Chapter Text
It was unusually hot, even for June, and Vera hadn’t planned her outfit accordingly. Not that she had that luxury anyways - her warm weather clothes were never to be seen again, at least not by her. It had been months of living out of the suitcase that wasn’t even hers, just a random piece of luggage tucked into the back of a closet, shoved full in the only moment she knew that no one would catch her.
The bank was at least a tick cooler when she ducked inside its tan brick walls. It wasn’t as old as some of the buildings in Moscow, but it had a charm to it that spoke of decades past. She’d been there many times over the years, usually tucked behind the leg of her father, who would spend almost an hour haggling with the tellers over the conversion of American dollars to rubles. Those visits had halted after Baba had died, and things had gotten somehow even worse in her home.
She thumbed at the 500 ruble in her pocket, already dreading the moment she would have to part with it when she got home.
“Next!” The teller called from behind his window. All Russians could sound harsh, but he seemed particularly brash. It was only eight in the morning after all.
Vera made her way to the glass quickly, keeping her head low until she looked up to greet him, praying he wouldn’t recognize her. Moot point she supposed, if she had to identify herself anyways.
“Name?” He barked in Russian, as if to prove her point.
“Vera. Vera Rozanova.”
“Identification?”
She slid her ID through the small gap under the glass. The teller thumbed through it, looking up at her without an ounce of warmth, even when he spoke.
“Happy Birthday.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled, and then straightened her back as if to steel herself. “I’m here to claim a trust in my name. A gift, from my uncle, made for me when I turned eighteen. Would that be in my name, or in his?”
“It would be under his name. Which would be…?”
Vera looked pointedly at her neighboring window patrons before leaning in close to the glass.
“Ilya. Ilya Rozanov.”
Ilya Rozanov was stirring a pot of water on the stove, frowning at the fact that it still hadn’t boiled. His frown didn’t last long however, because Shane Hollander entered the kitchen the next moment, which brightened his mood as it always did.
“The burners aren’t as hot as the old ones, you have to do the power boil,” Shane hummed, reaching past Ilya to crank the dial as high as it would go.
Ilya waved him off in his most husbandly way.
“I don’t like this new stove. You are in charge of the bread, go be over there,” he huffed, but it was light hearted. He always got nervous hosting Shane’s parents, even though they’d been trading off preparing the monthly dinner for years now. Shane laughed at his teasing, kissing his cheek before moving to the counter and baguette he’d been tasked with.
They cooked in comfortable silence, the murmur of the TV in the other room the only sound besides the gentle clinks and taps of their spoons and knives. Dinner was ready twenty minutes later, and when everyone filed in they took their usual seats around the dining table. Shane and Ilya next to one another on the bench seat, Yuna and David in the chairs across.
“This looks lovely guys, new recipe?” Yuna asked, spreading her napkin across her lap.
“Ilya’s been craving chicken alfredo, we figured we’d take a stab at it,” Shane explained, passing the bread basket around after putting two pieces on Ilya’s plate and one on his own.
“Well, you stabbed it,” David grinned, and then laughed at Ilya’s responding groan. He still hadn’t grown used to his dad jokes, even after four years of them.
“Did you guys get your off season training program yet? Will it interfere with camp?”
Leave it to Yuna to make any gathering a business meeting, but Shane supposed it was part of her charm.
“No, we’re just supposed to keep up our usual workouts for now. Coach is never that strict about it, even if it would overlap he’d let us off for camp,” Ilya explained, already shoveling in pasta.
“Well that’s nice of him,” David offered.
“Yeah, Coach loves kids. He’s actually thinking about coming out to make an appearance at the first session,” Shane explained, feeling a swell of pride at his parent’s murmurs of approval.
The Irina Foundation had taken off in popularity, and it had the donations to show for it. They’d raised almost a million dollars each year with the combinations of flat donations, fundraisers, corporate sponsors, and of course, the hockey camps that had become near and dear to both Ilya and Shane’s hearts. They had a huge staff of volunteers now from all across the MLH that flew out each summer to help them host the ever growing list of enrollees, arrange the training facilities and manage all of the day to day pieces.
