Chapter Text
While over for dinner, the Centaurs had told Shane excitedly that the players who had recovered enough to do so were looking to get back on the ice together sometime soon.
“You should join!” Troy had encouraged. “I’ll text you.”
Shane had thanked the four men sincerely and promised that he would try his hardest to make it, but a part of him felt guilty for getting back on the ice when Ilya couldn’t.
Hayden had invited Shane to come skate with him on numerous occasions since the crash, but Shane had managed to find a reason to turn every offer down. Of course, he desperately wanted to be back in a rink to the point that it was nearly eating him alive, but he couldn’t imagine how Ilya would feel watching Shane get hockey back when he was still trapped with his crutches in order to get around.
A text came in from Troy a few days later with the details. Shane skimmed it and set the phone back down, considering whether Troy would figure out he was lying about the timing coinciding with one of Ilya’s PT appointments.
“Troy said he texted you and you didn’t respond,” Ilya said casually as they sat down for dinner that evening.
“Oh, must’ve slipped my mind,” Shane responded, reaching for the bowl of asparagus to scoop some onto his plate.
Ilya stared at Shane intently, eyes narrowed. “You never forget to respond to texts,” he said suspiciously. “I know you hate having the unread notifications on your phone.”
Shane shrugged. “I can go a few days with them. I’ll text him back later this week.”
“But the skate is in two days, you should respond now,” Ilya pushed, setting his silverware down, signaling to Shane how serious his boyfriend was about this conversation.
“You can just text him back for me, ok?” Shane said, trying his hardest to place the ball back in Ilya’s court. “You two are closer anyway.”
“Yes, but the whole point is he is trying to make an effort with you,” Ilya responded plainly. “My friends want to befriend my boyfriend. You need to tell him yes yourself.”
“I appreciate that but there are other things we could do together,” Shane said honestly. He really did want to connect on a deeper level with Ilya’s teammates, he just didn’t want to jeopardize Ilya’s emotional state in the process.
“Other things?” Ilya repeated questioningly. “You are not going to skate?”
Shane blinked. He had assumed that Ilya knew his answer was no.
“Uh, no, of course not,” Shane said, like the reason why was obvious.
“What do you mean ‘of course not’?” Ilya was clearly getting frustrated now.
“I mean that if I’m skating, I want it to be with you. Together,” Shane replied, hoping that the sweet sentiment would be enough to get Ilya to back down.
“That means you cannot skate for months, you know this, yes?”
“Yes, I do. I just don’t feel right being out on the ice when you can’t,” Shane answered, grateful that Ilya seemed to be understanding and respecting his decision.
“No,” came Ilya’s reply. He didn’t sound angry, just resigned. Like he would not be wavering on this.
“No?”
“No. You are going to skate with the Centaurs,” Ilya repeated himself firmly.
Shane stared across at the table at his boyfriend who had started shoveling salmon into his mouth during Shane’s silence.
“Ilya, I just .. wouldn’t you be sad seeing me skate?” Shane stammered.
“A little,” Ilya said with a shrug. “But that should not stop you. You walk every day while I cannot and that makes me a little sad, but I am also glad that you did not have to stop doing so just because I can’t.”
“Alright, but walking is something I have to do to get around. Skating is like .. a privilege," Shane argued.
“No, skating for you is like breathing,” Ilya shot back. “I cannot believe that the reason you have not been inside of a rink all these months is because you are worried about me.”
“Of course it is.” Shane stabbed at his vegetables.
“If I had known, then I would’ve forced you back into hockey weeks ago,” Ilya said forcefully. “I thought you were just scared or something.”
“Scared?”
“Yes, scared. I don’t know.” Ilya waved his hands in the air for a moment. “So what, has Hayden been asking you to join him and you’ve been ignoring just like you’re ignoring Troy?”
Shane blushed a flaming red and Ilya ran his fingers through his hair frustratedly. “Shanya, please tell me you’re joking.”
“I wanted to skate with you, not Hayden,” Shane said weakly as he stared down at his plate.
“I wish you had told me. We could’ve talked it through. You could’ve been on the ice by now,” Ilya said quietly, his tone bleeding from exasperation to sadness.
“I really don’t mind waiting. It feels like the right thing to do,” Shane tried his hardest to explain.
“I don’t want you waiting on my account,” Ilya said honestly. “I love watching you play hockey, moya lyubov. I will also be at the rink anyway, so you should skate.”
“You will?”
“Yes, we are going to see Wiebe first and then taking him to rink if he’s up to it. Team bonding,” Ilya said.
