Chapter Text
Brandon Feller was Ilya’s first captain. His only captain, really. Fellsy was the only true captain Ilya ever had. In Russia, he had always been the best player on the team, the strongest, the one who would show no weakness. That’s all the qualifications needed in Russia for any leadership position.
So when Ilya stepped off the plane in Boston, all of 19 years old, fresh-faced, full of piss and vinegar. Pretending to be as cocky and as confident as his new teammates expected him to be. He was first met by ol’Feller, a calm, 20-season veteran.
Feller was a star in his own time, not a superstar like Ilya would become, but still one half of a top-line defensive pair for a season or two. Now he was steady, reliable, there. In his age, he was mostly on the third or fourth line, depending on injuries. He was a journeyman, having played in more than 1,600 games by the time Ilya arrived in Boston. Not all of them with the Raiders, no, he had been brought in four years ago because he was a good guy to have in your room.
His longtime girlfriend, partner, whatever (so many English words for the person you are married to but not really), insisted that Ilya come for dinner once a week. In retrospect, it was probably management that insisted. Wanting to make sure the foreign would-be star was adjusting to the NHL. Fellsy must have known that using her as a pawn would be the most effective way to get Ilya on board.
So Ilya was at his house once a week, for the entire year, and Fellsy was there. A calming presence that shadowed Ilya’s memories of that first season. They never talked about it at practice; hell, they barely talked when Ilya was in Fellsy's home. Not until after Ilya’s first Dad’s Trip.
Grigori Rozanov had never gone on the Dad’s Trip when Ilya played in Boston. In all fairness, Ilya had never invited him because he did not want his father to come.
Even if he did ask, Grigori wouldn’t have made the trip across the Atlantic just to be disappointed by Ilya in person. He was very capable of being disappointed in Ilya half a world away; that much had been made abundantly clear.
Ilya’s first Dad’s Trip was in November of his rookie season. Boston played in Nashville, and the team plane was packed with fathers and sons, making it a much noisier flight than usual. Of course, Ilya still had to go; he couldn’t simply skip a road game just because all of his teammates' fathers were there and his wasn't.
That first year, he tried to play it off as a culture difference. When that didn’t work, he said there wasn’t enough time to arrange for his father to come, flights, visas, etcetera. He got teased a bit, but it was fine. Mostly. He wasn’t even the only player whose father wasn’t there; there was one other.
Feller.
It was such a North American thing to have all the players' dads join the team for part of a road trip. Ilya was actually surprised to learn that even the European players had their dads fly over. Everyone seemed to expect Ilya’s father to make the trip over.
They all assumed Ilya’s father would be loud and brash and the life of the party. Because that’s who Ilya was. The third time Marley confirmed that his dad would not be on the trip, Ilya snapped at him. He wasn’t even sure what he said, they stopped asking after that.
When the trip came, Ilya was more than glad Grigori wasn’t there. Because Ilya had fun. He had fun with the other junior players’ dads, and he had fun with his linemates' dads. They all went out as a group to a steakhouse in Nashville the evening before the game. They sang bad country karaoke at a bar the team had rented. The dads came to the morning skate, and at the game, they all sat together in the Aliens' arena. Each one was wearing their son’s jersey. An entire team of Raiders off the ice, less Rozanov and Feller.
Late in the third, the group of dads was shown on the Jumbotron. They were dancing to the YMCA (another thing that everyone here seemed to know about). There was a generous cheer from the crowd, probably because the Aliens were up two goals with only three minutes left. More likely, it was because they had announced that it was Boston’s Dad's Trip, and there was just something about watching 23 NHL fathers dance out of sync to a song about spelling.
That was the only moment that Ilya felt the pang of not quite longing, but maybe something more unfair. He didn’t want Grigori there; he didn’t want to look up and see his father, dressed in Rozanov 81, on the screens. Instead, he wished he had a dad who wanted to be in the stands for him, who would dance, skate, eat steak, and do all the things the other dads did for their sons on this stupid trip.
When he looked back on the ice, he knew he had been caught. ol’Feller was looking back at him, like he knew exactly what Ilya had just been thinking. It pissed him off. It pissed him off so much that he scored on his next shift and took a stupid penalty on the one after. His emotions were often his secret weapon on the ice. But it was always a fine line, and Feller wouldn’t stop fucking looking at him.
He went to bed early that night. By noon the next morning, all the dads were gone, and Ilya put the weekend behind him.
Until his next dinner at Feller’s.
“You had enough time to sort out the travel,” Feller stated, as if it were a fact that they both knew. He was right, of course; Ilya did have enough time, so he nodded. Feller then asked him point-blank, “Did you want him to come?”
Ilya was trapped, cornered, stuck in his captain's gaze. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t flinch, he couldn’t avoid the question this time. “No,” he finally answered, as if it wasn’t the greatest disrespect of his father. Ilya was sure that if he asked Grigori Rozanov to come on the Dad’s Trip, he would have said no. But as the head of the family, that was his decision to make, not Ilya’s.