“Oh shoot, honey I left that bag in the car!” Yuna said, thumping David on the shoulder before pushing her chair back.
“Yuna, it can wait until after dinner,” David huffed.
“Oh it’ll only take a second, where are the keys?”
David pointed at the hooks by the door and shook his head, watching his wife head out the front of the house before turning to his sons with guilty eyes.
“Take it easy on her, Shane, she’s just excited. I told her to hold off, but you know how she gets,” he explained quickly.
Shane didn’t have time to process it, and simply looked at his husband, who shrugged and took in another mouthful of pasta. He also didn’t have time to reprimand him because Yuna was back, a small shopping bag in her hands.
“I know you said no, but I just had to. Look.” She practically squeaked as she pulled out the smallest outfit Shane had ever seen.
A little zippered thing, obviously for a baby, adorned with tiny crossed hockey sticks across the white fabric.
“Mom,” Shane groaned. Ilya, however, was hiding a grin.
“Listen, you can never have too many sleepers for a baby, it’s all they wear. So we might as well start a stock pile,” she huffed in defense, but her expression eased when she saw Ilya hold his hand out for it.
“It’s called sleeper here? In Russia we called them ‘slips’.” He held it up with both hands, marveling at how little it was. “I didn’t know they were so tiny.”
“I called them zippies for Shane, but I think that was a me thing,” Yuna admitted.
“Mom,” Shane said again, but it was softer. “I know you’re excited, but please don’t go overboard, okay? We aren’t even sure what our plan is yet.”
He wasn’t lying. Yes, Shane and Ilya had decided that this would be the summer they would start looking into creating a family. Yes, they’d discussed surrogacy versus adoption. Yes, they’d met with a Canadian adoption agency a few weeks ago to get information on the process. But that didn’t mean either of them were ready to have a wardrobe full of baby clothes, which he knew his mother would purchase if she was allowed.
Well, Shane wasn’t. Ilya looked like he was ready to hang it on the front door like a wreath.
“Okay okay. I’ll just… I’ll stop going in the baby section, then I won’t be tempted.”
David laughed at that, shaking his head as he tucked back into his pasta.
Ilya did the same, but he folded the sleeper nicely and sat it down next to him at the table. Shane felt himself looking over at it throughout the rest of dinner, trying to keep himself from imagining who might one day be wearing it. He pushed the hope back down - it wasn’t going to be an easy journey. Nothing was ever easy for him and Ilya it seemed. The agency had said that adopting to two dads, even of their status, would complicate things. As if the process wasn’t drawn out enough anyways.
And surrogacy was no easier it seemed, though they hadn’t really explored that path yet. It was all overwhelming to Shane. He was sure that he wanted it - wanted his family with Ilya, whatever that looked like. But the getting there felt like it would kill him. Uncertainty was not where he liked to reside.
He felt Ilya’s foot against his own under the table, bringing him to. He tapped him back, affirming he got the message and re-entered the conversation as smoothly as he could manage.
An hour later, Shane was putting the last of the bowls in the dishwasher as Yuna and David moved towards the door.
“Bye honey, see you next week!” Yuna called back to her son as Ilya walked them out to the car.
“Thank you, for sleeper. Is very cute,” Ilya smiled when Shane was out of earshot, the front door closing behind them. “You will be wonderful babushka and baba one day.”
To Ilya’s surprise, Yuna’s eyes brimmed with tears. She moved to hug him, lifting up on her toes as he bent down to meet her. Ilya would never turn down a mom hug. Ever.
“I’m so excited for you guys,” she whispered, and it made his throat tight. Her support was always unwavering, and he hoped Shane knew how truly rare that was.
“We are excited too. I’ll keep you updated. Shane will probably be…”
“Overwhelmed,” David offered, eyes back on the windows, as if he could see his son past the walls that blocked his view. “I felt that way when we started talking about having him. Big change.”
“Which isn’t always Shane’s strong suit,” Yuna sighed.
“Oh I know so,” Ilya smiled. He loved Shane’s routineness - it balanced him out, he’d learned. “We will figure it out, if it’s meant to be.”
