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Chapter Text

Ilya thinks he is living both a dream and a nightmare at the same time.

To think, he is married to Hollander - that he saw something worthwhile in Ilya, that he somehow came back to him, that he wanted to attach himself to Ilya for… for forever. It is insane. It is unbelievable. It is everything he has never known he wanted.

And he has forgotten it.

He leans into Hollander’s kiss because this, more than words or feelings, this way of letting their bodies talk for them? This he knows. He tries to deepen it, half afraid that this is an illusion and Hollander will fade away from his life again. He winces, the effort to push towards Hollander tugging at his stitches. Hollander pulls away immediately, and Ilya cannot stop the small whine that escapes him.

He shuts his eyes, unwilling to truly know if Hollander is still there. With his eyes closed, he could be. His very own Schrödinger’s cat; Shane’s cat, maybe. Ilya winces, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, when he accidentally lets Hollander’s first name slip, even in his own mind.

And though he dampens his vision, his other senses still speak to him.

He feels Hollander’s gentle touch on his face, smoothing over the bandages and running his thumb over his cheek. He hears Hollander’s voice - soft, soothing, murmuring take it easy, Ilya and I’m right here, okay? He even smells Hollander, that subtle cedar and maple of his cologne that he can recognise even through a crowd of thousands.

Ilya lets out a breath, and opens his eyes.

Hollander is still right there, smiling at him.

To his surprise, Ilya feels his throat tighten and his eyes prickle. He turns his head, unwilling to let him see him cry. But Hollander does not allow him to hide; he turns Ilya’s head to face him, and he wipes the traitorous tears that fall.

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now, moya lyubov.”

Ilya’s eyes widen slightly at the Russian endearment that seems to fall naturally from Hollander’s lips. It cracks at him, and so he tells him, honestly.

“I… I cannot believe this, Hollander.”

He sees as Hollander’s face falls slightly, before the determination he knows intimately shines through. Ilya’s eyes fall closed again when Hollander leans forward and presses another firm kiss to his lips. He rests his forehead against Ilya’s for a moment, mindful of pressing hard against the stitches. When Ilya blinks his eyes open again and looks at Hollander, dazed, Hollander just smiles at him again. A small smile, secretive and shy.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you believe again.”

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Ilya has vague memories of Hollander’s parents by his side - first when he was barely conscious, next when he was too loopy to understand they were real.

They are back, now. They had forced Hollander to go get some coffee for them - Ilya’s heart had been very satisfied at how much Hollander had pouted when he left, warning them that he will be back in just a few minutes.

So now it is just Ilya with Mama Hollander and Papa Hollander. He misses Svetlana like a limb right now - but she had flown back to Boston last night.

It is slightly awkward, because Ilya knows they are his in-laws - but he does not know them. Not like how he at least had some memories of Hollander to fall back on. He lets his eyes linger slightly on them, noticing how Hollander favours his mother not just in looks, but also in the way they sit upright, a tightness to them that is absent in Hollander’s father.

It feels like an eternity to Ilya, but really it must have been only seconds since Hollander left before Mama Hollander leans towards him from her chair next to him, gripping his uncast hand tightly.

“Hello sweetheart,” she greets, and Ilya melts instantly, “it’s good to see you properly awake.”

“We’re really glad you’re okay, son.” That is Papa Hollander now, leaning over from the other side, placing a careful hand on Ilya’s blanket-covered leg because Ilya does not have another hand available for him to hold right now. Ilya blinks at the word son, used so freely and lovingly.

Quietly, he says, “Hello… Mama and Papa Hollander.” Had he ever known their names from before? They do not come to him now.

The two of them seem to get a little kick out of him saying that though, both laughing softly.

“Oh Ilya,” and there is mirth in her voice now, “you’re still so sweet.”

“Yes,” Ilya raises an eyebrow at her, saying dryly, “that is how most of league describes me. Russian Menace, sweetest man on the ice.”