Ilya expected more questions after that, but Feller surprised him with a simple “okay,” pausing for a moment before saying, “My dad wasn’t there, either.”
He’s not sure what came over him; maybe it was because Feller had put him on the spot, so he wanted to return the favour. Maybe he just wanted to be a dick. Whatever the reason, Ilya couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Is your dad dead?”
Feller wasn’t phased, “It would be easier if he were dead, but no,” he answered. For a moment, a fraction of a second, Ilya thought about how much easier his life would be if his father were dead. Then the guilt crashed over him, like a wave, suffocating him for a moment before he could press the thought out of his mind. He didn’t dwell on it; Feller can’t read his mind, and Grigori Rozanov can’t either, else Ilya is sure he would be dead. So as long as he didn't dwell, it’s like the thought never happened. He focused instead on what Feller was saying now.
“Ride the line, kid, ride it as close as you can. But don’t go over. Don’t become that thing you hate. Don’t let him win by turning out like him. It’s okay to use that passion, that fire, as long as the fire burns clean. Make sure your fire burns clean, and soon enough you’ll take this team to the promised land.”
It was literally the most Fellsy had ever said to him at once. They didn’t really talk again that night; instead, his partner-girlfriend-wife(?) did all the talking (as usual). Ilya still went to dinner once a week after that. He went until a knee injury took Fellsy out late in Ilya’s second season.
Ilya started his third season with the C on his chest, and within two years, he had taken the Radiers to the promised land, just like ol’Feller said he would.
Brandon Feller played nearly 22 seasons in the NHL, and he never won a Cup. Ilya was sure that if he hadn’t spent nearly two years with Fellsy as his captain, he would never have either.
—----—
No one asked Ilya about a Dad’s Trips until years later.
Not until after Hayden accidentally filmed them kissing, after Brad shared the video, after his most closely guarded secret was broadcast to the whole world. Not until the week before the Centaurs had their Dad’s Trip.
He wasn’t even sure whose idea it was, maybe Shane’s. Even if Ilya never said it out loud, Shane knew that he was jealous that someone was always in the stands for him. Shane never had to wonder if he had done enough in a game to earn his father’s approval. Shane never had to earn his father’s respect.
But even when it was brought up, his first instinct was to say no, to keep hiding. Except they didn’t have to, not any more (thanks, Brad).
His second instinct was to say no. He didn’t want David Hollander to pity him; he didn’t want to make him participate just because Ilya was weak enough to want it. Except David never pitied him, never made him feel like he didn’t belong in the family.
In the end, it was Yuna who said yes on his behalf. It was Yuna who, the day after, Ilya was ‘un’-suspended by Crowell, marched down to the Ottawa Centaurs front office and introduced herself as Ilya’s manager. Of course, she had his blessing; she had been quietly handling things for the last two years. Now it was just a little more official. So, of course, it was Yuna who called him a few days before the trip and laid out all the details. She assured him that the Centaurs were supportive.
The backlash in Ottawa hadn’t been bad. Mostly confusion, not anger; more understanding than hurt. He hoped that continued when David was there with the team. The father of the ostensible enemy, acting as if he were Ilya’s father.
They hadn’t really been public about anything yet. Sure, Yuna had put out a barebones statement. Confirming that the video wasn’t a joke, that Shane was gay, that a personal relationship existed parallel to the professional one. It was a modified version of one she had in her back pocket for the last three and a half years. It concluded with a request for privacy, as Shane had always been a very private person.
Still, there were questions: How long? How serious? Are you absolutely sure this isn’t an elaborate prank? Ilya hadn’t said anything yet, the Centaurs (read Harris) put out a statement on his behalf, simply asking for privacy.
But if David came on the Dad’s Trip, that would be enough to answer some questions: Long enough. Serious enough. No, this is not a prank.
It would confirm that they were family.
Which was apparently what Yuna wanted when she said yes. She wanted a statement; she wanted to show the world that Ilya Rozanov had been publicly claimed by Clan Hollander.
Ilya had been privately claimed by Clan Hollander for years, and they had had a plan to go public. He and Shane were going to get married (in the summer), they were going to come out (in the summer), and be open (in the summer). It was what Ilya wanted.
He wanted.
He wanted so badly it hurt his chest and tore tears from his eyes. But it was all happening so much faster than they had planned. And critically, it was not happening in the summer, but instead early in the second half of the season.
Suddenly, out of thin air and a badly framed FanMail video, Ilya now had someone to go on his Dad’s Trip. For the first time in his life, he had someone that he actually wanted there. Someone who wanted to be there, for him, specifically. A dad.
So Ilya didn’t fight it when Yuna said David was coming. But he still kept his head down as much as he could. The day before they left, Bood and Wyatt were joking in the locker room after practice. Telling stories about something that happened on last year’s trip that Ilya didn’t remember.
