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There is a moment, at the memorial, when Ilya looks into Alexei's eyes and sees past the blazing anger that he has come to associate with the man who is currently shoving him up against the wall of the restaurant.
He blinks, just once.
The rage burns, burns, burns away, past all of the grief and greed and years. Because, lying behind all of it, there is fear. And in that fear, Ilya finds his big brother.
When they were younger (young enough that their mother was both of their whole worlds, before they became big enough and man enough for Grigori to sink his claws into), there was a closeness. And that closeness meant, even though Alexei was just old enough to start thinking Ilya was lame, he could still be convinced to take his little brother with him when he went skating with his friends.
Their skates, then, before Ilya got good enough that it made sense to really invest in a pair, were aged and worn down, but they felt like flying. Even then, the weight of their family name and the expectations of their homeland weighed heavy, and the makeshift rink on the pond down the road was the only place either of them felt free (free from the growing sadness in Mama's eyes, the anger in their father's every move). They never said it-perhaps they were too young to really be conscious of it-but he knew it was true. He knew they shared that, if nothing else.
And, Ilya also knew that the last time he could remember seeing that much fear was the day he tried hockey for the first time. His brother's friends-all bigger, like Alexei, about twelve years old or so-groaned about the baby playing with them, but back then the Rozanov brothers were a unit. This was also, Ilya realizes with a start, the last time Alexei stuck up for him instead of being one of the things he needed protection from.
He tries not to let that shake him too much, filing it in the same place as whatever it is that is growing between him and Hollander Shane. He falls back into the memory.
Their puck was an old pinecone and their sticks were large branches, and that was the extent of their equipment. They had no helmets, no gloves, no pads-nothing that could save them. Nothing that could protect Ilya when Alexei's friend knocked the wind out of him as they scrabbled for control.
As anyone can tell you, the first time the wind gets knocked out of you it feels as if you are dying. Your lungs have collapsed, there is no more air, there is no more hope, nothing until the moment passes. So Ilya remembers laying there, trembling and gasping flat on his back and wanting nothing more than for someone to make it all okay.
And he remembers that the moment Alexei's face swam into his field of view, he could breathe again (like the miracles Mama always talked about, her crucifix brushing their cheeks as she kissed them goodnight). He remembers being hauled up by his collar and into a crushing hug that Alexei would later swear had never happened.
The moment stretches a heartbeat longer. Ilya wonders when that closeness stopped. He selfishly, foolishly, wishes it could be like that again.
He blinks one more time.
The moment is over. Svetlana is stepping into the room. Ilya knows that this is the last time he will really catch a glimpse of his big brother.