Another giggle. Ilya smirks. He must have some sort of power over Hollanders. It is a nice thing to know.

They make idle conversation, all of them having an unsaid agreement to talk about anything other than his injury. They update him on his dog - his dog!!; “She’s waiting very impatiently for you to get home, Ilya. Reminds us of you when Shane is not back from his runs yet in the mornings.” They update him on the recent games; “You should be proud of your team, captain. They pulled through.” Ilya is thrilled to hear Boston still managed to win the games without him, though he does not say it - because even though they may be in-laws, he knows Hollander’s mother probably still hates him and his entire team on the ice. For some reason they also update him on Papa Hollander’s latest attempt at making borscht; “I think it tastes really authentic this time!”

The conversation dies off naturally, and the silence is comfortable enough. Until Ilya fidgets, because Mama Hollander’s hand is still clutching his, and Papa Hollander is still looking at him with a smile on his face, and so he blurts out, “We… we get along, yes?”

“Sweetheart,” Mama Hollander tells him softly, a careful hand cradling his face, just as Hollander walks back in with stacks of coffee, “you are the second child we have always wanted. We love you.”

Ilya uses his injury as an excuse for the sudden tears that burst out of him at those words. All the Hollanders panic similarly as they scramble around him, and that makes him laugh even as he clutches his pounding head and sobs.

He is loved by a mother and a father again. What a blessing.

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Ilya falls in love with Anya at first sight, just as Hollander had predicted.

When he opens the door to their home (that is in Ottawa for some reason), it is only Hollander’s firm hand around his waist that helps him keep his balance - because a hundred-pound furball of manic energy comes bounding up to him and startles him. There is a flurry of chaos as everyone around panics over him again when Anya manages to get loose from Yuna’s hold on her, but there was no need.

Anya sees the cast on Ilya’s arm and the bandage wrapped around his head, and only gently places her paws on his stomach as she leans on him, standing on her hind legs. Ilya knows just from this that she is literally the best dog in the world. He tries to squat slightly to coo at her, but his knees wobble as he does that and the hand that had been petting her head spasms on her fur instead.

To Hollander’s credit, he says nothing for about one minute after he practically manhandles Ilya to the couch. Then, he tuts at Ilya as Ilya groans and he sinks into the couch, voice a little high and strained with worry. “You might think you’re twenty-five, Ilya, but your body is more than eight years older than that now! It’ll take a little longer to bounce back.”

“Da. This body does not let me forget.” Ilya sulks as he says it, idly massaging his knee. Outside of the immediate pains of his recent injury, Ilya feels every creak of his knees and back. All he had wanted to do was pet his dog, who is now the best thing in his life! “Very annoying.”

“Yes, yes, you old man.”

Ilya gasps dramatically, placing his good hand delicately on his chest. “Me, old? Hollander, I forgot the last eight years but does not mean I forgot you are older than me.” Then, because he cannot stop himself, he tacks on, “Old man.”

“I am only one month older than you!”

Ilya nods gravely, “Yes, gives you much more experience, no?”

Hollander grins at that, shaking his head, telling him in a tone of voice that Ilya knows familiarly - “You’re an asshole.” Unable to help himself, Ilya grins right back.

A moment later, David coughs awkwardly between them, “Maybe let’s reserve ‘old man’ for a real old man, eh, boys?”

They both look down at their feet then, contrite, murmuring their apologies. Then, their eyes meet, and they snigger together again. Beside Ilya, Anya’s tail continues to thump happily.

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The day goes along smoothly enough, and Ilya beams through mouthfuls of chicken parm - he does not remember ever trying something like it before and it is delicious. He eats two servings before he remembers he should mind his manners, but both parent Hollanders are smiling at him fondly as he inhales the pasta, so he figures they are okay with it.

Ilya spends some time looking at the framed photographs on the wall after. He pauses, taking in how some of the frames do not exactly fit the shape of the paint behind it. Ilya had thought Hollander had been serious about not hiding anything, though it seems that even married, there are secrets. He tries to swallow the disappointment that manifests in him at that.