“It is. It will be.” Yuna said it with that familiar fierceness, and Ilya knew she would go to the ends of the earth for them - either of them. He hugged her again, because he couldn’t resist it, and then he sent them on their way.
When he returned, Shane had left the kitchen. Ilya paused, and listened. He heard him rustling around in the bedroom and followed the sound, unsurprised to see him in the closet. He was pulling on sweatpants, and a specific pair of shoes that told Ilya the plan.
“You want alone time, or company?”
Shane looked up at him as if that was a stupid question and Ilya grinned, sliding on his old worn down tennis shoes and following his husband to the rink.
They didn’t frequent the cottages’ personal ‘ice’ as much as they used to. Before, it was a rare thrill to get to play with each other, a luxury saved for an all star game once a year. But now, with the Centaurs, they were more likely to go against each other just for old times sake.
Shane wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted though. Tonight, he just needed to have a hockey stick in his hand, a puck in front of him, and Ilya in close enough vicinity that he didn’t miss him. He’d found over the years that if those three criteria were met, he could find his way out of any hole he’d dug himself in. And thank god Ilya could read him like a book, because he didn’t even have to ask. His husband just found a place from the wings and a box full of pucks and started passing them with a stick of his own, perfect placement every time for Shane to whip them into the net one after another.
He went through three whole boxes before Ilya stopped passing - probably out of necessity, as there wasn’t much room left to even get the puck to him. And Shane felt better. Whether it was the sweat, or Ilya’s steady presence, or just being on the ice - it helped.
He sat down in the middle of the rink, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead. Ilya followed, moving to sit beside him, pulling him back against his chest in the familiar slot he always found.
“I think it is sweet, that your mom is excited,” Ilya said. Shane hadn’t told him, but of course, he knew exactly what thoughts he’d been working against.
“It is sweet, but you know how she gets. We told her, what, two weeks ago? And now we already have our baby's first outfit.”
Ilya felt his own heart squeeze at that - hearing our baby just did something to him he couldn’t understand. He pressed a kiss to Shane’s temple.
“We can return it, if you want to be the one to pick it out.”
“No, it’s not that. We’ll be able to pick out plenty of clothes. And the hockey sticks are adorable,” Shane admitted. “ She’s just always three steps ahead of where I’m at. And I just feel like we're in limbo. I mean, have you thought about what the adoption people said? That it will literally just be them calling us one day when we match with someone and then it’s just…go time? Does that not freak you out?”
“No, not really. I have always done things fast,” Ilya said plainly. “But maybe that’s why Yuna is starting now. So we will be ready when it does happen.”
Shane hadn’t considered that, and he felt a pang of guilt at that realization.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get some clothes. As long as we stick to gender neutral, so we don’t have to return a bunch of stuff.”
Ilya chuckled at that. Ever the pragmatist.
“What, you don’t think the son of the two gay dads should be running around in flowery dress?”
“Only if he wants to,” Shane grinned, the image flooding his mind of Ilya chasing around a little boy with dark hair, arms outstretched. “Do you think we’ll have a son?”
Ilya pondered it for a minute. “I really don’t know. I think I always imagined having one. But, you are more of a girl dad I think.”
Shane sat up at that, turning so he could see him.
“What makes you say that?”
“You are soft. Gentle. Good at manicures. Let them get away with anything, you know.”
Shane’s mouth dropped open just barely.
“I’m gonna let them get away with anything? Have you met yourself? Or our spoiled-rotten dog? If anyone is giving ‘pushover dad’, it’s you.”
Ilya didn’t mind that description of himself. He knew it wouldn’t matter what they had - he’d spend every minute making sure his kid had every ounce of love and comfort he had to claw for.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “I am excited.” He wasn’t sure why he added that, but it felt important to say.
“I am too. I know I might not seem like it, but I really am. I’m excited to do this with you,” Shane smiled, and Ilya felt like he was melting. “I just wish I felt more ready.”
“I don’t think you can feel ready for something like this,” Ilya said. “But you will do great. And sometimes not great, and I will be the same, but that’s why there’s two of us.”
That was the other thing Ilya wanted to make sure his children had. Two parents. And even more people to love them, if they were around. He wanted to fill rooms full of people who loved their kids unconditionally, and he knew that started with the two of them.
