Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid, Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike/Jackie Pike, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike, Hayden Pike & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Jackie Pike, Jackie Pike & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike & Jackie Pike & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Inspired by Anastasia (1997 & Broadway), Alternate Universe - Hockey, Good Friend Hayden Pike, Good Friend Jackie Pike, Amnesia, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya is the lost princess anastasia, Shane is dimitri, hayden and jackie are vlad and the countess, shane's big beautiful brain will do anything to win at hockey, ilya will follow shane to the ends of the earth, Soulmates, i know they would find each other in every universe and this is my evidence on the matter, mix of book and show cannon as it pleases me, Not Beta Read

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-29 Completed: 2026-05-08 Words: 18,817 Chapters: 17/17

Somewhere Down This Road (I Know Someone's Waiting)

Summary

Russia is victorious at the 2008 Hockey World Juniors, taking gold over Canada. Unfortunately, days after winning, the plane carrying the team and coaches back to Russia crashes in the Canadian wilderness. The body of Ilya Rozanov is never recovered.

In 2008, Shane Hollander shook hands with Ilya Rozanov and didn't look him in the eye. Then, the Russian plane crashed. Shane mourns the loss of the only equal on the ice he ever met for years, until a chance encounter opens the door for a chance at the Cup. He just has to convince a handsome stranger with a missing past to join this year's draft as Ilya Rozanov, the Lost Prince of Hockey.

Or, the Anastasia AU

Chapter 1: Prolouge

The plane crashes.

Double engine failure and fire everywhere. They’d barely gotten in the air before it happens.

He looks around at his team and absurdly thinks, this wasn’t supposed to happen yet. I was supposed to have more time. Something about the scene is wrong. The answers are at the edge of his mind, but there are far more pressing things to be thinking about right now.

He puts himself in the brace position as instructed and fights back the tears behind his eyes. He clings to the gold cross on his necklace and thinks of his mama and what lies for him on the other side.

He hasn’t had a good life, he thinks. Seventeen years and some change, and all of them spent in Russia, enduring screams and thrown objects at home and at practice. One golden person among it all; her light fading slowly, slowly, and then suddenly blinking out. Five years of darkness.

At least, for whatever it’s worth, he got out of Russia. Not for long, but he did get out. That feels important.

The plane crashes and he starts to hum an old lullaby softly to himself. Tries to keep his mother’s face in his mind.

The plane crashes and he thinks of a few days ago. A blistering cold afternoon. A deserted parking lot. Dark eyes and a firm handshake.

The plane crashes.

Chapter 2: A Rumor in St. Petersburg

Chapter Notes

Welcome to the Anastasia AU! I have always been a big fan of the movie, but the musical soundtrack got me through college and so we are basing our story on the musical as much as possible. The title of the fic is a line from Journey to the Past. Each chapter shares a title with a song from the soundtrack, and that's how I've based the pacing of the story. I wrote this with the album playing on loop in my ears, so an immersive experience is available if you're interested.

I've blended show and book cannon as it pleases me or makes sense for the story. We're very settled in book 2 territory, but I can't promise a complete lack of spoilers for The Long Game.

Please enjoy, I'm sure I'll be back to yap with you in an author's note again.

Shane Hollander, number 24, starting center of the Montreal Metros, is maybe having the worst season of his career thus far. They’re knocked out of the playoffs already, and the season isn’t even over. Too many injuries, a weak defense. Shane is carrying this team on his back and his back is starting to break from the pressure.

When he was drafted, first overall in the 2009 class, the narrative had been that he would bring the Cup back to the franchise. And he’s trying. But no one can keep up with him.

He thinks, of course, about what could have been. He thinks maybe, he wasn’t supposed to be alone at the top. He thinks, maybe, just maybe, having an equal would have pushed him to be better, to win more.

He tries explaining this to Hayden. “Just, imagine if the Russian plane hadn’t crashed after World Juniors four years ago.”

Hayden has heard this all before. “I know, buddy. The Lost Prince of Hockey, Ilya Rozanov was good, maybe as good as you.”

“They never found his body! He could be out there for all we know.”

Hayden openly laughs at this. “Oh, yeah? And you think he’s just bumming around Canada with all that hockey talent and not using it?”

“Well,” Shane sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s on the run or something. His family were all killed around the same time. And there aren’t any pictures of him anywhere that aren’t blurry screenshots of World Juniors footage.”

He’s like a dog with a bone. He knows he’s obsessed. He only met the guy the one time, for about three seconds. He was a dick but he was good. Shane wishes, for reasons he refuses to examine, there was just one picture of him. The blurry footage from 2008 shows a mess of golden curls under his helmet and a stature taller than his teammates. 

Shane wishes, not for the first time, he’s worked up the courage to look him in the eye when he talked to him in that parking lot. He’s better at that now, he worked on it after he realized he regretted not really knowing what Rozanov looked like after the plane went down. The only person who ever matched him in hockey, gone, and he couldn’t even picture his face. It can’t happen again.

“If he ever did resurface, he could probably get drafted to whatever team he wanted,” Hayden muses. Shane rolls that idea around in his head.

They finish lunch and head back out into the early Montreal spring. They have two home games and then the season is officially over. If Shane was carrying the team before they were knocked out of contention, he might as well be the only one on the ice now.

He lets Hayden drag him to a public rink on the outskirts of the city. Two weeks ago, Hayden explains for the millionth time, he picked up his niece from her figure skating lessons and fell completely in love with the instructor. He did not get her number.

So, on their last day off before the season truly ends, Shane lets his best friend drag him to a random ice rink to try and get a girl’s number. All the while, he mopes about the state of his professional hockey career.

The rink is rundown and it reminds Shane of where he spent most of his childhood. Hayden talks to the person at the front desk, all but begging to get the name of the girl who teaches figure skating lessons to the 8-year-olds on Thursdays. Yes, he knows it’s a Monday, but is there any chance she’s working?

Shane wanders away, and pushes open the door to the rink. The ice is full of little kids in hockey gear, so young it’s still co-ed. They’re sprawled on the ice; it must be near the end of their practice. Their coach is showing off. Skating with a gracefulness that shouldn’t be possible in hockey skates. He shoots a puck into the net from halfway across the ice and the kids cheer.

A young woman skates out and says, “Okay, practice is over! Good work today kiddos! Coach and I will see you next week!”

The kids waddle off the ice and are collected by their parents. The girl skates over to the man and they have a brief conversation Shane can’t hear. She follows the kids off the ice. He stays.

Shane can’t pull his eyes away. He’s not doing anything particularly impressive, but the looping passes around the net and the quick shots of a puck off his stick are mesmerizing. Time loses all meaning, Shane stands there for two minutes or two hours, watching this man shoot hockey pucks into an empty net, like it’s something he’s never seen before.

Eventually, the man realizes he’s being watched. He skates closer and closer to where Shane stands at the boards, stopping short with an impressive spray of ice.

He has short brown hair and hazel eyes and a crooked grin. He says, “Like what you see?” in an accent Shane can’t place, and leans on his stick.

Shane’s brain shuts down. Fully and completely.

By the time it boots up, Hayden has joined him at the boards and the man on the ice is laughing at him.

“Hey man,” Hayden says. “I’m Hayden, this is Shane, and we’re looking for your prettiest figure skating coach.”

The man smirks, spreads his arms out, “Then you have found him, I think.”

“Nah, man,” Hayden laughs. “I mean, no offense, but I’m looking for someone a little smaller. Long brown ponytail, about this tall?”

Shane tears his eyes away from the hockey coach, finally, and says, “Oh, wait, there was someone else on the ice with the kids.”

Hockey coach nods, “Ah, you are looking for Jackie.”

“Yeah! Where would she be right now?”

The man points towards the locker room, “Probably helping babies out of skates.”

Hayden smiles and spins on his heel, whispering her name to himself, probably so he won’t forget it.

“You just tell any random stranger off the street where to find your coworkers?” Shane asks, not bothering to hide the judgement in his tone. He knows Hayden’s not a creep, but this guy doesn’t.

The guy shrugs, “No, not normally. But Jackie can handle herself, and besides, not every day that Montreal’s fifteenth best hockey player comes asking for her.”

Shane’s jaw drops open, “You know who-”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, obviously I know who you are, Shane Hollander. You are on every billboard in the city and I teach hockey to children.”

“Why are you teaching hockey?” Shane asks, mouth working faster than his brain. His brain, which is focusing on scarred hands wrapped around the top of a hockey stick and-

“I like hockey and I like kids. Why else?”

“Yeah, but you’re good. You never wanted to play pro?”

The man reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Would have been nice, maybe, but not really a possibility for me, I don’t think.”

“No? Because I know a lot of guys who get paid millions and don’t skate as well as you.”

“Yes,” the man teases. “Like your friend Pike, I imagine.”

“Oh, fuck off, he’s one of the better ones.” Shane smiles, despite himself. He can’t remember the last conversation he had with a stranger that was this easy. “But really, why didn’t you try and go pro?”

The man’s eyebrows scrunch together. He nods like he’s decided something and says, “I was, ah, ward of the state? Not so easy to get money for things like hockey.”

Shane doesn’t know what to say to that. His brain, however, suddenly starts working overtime without his permission. He thinks the accent might be Russian.

Hayden comes back, then, alone.

“She shoot you down?” The man asks, looking grateful for the subject change.

Hayden grins, “She told me she needs more effort than that.”

“Oh, she likes you, then.”

“You think?”

“If she did not, she would have gutted you with the closest blade.”

Shane thinks, not for the first time in his life, that he fundamentally does not understand flirting. His dating history would have to agree.

Hayden thanks the man, and he and Shane walk out of the rink and back onto the streets of Montreal. Shane regrets that he never got the hockey coach’s name.

***

He corners Hayden after their second to last home game. They won, but Shane gets the feeling that Carolina was going easy on them, trying to save their energy for playoffs. He swallows down the bitter hurt in his chest and vows that next season they’ll get the Cup if he has to drag them there himself.

For now, he has an idea.

They’re nearly ready to leave the stadium, and most of the team is gone already, when Shane says, “I know this is going to sound crazy, but hear me out before you blow it off.”

Hayden gives him a look he can’t parse. But he motions for Shane to continue talking, so Shane does.

“The guy. At the rink the other day, when we went to find your niece’s coach? Did you see him skate?” Hayden nods like he’s bracing for impact. “Right, he was good. And he’s probably about our age, I think. It’s a little old to be drafted, but not impossible. And he’s definitely tall enough to pass, we’d just have to convince him-”

Hayden cuts him off, “Buddy, what are you talking about?”

Shane replays their conversation in his head. He does this sometimes; rehearse what he’s going to say so much that he jumps into the middle of his script without realizing. He clarifies, “We convince that hockey coach from the rink to enter the draft as Ilya Rozanov and get him on our team for next season. That’s how we win the Cup.”

Hayden looks around the locker room, it’s mostly empty and no one seems to be paying attention to them. “Hold on, let’s go.” Hayden shuffles them out of the locker room and all the way to the parking lot before he speaks again. “Shane,” he says. “Genuinely, what the fuck?”

“You said yourself if he ever showed up again he could be drafted to any team he wanted! So, I just figured, what if we had this guy pretend he was Rozanov. He basically admitted he has no family, which only helps the story, I think. Hayden he’s good. We could use him.”

“I- I mean-” Hayden sucks in a deep breath. He looks Shane in the eyes, Shane holds his gaze. “We really could use him,” he admits.

Shane grins.

Chapter 3: In My Dreams

Chapter Notes

A tragic backstory? A man who's good with kids? Gee, I wonder what his name is.

He thinks he’s probably twenty-one years old. That’s what the doctors said in the hospital four years ago when he woke up without a lick of memory. Well, that’s not entirely true.