He sneaks a glance at Hollander, who is rubbing Anya’s head as he pours out some kibble into her bowl for her. Deciding the replaced photographs are not that important for now and not wanting to disturb such a serene scene, Ilya turns back to studying the wall.

Ilya had expected himself to stare at their wedding portrait the longest. He had stared at it for a long while, of course, drinking in their matching beaming smiles and how handsome Hollander looked in his tuxedo, Anya adorable between them with a crown of flowers on her head. He stares at the photograph from their CCM shoot, though in this, they are smiling and laughing instead of frowning at each other. He stares at the both of them on the floor, covered in stickers as what seems to be Pike’s twins laugh in the background. He stares longest now, though, at a picture of both of them kissing on the ice in marching gear, the Cup raised between them.

He blinks at that. “Hollander,” he calls out, turning around when Hollander replies, “are we… we play on the same team?”

“Oh!” Hollander smiles at that, walking over to him, “Yes. We’re on the Centaurs together. Wow, I don’t know how that slipped my mind to tell you. I thought Mom talked to you about the game?”

“Yes, but… I thought she meant Boston.”

From inside the kitchen, Yuna’s voice rings out, “I will never happily tell you if Boston pulls through!”

Hollander snorts at that. Ilya is still frowning at the picture.

“Wait, Centaurs? You mean Ottawa Centaurs?” Ilya is absolutely flabbergasted. “Why are we playing for them? They are terrible!”

Hollander smirks at him, just pointing at the picture of them hoisting the Cup again. “Were terrible. You’ve done a good job with them, captain.”

Ilya is not proud of the zing that shoots through him when Hollander calls him that. It is obvious Hollander knows it, too, because his smirk just grows bigger. This more confident version of Hollander is going to be trouble, Ilya knows, as he gulps. They stare at each other for another charged moment, before David calls out to Hollander and he goes to help his Dad.

Ilya turns back to the photographs. He feels a sting of sadness at knowing he left Boston - the first home he ever built for himself. Though he guesses that it was on good terms, if the number of unopened texts he has from his ex-teammates is any indication. It is hard to be too sad, though, as he stares at him and Hollander kissing on the ice, surrounded by teammates who are smiling and laughing brightly too.

Then Ilya looks at the photograph next to it. He stares at it for a long time. It seems to be a candid shot of them, the camera focusing in even as they are surrounded by people. It shows Hollander giggling as Ilya presses a kiss to his cheek, the people around them casually taking their public display of affection in stride.

Ilya’s heart twinges at that. The idea of their marriage still feels so impossible and yet there is proof of it, right in front of him. So much proof. He wonders how much more he will need before he lets himself truly believe it; the images of a younger Hollander dancing with his girlfriend in the club still front and centre in his mind.

…….

They are chatting idly on the couch, Ilya having downed his medication and Hollander having wind down for the night. The conversation flows naturally, Hollander giving him updates on their team and their life together. It is when he mentions The Kingfisher - which is a gay sports bar that Scott Hunter apparently owns - that Ilya looks at him in confusion.

He is beginning to think that he has woken up in an alternate reality, instead of losing his memories.

Hollander laughs at the expression on his face, saying, “Oh my god, yes, you don’t know this. Here, let me show you something.”

Hollander pulls up a video, and then settles next to Ilya as it starts. Ilya watches, gobsmacked, as first Scott Hunter wins a Stanley Cup (“What?” “We were both injured.” “Ah, makes sense now.”) and second he… calls a man down on to the ice with him and kisses him.

Ilya is speechless, and he feels Hollander’s gaze on him. He is not sure what Hollander expects him to say now, but all that he can manage is… “Wow.”

Hollander snorts next to him. Then his eyes go softer and fonder, and Ilya knows he is about to speak of his Ilya now. True to his belief, Hollander tells him, “Right after we first watched this, you called me and told me you were coming to the cottage.”