“Oh.”
Ilya nodded emphatically. “So let’s text Troy back, yes? Tell him you are coming and you are very excited.”
_____
Ilya was sitting nervously on the couch while waiting for Bood to come pick him up and drive him to Wiebe’s. Shane had insisted on staying behind and meeting them at the rink afterward, claiming that he didn’t want to intrude on the Centaurs time with their coach.
A honk out front alerted him to his friends presence and Ilya called out to Shane that he was leaving, making his way down the front walkway and into Bood’s shotgun seat.
The ride was ominously silent as both men anxiously thought about the rough state they would be seeing one of their role models in. The team had been told that Wiebe had most of his mobility back and had no trouble speaking, but that small activities tired him out. This information did not prepare Ilya to walk in and see the man laying on his couch with gray skin and a blanket pulled up to his chest.
As captain and assistant captain, Ilya and Bood had wanted to be the first two to arrive, but that left them handling the stilted conversation on their own for a decent amount of time before anyone else showed up.
“Hey, it’s really great to see you guys,” Wiebe smiled and tried to push himself up so that he was sitting slightly more upright, but the action already seemed to be draining him. He gave a small sigh and let his body sink back down into the cushions, giving in to the fatigue. “Energy’s coming back,” he promised with a small laugh, “just very very slowly.”
“Is ok, I understand,” Ilya replied. He didn’t want to garner any pity or sympathy, he just wanted to show his coach that he understood, and Wiebe seemed to understand. The man on the couch gave a slight nod of recognition at Ilya’s words and gestured for his two players to take a seat in the armchairs across from him.
“Sorry, some of you guys are gonna have to sit on the floor eventually,” he said apologetically. “I just don’t have the energy to sit anywhere besides this couch or the bed right about now.”
“Nobody will mind sitting on the floor,” Bood promised. “It’s just nice to see you.”
The conversation flowed more smoothly after that, just not at the level of ease that it did a few months before. They talked about the playoffs and their families, genuinely excited to hear about each other's lives after so much time apart. Usually at this point in the season, the team was spending nearly every day together in preparation for the playoffs.
The fuller the room got, the less awkward the interactions became. Eventually, it just felt like a Centaurs house party, albeit a slightly odd house party. Many of the guys had brought food, which never made it to the kitchen and everyone was munching happily on the pastries and chips while Harris showed videos of his dogs on the tv screen. The only thing missing was Dykstra got absolutely sloshed and dancing on top of a table or falling into the grill.
One thing Ilya commended Wiebe on was his amazing mood. He was laughing along with everyone’s antics, which had now moved onto some of the worst karaoke Ilya had ever witnessed, and despite the tiredness in his eyes, the older man was clearly just happy to be around his players again.
After karaoke thankfully finished up and all the singers collapsed on the rug, Wyatt spoke up through his heaving breaths. “Don’t we need to be at the rink soon?”
Ilya checked the time on his phone, and yes they were supposed to be at the rink quite soon, but it felt wrong to just leave Wiebe here while they went to go use the team facility. Maybe Ilya was kind of starting to understand where Shane had been coming from during their conversation at dinner.
“Oh, yes. Should not be late,” Ilya said quietly. “Coach, any chance you would like to come? I will sit on the bench with you.”
Wiebe shook his head with a frown. “Need to rest a bit, I think. But maybe my wife could drive me over after a nap? If I feel up for it.”
Ilya brightened at that. “Yes, please do. I would love a partner in the stands.”
Wiebe nodded with as much enthusiasm as he could manage and Ilya felt more comfortable herding everyone out to their cars.
______
Shane was sitting on the opposite side of the rink parking lot when Bood pulled into his spot. “You head inside, I will go grab my husband,” Ilya said, ushering Bood to the front door while he made his way over to Shane’s car.
He knocked on the glass and chuckled to himself when Shane startled. He loved how much Shane looked like a baby doe caught in headlights when he was frightened. Shane popped the door open and slowly climbed out, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder. Thankfully Hayden had brought it with him when he had visited the week earlier.
“Hi,” Shane said, leaning in for a kiss.
“My teammates are probably watching,” Ilya whispered in warning, taking into account Shane’s general avoidance of PDA, but Shane continued licking into Ilya’s mouth anyway.
“Ok, I’ll stop,” Shane finally breathed after tracing his tongue slowly across Ilya’s bottom lip, physically ripping himself away from his Greek god of a boyfriend.