They said he was found wandering in the woods outside the city, confused, delirious. No one could get a name out of him. He was severely dehydrated but otherwise unharmed, just garden variety cuts and bruises. They took him to a hospital, guessed he was about seventeen, and made him a ward of the state.

He didn’t speak for nearly a year. His head hurt, always. And everything was written in two languages that he could barely read. He understood when they spoke to him in English, but he couldn’t seem to get any words out on his tongue. It was easier to keep quiet.

He spent about a year in a group home, after they released him from the hospital. All his paperwork said “John Doe” but that name never sat right against his skin.

Hockey came easiest. There was a rink nearby, and early on one of the other boys took him along after school. He couldn’t remember his name or his birthday or anything from when they found him in the woods, but apparently he could skate as easy as breathing.

It was the first time he felt settled in his body.

He spoke for the first time because someone checked him into the boards, hard. It was a dirty hit, and the ref needed to hear about it. Who cares, he remembers thinking, if this is just some rec league. Hockey was the only thing that made sense. Hockey had somehow become everything. (A small part of him wondered if maybe it always had been.)

Everyone was surprised then, him especially, when he had a Russian accent.

Later that week, the woman who ran the group home asked if he remembered his name. He didn’t. He knew John certainly wasn’t it, though, he had known this from the start. They settled on Sasha. It wouldn’t change on his official paperwork, but he started to go by it socially. It still didn’t fit right, but it felt, maybe, a step closer to home.

He told the doctors over and over that he didn’t remember anything, but that wasn’t the whole truth. Remember was a strong word when most of your life was missing. But he knew three things:

1. Hockey was the only time he felt like he could breathe.

2. Someone loved him, once, and sang him to sleep. There were flashes of golden light and curls falling in front of a face, obscuring the details.

3. Someone had given him a firm handshake in the cold. He hadn’t wanted to let go.

***

He liked working at the rink. Jackie ran the place and taught half the lessons. In his third year on the job, she made him her assistant manager and let him teach all the youngest kids. There were a few other staff members, but mostly there were local teams renting ice time and owners who didn’t give a shit so long as the place was bringing in money.

It was a hockey rink in Montreal. As long as the place was standing it would bring in money.

He made enough money for a shitty apartment and he had a friend to invite over sometimes. The kids were great and didn’t care about anything but learning to skate. It was nice, comfortable even.

And then one day Shane Hollander walked in and stared at him.

It was enough to make a man realize that comfortable was another way to say autopilot. It was enough to make him think about wanting more. And what would more even look like?

And then, three days later, Shane Hollander came back.

Like last time, Shane stood at the boards watching the end of the U7s practice. Showing off with some fancy stick handling was his favorite way to reward the kids for a good practice. Today, maybe, he tried a little harder than usual.

Once the kids were gone, he skated over to the boards. Jackie followed.

They stand there, now, the four of them: Jackie and Hayden and him and Shane. Something microscopic settles in his chest.

“I never got your name,” Shane says in way of greeting.

“I go by Sasha, these days,” he grins, ignoring the itch under his skin every time he says that name. It’s been years and it’s still that name and not his name.

Shane’s head tilts to the side, “You don’t seem like a Sasha.”

“It’s a guess,” Jackie supplies, unhelpfully. She puts her hand on his shoulder and says in a terrible stage whisper, “He’s got amnesia.”

“Thank you, Jackie. I always tell strangers this.” He really tries not to, actually, but finds that the secret being out isn’t as terrifying today as it normally is.

“Hey, man,” Hayden says. “It’s cool. We won’t tell anyone. Actually,” he shares a look with Shane. “It might make this easier.”

He’s intrigued. Jackie is too, leaning both hands on the boards in front of her.

Shane says, “How would you like to enter the NHL draft in eight weeks?”

***

It’s ridiculous. Impossible. A dream.

But.

But he has strange dreams sometimes. And for the first time in four years of memory he wants. He wants to push his body and see what it can do. He wants to spend time with the prettiest hockey player he’s ever laid eyes on. He wants to try for the sake of trying.

The chances of making the draft are low. Chances of getting drafted by Montreal are even lower. Chances of all that happening and then making it through training camp and earning a spot on the team?

Well, it would be fun to try, anyway.

He invites Jackie over for Montreal’s last game of the season. She brings cheap wine and they sit on his couch, caring way too much for a team that isn’t making the playoffs this year. He likes watching hockey with Jackie. She cares about the score on the screen and she appreciates a good play when she sees one. 

Halfway through the third period, he stands up and yells at the TV. Jackie teases him from her spot on the other end of the couch. “I could have made that shot,” he grumbles.

The game ends. Montreal loses 2-1; but Shane scored, and Hayden assisted. He and Jackie feel some unearned ownership over that goal. The decision settles in his chest without his permission.

Jackie, his closest and only friend, turns to him and asks, “We’re doing this thing, aren’t we?”

And yeah, he thinks, we are.

Chapter End Notes

Alright now we can start to kick things into high gear.

I don't have a posting schedule in mind but I've written most (almost all) of the chapters so this is probably going to get updated once/twice a day as I have a minute.

Thank you for reading!! Tell me what you think in the comments and I'll love you forever :)

Chapter 4: Learn to Do It

Chapter Notes

They have eight weeks. 

Shane and Hayden don’t want to risk being seen at the official practice rink so Jackie blocks off every minute of free ice time for them. There’s nothing stopping them from going around the clock, now that the season is over, and Shane fully intends to turn his full attention to the matter at hand.

The day after their last game, with a text on his phone that simply reads: I’m in, Shane started making a game plan. In a week, after some serious ice time, they’re going to loop in Yuna Hollander to start alerting media and getting the name Ilya Rozanov back in the heads of agents and coaches across the NHL.

But first he wants to see what they’re working with.

It’s late, and the four of them are the only ones left on the ice, the only ones in the building. They’re all warming up; skating lazy laps and stretching out their hips. Jackie shows off and does some jumps. Hayden looks like he’s trying to figure out how to buy an Olympic medal to give her.

But first thing’s first. “Hey, Rozanov!” Shane calls across the ice. 

It takes a full five seconds before the man looks up and points to himself. “You are talking to me?”

“If we’re doing this, we’re doing this,” Shane says. “From now on, you’re Ilya Rozanov, okay? I know you hate the name Sasha anyway, maybe it’s time for a new one.”

The man, Ilya Rozanov, Shane corrects himself, rolls his shoulders back and says quietly, “Ilya, Ilya, Ilya.” He catches Shane’s eye. “Okay. My name is Ilya Rozanov.”

“Totally fits better than Sasha!” Jackie calls.

Ilya sticks his tongue out at her. Shane stares at him. He’s comfortable now, obviously trying to show off some skill as he starts skating in front of Shane. He has no idea what Shane’s about to put him through.

***

It’s not a secret that Shane Hollander wants to be captain. He wants the C on his jersey and he wants the A on Hayden’s. He thinks, this is one crucial step of many towards the ultimate goal of going down in history as the best hockey player of all time.

Would he also like the C before he turns twenty-five, so he can be one of the youngest captains in the league? Well, it wouldn’t hurt.

His training plan is indicative of this. He has them doing two-a-days, like it’s training camp. Better to prepare now for the real thing, he figures.

In the mornings, Ilya comes to his apartment and they make use of the gym on the lower level of the building. Sometimes, Hayden joins them. It’s typically a quiet affair. They work out early in the morning, before coffee and breakfast and protein shakes. Just early morning light and the gentle purr of a treadmill motor. Shane finds it’s the best he’s ever felt at a morning workout.

Then, Ilya goes to teach at the rink for the day. Shane and his mom work on the story. 

Yuna was shocked to hear it, but on board as soon as Shane showed her a video of Ilya skating. If she remembers that Shane spoke to the real Ilya Rozanov at World Juniors all those years ago, she doesn’t say. 

To most people, meaning people who are not Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov was a budding star out of Russia that was taken too soon. There were a few weeks of interest when news of the home invasion gone wrong that took out Rozanov’s father and brother made its way to Canada. A few articles lamented the rivalry that could have been, if he had been drafted in the first round against Canada’s-own Shane Hollander. And then, the news cycle moved on.

Yuna Hollander took one look at the video Shane sent and started calling her contacts in the industry. The angle they’re currently working on is: Ilya Rozanov, former pride of Russia, returns to professional hockey. There’s almost a fairy-tale quality when Yuna spins it out. He doesn’t loop her in on the secret. There are only four people on the planet that know the truth about Ilya Rozanov, and Shane wants to keep it that way.

At night, once the last hockey team leaves the ice, Jackie runs the Zamboni over the rink and the four of them get to the real work. They don’t have a goalie, but they run every other kind of drill Shane can think of. They train Ilya’s stick handling and agility. He does bag skates and precision shots. He endures Jackie’s figure skating technique drills and face-off after face-off against Shane.

All the while, someone, usually Hayden or Jackie, is reading off facts about Ilya Rozanov that Shane dug up from the dredges of the internet. He translated most of it from Russian into English online. The good news is, there isn’t much information to find. The Rozanov’s were a military family from Moscow. Two boys: Andrei and Ilya. Father remarried after the boys’ mother died when Ilya was twelve. The bad news is, there isn’t much to work with beyond that. Any gaps they fill in, they have to hope hold water.

It’s not just about memorization, Shane explained one day late in their first week. It’s about internalization. He can’t just know things about Ilya Rozanov, he has to be Ilya Rozanov. So, he can’t for one second look like he’s reaching for an answer. 

***

Jackie has music blaring over the speakers. It’s loud and poppy. Shane doesn’t know the artist, but then, he never does. They’re running a passing drill. He sends a puck towards Ilya, who has to shoot it into the net as fast as possible. Hayden is in goalie pads, for the visual if nothing else.

Jackie calls questions over the music. Ilya calls back answers.

“When did you first start skating?”

“I was two or three. I don’t remember but I have seen it in pictures.”

“Who taught you to skate?”

“My mother.”

“What’s her name?”

“Irina.”

“And your father?”

“Grigori.”

“Good! Okay, harder now: who was your best friend growing up?”

“Uh-” he misses the pass from Shane.

Shane shoots him another one, no mercy. He connects the pass into the goal, but doesn’t answer Jackie’s question.

Shane shoots another pass. “Come on, Rozanov. Who was your best friend growing up?”

“I don’t know! I can’t fucking remember and do the drill and listen to this music, okay? I am trying but it’s too much!” He looks like he wants to throw the stick.

Jackie pulls her phone out of her pocket and turns the music down. “Your best friend growing up was your older brother, Andrei,” she says.

Shane skates a few feet closer and watches Ilya’s face do something interesting. His eyes screw shut, almost like he’s in pain.

“No,” Ilya says. “I have messed this answer up every time. We have to change it.”

“Okay,” Shane says. “What do you want to change it to?”

Ilya thinks a moment and says, “Sasha, my coach’s son.”

“Not bad. Even explains why you started using Sasha after your accident,” Hayden says.

Shane nods and skates backwards towards his pile of pucks. “Alright, music back up. Let’s do it again.”

Ilya glares at him, but readjusts his grip on his stick.

***

They’re four weeks in when Hayden asks, “Are we sure he’s got the look right?”

Shane and Jackie both turn to look at Ilya. They’re banking on the fact that the very few pictures online means most people won’t have met him. The junior teams barely interacted at the championship, and the real Ilya never made it to his draft interviews.

He’s taller now, than the real Ilya was in 2008, but then, people grow between ages 17 and 21. He’s got more muscle packed on to his frame, but there’s an easy explanation for that too.

“It’s the hair,” Shane finally says. “Yours is too dark. All the clips show it more, uh, blonde.” He holds himself back from saying golden, even if it is the more accurate word.

Ilya runs a hand through his hair and winces. “It should not be a problem,” he says.

Shane narrows his eyes. “What does that mean?”

