

David shook his head, offered her a reassuring smile. "I have a theory," he said, "that I know we've decided is unlikely, but I still - well. I can't help thinking about it."

Yuna held his gaze, nodded, and then shook her head. She was on board with knowing what he was talking about, and she was off board with agreeing.

"It's tempting," she said, all sharpness gone from her voice. "But I - I should have just told you. I didn't realise it was still on your mind too. I talked to Rozanov at the CCM shoot he and Shane had together? I asked after his mother. He called her Polina."

Ahh. Well, David could absolutely see how that would throw anyone off the track, it was just, well, he had done a bit more research.

"His stepmother," he said, and when Yuna frowned at him in her go on way, he did. "I couldn't believe that Ilya's father was not the same man we met in Russia. I disliked them both in the same exact way, both Grigoris. So I looked him up. I couldn't find anything pre early 2000's, but I found a wedding announcement, to a Polina Sertronova, in early 2004."

Yuna stared at him, her mouth slightly open, and then she laughed, just twice, shaking her head. "Oh, we should have talked to each other," she said, "we make a much better team when we share information."

"Agreed," David nodded. "And I think maybe we need to talk to Shane as well. "

After Ilya - Rozanov - Shenka - Rozanov had left, Shane was at a loss. Rozanov didn't want to remember. Did that mean he didn't want to see Shane again? Did that mean he would be angry if Shane tried to reach out the next time they saw each other? Even if only to say hi, or sorry, or I promise never to bring up Shenka again now I've seen your face look so fucking gutted I thought you were going to throw up.

Was this better or worse than his hopes being proven wrong? Would he feel… more or less achingly sad right now if Rozanov had heard him out and then asked why Shane was telling him this. That this poor Shenka kid probably didn't remember Shane at all. That he didn't know anyone named Irina, and he didn't call his brother Alyosha, and he'd never had the idea of a sister given a name.

At least if that had happened, so long as Rozanov wasn't put off by Shane's obvious pathetic willingness to believe in childish dreams, they could have gotten each other off. Kissed at the very least. Rozanov's mouth on the back of Shane's neck still tingled tantalisingly in his memory, his skin breaking out in goosebumps every time his mind wandered to it.

He knew this was worse. Knew it in the way his chin was aching with how tightly he was holding his face taut to try and keep the tears at bay.

He had just, in one foul swoop, lost, in Rozanov, three separate things. Firstly, this stupid dream he had of getting Shenka back. Getting to know the rest of his story. Getting to be there for him. To have him there with Shane. Secondly, a hook up, which, no matter how terrifying and unwise it was, was also the only person he had enjoyed touching him and kissing him. Thirdly, just the simple hope, that even if Rozanov was not Shenka, maybe Rozanov could be Ilya. And he and Shane could be friends. Because when Rozanov wasn't suddenly clamming up and leaving, they were having fun together. Shane was laughing more than he ever did. He felt good.

He had stood in his entrance way, staring at the door Rozanov had closed gently behind him, for long enough that when he finally moved, his joints creaked. He took another shower, to loosen and warm up his body again, to try and wash away some of the sadness. It didn't count as crying if you did it in the shower, everyone knew that.

He ate his after game meal methodically, not tasting it, trying not to think about anything, even hockey, because the moment he let his mind wander, it wandered right on over back to Rozanov and Ilyushenka and how they were one and the same, and Shenka.

His mother rang him while he was putting the dishwasher on. He probably shouldn't run it with barely anything in it, but he needed to do something to make him feel like he had something, anything under control. He'd left his phone in his bedroom, and by the time he'd followed its ringing up to his chest of drawers, he'd missed the call. Also several messages in his group chat with both his mother and father. He had a handful of other texts as well, a couple of teammates, an old teammate from his high school team, his swimming friend. He ignored them for now to tap into his parents' messages, and upon finding only questions about whether he was free to chat, and had he gone out after the game, and could they call after maybe, he panicked a little and called them back.

Spent the short three seconds of his phone dialling and ringing before his mother answered to imagine all the bad news it could be. One of them had been diagnosed with rapid onset super evil cancer and were dying right now. The house had burned down. Dad had lost his job. Dad had lost his legs. Mum got kidnapped by that awful guy who kept leaving racist comments on youtube videos with Shane in them. Mum was -

"Hi baby," his mother answered, her voice calm and easy, "sorry to call without waiting for you to text back -"

Shane exhaled in relief, cradled his phone to his ear as he flopped back against his bed. "It's okay," he said, "I left my phone upstairs and didn't see the messages. Sorry."

"No, that's fine," Yuna said, "I have you on speakerphone, by the way, your dad is here too."

"Hi Shaney," David said, his voice a little far away, but still clear.

"Hi," Shane said. "Hi guys. Um. Everything okay?"

"Yes, yes of course," his mother said immediately, maybe too immediately. "You played so well tonight! I'm glad they're using you more effectively now, your coaches have been a little reluctant to show off your full range, so it's nice to see you getting to stretch your legs a bit more!"

"Thanks," Shane said, closed his eyes. "Just part of being a rook. Gotta earn the ice time."

"Of course, yes, I'd say you've earned it already, but that's my opinion I suppose. The crowd loved your face off with Rozanov."

Shane swallowed hard. Couldn't even escape Rozanov here. He was pretty sure he was imagining his mother sounding weird, his brain overlaying his own upset over her words.

"You were very quick off the mark," his father chipped in here. "Whatever you said to that kid seemed to really rattle him."

Fuck it really had. Shane hadn't had much time to really look, too focused on the game, the crowd, the adrenaline, the stupidity of saying Ilyushenka. But he'd glimpsed a little of the shock. Could line it up and guess the rest of what Rozanov's face might have looked like now he had seen it twist in shock and pain close up in Shane's hallway.

"I fucked up," Shane admitted, the words dragging roughly out of him, and he inhaled sharp and hard in an attempt to suck them back in, but only succeeded in stuttering and choking on his breath.

He heard his parents speaking, soothing tones, a clamour of parental worry at the suddenness of his upset, but the upset was still too fresh and stinging in Shane's head to be able to understand any of their words. He pulled the phone away from his face for a moment to just breathe, and then stabbed at the speaker button so he could put the phone down and cover his face with his hands.