Ilya blinks at that, because weirdly, he knows the cottage Hollander is talking about. Not in the same way the true Ilya does, but he knows it nonetheless. He had spent countless hours replaying Shane’s segment on his huge television screen after all. Though even in his wildest dreams he had never thought he would actually get to visit it.

Now that they are married, too, the cottage is also his, isn’t it?

That thought makes his head spin, and he winces as one of his daily headaches decides to strike at that moment. He hears as Shane apologises, thinking it had been the screen that caused it. Ilya lets him believe it, and lets Shane turn off the lights and tuck him into bed in their bedroom.

He watches as Hollander hesitates, before he presses a kiss to Ilya’s cheek and tells him, “I’ll sleep in the guest room, okay? I don’t want to accidentally hit your arm when we’re sleeping.”

Ilya ignores the pang of loss at that, just nodding his head. Hollander seems satisfied at that, and presses one more kiss to Ilya’s forehead before he leaves, closing the door behind him. Ilya stares at the door, even engulfed in the darkness.

In his memory, they have only ever napped together. Never slept together for the night. Because Hollander had left.

He presses his face into the pillow, anchoring himself on the little pinprick of pain that radiates from his stitches at that movement, and breathes through the loss of himself again. He prays like he has not done in years - for the real Ilya to come back soon so that he can stop feeling like an imposter in his own (perfect, wonderful, unbelievable) life.

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Hollander keeps Ilya cooped up in the house for three more days, hovering over him at every moment. Ilya tries to tell him that he should go back to his regular life, but Hollander always waves him off. So he lets himself enjoy the healthy smoothies and meals Hollander makes, follows Hollander’s instructions thrice a day as he tries to stretch his arm in its cast, lets himself bask in Hollander’s commentary on their team’s winning match as he himself stares at the wall with his seat turned away…

He just… lets himself be loved by Hollander.

On the morning of the fourth day, Hollander looks at him over their breakfast of omelettes and smoothies. He says, “I’ve been meaning to tell you. Scott and Kip would like to visit.”

Ilya blinks at him, then asks, “Who are Scott and Kip?”

Hollander stares at him, deadpan, “Scott Hunter and his husband?”

“Ah, that is the name of man he robbed from cradle?”

“Scott’s really not that old, Ilya.”

Ilya shrugs it off, saying “He is dinosaur.” Then, Hollander’s words finally register in his mind. “What? They want to visit? Why?”

“Because they’re our friends and they’re worried about you?”

That sentence just makes Ilya even more confused. “We are friends?”

“Somewhat.” Hollander lets that linger for a moment, enjoying the frown on Ilya’s face, before he adds in his most casual voice, “We invited them to our wedding.”

Ilya’s gobsmacked expression is so funny, Hollander laughs hard.

So they make plans, and when Ilya sees the tears in Kip’s eyes and the sadness etched in Hunter’s face as they try to talk to Ilya lightly, carefully navigating topics… he knows that somehow, they had actually wormed their way into being friends. When they leave, Ilya lifts his arm for a hug – Kip is quick and gentle, and Ilya is surprised but not displeased when Hunter comes in for a hug of his own, after his husband steps back.

There is a steady stream of visitors after that, mostly his – wait no, their – and ooh, that still sends a thrill down his spine – team from Ottawa. It seems that Hollander has given everyone a rundown of what happened, so all of them come with introductions and firm handshakes – until Luca Haas, who was apparently one of his first rookies, cries over him, hugging him tightly. A fierce feeling of protectiveness washes over Ilya at that.

There are many new names and faces - rookies who still stare at Ilya and Hollander in awe - but for the most part, he knows a lot of his team from his current bank of memories too. He recognises Zane Boodram, Evan Dsyktra, Wyatt Hayes… He is laughing with them when another player enters the living room, beelining towards Ilya on the couch.

He looks up and sees Troy Barrett walking towards him.

Wait. Troy Barrett?