Shane must have been overwhelmed, because he aimed for deflection.
“Our spoiled rotten dog is probably waiting for her dinner,” he said, and Ilya took the cue to get up, but not before he pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
They walked back to the cottage slowly, hand in hand. Ilya wondered how many more summers they would have there, just the two of them.
Anya was in fact waiting by the door, having woken up from her usual dinner time slumber. As they got closer, Ilya’s phone rang in his pocket.
He pulled it out, frowning at the lack of caller id.
“Spam?” Shane asked.
“No, I don’t think so. Is Russian number.”
Shane turned then, brows furrowed.
“Your brother?”
Ilya shook his head. Something twisted in his gut, and before he could talk himself out of it he answered.
“Hello?”
Shane’s Russian had gotten better, but he still had trouble understanding Ilya at his normal speed with simple phrases, much less a conversation. And god did Ilya talk fast on the phone - he wouldn’t stand a chance of understanding. So he squeezed his hand before letting go and heading into the house to feed Anya.
Ilya tried again, in Russian, sitting down on one of the chairs outside.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“Hi. Is this Ilya? Ilya Rozanov?”
“It depends who is asking. Who is this?”
There was a beat of silence before the answer.
“It’s your niece.”
Ilya’s heart stuttered. Vera. God, he was sure he would have collapsed if he hadn’t already been sitting down. He’d spent so many nights, so many hours wondering how she was. They’d never been close, thanks to Alexei, but he cared for her all the same, and he knew that she felt it. Any moment he could sneak over the summers he would take her out to play, to explore - anything to get her out of that house.
The guilt of her being stuck in Russia with his brother, and him not being able to check in on her had eaten him alive. Svetlana kept tabs on her as best she could, but she hadn’t been able to get past Alexei’s front door since the funeral.
“Vera?”
“Yes. I’m sorry if it’s late where you are, I wasn’t sure about the change in time.”
“Don’t worry about it. Are you alright? How did you get this number?”
“I saved it, stole it from papa’s phone.”
It wasn’t lost on Ilya that she had avoided the first part.
“Are you safe?”
Another silence.
“Mostly. Kind of, I guess.”
Ilya was moving. He felt like maybe, if he started now, he could just walk to Russia. Or something. Anything.
“How can I help? What do you need?”
“I went to the bank, to get my trust. But I don’t have the papers.”
A pang of guilt crashed through Ilya when he remembered the date, his pacing on the deck speeding up.
“Happy Birthday,” he said, feeling awful he’d forgotten. Not that he would have had a way to tell her, but still. Turning 18 wasn’t something that happened every day, and he should have remembered first thing. “Your father should have the papers you need. Did you ask him for them?”
She hesitated again, and Ilya’s gut twisted.
“No. I… I haven’t been home in a while.”
He waited until she continued, chewing his lip.
“We aren’t on good terms,” she said. “I… moved out about 6 months ago. I didn’t have time to search for them.”
Ilya’s blood boiled. He knew his brother, and he knew his niece.
“Moved out or ran away?”
Her silence was enough of an answer.
“Where is your mother?”
“She left him, after Baba died. She calls sometimes, but I’m on my own mostly. Which is why the trust would be very, very helpful.”
Ilya was panicking then, imagining Vera out on the streets on her own, fending for herself. How could her mother have left her in that house?
“The trust is yours, and more if you need it. What papers do they need from me?”
He could hear her sigh of relief. Had she imagined he’d say no? Alexei had always talked badly about him, he was sure, but her lack of trust pained him.
“The bank said because the original papers still exist that you’d have to do it in person.”
Well that complicated things. Severely. He hadn’t dared even think about going back to Russia since he’d come out. The risk outweighed any desire he had to revisit, and that didn’t take much.
“I know it probably isn’t safe for you to come here.” She filled the pause. “And I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. There is more to the story. I have a… situation.”
“Situation?”
Vera paused for what felt like an eternity - so long that Ilya even pulled his phone away to check the screen and make sure they were still connected. When she finally spoke, he wasn't sure he was breathing.
“I have a daughter. A baby. And I need to get her out of Russia. I was hoping you could help.”