"Shaney?" His dad was saying. "You still there, kid?"

"Yeah," Shane mumbled, muffled behind his hands. "Sorry."

"It's okay," that was his mum. "You're okay, baby, just breathe."

Shane did his best to breathe normally.

"What happened?" his dad asked. "What's going on?"

"I found Shenka," Shane said, his breath hitching, cleared his throat. "But he doesn't want me."

It was only now, in the shocked silence coming from Shane's phone, did he remember the final nail in the coffin here. He was so goddamned selfish. Had forgotten, or at least not given it as much weight as he should have. Irina. Fuck. He pressed the meat of his hand into his mouth and bit down to stifle the sob trying to work its way out of his throat. Bad enough he'd freaked Ilya out, and Rozanov, and Shenka. Bad enough he'd lost him. Bad enough he was freaking his parents out already. He didn't need to add more worry to them by having a full fledged break down over the phone. Didn't want them to have to put aside their own feelings for his. He wasn't five anymore. He was old enough to not cry about losing his best friend, especially when it was years and years since the fact.

"I'm sorry," he said, the moment he could trust his voice. Cut through the hum and blur of what his parents were saying to him, his brain not taking in information properly. Not translating noise to meaning. "I'm sorry."

The rest of the phone call happened, just not with the part of Shane's brain where he was. He said words and his parents said words. He was pretty sure they were coming to Montreal. Tomorrow. He was tired. It was late now.

He was replaying Ilya's face changing expressions in his hallway. Annoyed, confused, terrified. Terrified? Maybe something else like it. Grieving. Anger. Some new emotion Shane wasn't privy to. He felt like that all the time anyway, trying to read people in social situations, and running into trouble the moment their expressions slid from the ones he had taught himself to be able to recognise. People's faces did this when they were mad, and this when they were sad, and this when they were happy. Usually. It was easier when Shane knew the person, knew who they were under the face. Could pick up emotions and subtleties better, but sometimes, even with his parents, he couldn't work it out. Felt like there must have been some special course that everyone else took to learn new facial movements and new emotions, and Shane must have been sick, or at hockey practice.

He hadn't had so much trouble with Ilya before. Maybe he had and just didn't realise. Maybe he had been reading everything wrong this entire time, and Shane had been the only one enjoying any of their interactions.

He went to sleep.

-

Shane's parents arrived while he was doing his morning workout, letting themselves in, and calling out to him that they'd brought coffee. They must have been up very early, Shane could relate, he had woken an hour before he usually did, and despite the fact that he still felt actually exhausted, he hadn't been able to go back to sleep. He wondered if they felt the same way, wound up and confused, and if they did, did Ilya also feel like this right now? Or had he disappeared back to his hotel room with his team and dissolved all memories of what had happened last night in alcohol.

He took a quick shower before coming to sit down at his dining table with his parents, and they both got up to give him a hug each before he managed to sit down. Until that moment - all three of them seated at the table - they had managed to keep the mood reasonably normal, but now it became noticeably stiff. Like all three of them felt like they'd been called into a meeting and had no idea what was coming next. Shane had never seen his mother in a meeting where she didn't know more than everyone else in there.

He took a sip of his coffee. "So," he said, putting the paper cup back on the table top, a little heavy handed. Felt the coffee swirl around inside, a little spitting out the small opening, but only spilling onto the lid itself. "Um."

"Ilya Rozanov," Yuna said, "is Shenka. Yes?"

"Yes," Shane said. "Did you - did you guys know?"

"No," Yuna said, shaking her head. "We - I think you know we were all wondering, at the draft, when we met Ilya's father. But I - at the CCM shoot I talked to Ilya, and thought I'd gotten proof that he wasn't Shenka. Because I asked about his mother and he talked about a woman called Polina."

"I had been looking as well," David said, grimaced slightly. "Your mother and I should have been more coordinated. Should have looped each other and you in. I found out that Polina is Ilya's step mother, so that didn't rule out his mother being Irina. I still didn't know, but the way you two interact, and, well, last night on the ice. Something happened between the two of you, and I thought - well. Shane thinks it's Shenka."

Shane thought about how his father had spoken about Irina. About how he thought she needed a friend, him and Shane's mother, and they had wanted to be that for her. Had liked her a lot. Enough that so much later, they had seen the same strands of connection that Shane had, and followed up on it. Shane had been looking for Shenka. His parents had been looking for Irina. He couldn't bring himself to look at either of them. Swallowed down on nausea, the recently sipped coffee all acidic bile in the back of his throat.

"She's dead," he said.

"What?" His mother.

"Who?" His father.

"Irina," Shane said. "I - I asked him about - he has her crucifix. I asked and he said she was dead. Since he was a kid. I don't know anymore than that. I'm so sorry."

He looked up to see his mother turning bodily to look at her husband, as if maybe he could contradict this. Make it untrue. Shane's father looked back at her with no reassurance to give, except his hand, which she took and clutched to, resting on the table top.

"I should've said something sooner," Shane said, his shoulders stiff as he forced himself not to go back to hiding his gaze in the table. "Even before I knew for sure it was him. I - if I'd just. I was embarrassed. I wanted it too much. I thought if I told you it would - would make it - would make me realise how stupid I was being. But if I'd just talked to you, then maybe -"

His mother took one of his hands, his father his other. For a moment Shane was reminded of that one time he'd been at a friend's house and they held hands to say grace before dinner, and he'd had to hold the snotty hand of his friend's younger brother. Then his father squeezed his hand, and Shane was back in the moment.

"Shaney," his dad said. "This isn't on you, buddy. We all - we all should have talked to each other. I think we were all feeling… superstitious about it, maybe. But you can't blame yourself for being the one to give us this bad news."

Shane could, and would, and also was. He shook his head. His mother was crying, quietly, more tears than anything, but still. His father's eyes were wet as well. If Shane had kept his mouth shut, if Shane hadn't pushed, they wouldn't be upset right now.