Ilya won’t meet his gaze. “Ah, this is not my natural color. Is much lighter if I don’t dye it.”

“You dye your hair!?” Jackie squeaks.

“Dude, really? Why?” asks Hayden.

Ilya looks embarrassed, Shane thinks. He agreed weeks ago to growing it out, and there are already more curls than when they met. But the color is a mousy, average brown. Shane can’t imagine why someone would choose the color specifically.

“It was dyed this color when my memories start,” Ilya explains. “I was surprised when it first grew out. Naturally it is more blonde. I tried to be blonde for maybe a month? It was after the hospital, in the group home, but I felt like I must have dyed it for a reason, yes? Even if I could not remember. So, I bought dye at the store and fixed it. I have been doing that ever since.”

“Okay, no more dye,” Shane says, workshopping his Captain Voice. They head back into another round of drills, but all Shane can think about is the color hiding under the dye.

***

They celebrate Ilya’s twenty-second birthday on June fifteenth, ten days before the draft.

Jackie brings cupcakes to practice and Hayden makes them all wear the party hats he found when he followed Jackie around the store while she bought the cupcakes.

Through a mouthful of frosting, Hayden asks, “How old are you actually?” Shane shoots him a look. “Sorry! I know he’s supposed to be internalizing or whatever but in ten days no one is ever going to actually ask him about himself again. They’re going to be asking about a backstory we mostly made up.”

And, well, isn’t that a sobering thought.

They’re all sitting on the rubber floor of the lobby, finished with training for the evening. It’s well past midnight, but they’ve all been keeping strange hours lately.

Ilya shrugs, “I don’t actually know how old I am.”

“Really?” Shane’s curious, despite himself.

“I told you about waking up in the hospital with no memories, yes?”

“You’re an asshole,” he shoots back without much heat. “Clearly you remembered some things.”

“No! Really, I remembered nothing.”

“That can’t be true,” Jackie says, shifting off her hands to hug her knees to her chest. “You remembered hockey. No one learns to move like that on skates from scratch as a teenager.”

“Is different,” Ilya insists. “That is muscle memory, not memory memory. I did not even realize I knew how to skate until I was on the ice.”

“Well, thank you to whoever put you in skates,” Hayden says.

Ilya nods. “His name was Michael. I owe him a lot, I think. Hockey was the first time I felt…”

Shane waits for the end of the sentence, but it never comes.

Jackie, sensing a mood change before any of the boys, says, “I can’t believe this hasn’t come up in three years of knowing you. How did they figure out your age, then?”

Ilya shrugs again, “The doctors took a guess. I think they wrote July first as a date, but I am not sure why. This is nice, though. I like this birthday.” He smiles and takes the last bite of his cupcake.

***

Two days before the draft, Shane makes Ilya run an endless loop of face-off drills. Hayden drops the puck. Jackie holds the list of Ilya Rozanov Background Knowledge.

Every time they lean down, Ilya has a new fact to share.

“My mother’s name was Irina.”

“I started skating when I was two, started hockey when I was five.”

“My father was a colonel. He only wanted the best.”

“My neighbor had a little brown dog named Anya.”

“This necklace was my mother’s.”

“I was best at hockey in Russia. Then, I come to Canada and I am still the best.”

That one makes Shane snort. “In your dreams.”

“Is true!” Ilya says after winning the puck. “Russia beats Shane Hollander at World Juniors in 2008. Or, did I get that one wrong?”

Jackie laughs, “Nope! Got that one right!”

Shane ignores them both and wins the next puck Hayden drops. “Okay, we’ve been at this for hours. How’s he doing on facts?”

“He hasn’t missed a single one,” Jackie says proudly.

Hayden whoops like he scored a goal, Ilya joins him. There are hugs all around. Ilya smacks a kiss on Jackie’s cheek, and another one on the top of Shane’s head. Shane feels his face get warm, for some reason.

Then Ilya says, seriously, “Thank you. I don’t know what will happen, but these have been some of the best weeks of my life.”

“Nah man,” says Hayden. “You’re going to make it. This is a certified Shane Hollander plan. He wants a Cup and you’re going to win it with us.”

Ilya grins, big and wide and something in Shane’s chest stutters.

Chapter End Notes

Is this realistic? No, this is a fanfiction based off a stage musical based off a disney princess movie. Ilya gets a training montage because he deserves it and because he's a generational hockey talent. If anyone could do it, it would be him. Going forward, we have to remember that anything unexplainable by the laws of physics or reality are actually because of magic and the power of love and friendship.

Chapter 5: The Neva Flows

Chapter Notes

So, I know I said that I've blended book and show canon for the purposes of this fic. And I have, with one notable exception: Svetlana. As much as I adore show Sveta and her friendship with Ilya, this story doesn't work if she knows him. So this is book Sveta through and through.

It’s a story for the ages. Ilya Rozanov, back from the dead, going first in the draft and signing as a center in Montreal. Twenty-two years old, surrounded by close friends Shane Hollander and Hayden Pike.

Svetlana Vetrova thinks it’s suspicious. Roger Crowell smells a rat.

If Sveta thinks about it, it’s kind of completely unbelievable. She watches the post-draft interviews on her tablet while waiting in Crowell’s office.

The Ilya she sees on video is charming and confident and cocky. He spins the same story his agents have been spinning for weeks. Amnesia after the plane crash, finding work as a coach, a chance stumbling into Shane Hollander who noticed his skill.

It’s not that she doesn’t think all that happened. By all accounts he probably was working as a hockey coach. Shane Hollander could have stumbled into the rink he was working at. It’s a plausible story. It’s just that she thinks this man isn’t Ilya Rozanov. This is probably someone with a similar frame and a decent accent trying to get into the sport any way he can.

She can almost forgive that, when she sees some footage of him skating at the combine. He’s got actual talent. If Montreal utilizes him the way they should they might have chance for a real run at the Cup.

“Svetlana.”

She’s broken out of her thoughts by the door to the office shutting with a thud behind her. She gets to her feet, “Mr. Crowell.”

“I don’t like this business with Ilya Rozanov,” he says, taking a seat behind his desk.

“He’s got real talent,” she says, face neutral.

He waves her off, “Maybe he does. But I don’t buy this story. I don’t like that he’s using a dead man’s name to get ahead.”

“I’m not sure what we can do about it,” she says. “Montreal wants him.”

“I want to send you in. Theriault has already agreed to take you on his staff. Montreal needs a new equipment manager.”

Svetlana balks. “You want to send me?”

Crowell nods. “I need someone I can trust on the inside. Someone who can see if the boy is lying and catch him in it.”

“And you trust me?”

“Your father and I were good friends, you know. I know he would agree with me that you are just the girl for the job.”

Fuck. Crowell rarely pulls the father card. He knows the power it has over her and he uses it very purposefully.

She pastes a smile on her face. “I’ll see about setting up an apartment and moving my things before pre-season, then.”

Chapter End Notes

fuck roger crowell

Chapter 6: My Petersburg

Chapter Notes

This song on the soundtrack is Dmitri showing off the place that raised him...so here's Shane bringing Ilya into the world of professional hockey.

Shane is not on social media, Ilya prefers not to see the unending coverage of his miraculous return to the living, and Hayden’s feed has lately been way more focused on figure skating than hockey. So, Jackie sends them all the best clips from their games and interviews like it’s her sacred duty on this planet.

She teases Ilya mercilessly for abandoning her to run the rink alone, but complains about the new hockey coach in the same breath and sends videos of all his old students wishing them luck every game day.

Ilya takes to the professional athlete lifestyle like a duck to water. He thrives under the bright lights and the cheering fans in the stadium. He always has a cheeky response for the media. He takes his first paycheck and goes to buy an entirely new wardrobe from himself. Turns out, when he has disposable income, he’s got style. Jackie bemoans this last fact, admitting she was hoping to use him like a dress-up doll. Hayden volunteers in his place.

Shane thinks this might be the best season of hockey he’s played in his life.

Montreal is playing miles better than they did the previous season. Ilya brings a fresh energy to the team. He’s charming and funny and he’s good, and it makes everyone work harder just to try and keep up. Except, Shane thinks one morning at practice, for him. Everyone else on the team is trying to keep up, but Shane finally feels like he’s met his match. He still wants the Cup, of course, but he starts to think that as long as he can play hockey like this for the rest of his life, not winning the Cup wouldn’t ruin him.

***

As they leave preseason and head into October, Jackie brings up a great point. They’re sitting around the kitchen table in Hayden’s apartment, late at night like they had done early in the summer.

“Can you speak Russian?” she asks around a mouthful of lo mein. “I mean we know you have the accent but aren’t there Russian guys on the team? Will they notice something if you only ever speak in English?”

She speaks around the issue, they always do. Shane never wants any of them to get comfortable saying the quiet part out loud. If it’s second nature to admit that Ilya is a fraud, he’s convinced someone will slip up.

Ilya shrugs, “Apparently, I can. Andropov said something to me the other day and I responded without thinking.”

“Did you seriously never try before?” Hayden asks. “Like not once since you figured out the accent?”

“No, the memory loss…it’s strange,” Ilya says. “I woke up in a world where the languages were English and French, and I think it rewired my brain to think in them first. To be able to communicate at all was such a relief, I think, that I never tried to find someone who would speak Russian to me. Even now, I know I can speak Russian, but if I sit here trying to think of how to say anything in it, there is something like a wall in my mind. I cannot get past it.”

Shane is stuck, as usual, on the wrong thing, “You can think in French?”

Ilya laughs at him. “I know about as much French as Pike. It’s reading street signs and not much more. Bonjour.”

“Fuck off,” Shane says, and throws a fortune cookie at him.

***

Ilya strikes up an easy friendship with the new equipment manager, after she overhears Ilya say something to Andropov in Russian. Her name is Svetlana and she’s pretty and Russian and extremely good at her job.

Shane watches Ilya explain the weird thing about his Russian. He didn’t use it for so long, he’s always surprised he didn’t lose it. Svetlana laughs and places a hand on Ilya’s shoulder, tells him how grateful she is to speak to another Muscovite. They both throw a chirp about country accents to Andropov.

Something clenches in Shane’s gut.

***

They go on their first road trip, down to the southern US. The team rooms Ilya with Shane and bumps Hayden to room with Boizou. They get to the hotel and Shane starts to go through his hotel routine without thinking. He hangs his game-day suit, unpacks his bag just enough to be able to see everything. He’s on his way to put his toiletries on the bathroom counter when he feels Ilya watching him.

“What?”

Ilya smirks from where he’s laying back on his bed. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you,” Shane says.

“I think I am going to tell all the tabloids about this,” Ilya says. “Hockey Superstar Shane Hollander unpacks his suitcase like he is handling a bomb.”

Shane sputters, “It’s not that weird!”

“No,” Ilya agrees. “It’s boring. I thought professional athletes were supposed to be exciting.”

Shane can’t come up with a response and throws a “fuck you” over his shoulder as he continues into the bathroom so he isn’t just standing in the middle of the room holding his little bag for his toothbrush. He misses the considering expression on Ilya’s face.

***

Weeks later in San Francisco, Ilya scores a goal on the power play off Shane’s assist that’s so beautiful every journalist on the continent talks about it for a week straight.

Jackie sends them fifteen different angles of the puck hitting the net and another ten of the way Ilya kissed Shane’s helmet in celebration. Ilya’s hair is back to it’s natural color, between dye fading and semi-regular haircuts. A mop of golden curls peek out from under his helmet in every shot.

Carlsson, Montreal’s captain (for now, Shane reminds himself, only for now), says in an interview: “Oh, Hollander and Rozanov? That’s magic on the ice. You can drill and drill as much as you want during practice but those two can read each other’s minds. I have no idea how Roz knew where Hollander was sending that puck.”