“Did not say to do that, just said they are looking,” Ilya teased, keeping his hand on Shane’s cheek. “You are nervous?”
Shane nodded slightly. “Want them to like me. Don’t want to embarrass myself since I haven’t played in so long.”
“You have already met them,” Ilya tried to reason. “And you are two time Stanley cup winner, I promise you they are more intimidated of you than you are of them.”
“Shut up” Shane said anxiously, wringing his hands together. “Doesn’t mean I won’t be rusty or that they’ll like me.”
“They already like you.” Ilya lowered his voice and then leaned in seductively before whispering “and your rusty is nothing like their rusty, ok? I love them all to death but you will shake it off much faster, yes?”
Shane shivered at the feeling of Ilya’s breath against his ear and Ilya laughed. “Do you need me to remind you of who you are, Shane Hollander?”
Shane genuinely considered letting Ilya have his way with him in the car for a moment before shaking the thoughts from his mind. “Stop it I’m going to get hard, then I’ll really embarrass myself,” he said, putting his hand on Ilya’s back and shoving his boyfriend toward the rink.
_______
Ilya’s heart nearly stopped when he stepped into the locker room for the first time since the plane crash and saw that the space hadn’t even changed. He didn’t know what he had expected, but definitely not for everything to look the exact same. Like a two legged Ilya would come strutting in the next moment and start ordering everyone around.
His name was written in big letters above his stall, but it seemed to belong to a different person entirely. There was before the plane Ilya and after the plane Ilya and there was a big distinction between the two.
“You ok?” Shane whispered as Ilya stood frozen for a second in the doorway and Ilya nodded. He was captain and he needed to be ok, if not for himself then for his team who had just noticed his arrival.
“Hey, Cap!” Wyatt grinned as Ilya made his way into the space.
“Hey, guys,” Ilya smiled right back and the world felt like it was falling back into place when his team looked at him expectantly. He then noticed that everyone was laced up already. “Waiting for me?” he said teasingly, but was genuinely curious about the answer.
“Yeah, man, didn’t feel right getting back out there without you,” Bood replied and everyone nodded.
“I don’t know what you and Hollander were doing out there but tell him to get his fucking skates on,” Troy joked.
Ilya wanted to hug everyone tightly for thinking of him, but instead he just ushered Shane to the bench in front of his locker to get his equipment on, shushing Shane as his boyfriend protested that it was rude for him to just take over Ilya’s stall.
“You live in my fucking house, you can have my stall,” Ilya told him, basically shoving Shane down into it. He kept the conversation flowing with the team while Shane got ready, trying his hardest to make his boyfriend feel as comfortable as possible while the team waited impatiently for him to finish up.
“Roll out!” Ilya called out loudly when Shane stood up on his blades, trying to bring back the energy and traditions from when the Centaurs actually had games to play.
Everyone followed behind Ilya out to the rink like old times, and he noticed how Shane purposely hung back and tacked himself on to the end of the line. When they reached the entrance to the ice, Ilya stepped off to the side and leaned against the boards while his team began to skate slow, tentative laps.
Shane stepped onto the ice last, but didn’t even let himself glide an inch before stopping on the opposite side of the boards as Ilya so that they were face to face. “I wish you were here,” he whispered and Ilya gave a small smile.
“Me too,” he said quietly.
“Don’t go far,” Shane said. He pointed at the stands. “You should sit so your leg doesn’t hurt.”
“Yes doctor, will do,” Ilya promised with a playful wink. His leg actually was already twinging from standing on it so long.
“But..” Shane started and then trailed off.
“But what?” Ilya asked, tucking his finger under Shane’s chin to try and urge the other man to be more forthcoming.
“Um, just don’t go too far,” Shane muttered. “Like first row of bleachers, maybe?”
Ilya chuckled and nodded. “Of course, moya lyubov. Cannot go too far or else you cannot hear me correct your weak backhand.”
Shane scoffed at that and pushed off on his blades so that he skated a quick, tight circle in front of Ilya. “Asshole, I’m about to lap your entire team.”
“I hope you do,” Ilya said honestly and watched happily as Shane turned to skate an efficient couple of laps around the rink.
Ilya settled himself into the first row in the stands, as promised and his chest warmed as he watched Shane’s confidence and wide grin return the more the brunette flew across the ice.
He really was an amazing hockey player, even so many months away from the sport. Probably the best in the league, but Ilya would never say that out loud.
He let the team mess around for a bit, regaining their footing and their rhythm before giving them any drills.