Sometimes Shane wondered what would happened if he just let it all out. Stopped trying. Let out the noise calcifying in his throat. He remembered being a child and wailing, and while he mostly remembered the shame of afterwards, he also remembered the relief of the moment. Of having a way to get all the upset awful bad out of him even if only for a moment. If he did it now, would his dad pick him up and squeeze him tight in a hug until the wailing stopped, and then put him in time out? Would he lose a star for his star chart. Would he have failed the whole week.

He should have managed to pull himself together by now. He'd had all night. He'd worked out, and eaten, he should be normal. He didn't feel normal.

"I called him Ilyushenka," he said. "On ice. At the face off. I wanted to see if - to see if he'd…recognise it. Me saying it. I didn't think it would upset him. I was wrong."

"Oh," his mother was still holding his hand, and she rubbed her thumb against his palm.

"So you talked afterwards?" His father asked. His hand was in Shane's still as well, just gripping tightly. An anchor.

"Yes." Shane shut his eyes. "He was waiting for me afterwards. I keep meaning to get his phone number and I keep forgetting. And that's probably good, because he won't want me to text or call him now. He said he - he - I brought him back here with me. Because - he said he wanted to talk. And I thought he knew. I thought he remembered. But he - he looked so surprised, and I -"

He had to cut himself off to breathe, his lungs aching. Everything felt so tangled up inside. The Ilya, Rozanov, Ilyushenka, Shenka of it all. The everything Shane had been hoping for and trying not to hope for. The most secret parts of the secret, the bit where his shame seemed to spring from like an underground well, constant, cold.

His parents this morning reiterating how they should have just talked with each other. With Shane. Shared what they were thinking. The fear he had fucked everything up already anyway, so what did one more thing matter. Except it wasn't all his to share.

"He thought I, um - Ilyushenka can sound, like, romantic. Like a pet name. He thought I was worried about being outed, or, like, I don't know. We've - we've talked a few times, and I wasn't worried he would - I know he wouldn't - I told him -"

Again he stopped, this time to try and shuffle his thoughts around in his head to get them in some sort of order, make enough sense to speak as one simple sentence rather than beginning and abandoning a million different ones. His parents were still holding his hands.

"Out you?" his mother asked, sounding confused. "As not knowing all the ins and outs of Russian naming conventions?"

"Yuna," his father said, "honey, a little more simple an answer, I think."

"I like guys," Shane said, loud. Had to have it loud so he could be sure he was saying it, forcing it out. "Sorry," he added, quick, immediately lowering the volume again. "I don't - I think I like girls too? I - I just - just have to try harder? That's not the point. The point is that he knows, that, about me, and thought that was what I wanted to, um, talk about. I guess. So when I told him about Shenka, it took him by surprise. And then he said. He said he didn't want to remember. And he left. And I don't know what to do now."

He looked up at his parents. Watched them looking at each other, both of their faces pulled into odd expressions that Shane couldn't even quite work out if they were negative or not. He tugged his hands free, his palms sweating, wrapped his arms around himself tightly.

"I don't think you've fucked it up, baby," his mother said, her hand still on the table reaching towards him where he'd left it. "It sounds like, maybe, there was a lot going on in Rozanov's head. Like you said, you took him by surprise. His memories of our time in Russia are going to be different to yours. His family went through something very difficult."

Shane nodded, frowning down at the table, at his coffee that he didn't want anymore, except as a thing for his hands to do, to fiddle with, once he could pry his fingers off his upper arms.

"And with Irina - his mama - with her gone," David began, slow, "I don't know much about his father, of course, but I get the impression that he might not be the most…nostalgic man. There is a good chance he simply hasn't even thought about his younger years for a long time."

"I thought he knew me," Shane said. Felt stupid immediately, stupid and angry at himself. Hot behind the eyes. "When we talked. When we - it was so easy. He made me laugh."

When Ilya had joined the Bears, he had been paired with a senior (to him) player to show him the ropes. Not that he had needed much showing. It had been useful having an assigned person to ask his questions to, to room with, all of that. Marlow was a chill guy. He'd introduced Ilya to the best clubs in town, the best hangover brunch recovery places for afterwards. Also to the concept of an older brother who didn't perpetually seem to need to prove they were better than you.

He enjoyed rooming with Marlow on road trips. Did not currently appreciate the fact that Marly was not only good at partying and having fun, but also, apparently, at getting into your business.

Their plane out wasn't until late afternoon, and there were not mandatory team things before that. Ilya should be, therefore, allowed to stay in his hotel bed with the covers pulled up over his head. Marlow did not appear to agree. He had sat himself down on the side of Ilya's bed, and become an immovable object.

"C'mon, brother," he said, nudging unrepentantly at Ilya's side. "There's this place around the corner that does killer pancakes, and you've not had real Canadian maple syrup before, right? It's straight up fire."

"Not hungry," Ilya grumbled into his pillow, clinging tighter to his blanket cave to try and keep it from being pulled off him. Difficult one handed, his other hand busy holding his stone. A pathetic life line, but one he couldn't make himself let go of. "You go."

"Nah, c'mon Rozy," Marlow said, "you were in bed when I got back last night, and you missed the hotel breakfast already. Get up. Hang out with me."

"Go annoy other friends," Ilya tried, Marlow began tugging harder on the blanket, and Ilya grunted as he readjusted his grip. "Let me alone."

"Jesus," Marlow huffed, stopped tugging at the blanket for long enough that Ilya stupidly relaxed slightly, and then pulled the whole thing off with one sharp movement. "What the hell is up with you, brother? Hollander diss your edges or something?"

"No."

Ilya didn't even fully remember getting back to the hotel. He had lost time just leaving Hollander's apartment building. Blinked into awareness on an unfamiliar street. Stood at the first crossroad he found and called a taxi to the hotel. Climbed into bed. His shoes and jacket the only things he took off. Stone in his hand. Shane Hollander standing in front of him, so earnest and scared. Saying Ilya's mama's name. Irina. Saying Ludmila's name. Saying Shenka and Alyosha as if those two boys still existed. Rodinka. Freckles. A silent car. Blood. Waiting for the next hit.