Ilya frowns as Barrett wraps him in a hug. He is gentle, and he is smiling at Ilya, telling him, “You had us all really worried there, Roz.”

“You are Centaur, too?” Ilya asks, frown deepening. The room quietens suddenly at his words, and Ilya realises he had spoken it loudly. From behind Barrett, he sees Hollander look up sharply from where he is greeting a red-haired man.

“U-uh,” Barrett stammers, eyes wide, “yes?”

“Why?” Ilya demands. He remembers Barrett… and he remembers Kent. And he remembers the words they have spoken, the things they have done. He feels his anger simmering, thinking of having someone like that in this team - this team that Hollander should feel safe in, should get to be himself in. “I do not believe I would let someone like you stay.”

Several voices ring out at his words.

“What?”

“Cap, come on, you’re out of line.”

“Roz, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But it is Hollander’s stricken voice that rings out sharply, just a loud reprimand of “Ilya”, that has Ilya shutting his mouth.

He watches, confused, as the red-haired man walks over to Barrett and clasps their hands together. He alternates between staring at Ilya in confusion and Barrett with worry. Barrett who… has tears in his eyes.

“God, Troy, he doesn’t mean it.” Hollander tells him, walking up to them. “Just… Just stay here, okay? Let me talk to Ilya.”

Ilya, feeling like he has messed something up now, follows Hollander silently when he tugs him towards their bedroom. When they are in the room, Hollander closes the door behind him. Then, he simply looks at Ilya before he sighs, running a hand over his face tiredly.

Ilya’s heart jumps into his throat. Oh, he is messing everything up.

“I’m so-”

“No.” Hollander puts his hand out. Ilya snaps his mouth shut. Then, Hollander exhales and some of the tension leaves him. “No, you don’t have to apologise, Ilya. You… you were working with what you knew. I should have warned you.”

Ilya frowns at the self-reprimand he hears in Hollander’s voice. “It’s not your fault, either, Hollander.”

“Yeah,” Hollander trails off, “it’s no one’s, I guess. Just a really bad situation. Ilya, I don’t want to share things about Troy, because he should be the one to tell you. Just… you should know, he is one of your best friends now. You helped him a lot, and he helped you a lot.”

Ilya lets that sink in. It does nothing to stop his heart from hammering away. He feels it now, how he is walking blindly in this world with the wrong information. He is making things worse for the real Ilya - maybe destroying a friendship he cherishes.

“Do you think I can talk to him?”

Hollander looks at him, and for a moment Ilya is afraid he will say it might be better to not, because he might cause more damage. Then the moment passes, and Hollander gives him a small smile, telling him, “I’ll let Troy decide.”

It is barely a minute later when there is a hesitant knock on the door, and Barrett walks in. Ilya feels a stab of guilt at his red-rimmed eyes, which fights against a part of his conscience that still thinks that Troy Barrett deserves it. He shakes his head minutely.

“Hey.” Barrett’s voice is soft. Ilya is glad for it - he feels a stormy headache coming on soon with everything that has just happened.

“Barrett,” Ilya starts, feeling lost when just that makes Barrett’s face fall again, “I am sorry. I was… I did not know how you have changed, and I let my past judgement take over. It was… wrong of me.”

To Ilya’s surprise, Barrett lets out a snort of laughter at that.

“Did that hurt?”

“What?”

“Saying sorry.”

Ilya lets out a startled laugh. Oh, okay. He can see it now, how this friendship might work. Their chuckles die down together, and Barrett smiles wryly at him, making his way over and sitting next to Ilya on the bed.

“I’m not upset with you, Roz. How can I be? I did do terrible things.” Barrett looks at his shoes as he says this. “I guess it just caught me off-guard, because I finally felt like I had atoned for the things I’d done. Though I guess there’s really no escaping the asshole I used to be.”

Ilya nudges him, “I think you did escape. The Troy Barrett I remember would never have held hands with a man, or cry, or feel bad about it.”

That makes Barrett smile a little.