Eventually the men all grabbed their sticks from the bench and Ilya was happy to see that Shane was easily passing the puck with Bood, chatting easily like they had been friends forever as they warmed their bodies up.
“Alright,” Ilya called and all heads snapped to attention. “Bag skates!” A hilarious silence fell over the team and Ilya cackled.
“I joke! I joke,” he assured everyone. “But, we will not just be horsing around today.”
Ilya ran multiple drills that left everyone sweating much more than he knew they had expected to that day, and was giving the guys a water break when Wiebe appeared at the bottom of the stands.
“What happened to easing them back into it?” the man chuckled, gesturing at Luca who was laying flat on his back on the ice and panting heavily.
“You appointed me captain, do not question my methods,” Ilya snarked back.
His coach just smiled and made his way slowly up the few steps to where Ilya was seated. He was breathing quite hard when he plonked down just from the few seconds of exercise.
“Ok, everybody up! Coach is here so now we will do scrimmage,” Ilya called out, his voice echoing through the stands.
Heads turned and everyone waved to Wiebe as they set their water bottles down and made their way back to the ice.
Ilya determined the teams and they were off, puck slapping against sticks and skates flying across the ice.
Ilya missed it so fucking much.
“Soon,” Wiebe said vaguely, staring down at the beautiful chaos of the game.
Ilya shrugged. “I do not know,” he replied softly. Honestly. Of course he would give all the energy and brain power he had to recovering enough to play again, but he knew that having mental and physical fortitude could not even guarantee his return to the NHL or even hockey in general.
“That’s alright,” Wiebe replied. “I know.”
“I know about you too,” Ilya promised his coach in return. “You will be back too.”
They sat in a peaceful silence after that, watching as Shane took off like a bullet, skates a blur, and shot the puck directly between Wyatt’s legs. His teammates flew at him, slapping him roughly on the back in congratulations and shouting to the rafters as Shane punched the air excitedly.
Not even ten minutes later Shane had a hat trick.
“He’s going to be one of us, isn’t he?” Wiebe asked, not turning his eyes away from the camaraderie happening down on the rink.
Ilya turned to look at his coach, eyes wide. Ilya thought himself to be perceptive, but wow was Wiebe giving him a run for his money. “I really fucking hope so,” he said. He didn’t need to ask how Wiebe knew.
“I’ll make it happen,” Wiebe promised. “I’m sure you’ve already spoken with management, but I swear to god Ilya I’m going to make this happen.”
“Thank you,” Ilya breathed. He didn’t think he could imbue his words with all the sincerity and gratefulness they required.
After two more scrimmages where Shane’s team won, the hockey players gathered their belongings and traipsed back to the locker room.
“Great fucking practice,” Ilya told everyone once they were all seated inside. “I mean it. I can see how much you all want to get back to hockey.”
He forced the men to give themselves a round of applause and then give a round of applause to Wiebe, who was standing next to Ilya in the middle of the room.
“Now please go shower, you all reek,” he said honestly.
Once everyone was cleaned up, Ilya suggested dinner at his house. “Very casual,” he promised Wiebe as he begged the man to come. “You can just lay on my couch all night.”
Wiebe caved almost immediately as his team stared at him with puppy dog eyes, hitching a ride with Shane and Ilya since his wife had driven him to the rink.
Soon enough, there were cars spilling out of Ilya’s driveway and down his block and hockey players spilling out of his kitchen. Ilya set Wiebe up on the couch, Bood at the grill, and the rest of the guys to just mill about while the food was prepared.
Ilya, Troy, Luca, Wyatt, and Shane were playing cards on the ground next to Wiebe, who was engaging in conversation when he got spurts of energy.
Ilya was absolutely smoking everyone in poker when Bood began calling his name from the yard asking where the tongs were. Ilya sighed and reached for his crutches, making everyone promise not to cheat while he was gone.
“Ilya, where the hell are those things from?” Wiebe spoke up from his position on his back.
The three Centaur’s faces went beet red as Ilya pointed an accusing finger at them. “But do not make fun, I think they are beautiful,” he told his coach seriously.
Wiebe laughed loudly. “They look like a five year old made them.”
“Yes, but I love them,” Ilya said with a sincere smile, running a sentimental finger up the word captain scrawled on the side.
“It was Bood’s idea!” Wyatt protested at the same time Luca cried “I told them to restart!”
Ilya left them to argue about their arts and crafts project while he went to help Bood at the grill. The air was the perfect temperature, the sun was setting in vivid colors over Ottawa, and Ilya was having a great fucking night.