Ilya's pillow had been soaked. Wet under his face. Gross. Pathetic. A tiny freckled boy stepping fully clothed into a shower. Sharing the blame. Drying him after. Sharing. A papa who did not yell. Leave it behind. Leave it behind. Looking back was a trap. Remember mama laughing. Hand on big tummy. Watching with a smile. All there was in the past was the pit. Of his stomach. Pit like empty dark. Fruit stone rotted. Blood leaking sour and metal for hours. Body going still when Marlow came back. Forcing his breath out low and slow like sleep. Marlow getting into bed. Chuckling about sleepy rooks. Somewhere between pretending to be asleep and losing time, Ilya had slept for real. Dreamt about a bug on the ice on a rink. Him as a bug on the ice. Blades around him, slicing the icy air. His bug legs freezing. Snapping off.

"You feeling sick? Eat something bad?" Marlow continued, his hand on Ilya's head, like he was going to roll him over by the hair and check his forehead.

Ilya batted awkwardly behind himself at Marlow's arm, ground his face deeper into the pillow.

"I am just wanting more sleep," he said, as clearly as he could through a mouthful of pillow.

For a moment Marlow said nothing, his hand still heavy on the back of Ilya's head.

"Nope," Marlow said, a few seconds after Ilya had begun to think Marlow would leave. "You need food. You can nap on the plane later. You don't have to tell me what's eating you, but you do gotta eat."

Marlow was right. Ilya had signed a contract to play with the Bears. He had promised to do his best. He could not do his best if he failed to look after his physical health. He had to eat. He could not be lazy. Could not be weak. He pushed himself upright, and then turned away from Marlow to climb off his blanket-less bed on the other side. Was sure he smelled like despair. Unwashed and cried out.

"I will shower first," he said.

-

Marlow was sitting on his bed on his phone when Ilya came out of the bathroom, dressed and clean. Stone in jeans' pocket. Hair a little messy, probably. He had not checked in the mirror. Did not want to see his mother's eyes right now. Ilya sat on the end of his own bed to put his shoes on. Kept his face averted. Not enough.

"Bro," Marlow said. He sounded awkward. And too kind for how Ilya's mind was. "Did something happen?"

"I showered," Ilya replied, yanked his laces tight. "Is all."

Hoped Marlow would take the avoidance, would stick to the bro-code of pretending they had no real emotions outside of game and horny. Knew it was hopeless. Marlow never had adhered to it.

"Okay," Marlow sounded unimpressed. "So you're allergic to water, or soap, or something? You stuck your fingers in your eyes? That's why they're all, like, swollen and pink? You did drugs?"

"No drugs," Ilya said flatly. Moved to his other shoe.

"Rozy," Marlow said. He'd stood now. Had come to stand beside Ilya, hovering for a moment, and then sat right next to him. Shoulder to shoulder. "Ilya. If someone's like, fucking with you? You just gotta say the word, and -"

"No," Ilya gritted out, dropped his head down further, almost hitting his forehead on his knees. "Fuck. Marlow. Is not. Fuck, am I not allowed to have sadness?"

A short pause. "I mean, yeah, you're allowed," Marlow said, slow, "but, uh, I'd fucking like to try and like. Have you not sad?"

Being sad was a fact of being alive. There was no being human without it. Americans, and probably Canadians, didn't get it. Were too focused on success stories with big white toothed smiles.

He finished tying his shoe. Tried to huff out a laugh. Made a laugh-ish kind of noise. "I will tell you secret, Marly," he said. "This," he sat up more upright so he could gesture at himself, at his face. "Nothing. Does not matter. Will not come on ice. No need to worry about it."

He looked at Marlow, and then winced at the reception his statement had received. Marlow's eyebrows so furrowed down they looked like wiggling caterpillars on his face.

"I fucking take it back, Roz," Marlow said. "You do need to tell me what's eating you. I am this close to calling coach and telling him you need like, immediate, uh, therapy and hugging?"

"Don't call coach," Ilya snapped. "What? I said there is no need for worry!"

"Well I'm fucking worried!" Marlow snapped back, and then visibly recalled himself. Dragged a hand through his hair. Exhaled hard. "Let's go for pancakes," he said, "and you don't have to tell me everything, I fucking guess, but, jesus man. I need to know if I need to put you on suicide watch or something."

Ilya bristled, glared at Marlow. "Don't be stupid," he said, "I would not do that. I have years still on my contract."

"Oh, jesus," Marlow said, the opposite of the reaction he should have had.

"We will get pancakes," Ilya said, standing up, "and I will do big smiles for you, and you will not call coach and snitch on me, yes?"

"I wasn't going to snitch, bro," Marlow complained, standing as well, "and stop making that fake smile at me, you look like you're going to kill me."

"Maybe I will," Ilya replied through his gritted teeth, big smile.

2011

It was an honour to be selected in his rookie year for the All Star Games. That was what they told Ilya. And he believed them, yes. He just also believed if he hadn't been selected it would have been a failing. He did not say this to anyone because Marlow had infected the Bears. Now when Ilya told a very funny joke about having nothing but hockey to live for, his team did not laugh, and instead became weird. Weird like Connors insisting Ilya come to walk dogs from dog orphanage wit him. Every week. Like he could not bear to go alone. Weird like Dubek swearing as if Ilya had insulted him, and then instead of fighting Ilya about it, took him out to dinner at a tiny Russian restaurant. Told Ilya how he was Polish on his fathers' side, but grew up in Russia with his mothers' family. Introduced Ilya to the babushka there who wasn't even Dubek's babushka, but acted like it. Made him sit and eat and promise to come back, or the babushka would be sad. Weird like Marlow made rule that every team trip had to have a team movie night, and yes, attendance was mandatory, sit down.

Weird like their coach asking Marlow to go with Ilya to the ASG weekend, even though Marlow hadn't been selected to play. Babysitter Marlow. Ilya wished he could make himself resent it. It was harder to lose time when someone was keeping time with you. Harder to keep replaying flashes of abbreviated memories. Harder to be scared. He wasn't supposed to be scared around other people. No time for it when Marlow was there all the time. Made it easier to not think about it. It, being the pit. The past. The please, please, please, papa, please.