***

After a home game in late November, Ilya convinces Shane to go out celebrating with the team. It doesn’t take much. Shane thinks he would do almost anything Ilya asked of him.

Jackie joins them at the club and the four of them grab a booth in VIP. It’s loud and the lights are strobing. Shane is hyper-aware of the tag on his shirt and sips his beer so slowly it goes warm and tepid.

But he laughs for most of the night. He lets Ilya and Jackie pull him around the dance floor, even if he doesn’t do much more than stand in the middle of their dancing. Ilya, he learns, knows how to dance. Jackie too, though that’s less surprising.

Shane and Hayden leave them to it, and head to bar to grab another round of drinks. Hayden remarks, “I think walking into that rink last spring was the best thing to ever happen to us.” Shane can’t help but agree.

Later, Ilya goes to the bathroom, leaving Shane in their booth with Jackie and Hayden. They’ve been at the club for hours and everyone is more shots in than they’ll admit. Which is how, Shane supposes, Jackie ends up in Hayden’s lap. It’s obscene, really, how much of their tongues Shane can see.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to text an SOS to Ilya. A few minutes later, Ilya slides into the booth next to him and their thighs press together. Shane feels the tension bleed out of his body through the contact point.

“Get a room!” Ilya yells at their friends. He gets two middle fingers for his trouble, with neither party breaking contact.

***

Ilya’s lease on his shitty apartment is up at the end of December. They don’t talk about it and they don’t talk about and they don’t talk about it. And then they do.

Shane and Ilya are stretched out on opposite ends of Shane’s couch. Hayden and Jackie are en route from the rink on the edge of town. Hayden picked her up from work and they’re bringing dinner over. They also don’t talk about that.

“I need to find a new apartment,” Ilya says, breaking the silence.

Shane’s head snaps up. They don’t talk about it, but Ilya doesn’t spend much time at that apartment as it is. They’re on the road half the time. And with the little time they have at home that’s not practice or a game, they’re at Shane or Hayden’s places. Ilya’s apartment is across the city, and so far from the practice rink and the Bell Center. Crashing at Shane’s just makes sense, really.

“I have a second bedroom,” Shane says, voice level.

Ilya raises an eyebrow. “Are you offering?”

Shane shrugs with a nonchalance he does not feel. “We room together on road trips and you crash here all the time. Doesn’t make sense for you to get another place.”

Ilya stares at him, brows furrowed, like he’s doing a complex math equation in his head. Shane engages every bit of control and discipline he has to not squirm under his gaze.

“Okay,” Ilya says, finally.

Three weeks later, with the help of Jackie and Hayden, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander are officially roommates. Shane tells himself that it’s purely for logistics.

Chapter End Notes

entering their roommate era !!

Chapter 7: Once Upon a December

Chapter Notes

Some Ilya introspection! A music box didn't make sense here and I didn't want to separate him from his mama's cross so our item from a past life looks a little different.

Ilya thinks he must be stupid. Rooming with Shane on roadtrips was one thing. Crashing on his couch, even, that was manageable. But living with him? He shouldn’t have agreed. But Shane laid the plan out so simply, so earnestly. He’s protective of his space, it’s a circle of four. If he asked Ilya, it means he really wanted it.

And, God, Ilya wanted it too. He doesn’t think he’s every experienced want like this. From the day he laid eyes on Shane he thinks some kind of deep want settled into his bones and rewrote his DNA. It started with wanting more and he thinks it’s morphed into something far more dangerous.

So, he said yes. He moved in. He laughed at Pike and helped Jackie tape boxes shut and he bought them dinner afterwards to thank them. He was so grateful for their help he didn’t even tease them about the feelings between them that they won’t label.

Sharing the same space as Shane is intoxicating. It’s really nothing new, nothing he hasn’t see on the road. But every glimpse of an unguarded, sleep-rumpled Shane feels like something precious. Something sacred.

The only problem is the nightmares. He’s always had them, as far back as his memory goes. He never remembers what they’re about, not really. He wakes with a flash of something on the edges of his mind. By the time he wakes enough to reach for it, it’s gone. Reaching into his memory leaves him with nothing but a headache.

They’re coming more frequently these days. Every few weeks instead of every few months. He doesn’t know why.

He’s been lucky so far, he thinks, that he hasn’t had one on a road trip. He doesn’t think he makes much noise, but he always wakes with the sheets tangled around his legs and his heart racing. He’s not sure if he can handle seeing concern in Shane’s pretty brown eyes, if he found out.

***

Ilya doesn’t go to All-Stars. He wants to. He wants to spend a weekend with Shane in the sun. Maybe they would have even put them on opposite teams. Ilya sinks into that fantasy. The two of them in a face-off. It would be like the endless drills Shane ran him through last summer. A game of trying to say something to knock him off his game so Ilya can steal the puck out from under him. 

But, Ilya pulls his hamstring in January and someone else gets his spot. It’s for the best, he tells himself, they need him at full capacity to make a run for the Cup.

He deals with it by texting Shane all weekend. Sending him his best chirps for Scott Hunter, the oldest player in the league, as far as Ilya is concerned. Shane should be thanking him, really, Ilya’s doing the hard work for him.

The email comes while Ilya is laying on the couch, only half-paying attention to the coverage of the skills competition. It’s nothing unusual, really, just a request for a short interview with ESPN about the five year anniversary of the plane crash. The anniversary was a weeks ago, but better late than never. 

Normally, he would say no. He can handle press after a game, but this is more focused on him, which means a bigger opportunity to slip up. But the email mentions a “never-before seen piece of his past” and if nothing else that piques his curiosity.

He replies that he’ll do it on one condition: he gets to bring Shane with him.

***

ESPN sets up in a hotel room in downtown Montreal. Nerves churn in Ilya’s stomach and he does his best to ignore them as someone puts powder on his face with a fluffy brush. He feels his phone buzz in his pocket, no doubt Shane sending picture of him getting primped to the group chat with Jackie and Hayden.

Shane did not want him to do this interview. He thought it was risky and unnecessary. Ilya thinks he almost admitted that it could jeopardize their Cup run if Ilya is found out. Like Ilya doesn’t know that, doesn’t think about that every day. But, in Shane’s defense, he swallowed those words down.

And, he still came with Ilya. Ilya thinks he could live a thousand lifetimes and not earn this kind of loyalty. The make-up artist moves to start repacking her kit and Shane catches his eye and sends him a smile. The butterflies in Ilya’s stomach do something unauthorized.

The production team is being quite tight-lipped about this surprise they have in store. Ilya thinks if he was really Ilya Rozanov he would have a bigger objection to being potentially blindsided. But, seeing as he is a fraud, he figures he can let his curiosity win.

The first part of the interview is standard stuff. They ask him questions about how Shane found him, which Ilya is glad to answer with the truth. They ask him questions about the plane crash, which he cannot answer truthfully, but at least he knows the answers. It’s softball stuff, which means they think they have something really good for the reveal.

The interviewer sets down her papers and says to him, “Now, I know we said we had a surprise for you. You don’t know what it is, right?”

“No,” he laughs. “I have been told nothing.”

Someone behind the camera passes a box to the interviewer. “Why don’t you take a look at this?”

Ilya takes the box from her, lifts the lid. He reaches on hand in to touch the fabric laying on a thin bed of tissue paper. “Is this…?” he starts to ask.

The interviewer smiles gently. “Yes. That’s your jersey from World Juniors. It was salvaged from the plane wreck five years ago.”

Ilya doesn’t know how ESPN of all people managed to get their hands on it, and doesn’t care to hear her explain it for the benefit of the cameras. The red and white and gold jersey still smells faintly of smoke and motor oil. He runs his fingers over the embroidered name on the back. The bottom hem is singed badly enough to shorten the garment a few inches.

It’s impossible this survived, he thinks. That every person on board was killed but something as inconsequential as a jersey survived? It feels like a cruel joke. His heart clenches with grief for the real Ilya Rozanov. He was seventeen when he died, still a boy. He was probably scared as the plan went down. He wonders what the boy who wore this jersey thought in his final moments.

He wonders what the real Ilya Rozanov would think now, if he could see an imposter sitting in this chair, holding his jersey. He hopes the kid would think it’s funny. He hopes he wouldn’t be mad.

Ilya mumbles out what he thinks are passable responses for the cameras. The interview finishes and the jersey is still clutched in his hands. He hears himself ask, “Can I keep this?” He’s not sure what they would do with it if he gave it back, but suddenly he knows he needs to keep it safe, keep it with him.

The interviewer’s face softens in a way it didn’t when the cameras were on. “Of course,” she says. Something unspools in his chest.

He puts it back in the box and stands to leave. In the elevator, he wipes at his eyes, embarrassed to find the moisture gathering there. “Sorry,” he says to Shane. “I don’t know what happened to me.”

Shane looks at him for a moment, and Ilya notices his eyes look shinier than usual. Shane says, “It’s heavy stuff. I’m glad you wanted me with you. I like being there for you.” Then, he shifts to stand closer to Ilya, pressing their shoulders together.

Ilya doesn’t feel the wall come down or the barrier shatter in his mind. He just looks at Shane and thinks, solynshko. 

The elevator doors open and Shane steps out first. That’s when it hits Ilya. Holy shit. He had a thought in Russian, unprompted. His wills his feet to remember how to move and he chases after Shane, to share the good news with him.

Chapter End Notes

No miscommunication trope here, Ilya tells Shane everything (almost everything) immediately. This is because I truly believe if they had been been allowed to be friends at any point they would have, and friends don't keep secrets like regaining access to your mother tongue.

Chapter 8: Stay, I Pray You

Chapter Notes

Sveta's back! And we get a little outsider POV from her. This is maybe not the cleanest song title to chapter content matchup but we're making it work.

Montreal clinches a wildcard spot in the playoffs. Svetlana is in the locker room afterwards. She checks that everyone is dressed and decent, before going in to collect game day jerseys.

Most of the team is gone, just a few stragglers are left. Notably, Pike, Hollander, and Rozanov stand in the corner, making plans to celebrate with someone named Jackie.

“Unless you don’t want us there?” Rozanov is saying.

Pike glares at him, “I didn’t say that.”

“Then text her and tell her to meet us at the bar. Shane is even going.”

Hollander tips his head to one side, “Why wouldn’t you want us there?” His eyes glitter with mischief as he continues, “Is there a reason you would want to be alone with her?”

“Okay, assholes, I know what you’re doing,” Pike says. He pulls his phone out and shoots off a text. “There? Okay? We’re all going out tonight.”

Svetlana watches them gather their things and make their way out. She hasn’t decided what she thinks of Rozanov yet. On the one hand, his story is unbelievable and a little too perfect. She’s caught him rehearsing answers before; quietly under his breath before going to talk to the media. She’d think him anxious, but that doesn’t align with everything else she’s seen of him. 

On the other hand, he’s a generational talent. It’s completely unsurprising that a team with both him and Hollander are making a run for the Cup. Watching them on the power play is some of the most beautiful hockey she’s ever seen, and she’s seen a lot of hockey. 

She wishes, against her own judgement, that Crowell would drop this mission. Maybe he’s the real Ilya Rozanov, maybe he’s not. But he’s charming and respectful and damn good at hockey. That should be enough, right? She wants that to be enough.

But Crowell holds her father and his ire over her head. So, she keeps her head down and thinks playoffs will be a breaking point. After the turnaround they’ve done in this season, all eyes will be looking at Montreal. If Rozanov is an imposter, the pressure is only just beginning to ramp up. It might be enough to trip him.

Chapter 9: We'll Go From There

Chapter Notes

feelings!! everyone is having them, only one person is dealing with them (and it may not be who you think). a transitory song in the show, so a transitory chapter for us

Somehow, between the truly excellent hockey and the living together and the wall in Ilya’s mind crumbling and giving him access to Russian again, they all forgot this is Ilya’s rookie season in the league. Once they make it to the playoffs the chatter starts: Ilya’s on the shortlist for Rookie of the Year.