“People change. I do not remember, maybe, how you or everyone else has changed. But I have seen how Hollander has changed, too. I think it is a very nice thing, that people can change.” Ilya thinks of how the people around him have spoken about him, too. Perhaps Barrett was not the only one who has changed a lot.

Barrett hums beside him, but Ilya can see how his shoulders have lost their tension. Ilya clears his throat, and then looks imploringly at Barrett.

“Barrett, can I ask for a favour?”

Barrett looks surprised, but nods his head regardless.

“Please, can you not hold this against him?”

Barrett frowns, asking, “Hold what against who?”

“My mistake,” Ilya gulps, feeling slightly terrified, “against the real Ilya.”

When Barrett just looks at him blankly, Ilya forges on, “Hollander says you and him are good friends. You should stay friends with him, yes? I did not know, so I said something wrong. But don’t worry, the real Ilya, he will come back soon, I promise. Then all of you will not have to deal with the wrong version anymore.”

Barrett’s mouth had dropped open halfway through Ilya’s words, and now he looks frantic, asking, “Roz, what? I don-”

“Please, Barrett.”

Barrett sighs, looking helpless against Ilya’s earnestness. He nods his head stiffly once, and Ilya beams. Soon, they are with the others again, and Ilya smiles as he watches Barrett and his boyfriend share a kiss as they reunite.

He hears Haas shriek with laughter, and walks over to where him and a few others are playing with Anya.

He does not see, then, as Barrett talks to Hollander in an urgent tone. He does not see how Hollander’s eyes widen, and he looks at Ilya with heartbreak all over his face.

Ilya just grins at Anya, as his dog licks his cheeks.

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Once everyone has left, Ilya sighs, sinking into the couch. His headache has come on full-force now, so he squeezes his eyes shut and hopes that pounding will stop soon. A moment later, he feels as the couch dips where Hollander sits next to him.

Wordlessly, there are gentle hands at Ilya’s scalp, massaging the tension out. Ilya sighs as some of the radiating pain starts to sip out. He opens his eyes, intent on thanking Hollander, when he meets his red-rimmed eyes instead.

Hurriedly, he sits back up. It renders Hollander’s massage useless now, because his head reminds him why he should not move too quickly. He shakes it off, asking, “Hollander, what’s wrong?”

Hollander is silent for a moment, before he tells Ilya, “Troy told me what you said to him.”

Ilya frowns. “Yes, I said sorry. That is good, no?”

“Not that, Ilya. What you said after. About… about the real Ilya and a wrong version.”

Ilya is confused. “Okay… But I was only saying the truth. The real Ilya will come back, I will make sure. So you do not have to worry.”

Hollander turns to him then, and he cups Ilya’s face in his hands. Ilya wants to hide away from the determined gaze that Hollander has set on him. “I do not see you as a separate him - there isn’t a true or wrong version. You are him, in all the ways that matter. My Ilyusha.”

Ilya just shakes his head. “The man you love is gone.”

“The man I love is you.” Hollander says, refusing to let Ilya drive them apart, even with the words he chooses to use. “And you are not gone, moya lyubov. You are just lost. But you don't have to worry, okay?"

Hollander presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, and Ilya feels his eyes sting.

"Because I will find you.”

There is no stopping the tears that fall now, and Ilya weeps silently as Hollander wipes his tears away.

“Ilya,” Hollander whispers, “Ya tebya lyublyu. I love you. Love, love, love you. You don’t have to say it back now, but I just need you to know. You might not remember how I’ve loved you, but I want you to know now that I still do and always will. Okay, Ilya? Okay?”

Ilya sighs, and lets himself press his own lips to Hollander’s for the first time since he has woken up. He smiles into the kiss.

“Okay,” he agrees, speaking against his lips, “okay, Shane.”

Shane lets out a strangled noise at that, and deepens their kiss.

Ilya just smiles wider, finally feeling that maybe… just maybe… he is enough as he is, for the first time since he opened his eyes.