Which he appreciated. Because he didn't like or want to think about it. And even while playing babysitter, Marlow was still fun to hang with. Drinking, dancing, gaming, movies. Hanging out. Not making Ilya tell him all his deep dark despairs.

Probably a positive, a net good. The weirdness of his team. Except that it didn't account for the fact that not letting himself think about Shane Hollander and Shane and Shane and Shane didn't mean that Shane was no longer a very physical present part of his life at the ASG weekend.

They were to have an interview together. They were hyped up in sports news about beating records together. They would be playing on ice together. A game between Europe and America which everyone was calling Rozanov vs. Hollander like it wasn't terrifying.

In the moments where Ilya was not awake enough or being distracted enough to push down his thoughts and feelings, they bobbed to the surface like decayed, bloated corpses. While he slept. A cruel shove into memories, real, and fantasised. Dizzying in their contrasting contents. Waking up hard and panting after dreaming of Hollander naked against him, his face blissful and heated, lips chasing his. Waking up with the hole in his stomach aching, his lungs clenching, dreaming of waking in a bed wet with his own piss, the fear of it, the shame of it.

He wanted Marlow to step in. Hated that he wanted that. Wanted Marlow to be able to make it better like he had been doing on the outside.

They had arrived the day before the event. Settled in. Went swimming after a work out. Good. Fun. Marlow said there was a restaurant he wanted to try. Dubek had suggested it. A Russian Japanese fusion that apparently did the best Russian cuisine in town, even with the Japanese twist. Ilya's brain stuttered over the implications of the consideration his team had gone to for him. The fucking care. Blanked. Agreed to dinner.

The food was so good. Different to the Russian restaurant he and Dubek, and just him sometimes, frequented in Boston. Not babushka style. It was fun introducing Marlow to new food, new words. The vodka was good. Real. The Hollanders arrived. Marlow did not notice this immediately as he had no reason to. Ilya saw David Hollander first, and didn't understand the way his heart shook in his chest until he saw Yuna, and then Shane Hollander close behind.

Marlow was mid lecture on mouth and hand feel of shot glasses, and didn't notice Ilya's attention lost. Front of house showed the Hollanders to the table next to his and Marly's. There was a small, latticed screen between the tables, but it was more the decorative idea of privacy than real privacy. They hadn't noticed him yet, but there was no way they wouldn't. No way Shane wouldn't. The three of them talking quietly amongst themselves, a huddle nearly as they sat around the table. A close family. One that came to events for each other to support rather than keep in line. If Ilya's father had ever meant for his presence at Ilya's events to be supportive, he had failed. Ilya had never felt it.

"Bro," Marlow said, his voice dropped low like a secret. "Don't look now but the woman who just sat at the table next to us? On the bench by you? So hot."

Ilya did not need to look to know that Yuna Hollander was sitting in arms' reach, the lattice only at her shoulder height, and basically see through besides. He hunched over, as if he could hide by getting lower.

"Shut up," he hissed back. "That's Hollander's mama, you freak."

"Oh shit," Marlow said, voice still low, but made louder by surprise. "Fuck you're right, he's here too."

Ilya did not have a chance to beg Marlow to shut up again. He had told Marlow that Hollander had nothing to do with why he was feeling down. Hadn't wanted Marlow to hold a grudge for nothing. This now meant that Marlow had no reason not to think everything would be fine.

Marlow pushed his chair back a little, leaning further as he did, so he could look fully around the lattice, and beamed at Shane, looking up now at the movement, his eyes going wide.

"Yo, Hollander!" Marlow said, just within the realm of acceptable restaurant loudness. "Fancy meeting you here. Hey, congrats on being selected! You and Rozy are killing it, bro."

"Oh," Shane said, and Ilya saw as Shane saw him. The shudder. The twitch. Eyes back on Marlow. "Thank you. It's - I feel really honoured. Sorry, these are my parents. Mum, this is Cliff Marlow, he's a Boston Bear. Marlow, my mother, Yuna, and my dad, David. Dad, Marlow."

"Hey, hello," Marlow offered, leaning even more outrageously to shake hands with first David, and then Yuna, his cheeks going pink as he did.

A waiter chose this moment to bring water and menus to the Hollanders, and to also announce, Ah, you are all friends? Before whisking away Ilya's only shield, the pathetic lattice. Him, more pathetic, still hunkered down over the table like he was a pig in a trough. Even through the rush of adrenaline and blood he could hear the intake of breath. Surprise at seeing him, even though he had been visible before. Able to be avoided before.

Marlow was speaking like this was normal, introducing Ilya, crouching, hiding Ilya, to Shane's parents.

With the screen taken away, the distance between him and Yuna Hollander was that of the thin strip of wood showing under the gap between the cushions they sat on.

"Bro," Marlow said to him, voice low again, as if he could hide this from the Hollanders by trusting them to follow his cue, and pretend they couldn't hear him suddenly. "Hey, sit up. What's going on?

There was no reason for Ilya to be acting like this. He didn't act like this. He hadn't. Had been so normal since his slip up in the hotel in Montreal. He could be so normal. He sat up straight, shoulders back.

"Nothing," he replied first to Marlow. Attempted to fix his face. Turned slightly to face Yuna and held his hand out. "Hello. Nice to see you again."

She looked momentarily caught by surprise, but then took his hand in hers, and smiled at him as if she truly meant it.

"Hi Ilya," she said, "I was hoping we'd get to see you this weekend. What a lovely surprise."

This was not the first time Ilya as Ilya had shaken her hand. It should not have felt different this time. Should not have dropped his brain into the muddle of past and present. She had smiled at him like this the night she told him and Alexei their mama was sick, and Ludmila dead. Like she was so, so sad to say it, so she was trying to make her face give them as much love as possible. A mama smile that had helped a little.

For a moment his mind said he hated her. For still being here while his mama was not. But it was a lie. The slamming door of grief and fear, rattling him. He was still holding her hand. His body heavy and not his, like he had been dropped from a height and fallen out with his stomach. Hollow.

"Oh," Yuna said, soft and quiet, her hand not attempting to awkwardly extricate itself, but staying instead warm and firm around his. "Hey, honey, it's okay."