It’s a no-brainer, Ilya thinks privately. He’s keeping up with Shane and other vets in the points race. He’d be the first line center on any other team in the league. The hungry want that settled in his bones last April rears its head when Shane brings it up at dinner one night. Of course he wants to win.

More than that, he’s starting to realize he wants Shane. 

Living with Shane has made him greedy. Somewhere between December and April, Ilya stopped wanting just to watch Shane make his gross morning smoothies and started wanting to slot his chin on Shane’s shoulder and wrap his hands around Shane’s waist and breathe in Shane’s sleep-warm skin.

It’s horrifying.

It must be karma, he decides one morning. You only get to live inside another man’s identity for so long before things start coming back to bite you. He spends his days watching Shane and wanting and wanting and wanting. He doesn’t know what would happen if he acted on that want. Shane would tell him it will just distract them from the Cup, probably.

The nightmares are still finding him in his sleep; only staved off by a full twenty minutes of ice time. When he wakes, he reaches for it, the memory or the fear, he isn’t sure, and lands where he always does: on golden light and a lullaby, on a firm handshake.

And really, the Shane in his head is probably right. All this is a distraction. He needs to focus on playoffs. On the points race. On Rookie of the Year. 

He’s living a life that belongs to someone else. A life that belongs to a boy who died in a ball of fire and left behind nothing but a singed jersey. Ilya can’t remember most of his life, but he knows he already has more than he deserves. He can’t let himself ask for more.

***

Hayden drops the news on the plane to Boston for their first series. Shane sits next to him and across from Ilya on the plane, separated by a table some of the older players like to use for poker when the flight isn’t at five in the morning. Ilya’s ankles are hooked around Shane’s and Shane tries and tries to ignore it, but he doesn’t move his feet away.

Ilya blinks like it’ll clear his vision, “What did you just say?”

Hayden beams, “I’m going to ask Jackie to marry me.”

Oh. So Shane did hear that right. Across the table, Ilya’s mouth drops open. “You are serious?”

“As a heart attack. I think she’s the love of my life.”

Ilya nods, once, and says, “She was my friend first. Break her heart and I kill you.” When Hayden laughs, he doubles down. “I am Russian. They will never find your body.”

Hayden says, “That would be a scarier threat if I didn’t know you cry every time you watch a movie about a dog.”

Shane twists in his seat. “Are you and Jackie even dating, technically?”

“Oh Hayden, congratulations! We’re so glad for you!” Hayden rolls his eyes, sarcasm dripping off his words. “You two are the worst. But to answer your question, no. Technically, I think she would kill me if I told someone we were boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“And you’re going to propose? Isn’t that skipping, like, a lot of steps?” Shane really doesn’t understand dating.

“No, no,” Hayden says. “It’s perfect. She told me on day one I had to try harder to win her over. We’ve been sleeping together for months now. I love her. She loves me. What’s a bigger gesture than buying a ring?”

Shane thinks he sounds insane. But Ilya is nodding like this makes sense. Shane gives up, what does he know, anyway? It’s not like he’s ever been in a serious adult relationship. Even his high school relationships were unsuccessful, really.

He’s not completely inexperienced, he supposes. Before this year, Hayden could drag him out once a season and Shane would find himself with a pretty girl alone in a dark corner of a club. It never felt like anything that mattered. He wouldn’t have said it was always fun.

But lately, he thinks he’s realizing some things about himself that shed a light on those experiences.

He listens to Hayden talk about Jackie and feels Ilya’s foot pressed against his own and thinks there’s a connection to make there. He thinks about how he feels his calmest when some part of him is in contact with Ilya. He thinks about the way Ilya’s whole face lights up after a good goal or a bad joke, and how that always makes something in Shane’s chest squeeze.

He thinks about quiet mornings in the apartment and the way Ilya’s curls are mussed by sleep. Shane stands there at the counter almost every morning and feels like he’s in a trance. The rest of the world falls away and all that matters is Ilya and his sleepy smile. Ilya and his ratty sweatpants from before he was Ilya, that he hangs on to because they’re perfectly soft. Ilya and Ilya and Ilya.

Shane thinks he could center his life around Ilya, and that’s the scariest thing of it all. 

There is so much riding on everything. They’re about to start playoffs and make a real run for the Cup. Shane only met Ilya because of a chance encounter, only got to know him because Shane’s first instinct was to use him for his own gain. They’re about to start playoffs and there are going to be more reporters, more eyes on them. Which means more eyes on Ilya and more questions about a past they stole from a dead guy Shane met one time and couldn’t shake from his mind.

Sometimes, when Ilya is doing press next to Shane after a game, Shane wants to cut in and tell everyone it’s all a lie. Standing there, listening to Ilya parrot back facts that he memorized for Shane and for Shane’s ambition, feels akin to lighting himself on fire. Shane wishes he could tell the reporters asking Ilya about a Moscow he doesn’t remember that Ilya’s past is the least interesting thing about him. That it doesn’t matter who he is when he’s talented and charming and so good to his core it makes Shane’s teeth ache.

The guilt of it eats him alive. He’s already asked so much of Ilya, and Ilya has done it for him. He can’t ask this of him too. Shane thinks he’ll die if he asks and Ilya decides this is one ask too many. 

He resigns himself to feet pressed together under a table and kisses to his helmet after a goal and pushes down the impulse to ask for more.

Chapter End Notes

as of posting i have written all but three chapters so we are getting there my friends. updates will slow for the next week or so because I won't be at home but fear not the rest is coming as soon as I'm back in my regular routines :)

Chapter 10: Journey to the Past

Chapter Notes

Our turning point song! We really lean into the mature rating here, so be forewarned.

Ilya wakes up on the morning of Game Six against Boston fresh off a dream, for once, not a nightmare. When his consciousness swims to the surface he lays as still as he can, eyes closed, breathing evenly. He wants so badly to remember.

It’s a familiar scene, someone is shaking his hand. He can feel a strong grip, the gentle pressure against his hand. He’s cold and he smells…is that cigarette smoke? It’s drifting out of his mind the longer he interrogates it. He panics, which doesn’t help, and the dream slips from his grasp.

He sits up and opens his eyes. He thinks about freckles and dark eyes. When the last vestiges of sleep wear off, he’ll kick himself for thinking of Shane right when he wakes up, on a day when they have a series to win of all days. But in the moment, something settles in his chest. It feels, however briefly, like some piece of his memory come back to him.

***

If Montreal can win Game Six, they win the series and advance to the next round of the playoffs. Ilya has never experienced an energy like this. The team is focused and excited and hungry for a win. Boston put up a good fight, but they’re lacking depth at center.

Jackie gets an invitation to sit with the WAGs after Wilson’s wife has to go out of town unexpectedly. She protests, on account of being neither a wife or girlfriend, but gives in after some good natured peer pressure. Ilya has never seen Hayden grin this much.

Ilya’s not one to get nervous before a game. Early on in the season, maybe, but after eighty-two regular season games he finds he plays better when lets himself just be excited.

Playing professional hockey is always exciting. Ilya thinks of the person he was just a year ago and can’t believe he’s here, under the bright lights of the Bell Center. People in the stands are wearing jerseys with “Rozanov” embroidered on the back. All because of him. 

Well, really, all because of Shane.

There’s a world, Ilya supposes, where Shane never walks into the rink while Ilya’s coaching U7s, but Ilya still tries for the draft. And maybe he makes it. Maybe Jackie helps him drill and he gets drafted towards the end and he gets to play in the OHL under the name John Doe, his teammates calling him Sasha. More than likely, he wouldn’t make it. Realistically, he would have never gone for it.

Shane Hollander walked into his life one day and gave him everything he never even thought to dream about.

And now, Shane Hollander is at center ice while Ilya watches from the bench. Three periods of playoff hockey and they’re one step closer to the Cup. Ilya leans forward to watch as the puck drops.

Shane wins the face-off.

***

Shane begged and begged not to be dragged out to celebrate after their win, and Ilya is helpless to deny him anything. Jackie had met them after the game, with hugs for him and Shane, and heated kiss for Hayden. Some of the other WAGs in the hallway whistled at them, and Jackie grinned, not protesting in the slightest.

Most of the team wanted to go celebrate after their win, and it promised to be relatively tame; the next series was set to start in a few days. Ilya maybe would have gone out with the team if it had been up to him alone, but Hayden and Jackie definitely had other plans, and Shane wanted to go home. So, they went home.

Shane flops down next to where Ilya’s feet are stretched out on the couch, fresh out of the shower. He always showers at the rink, but claims he doesn’t get clean enough, and will shower again when they get home. Ilya thinks it’s endlessly endearing.

Shane’s hair is still wet and his face is scrubbed pink and Ilya fights against the sudden urge to bite him. Shane grins at him, he hasn’t stopped grinning since the final buzzer sounded, “Can you believe it?”

Ilya shakes his head. He can’t believe it, because he can’t believe anything in the last year is his real life. (It isn’t, technically speaking, his life, whispers the mean part of his brain.) What he can believe, though, is the sheer determination of Shane Hollander to make something happen. “Is it everything you dreamed of?” Ilya asks.

“Almost,” Shane says. Ilya can’t read the look on his face.

“Almost?”

Shane sighs, “It’s nothing. My thoughts have been all over the place since the end of the game.”

Ilya nudges him with a toe, “Hollander, it’s a big night for you. I don’t want you to have any almosts. Tell me.”

Shane rolls his eyes, “And what makes you think you could do anything about it?”

There’s no more air in the room. Ilya isn’t sure where it went but any air he was breathing gets sucked right out of his lungs. Shane’s words are dismissive, but there’s something about his posture, about his eyes that make Ilya shift up to a sitting position.

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid. It’s going to ruin everything, Ilya’s sure of it. But, this isn’t his life, not really. He sends a quick prayer of thanks up to the real Ilya Rozanov for giving him this dream of a year. If he’s read this wrong, he’ll figure out a way to backtrack it somehow.

He shifts closer to Shane, “I could take a guess. You tell me if I’m right?”

Shane swallows and his eyes drop to Ilya’s mouth. That’s all the invitation Ilya needs. 

He falls forward, hands coming to Shane’s shoulders, and presses a kiss to his lips. Shane opens for him, and Ilya feels a hand on his waist, another in his hair. Kissing Shane is everything. Lightning could strike him dead in this moment and Ilya would die a happy man because he knows the feeling of Shane’s lips on his.

Shane makes little noises against Ilya’s mouth, and Ilya happily swallows them down. His hands travel up from Shane’s shoulders to his jaw and he positions him exactly where he wants him. Shane positively melts in Ilya’s arms.

Ilya has pictured this moment a thousand times over in the last few months. None of those fantasies hold a candle to the real thing. 

He tugs Shane forward into his lap, and feels where they’re both hard beneath their sweatpants. Shane pulls back, cheeks pink under his freckles, and says on an exhale, “I have an idea.”

And who is Ilya to stop him from sliding off his lap and onto his knees on the floor? He would follow Shane anywhere, with any idea he had, he thinks. It’s only ever served him well.

Chapter End Notes

We are in the home stretch! I have a little more to write but now I'm back home so it's time to actually get to posting everything.

Chapter 11: Paris Holds the Key (To Your Heart)

Chapter Notes

two notes before we start:

one, paris should be pronounced in the french way so it rhymes with key. this is a very important distinction that has no bearing on the plot of this fic

and two, this is a song about getting what you want (ie making it to paris) but not getting all of it. anyway paris is a metaphor here and I'm sure you can figure out what for!

They beat Boston in the first round and Shane sank to his knees and took Ilya into his mouth before he could think any better of it. 