His face must be doing something. He didn't know what. Not holding a polite expression. He was shaking.

"Roz," Marlow murmured, sounded worried. He felt Marlow's hand touch at his elbow. "Hey, feeling sick?"

If Ilya said yes, he was sure Marlow would fix it. Would whisk Ilya up under his arm, and make their excuses to the Hollanders. Take Ilya back to their hotel room. Let Ilya break apart there. Or maybe Ilya wouldn't break apart. Not if he could be distracted. Removed.

"Is not okay," he whispered to Yuna, and watched the blurry shape of her face crease.

Her hand touched his cheek, and the solidity of it emphasised how badly he was shaking. Like it would never stop. It would feel like this forever. Marlow was speaking again. Someone else too. He could only hear Yuna, voice quiet assurances, hands guiding him forward until he was tucked against her.

He already knew he would be embarrassed later, no matter what happened next, so he didn't fight it.

"You're right," she was saying to him, "it's not okay. I'm sorry we didn't talk sooner."

He was going to be so embarrassed later. Sniffled like a wet puppy into her shoulder. She pet at his hair.

After either a few hours or a few seconds, she spoke again. "Have some water," she said. "It will help."

Ilya was not aware of water's magical un-sad-making powers, but he nodded and let her put the glass of water into his hand anyway. Had to focus to grip it. To straighten himself up again. Avoided looking at anyone. Hoped the whole restaurant hadn't noticed. That he hadn't been photographed. That this wouldn't get back to his family. Pathetic.

Marlow was weirdly now on the bench next to him, rather than across the table on the chair. Squeezed in, pushing Ilya further onto the Hollander side of the bench. Put his arm around Ilya. Ilya did not look up at him. Could picture Marlow's expression anyway.

"So," Marlow said, voice taut. "What's going on, then?"

Ilya's previous thought of photographs of him finding their way to his family had put enough fear into him to pull himself slightly together. He put his empty glass down, on the Hollander's table. Which was stupid.

"Ah," he said. Cleared his throat. Did not look at anyone. Tried to work his way through the spirals, the dead ends in his head. "Yuna and David. And Shane. Knew my mama."

"Oh," Marlow sounded a little confused. For good reason. Ilya had not filled him in on several key facts of his family. "Polina?"

"Nyet," Ilya shook his head, couldn't keep his face from twisting with disgust. He tried to appear neutral on her whenever he could, but everything was pouring out of him now. "She is, ah, my father's wife. My mama. Irina. Who is dead."

"Oh, bro."

Ilya added feeling guilty to the emotions he would feel later. Marlow sounded very upset.

"We were so sorry to hear," Yuna said. Now that he wasn't collapsed against her, she wasn't hugging him, but she was still holding the hand he had shaken hers with. "And even more sorry to have not been sure it was you at the time."

Ilya let himself glance at Shane, and then away again quickly when he saw Shane's eyes glistening, Shane's face pulled tight with barely concealed emotion.

He shook his head. "I was not," he started to the table top. Shook his head again. "I did not let myself see. Would have been easier for you. Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," David Hollander said, speaking in a tone that some small part of the buried deep fragments of Ilya's memory said was familiar. "We had three of us on the case and only just cracked it."

Ilya stole another glance at Shane, away again. Then, in response to David's words, shook his head. "You do not need to be so polite," he said. "I know I hurt Shane."

Shane was not the only person to sputter at this. Ilya was not a fan of how many of the things he'd said recently had made people look at him how they were looking at him now.

Like he'd hurt them by saying it.

"I hurt you too," Shane said, voice firm and flat.

Yes. But also no. The waiter returned. David managed to politely ward him off. The embarrassment and guilt Ilya had put aside for later was trying to tell him later was now. Pricking hard at him.

He needed to get out.

"We talk later," he said, words clumsy and thick in his mouth. "Not now. Sorry. Hotel? We are room 1221. Later."

After Ilya and Marlow left, taking any remnants of Shane's appetite with them, the waiter returned the latticed screen between the tables with an air of annoyance, as if they had been the ones to ask him to remove it in the first place. If it wasn't for the fact that Ilya had asked for some time before they spoke, Shane would have been trying to follow right now, fuck dinner. Because he did want time, and because Shane already felt guilty as if they had stalked him and Marlow to this restaurant on purpose to force a confrontation, Shane sat between his parents at the table, staring at his hands, as they ordered sharing plates in cheerful voices.

They thankfully dropped the cheerful voices once the waiter had gone again, David's hand finding its way to Shane's shoulder and gripping firmly.

"Alright," Yuna said, "I know that was very different to how we'd been hoping to have it go, and I know it was far from good, but it wasn't all bad. Okay?"

The logical part of Shane's brain knew this, but like so often happened when confronted in real life with Ilya, it was Shane's more emotional parts of his brain that had control, and he shook his head.

"He didn't want that so much that he tried to hide behind a screen that's more hole than anything else, and then completely lost it just - just shaking your hand, mum, and every time he looked at me accidentally he looked away so fast it was like just seeing me burned him or something, and he probably doesn't even want us to come talk to him later, he just said that to be polite, and so he could leave, and -"

He cut himself off when his father squeezed his shoulder gently, rocking forward as he did so he could make eye contact with Shane.

"For now," David said, slow and quiet, "let's trust that he meant it. That he wants us to come talk to him later. In the privacy of his and Marlow's hotel room. We'll play it by ear. If he gets upset and wants us to leave, we will."

-

They end up giving it two and a half hours. In which Shane does his best to eat a reasonable amount of food, and to reply to his parents, and various other people who try to talk to them, with a reasonable amount of words. Returned to Shane's parents' hotel room to drop off Yuna's handbag, and so Shane could stand in the bathroom with a cold wet face cloth on his face for a few moments. Then they made their way to 1221. Bumped into Scott fucking Hunter in the hallway. Made awkward small talk for a moment until he excused himself and went to the lift.

Marlow opened the hotel room door at their knock, and he smiled perfectly nicely at them as he invited them in, which meant that either he still knew nothing, or, Ilya had told him everything and it was kind of okay, or, Marlow was a good actor and that was the smile he had when he was about to commit murder. Was it serial killing if you killed three people at the same time? Or was that mass murder? Three didn't seem like mass, except when you remembered it was about murder, and then it kind of did.