They beat Tampa in round two and the hotel room door barely closes before Shane launches himself at Ilya. It’s all lips and tongue and teeth and Shane thinks he has never felt this alive. Ilya tugs at the hem of Shane’s sweatshirt and Shane is all too happy to oblige. He strips, taking a moment to hastily fold his clothes on the dresser, and joins Ilya on the bed.

“On your stomach,” Ilya says, urging him to roll over. Shane goes.

“Hayden is right next door,” Shane says as Ilya’s hand drifts lower and lower and Shane really doesn’t want him to stop, actually.

Ilya rolls his eyes. “If Hayden is even in that room right now, he’s on the phone with Jackie.”

His fingers play gently with Shane’s hole and it takes every ounce of Shane’s discipline to say, “Not here.”

“Then where?” Ilya whines, not taking his fingers away. “Shane, I want to fuck you.”

Shane rolls back to his back and Ilya cages him in with his arms. “At home. After we win the conference championships.”

Ilya groans but Shane sees him light up at the challenge. Shane reaches up and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s messy and it’s filthy and it’s perfect. Shane never wants to come up for air.

Later, after Ilya gets his mouth on him and Shane returns the favor, they shower off the rink and the sweat and fall into the other bed together. Nestled between clean sheets with his head on Ilya’s chest, a complete and utter peace settles into Shane’s chest. He’s never been so sure he’s where he supposed to be.

***

The series against Carolina is brutal and goes all the way to Game Seven. Montreal is feeling the effects of three rounds of playoff hockey. Everyone’s playing through injuries. Two fingers on Hayden’s left hand are jammed and won’t bend how they should. Shane’s right shoulder is stiff and bruised and won’t raise as high as usual. Ilya’s knee makes a popping noise when he walks that the team doctor called “concerning.”

But they do it. They win Game Seven away at Carolina and immediately board a plane back to Montreal. Shane doesn’t think twice before tipping his head onto Ilya’s shoulder to sleep. Hayden sends a picture to Jackie in the group chat. 

Shane thinks about his promise to Ilya from the second the buzzer sounds. He thinks about it on the plane ride home, and in the car back to the apartment. He thinks about it as he drops his bag on the floor of his bedroom with a thud and hears Ilya in the doorway.

Ilya is battered and bruised and Shane thinks he might be the most beautiful man alive.

They meet in the middle for a kiss and everything hurts. Shane’s shoulder screams at him when he reaches up for Ilya’s face. They move to the bed and Ilya nearly collapses when he tries to crawl up to Shane. It’s a disaster.

“Come here,” Shane says, rolling to the side of the mattress. “Carefully.”

Ilya does, wincing at the weight he puts on his knee, however temporarily. They lay side by side in the bed, face to face. Shane leans in to kiss him. It’s sweet and soft and Shane feels it all the way down to his toes. He pulls back and says, “Maybe we just sleep tonight?”

Ilya nods, “We can do that.”

Sleeping together, just sleeping, started on the last night in Tampa. Shane has never slept so well. Ilya clings to him like a starfish and he manages to throw all the covers off halfway through the night. Shane likes him so much he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

In a few days, they’re going to go up against San Francisco for the Stanley Cup series. Choosing to just sleep tonight means waiting until the series is over before they’ll have a chance again. Shane finds he doesn’t mind. He settles on his good shoulder and pulls himself against Ilya and slips into a heavy sleep.

***

After Game Four, Montreal and San Francisco are tied. Montreal won tonight’s game after Shane scored off Ilya’s assist on the power play at the end of the third period. Unsurprisingly, Shane is tapped for media.

“You first met Ilya Rozanov back in 2008 at the World Juniors and played against him. Could you ever have imagined one day scoring on the power play together?”

It’s not the first time he or Ilya have gotten this kind of question. Shane responds with the same bland media answer he’s been trained to give. But later that night, he and Ilya crawl into bed together and Shane can’t seem to let the question go.

Ilya is asleep within minutes, resting his head on Shane’s chest. Shane stares at the ceiling, one hand tangled in Ilya’s curls, and thinks back to 2008. He remembers sitting in the stands to watch the Russian team practice. Rozanov was easily the best player on that team. Shane watched him skate for an hour and decided he had to go and talk to him.

He had been so nervous walking up to Rozanov in that parking lot. He didn’t do things like that, ever. Hell, it’s been five years and Shane still doesn’t approach people.

Shane sinks into the memory of that day. The cold air, the cigarette smoke, the second handshake he was embarrassed about the second he walked away, back towards his parents’ car. Shane knows he didn’t make eye contact with Rozanov. He spent the interaction looking intently at his shoes on the pavement.

In his mind, Shane raises his glance to meet Rozanov’s. He sees Ilya’s face. Guilt sits heavy and low in Shane’s chest. Ilya has said a million times over how glad he is to be playing professional hockey. Shane believes him. He does.

He just wonders, sometimes, if things would have been better for Ilya if he could get his memories back for real, not some fake ones implanted and repeated so often they roll off his tongue like truths. He thinks of the real Ilya Rozanov, and what would have happened if the plane hadn’t crashed. They’d have been positioned as rivals, he knows that; the league was already setting it up. Shane wonders if they would have played into it, or if they would have managed to be friends despite it.

It doesn’t matter, really. The plane did crash, and Ilya doesn’t have memories from what amounts to his entire childhood. He built a life for himself anyway, Shane thinks. Ilya might be the bravest person he knows.

Ilya shifts on top of him, settling more of his body weight on to Shane’s chest. The pressure is perfect and Shane feels himself slowly start to slip out of his thoughts and into sleep.

***

The 2014 Cup Final comes down to Game Seven.

Shane has never been in this much pain in his life. He’s skated nearly twenty-five minutes this game already, and they have another two until the final buzzer. Montreal is up by one. If they can keep that lead for two more minutes, the Cup is theirs.

Shane pushes and he pushes through his shift. His lungs burn and his shoulder screams but he makes it to the shift change and swings a leg over the board to watch Ilya take his place on the ice. Shane barely sits on the bench, energy coiled in his muscles waiting and waiting and waiting.

The buzzer sounds.

Chapter 12: The Countess and the Common Man

Chapter Notes

bit of a change in perspective here!

Jacqueline Marie Monette is not a WAG. Really, she feels like the group of women she stands with in the tunnel should get that by now.

She’s not a WAG, but she is sleeping regularly and exclusively with the first line right winger. And she knew the second line center before the rest of the world did. And she’s one of five people in the world, she’s pretty sure, that’s seen the penthouse owned by the first line center.

So, she’s not a WAG, not really. But she deserves to be here, in the tunnel at the Bell Center, waiting for the final buzzer of Game Seven. Jackie bounces on her toes. She’s full of anxious and excited energy.

The buzzer sounds.

She watches on the screen as the guys on the bench launch themselves over the boards and on the ice. Helmets and sticks go flying. The women around her cheer and hug each other. Soon, a security guard ushers them to the edge of the tunnel and on the ice.

Mark Carlsson, the Montreal Captain in his final season, lifts the Cup to a crowd of cheers. 

Jackie sees Shane and Ilya first; Shane with his hands on Ilya’s shoulders, shaking him and yelling something like “Holy shit!” And Ilya with the biggest smile she’s ever seen on his face making him look years younger.

She heads that way, thinking wherever two of her boys are, the third must be close by. She’s intercepted by a blur of a blue jersey and suddenly she’s on tiptoe, arms around Hayden’s neck and he kisses her like a man come home from war.

Christ, she loves him.

When they break apart for air Jackie grabs his face with both her hands. He has sweaty hair plastered to his forehead and his cheeks are flushed from the exertion of his last shift on ice and he looks so handsome Jackie could cry. “You did it!”

He grins at her, “I know!”

Shane and Ilya join them, then. Jackie breaks away from Hayden to give Shane a hug. Then, she turns to Ilya and he lifts her off her feet and spins her. When he puts her down she says, “You know, if this career doesn’t work out for you, I have an opening for a youth hockey coach I haven’t been able to fill.”

He laughs and pulls her in for another hug.

Jackie thinks of the man she met three years ago. The amnesiac with no sense of self besides an aptitude for hockey. With an ill-fitting name and a natural ease with kids. He was sweet and charming and, once he warmed up to her, cocky and funny. He was her right hand for years running that rink.

And then, one day, two professional hockey players walked into that rink and changed both of their lives forever. She presses a kiss to Ilya’s cheek and sends a prayer of thanks to the hockey gods for getting them here. She doesn’t know who Ilya was before his memories start and she isn’t sure he knew who he was for the first three years she knew him. Only Ilya could say if he knows who he is now, but Jackie is sure this is where he’s meant to be.

***

The post-win celebrations last for the better part of the week. Jackie has to work during the days, teaching lessons and preparing for the rink’s year-end recital. By now, every young skater at the rink knows she was on the ice after Montreal won and they think it’s so cool that she’s dating a real life hockey player. She doesn’t bother to correct them.

She spends most of her nights at Hayden’s apartment. This isn’t new. Her job at the rink pays all right, but not well, and she never really felt she needed to move out of her parents’ house. Plus, Hayden’s place is really nice and he gave her a key back in October.

She sees Hayden for about an hour each morning. She gets up early to open the rink for the private ice time booked by a figure skater trying to qualify for her first senior season. Hayden stumbles in around the same time, hair a mess and eyes glassy. Jackie pushes a cup of coffee in his hands and a kiss to his lips and he promises they’ll find time together soon.

Five days after Montreal wins the Cup, Jackie lets herself in to Hayden’s apartment just after rush hour. She toes out of her shoes and drops her keys on the side table and wanders into the kitchen to find something in the fridge to eat.

Hayden stands in her way, and she barely sees him because the lights are off. He catches her by the arms before she can run right into him and pulls her in for a kiss.

He’s wearing a dress shirt and he smells like shampoo and cologne. “What are you doing?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer her, just takes her phone and sets it on the counter and starts leading her over to the table. Without him blocking her way, Jackie can see the candles and the tablecloth and the little vase of red roses. Her heart stutters in her chest. Hayden pulls out her chair and smirks.

“Hayden…”

“Yes?”

“Hayden, I’m still in my work clothes.”

“Not a problem. I love the way your ass looks in those leggings.”

“Hayden!”

“Will you sit down, please?”

Her feet are glued to the floor and her heart is in her throat. She shakes her head and whispers, “I don’t think I can.”

Hayden smiles, and moves to stand in front of her again. “I was going to do this part later, but I can be flexible.” He pulls something out of his pocket and drops to one knee. Jackie stops breathing. “Jacqueline Marie Monette,” he says, gazing up at her with naked adoration. “Will you marry me?”

***

Jackie calls out of work and they spend the next day in bed.

Two days after the proposal, Hayden rounds up whatever Metros aren’t actively dying of liver failure and convinces them to bring their significant others and go to a local bar so he can make an announcement. It’s divey and it’s quiet and when they walk in Hayden raises their joined hands and says, “We’re getting married!”

Jackie is immediately pulled into hug after hug and people are congratulating them left and right. More than a few women tell her in no uncertain terms that she is a WAG now, whether she likes it or not. And Jackie is so happy to tell them she knows.

After the initial flurry of excitement, the larger group settles across a number of tables. Jackie finds herself, unsurprisingly, with Shane and Ilya. She’s glued to Hayden’s side and Ilya’s recounting a stupid story from the bar that Hayden missed because he was busy giving Jackie the nicest piece of jewelry she’s ever owned in her life.

When the story ends and there’s a pause in conversation, Shane says, “So you really said yes to marrying Hayden? Even though you wouldn’t admit you were dating?”

Hayden laughs and tells him to fuck off, but there’s something serious about the set of Shane’s brows. Jackie takes the tension in his shoulders into consideration and says, “It worked for us, I think. I told him to go big a year ago and he did.” Hayden squeezes her arm.

Shane nods, and doesn’t say anything else. Jackie watches Ilya shoot him a look. If she figured out that Shane’s puzzling something out, surely Ilya knew about it an hour ago. They’ve always been able to read each other like that. She wonders what it is that Shane can’t work out in his mind.

The conversation stays light after that. Easy in the way conversation between the four of them always is. The fame and fortune of the boys’ careers is fun and exciting and she’s so so proud of it, of them. But, she thinks, as she watches Ilya lean into Shane and feels Hayden’s thumb trace lazy circles into her skin, her favorite moments are ones like these. Where she could close her eyes and transport herself back to midnights at a dingy rink on the edge of the city; four voices laughing and dreaming for something bigger than themselves. 

Chapter End Notes

everybody cheer - as of posting this chapter I've written the ending!

Chapter 13: In a Crowd of Thousands

Chapter Notes

the refrain of this song is literally "i will always find you" which is incredibly romantic to me

In the cab back to their apartment, the happiness Shane felt for Hayden and Jackie gives way to a bitter jealousy he wishes he didn’t feel. It’s not the same, but he wants the relief of being able to label whatever is happening with him and Ilya. He doesn’t know how Jackie lived that long without labeling it.

Or, maybe he has some idea. Because while she never said she and Hayden were dating, she was always quick to inform people they were sleeping together. And isn’t that a label in its own way?

It’s not so easy for him and Ilya. When someone asks Shane who Ilya is to him, Shane has to say something like “he’s my best friend” or “he’s the best hockey player I know.” Neither of which are false, but there’s so much more to it. 

Probably, he thinks, he should have this discussion with Ilya before he starts telling strangers that he wishes he could find a way to crack open his chest and have Ilya crawl inside so he can be safe next to Shane’s heart for the rest of both of their lives.

They pay the driver and make their way upstairs. They’re both in a weird mood tonight. Normally this is where they would be stealing smiles and giggling at each other as the elevator rises. Tonight, they stand quietly next to one another and stew in their own thoughts.

The door closes behind them and Shane kicks off his shoes. Ilya mutters something about going to bed so Shane gives him space and lingers in the kitchen longer than necessary. When he finally follows Ilya down the hallway some minutes later, he’s relieved to see Ilya facedown on Shane’s bed and not in the second bedroom next door. Shane slides in next to him and tries to settle his mind and fall asleep.

He never quite manages it. Shane spends the night in a twilight state of rest. Half asleep and half awake. Sometime hours after they went to bed, Shane snaps back into full awareness when he realizes Ilya is having a nightmare.

He knows about the nightmares. They’ve shared a room on and off for the better part of a year and a bed for the last two months. Ilya never brings it up, so Shane assumed he either didn’t realize they were happening or didn’t want to talk about it. Typically, he’s restless for a few minutes, feet kicking, and he mutters in Russian. Almost always, it’s over within minutes.

Tonight, though, a few minutes pass and Ilya’s still caught in the throes of it. Shane rubs his back as his mind spins about whether or not waking Ilya is a good idea. Then Ilya’s head moves on the pillow and Shane realizes he’s crying. Decision made.

“Ilya,” he says, gently shaking his shoulder. “Ilya, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

Ilya comes back to him with a wet gasp. “I- I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s okay,” Shane says, pulling him into his chest. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

They stay like that for a while. Ilya with his head on Shane’s chest, Shane regulating his breathing for the both of them.

Eventually, Ilya lifts his head a fraction and says, “You are not surprised.”

“I’ve been sleeping in a room with you since October,” Shane says. “This seemed like a bad one, though.”

“It was.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Ilya doesn’t say anything for a while. Shane figures the answer is no, and that’s fine, laying like this is nice. 

But then, Ilya says, into the bare skin of Shane’s chest, “I can never remember them. I know they are bad and that I am scared. But once I wake up it disappears behind the wall in my mind.” He sighs, “I am getting them more often, now.”

“Do you know why?”

“I think it is guilt. Or karma. I stole his life and it has been too good in so many ways. Maybe the nightmares are a way of balancing the scales.”

Something cracks open in Shane’s chest. “I don’t believe that,” he says. “I only talked to the guy once, but I think the real Rozanov wouldn’t have wished this on you.”

Ilya pushes up. “You talked to him? Not just played hockey against him?”

“Have I really never told you about that?” It hadn’t been a secret by any means. How had it never come up in all the time they spent together this past year?

Ilya shakes his head and settles back down, half on top of Shane. “Will you?”

Shane starts from the very beginning. He talks about the practice he dragged Yuna to sit and watch. Seeing Rozanov fly around the rink from way up in the stands. The utter fascination that led him to walk all around the arena in Regina, hoping against all hope that he would run into him and have an excuse to say hello.

The bitter cold, the cigarette smoke, the no smoking sign. “I was so nervous, for some reason, I couldn’t meet his eyes. But I stuck out my hand and introduced myself anyway. I told him how much I liked watching him play, and he just agreed with me! It was an asshole move, but also I think he may have been struggling with the language. Anyway, the conversation was going nowhere and I was starting to feel like an idiot so I-”

“Reached out to shake my hand again.” Ilya says, finishing the thought.

Shane’s heart is in his throat. “You said I hadn’t told you this story before. I didn’t tell you that detail.”

“You didn’t have to,” Ilya says. “Shane, I remembered.”

***

Like with Russian returning to him months ago, there is no fanfare. There is only the cool sheets against his skin, Shane’s thumb tracing small patterns on his shoulder, a story whispered in a dark room. There is Ilya, safe after a nightmare where he tried and tried and tried to remember, listening to the man he loves talk about a cold parking lot in Saskatchewan. 

And then, he remembers. With a stunning and beautiful clarity the fragment of a memory he held on to for years comes to life in his mind. He can’t help but supply the rest of that story. It had been so endearing, that second handshake. Firm and confident, for all that the boy reaching out wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

He looks into that same face now, five years older and all the more beautiful for it, and starts to cry. Shane holds him as he thinks about his mama’s face. It’s overwhelming to reach for a memory and be able to grab it with both hands, examine it for each tiny detail.

“Ilya,” Shane says, still holding him tight. “What- I mean, how-”

Ilya pulls back from Shane’s hug and sits up in the bed. He puts a hand on either side of Shane’s face and says, with a deathly seriousness, “I remembered. You shook my hand a second time and started to walk away. I told you that you wouldn’t be so nice after losing to Russia and you told me that wasn’t going to happen.”

Shane’s eyes are watery and Ilya keeps talking, “Then Russia wins the tournament and you still won’t meet my eyes and I think, he must be embarrassed; to be Canada’s Shane Hollander and lose at hockey. It would be inconvenient, if this means he never sees my face and four years later cannot recognize me when I have amnesia.”

Shane laughs as tears slip down his cheeks. “You asshole! I wasn’t embarrassed I was nervous. If I had known I would’ve one day needed to recognize you I would have-”

“Shane,” Ilya cuts him off, wiping away tears with his thumb. “I do not care. I wouldn’t change it. You found me, that’s what matters.”

“I found you,” Shane whispers back. Ilya nods. “It’s really you. It’s been you the whole time.”

“It’s really me,” Ilya says. He can’t take it any longer. He closes the distance between them and kisses Shane. They’re both crying. It feels like the last pieces of the puzzle have slotted into place. It feels like coming home. 

They kiss and Ilya thinks about this life he’s living that he didn’t think belonged to him. This life he swore would be taken from him at any moment. But it’s his, it’s always been his life. The revelation is dizzying. He thinks it’s greedy of him to still want more when he’s just gotten his whole life back. But if he can have his memories and keep his life, maybe he can have this, too.

He pulls back from Shane just enough to look into those deep brown eyes and says, “I love you.”

Shane says, “Holy shit,” and surges up to kiss him, holding Ilya’s face in his hands. He breaks the kiss to say, “I love you, too.”

Chapter 14: Everything to Win

Chapter Notes

this whole chapter shane is channelling this song in his head. specifically the line "why panic now/with everything to win?"

They piece together the story over the next couple of days between frantic searches online, lunches with Hayden and Jackie, and rounds of the hottest sex of Shane’s life.

Ilya remembers the plane crashing, he says, those terrifying moments when the engines caught fire and he grabbed his mother’s cross. He tells Shane, absurdly and impossibly, that he was thinking of Shane in those moments. He confesses that he thought of the cold parking lot and Shane’s awkward handshake and that those little wisps of memory stayed with him through the fog of the amnesia.

Shane cries a little at that. He’s not even ashamed of it.

When the plane went down, Russian news outlets reported it alongside the deaths of Ilya’s father and brother, murdered in their residence in Moscow; seemingly at the same time.

“My father was police,” Ilya explains. “I was young and off to represent Russia internationally, so I was not expected to follow in his footsteps. But my brother was. I overheard them a few weeks before coming to Canada. It sounds like they were involved with the Bratva.”

“You think it was a hit? Targeted?”

Ilya nods. “Probably, yes. Would explain the way the assistant coach dragged me out of the fire and didn’t tell anyone I was there, that I was alive.”

A few days later, over coffee in the early morning, Shane picks the thread back up. “But all the articles say yours was the only body never recovered.”

Ilya shrugs. “My coach was not so good with paperwork. And we never brought all the staff for big tournaments.”

Shane turns all that over in his mind. It takes a couple of days. His…boyfriend? Soulmate? Ilya. His Ilya had his death faked for him because his family was killed for their political associations (even thinking the words Russian mob make Shane feel sick) and Ilya was only saved because a relative stranger got him out of the line of fire just in time.

It’s insane. It’s a fairy tale.

It explains the hair dye.

It’s weirdly almost exactly what they told the press back at the start of the season.

Ilya finds him on the couch one afternoon, coming back in from a run that Shane begged off in favor of stewing in anxiety. It’s going well, the stewing. He’s found about thirty new things to worry about.

“I can hear your brain working from outside,” Ilya says, in a tone that is equal parts teasing and fond.

Without preamble, Shane says, “What if they come back for you? The people who killed you family?”

“They won’t.”

“They tried to kill you once.” They’re reasonably certain the plane crash wasn’t an accident at this point, though they’ll never get to prove it.

“I am a public figure now,” Ilya puffs up his chest and a laugh finds its way out of Shane’s chest. “Would be very obvious if I was murdered.”

Shane lets it go. Or, he tries to. He trusts Ilya with every part of his being and he wants to trust him on this. There’s so much they haven’t figured out yet about them, between them. Ilya’s love feels like a warm swath of sunlight. Shane’s pretty sure he was living most of his life in the dark.

Ilya leans in for a kiss and Shane melts into it. He’s fairly certain he’ll never get enough of this. “Come,” Ilya says. “I am gross, I need to shower.”

Shane goes. What else could he do but follow?

***

The night before they fly out the MLH awards, Hayden and Jackie camp out in their apartment. This is the other thing they haven’t talked about, Shane thinks with a sinking feeling in his gut.

He and Ilya are dating? Soulmates? Together, anyway. It’s the most precious thing in Shane’s life and it’s also so new. They been officially, mutually in love for one week. That’s basically no time at all, really. But then, they’ve been sleeping together for two months and living together since the new year. And really, they’ve been orbiting each other since that cold parking lot in Saskatchewan. Shane doesn’t actually know what he would call the starting point.

“You’re doing it again,” Ilya says, dropping into place next to him on the couch and rubbing a gentle thumb across the space between his eyebrows.

Across the room, Hayden snorts. “Buddy, we won the Cup. You can turn your thinking brain off.”

Jackie is curled up next to him, half asleep. Shane feels Ilya wiggle on the cushion next to him until he’s satisfied with how much of their bodies are connected. It’s no different than how they were two, four, six months ago. But now it feels different.