There was a couch in the room, though quite small, and a couple of dining chairs. Ilya was sitting in one of the chairs, tucked against the wall, and when Marlow asked if they would like to take a seat, as if this was an actual meeting of some sort, Shane's parents sat on the couch. Marlow offered the second chair to Shane, and when Shane shook his head and stood awkwardly by the side of the couch, Marlow shrugged and dragged the chair across the floor to put it next to Ilya, and sat down beside him.

"I wanted to say sorry," Yuna said, once the silence became oppressive. "For interrupting your dinner. It wasn't intentional, but maybe we should have thought it through a little more, that you might be at the Russian and Japanese restaurant. We didn't mean to crowd you."

Ilya shook his head, looking intensely uncomfortable. "You could not have known," he said. "We were finished anyway."

"Finished enough," Marlow agreed. "It was a stroke of, I dunno if good or bad, but, luck, that they seated you right next to us. Crazy."

"Not the only crazy piece of luck," Yuna said, "it seemed impossible that we would all meet again. I tried to get in touch with your family after we left, but I could never get a number or address, even for your babushka Eugenia."

"She is dead also," Ilya said. He exhaled heavily, his nose scrunching up for a moment. "She came back to Moscow with us. For looking after my mama. Sold her house. Dead of flu little before two years after."

He sounded like he was reciting from a page of facts, his voice heavy but blank. His hands were clasped together in his lap, one holding the other, the other in a fist as if clutching something.

"That must have been very upsetting for you all," Yuna said. "Especially for your mama, I know they were close."

Ilya nodded, his eyes drifting almost shut. "Yes," he said. Eyes closed fully. Kept speaking. "I am. Mm. Sorry also. For you. That I did not know to tell you of my mama's death. Was…accident in 2003. Bad luck for you to get only me, now."

"No," Shane said. Flushed when everyone in the room except for Ilya looked at him. Struggled through it anyway, not to downplay the no, but to explain it. "It's awful she's not here," he said, "but it's not bad luck that you are. I want - we want - I already told you I missed Shenka. I've missed Ilya too. Every time we leave."

Now Ilya looked at him, mouth pinched, nose crinkled slightly, like it itched. "I remember more of… Shenka since Montreal," he said, shook his head dismissively. "You miss him? Scared, stupid boy? Letting you take fall for him?"

"Not how I remember it," Shane shot back. "I remember it as Shenka - you - being my friend. Teaching me Russian. Learning English. Making me laugh. We were five, Ilya. The day we met happened because I got lost and cried in your babushka's courtyard. And you - you still make me laugh."

Shane hadn't quite forgotten that they weren't alone, but he definitely remembered it when Marlow cleared his throat quietly, as if feeling awkward, which made Shane feel awkward, and stupid, and like he was being needy again. Wanting this to be fixed, to be sorted now so he could touch Ilya again. Could hug Shenka again. Could play against Rozanov again.

The room felt thick with embarrassment. Shane's own. The awkward air of everyone else listening to this. Ilya broke through it.

"Vesnushki," he said, "What if all that is left of Shenka is the bad bits. Hm? Maybe I make you laugh now, yes, but will not be the same."

Shane wished that everyone could just say exactly what they meant all of the time, and then explain it if the other person wasn't fully getting it. Which was a hypocritical wish because he knew that he barely ever said what he wanted to say, reforming the thought into something that wouldn't make everyone immediately see how weird and wrong he was on the inside. He wanted to be transparent to Ilya, but he was scared of being taken apart by a Rozanov who was more Bear than Ilya.

"Well even I can see that isn't true," David said. He sounded a little apologetic to be replying to a Shane directed question, but kept going anyway. "I spent a lot of time with you and Shane at the rink, Ilya," he said. "And I see the same kid I saw then on the ice when you play. Determined, and talented, and a team player. You were all having a tough time when we met you, but you were still such a good friend to Shane. No one is expecting you to be the same kid you were, but you still carry that kid with you."

"Oh, jesus," Marlow sniffed, "sorry. Ignore me."

"Marly," Ilya snorted, "bohze moy, oy. I do not know if I am laughing or crying."

Shane was pretty sure it was both. Ilya's cheeks were wet, his mouth half curved into a smile as he leaned between the two chairs and patted Marlow on the shoulder.

"That was just very poetic," Marlow said, looking to David as he wiped one hand over his face, the other hand going to pat at Ilya's hand still patting his shoulder. Double pat. "Got me."

"That's okay," David replied, held his hands up as he shrugged. "It happens. I mean it, though, Ilya. I'm not just saying it to sound nice. And yes, Irina was our friend, and we are sad to not have her here as well, but we're so pleased that you're here. Not just for Shane's sake."

So, Shane's dad was doing the thing where you just say things as they are all full truth and openness, and Shane got to experience first hand why people don't do that, because everyone in the room winced slightly like they were receiving a psychic pinch, just from the raw reality coming from David's mouth, being spoken at a normal volume.

Ilya's hand dropped back to his lap, back to cradling his other hand still clutching something. He nodded, his lips pulled taut and to the side. "Okay," he said. Glanced up at Shane. "Maybe. Maybe, if is okay, I talk with Shane, now? Just us two?"

Shane was glad he was already standing, because if he had been sitting he would have rocketed to his feet so fast at this. Was already nodding.

"Of course," Yuna said, patted David's knee. "Yes. We can head to the bar? And Shane can flick us a text, or come meet us when you're ready."

"We're very happy to chat more, later, if you want," David added, standing up as Yuna did. "If you want our numbers, Shane can give them to you. Ah, Cliff, would you like to come for a drink with us?"

Shane watched Marlow look to Ilya, receive a nod. "Yeah, for sure," Marlow replied, stood as well. "I have a few things I wanted to talk to Yuna about as well. Professional, hockey things, that is."

-

Once the hotel door closed again, leaving Ilya and Shane alone, Shane regretted that he hadn't taken a seat because he felt like he had fully forgotten how to stand like a normal person.