Shane knows logically that he should probably run this all by Ilya; the idea of how much they want to give themselves to the world, if anything. But Jackie and Hayden are hardly the world, really.

“Ilya and I are together,” he blurts out. It’s so unlike him that Ilya sits up and turns fully to look at him.

Jackie sits up too, fully awake and eyes bright. “For real?”

Ilya’s eyes move between her and Shane; searching for confirmation or clarification or something else Shane can’t name. The bravery of the moment has passed, he can’t seem to get any more words out.

Ilya must see something in his face and answers, “Yes. We are in love.”

Jackie swats Hayden on the chest, “I told you! I knew something was going on!”

Hayden grabs her hand and threads their fingers together. “It’s about fucking time. I thought Jacks was going to explode if you kept this from us any longer.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “Not that we expected you to tell us but-”

Jackie cuts him off, “It’s been months! I was beginning to think we would have to go the rest of our lives pretending we didn’t see the way you two look at each other.”

“Wait, months?” Shane’s brain screeches to a halt. “This is like a week old.”

Ilya flashes him a grin, “Not true. All of playoffs?”

“That was-” Shane stutters out. “That was different!”

Hayden laughs, “This is incredible. They confess they’re in love and nothing has changed.”

“That’s because they always do this old married couple fighting,” Jackie stage-whispers. 

“Oh, things are different now,” Ilya says. And that’s all the warning Shane gets before he’s being kissed within an inch of his life. Ilya’s hands cradle his face and his tongue slips in his mouth and Shane is only distantly aware that their friends are sitting five feet away on the loveseat.

Then Hayden starts to wolf-whistle and the spell breaks. Next to him, Jackie is grinning like a maniac. Shane feels his face heat with a blush and he feels the full depth of Ilya’s love when he doesn’t pick this moment to tease Shane about it.

Maybe, a small part of his brain whispers, it’s not asking too much to get the fairy tale ending. Maybe they do deserve this. So much of the situation is already impossible, but the smiling faces of their friends are real and tangible. It makes the things they have to lose feel less and less important than the things they could win.

Chapter 15: Meant to Be

Chapter Notes

This song is technically out of order but it made the most sense for us to hear from Sveta one last time now!

Hockey awards are…tedious. It’s the nicest way Svetlana can think to describe it. She’s always thrilled to get dressed up and scare grown men with the height of her heels, of course, but sitting through the award shows themselves - well, she could do without them.

It’s her third year filling a seat at Crowell’s table, perks of being the personal assistant to the Commissioner. In years past, she was given freedom to mingle and make nice with people on behalf of her boss, her father, the usual. Boring, maybe, but pleasant enough if she grit her teeth and took advantage of the open bar.

This year, however, she has a clock ticking in the back of her mind. He never issued a formal deadline, but Sveta thinks that Crowell will demand a verdict of her by the end of the evening.

It’s a verdict she’s dreading giving. She doesn’t want to ruin the life of the best player (or second-best, depending on the day) the league has seen in a generation. That his presence was enough to get the team to the Cup in a year is unprecedented.

And yet, the story is so unbelievable. People don’t come back from the dead.

She wants Crowell to drop it, more than anything. Barring that, she wants a sign from the universe that will help her make the right call. She knows, of course, what the right call is. But a sign wouldn’t hurt, just one thing that would bolster her courage. It’s a serious thing, to hold someone’s fate in your hands.

The awards are due to start soon, and Sveta wants some air before she sits through hours of speeches and tribute videos. She makes her way up to the roof, eager for the cold night air.

She finds two figures on the other side of the deck, pressed against each other, shoulders and hips and feet, as they both look over the railing. It’s none of her business, but she creeps closer anyway, the wind swallowing the click of her heels on the concrete.

“…and I love you. Whatever happens. You know that, right?”

“But if I lose you will not think I am sexy.”

“Ilya…”

“Yes, I know. And I love you too.”

Sveta beats a hasty retreat. She placed the voices easily, but the deep well of affection in the words startles her more than anything. This is clearly not something they have made public, for all the media coverage of their friendship on and off the ice they share. She thinks if anyone deserves some privacy, it’s hockey’s most famous players.

She makes it back into the main event with time to spare and grabs a glass of champagne off a roving tray. A few minutes later, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov walk in through the doors, together but with a gap between them. They move to find their seats, at a table with the Hollander parents and some Metros teammates. Maybe she’s imagining things, but she swears she can feel a magnetic pulse between them, even from across the room.

Sveta was asking for a sign. She never imagined it would be as clear as this. She makes her way back to her own table as the lights dim. She’ll wait until Crowell asks, but she has her answer now, and the confidence to say it.

Chapter 16: The Press Conference

Chapter Notes

Short chapter, but I couldn't not include this speech. In the soundtrack this song is actually sung by the Countess (aka Jackie) but that didn't really work for this story, and I like the idea of giving Ilya some agency back.

“And the winner is…Ilya Rozanov!”

Ilya stands from his seat and starts to make his way to the stage at the far end of the room. Hayden and Jackie whoop and cheer, Shane squeezes his shoulder. Then, he’s on his own.

The room is packed with hockey players and they all congratulate him on the way up to accept the Calder. He spares a passing thought to the fact that this shouldn’t have been his award to win this year. He should have been fighting Shane for the honor. But, that’s not a productive train of thought when he has a speech to give.

“Thank you. I am honored to be here, accepting this award, but I am also honored to be able to play professional hockey. I’m sure most of you know this, but in case you missed it - I died five years ago.”

There’s a murmur of laughter from the crowd, he continues.

“I spent many years not knowing who I was or what I was supposed to be doing. Then, someone put skates back on my feet and a stick back in my hand and I thought, okay, hockey is something. Hockey was enough for a while. It gave me purpose, got me a job, gave me a best friend.”

He finds Jackie in the audience, shrouded behind the lights and she blows him a kiss.

“If you have not had the pleasure of meeting Shane Hollander in person, on or off the ice, let me tell you about his intensity. With the gaps in my memory, I did not know who I was supposed to be on the ice. Shane saw right through that, he saw me, and he decided to do something about it. Anyone who has met him knows this: he is the most determined person on the planet. It is one of the best things about him.”

“I owe this award, in its entirety to Shane Hollander, really. Without him, I would not be here, because I would still be a youth hockey coach on the north side of Montreal. I liked coaching hockey, but I like scoring goals against Boston more.”

He hears his teammates, scattered across the room, let out a cheer.

“Thank you for the honor. Thank you for letting me play professional hockey. Thank you to Jackie, and Hayden, and Shane. I could not do this without you. I would not want to do this without you.”

Chapter 17: Finale

Chapter Notes

We've made it! At the end of the musical, they decide to keep the real identity of the Princess Anastasia a secret from the rest of the world. That's not possible here, seeing as Yuna has already told the world this is the real Ilya Rozanov, but I think this ending matches in spirit.

The plans to build a cottage were in motion before he met Ilya. Shane loved his parents and their place, but he wanted a place that was just for him. A place to block out the world and reset his mind and body. A place that was quiet in the way the rest of the world never seemed to be.

Shane sits on the dock, legs long out in front of him. He squints against the sun in his eyes, too content where he is to get up and find his sunglasses. Ilya is swimming in the lake, occasionally splashing him with the cold water. The brightness of the sun at midday doesn’t hold a candle to the blinding smiles Ilya gives him when he surfaces for air: white teeth and sparkling drops of water dripping from his hair and eyelashes.

When he first drew up the plans for the cottage, he envisioned himself alone. Shane has never been so glad to be wrong about something. He’s so glad to have Ilya written into every corner of his life, but especially here.

Ilya pushes up on the dock and collapses himself on top of Shane without so much as an attempt to shake himself dry. The cold water feels nice against Shane’s sun-warmed skin, and his hand goes immediately around Ilya’s waist.

“You’re cold,” he whines anyway.

Ilya grins against his collarbone. “You love me.”

“I love you,” Shane agrees. He’s never going to tire of saying it.

They stay like that for a while; Ilya a comforting weight on Shane’s chest, Shane’s hand tracing lazy circles on Ilya’s back. Love has made Shane insane, because he swears their hearts are beating in steady unison.

Later that evening, after dinner and half a movie neither of them are really watching, Ilya asks, “What are you thinking about?”

Shane sighs and pointedly doesn’t move his head to look Ilya in the eye. “Telling people.”

“You want to?”

“No,” Shane says reflexively. “I mean, I don’t want you to be a secret. I just don’t know what that would mean, for us,” he swallows, “and for hockey.”

Ilya has said a thousand times in a thousand different ways how grateful he is to be playing hockey, to be playing hockey with Shane. The sport was already taken from him once, Shane doesn’t want to take it from again. And selfishly, Shane doesn’t want to lose it for himself. Teammates tease him and call him a hockey robot. It’s not his favorite thing in the world, but he’s heard worse. And besides, they’re not exactly wrong.

Ilya threads his fingers in Shane’s hair and the touch is grounding, pulling Shane out of his thought spiral. “I think,” Ilya says, each word finding its way off his tongue with care, “That we do not need to tell the world much of anything. We are already playing on the same team, yes? People already know we live together, that we are good friends. We would not have to change anything.”

“But what about years from now? When neither of us is dating anyone? When rumors start to build and-”

“Then we deal with that then. Maybe no one will ever think about it.” Ilya lets out a quiet bark of laughter, “Maybe some other hockey player will come out and the league will be excited for gay hockey players.”

Shane snorts at that. It’s an impossible idea, but charming in its way. “Okay,” he tells Ilya, and he means it. Hayden and Jackie already know, and they have plans to go to his parents’ for dinner later in the week to tell them. That’s Shane’s whole world, anyway. He can survive being Ilya’s friend and teammate in public if it means they get this in private.

“Maybe it will be Scott Hunter,” Ilya muses. “He will get tired of being known as the world’s oldest hockey player and try to change his reputation. Be less boring.”

A full laugh from Shane this time. He tilts his head so he and Ilya are nose to nose. “I thought you liked boring.”

Ilya shifts, caging Shane in against the back of the couch. “Ah, I like you. You are boring, yes, but you are hot and young. Scott Hunter does not have these things.”

“Stop talking about Scott Hunter,” Shane says against Ilya’s lips. Ilya listens.

***

Ilya hasn’t has a nightmare in months. He’s barely had a dream. He sleeps well these days, for the most part. Shane is not a light sleeper and it calms something in Ilya’s nervous system. No matter how he tosses and turns, Shane is a predictable weight in the bed next to him.

He sleeps better, but he has the occasional bout of insomnia still. Tonight is one of those nights.

Shane is dead to the world, sprawled out on the mattress next to Ilya. Ilya sits up against the headboard, watching the clouds move over the full moon outside the windows. He’s never known peace like he has this past week at the cottage. Shane is the most calming presence in his life, but Shane in the real world never turns his brain off. He’s had his moments this week, but for the most part he’s allowed himself to relax with Ilya. 

Ilya can’t sleep tonight, but that’s okay, because Shane will indulge him tomorrow with sleeping in and video games and cold lake water and blankets in front of the fire pit. There’s a sense of peace settling under Ilya’s skin. It’s not written into his bones, not yet, but he thinks one day it might be.

The clouds move over the moon and Shane breathes steadily beside him and Ilya lets his mind turn back to the plane crash. He doesn’t often, not since regaining his memory, but tonight he feels safe.

His mama’s voice comes to him, humming a lullaby she made up for him as a baby. It feels like acknowledgement from her that he is safe and loved. That he achieved her wildest dreams for him.

I love you, Mama, he thinks. I wish you could have met him and loved him too.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all for joining me on this journey! This was so much fun to plan and write and was at the outset very self-indulgent so I'm glad it found a home outside of my heart.

I'm done with this AU but I have some other fics in the works so please stick around💜

And! If you want to chat some more you can find me on tumblr