"Do you, uh, wanna sit with -" Shane began, gesturing to the couch beside him, and then trailing off because it would be probably more comfortable for Ilya to get to stay further away from Shane a little to talk.

Instead of trying to find a way to end his cut off sentence, Shane sat down on the couch, into the warm spot his mother had just vacated. Everything kept going not as planned, and it was difficult to piece together how to handle each new curve ball. Wished this was more like hockey, because a sneaky dekey puck he could handle with ease, could feel confident in his decision making.

Ilya stood up from his chair, frowning at Shane, and crossed the short distance between them. Sat down on the couch beside Shane, leaving just enough room between them to not be touching, but only barely.

"Yes," Ilya said. "I do want to sit with you."

"Okay," Shane nodded. Once more, no immediately obvious course of action. He blinked.

"In babushka's yard," Ilya said. "You were yelling so loud, like hungry kotik."

Shane searched his scramble of Russian vocab, and grasped at what he thought was the correct one. "Like a cat?"

"Mm. Yes. Mama was worried you were hurt."

Shane shrugged, a little embarrassed for and of his child self. Unable to keep the emotions inside him, even when they weren't so bad. Having to scream it out, or shake it out. Maybe better than letting them sit and curdle at the base of his spine.

"She was so mad at Alexei," Ilya continued, his face vague, eyes caught on the middle distance like he was watching the memory play out in his head. "For being mean to you. He did not get cake that night. I gave him half of mine after."

"Are you still -" Shane began, hesitated. Hadn't seen much to prove this either way. "Are you still close with him? Your brother?"

"Close like leech is close," Ilya said, his jaw clicking as if he had just tensed hard. "He is like our papa, I think."

"Oh," Shane said. "Is that very upsetting?"

Ilya laughed once, a little harsh, but he sounded actually amused. He nodded. "Yes. But I am used to this."

Shane shifted slightly on the couch, and their knees pressed together. Neither of them moved away.

"Is it also, um, upsetting," Shane asked, "remembering about. Um. Me?"

Ilya's leg moved, his knee shifting away for a moment only for his thigh to press against Shane's thigh instead, knees settling lightly back together. He shook his head.

"Only confusing," he said. "You are like…" he paused, and then unfurled his hand from where it had been clenched against his further thigh, revealing the small spotted stone Shane knew he'd see. "Lucky stone. In my memories. Awful. But there is at least my Shane there. At least my stone. To remind me of my Shane."

Shane's heart hurt in a sort of throbbing way, and he dragged in a painful breath against it.

"And is - is it okay that I'm not the same Shane?"

Ilya scoffed, glanced from the stone in his hand, to Shane, and away, blinking tears out of his eyes. "I am not poet like your papa," he said, "to say it so nicely. Yes. Is okay."

"My dad's not a poet either," Shane said, sniffed hard, "he got lucky sounding like that."

"Lucky, hm," Ilya glanced at Shane again seemingly just to raise his eyebrows before looking away once more. "You think this is luck. Us being here. Meeting again?"

Ilya looked serious now, or Shane thought he did anyway, so he tried to think about it seriously as well. Had already done a lot of serious thinking around this topic anyway.

"A little," he said. "But mostly not. I think - I think the only luck was meeting in the first place. When we were kids. I don't think we would have clicked so well if we weren't who we are, and who we are - we're both trying to be the best. We'd have ended up here anyway."

Ilya's whole face scrunched for a moment, his thumb rubbing over the top of the stone. "You are saying we are, what is word. This is, ah, fate?"

Shane was a realist, and didn't believe in fate, but yes, kind of. His face burned, so did his stomach. He stared down at where their thighs pressed together. "I guess," he said. Shrugged. "I don't - I don't…click with people easily. I did with you. And again, I think, when we met again. That feels like. Something."

Ilya's hand cupped his face, drawing Shane's gaze up and away from their legs, towards Ilya's face instead. Moved closer himself, so that his breath was warm against Shane's chin. Spoke in a soft voice.

"I wet your bed as a child," he said, a lilt to his tone like he was trying to sound amused but wasn't. "And you still want me now? You are not going to remember this while I have my mouth on you and realise how…weak I am?"

It was difficult to think while this close to Ilya's mouth, but luckily when Ilya said very stupid things it cut through the haze a little. Shane tipped his head forwards until their foreheads pressed together. Lifted his own hand to grip Ilya's chin.

"You were five," he said, slow and flat. "I wasn't disgusted then, and I'm not now. Fuck, I think I'm so into you you could piss on me and I'd find it hot. Let's not get into that right now," he added quickly, having immediately spoken his feral mind and not his sensible one. Cleared his throat. "And I know you're not weak. You weren't as a child either. So. Yeah."

If Shane's life was a movie, he would probably have delivered some breath taking, sensible, and seductive speech, but as it was, Ilya was going to have to settle for this halting, ridiculous one instead. Seemed like he was happy to settle for it, because he kissed Shane, then. Just a quick, light kiss, then drew back so they could see each other properly.

"You want me to piss on you?"

"Shut up, oh my god," Shane groaned. "Fuck, okay, I'm changing my mind. We can't be friends, or like, this, or whatever, you have to live only in my memory now, I -mph!"

Ilya tackled him onto the floor, his hand behind Shane's head to protect it as he did, and then they were wrestling on the carpet, Ilya's grinning face close to Shane's, both of them laughing in short relieved bursts, panting.

"Take it back," Ilya demanded, between pants of laughter, once they'd rolled over and over on the floor and Ilya was on top again, his hands pinning Shane down by the wrists, hips heavy on hips. "Say you want to be my friend."

"Fuck off," Shane snorted, struggling a moment just for fun, tilting his head up so Ilya could lean in and bite at his neck. "Fuck!" Shane bit out. "Okay - I take it back. I want you to be my friend. I want you. Please."

Ilya bit him again, which was both what and not what Shane had been asking for, but then released his grip on Shane's wrists, dragged his teeth from Shane's neck to his mouth, kissed him for real as Shane buried his hands in Ilya's hair to pull him closer.

Chapter End Notes

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Chapter 4: Cover art

Chapter Summary

NOT A STORY UPDATE - ADDING COVER ART :)