He kept his head down until he caught Barrett's eye. And then he remembered. He remembered Feller and the confession. It would be easier if he were dead. And Ilya knew how true that was; it was easier now that Grigori was dead.
He couldn’t have the life he had now if Grigori weren’t dead. He couldn’t have the love he had now if Grigori weren’t dead. That thought no longer made him choke on his own breath. He knew it was true, and he didn’t feel guilty for thinking it. Which was progress, real, actual progress that Ilya had made. He didn’t feel the overwhelming soul-crushing guilt, knowing that the mess he was in was a whole lot better because Grigori Rozanov wasn’t around to see it. Instead, it was a quiet guilt, one that lived next to his heart, one that he could easily get through the days with. Eliminating the guilt would never happen, but being able to live with it was a fucking miracle made out of love and therapy.
But Troy Barrett had to live every day with his father’s disappointment hanging over his head. And any day, he could turn a corner and be face-to-face with his father.
So Ilya stood and crossed over the locker room and sat beside his linemate.
“Barret.”
“Roz.”
“Is your father…” Ilya was confident he knew the answer, but he didn’t know how else to start the conversation.
“No. He came last year. And the year before. But not now.”
“Fathers are hard.”
Barrett nodded.
“My father, he never come. At all. And that was for the best. For me, for the team.”
“Yeah, I mean. I’m not looking forward to the trip or anything. But for the first year, I’m not dreading it.”
“Da, I understand.” Ilya paused before adding, “Maybe for the first time, I am excited for the trip. Shane— Hollander. His father, David, he will be my dad for the weekend. It will be my first Dad’s Trip with a dad. Maybe someday you will have a dad-shaped person who will come for you.”
“Maybe, I’m not sure I need it, you know? For the first time, I am really happy with my life, and I don’t feel like I need a father figure there.” Barrett shrugged, “If that makes sense?”
“Da. I understand.”
—----—
David insisted on picking Ilya up and driving them both to the arena. They boarded the team bus and sat near the front. Like a good Hollander, David was early; they were the second people to board the bus. Players and their fathers filed in, Bood with his tall, dark-skinned and equally tattooed father. Haas with a man who could have been his identical twin, except he was at least 20 years older. Dillon and a surprisingly old man. His teammates and their fathers shuffled by, greeting Ilya and David, like it was normal and not a completely insane thing that Ilya couldn’t have fathomed just two weeks ago.
David smiled and greeted some of the players with a familiarity that wasn’t forced. It took a moment for Ilya to remember that David Hollander had been around the league, at awards shows and all-star games. Just never as Ilya's dad. Instead, Ilya had always avoided him the best he could, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that they were familiar.
Now felt like the opposite. Now felt like blasting a huge sign that said Hey, look at me! and This is me, and it is not a joke! Yuna released the statement for Shane; having David here was the statement for Ilya.
—----—
It was funny, in a very circular way. The Centaurs had rented the same bar in Nashville that the Radiers had 10 years ago. They ate the same steak, and drank the same beer (mostly the dads), and sang at the same karaoke.
David ended up dragging Ilya on stage so they could badly belt out the lyrics to Rebel Rebel.
“Not sure if you're a boy or a girl,”
“Hey babe, your hair's alright,”
Ilya looked over at David, hand on the microphone, eyes closed, feeling the music. He knew David was a Bowie fan, he knew the only CD’s he kept in his car were 80’s rock.
“Rebel rebel, you've torn your dress,”
“Rebel rebel, your face is a mess,”
He looked out over the crowd of people cheering him on, singing along with David and him.
“Rebel rebel, how could they know?”
“Hot tramp, I love you so,”
When the song was over, David pulled him into a tight hug. They didn’t hug often, only on Christmas, usually, maybe once or twice the rest of the year. Not like with Yuna, who always hugged hello and goodbye. Or Shane, whose arms wrapped around him whenever they could.
But here he was, arms wrapped tightly around his soon-to-be father-in-law. The man who was here as his honorary dad and his teammates all around him were cheering.
It was a lot. Ilya was more than overwhelmed.
—----—
Later, back at the hotel. Before they left the dads to their own devices in the hotel bar, and the players went up to their regular pre-game room assignments, David pulled Ilya to the side. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you tonight,” he said. Unlike Shane, David Hollander loved intense eye contact during emotional discussions.
“Neyt, no, no.” Ilya could feel the emotions welling up again. How could he say how happy he was in this moment? Maybe he would use the direct approach, “I am very happy you are here. I, you know, my father. He never came on these trips. And I was okay with that. I didn’t want him here; I didn’t want him to be disappointed in me. Or how does Yuna say it, I didn’t want him to ruin the vibe.”
“Ilya, I have… From the moment you came into our lives—”
Ilya snorted, “The very first moment?” he asked.
“Ilya,” David chided. “As soon as I saw the man you are, I was proud and scared and a whole host of other things. But I have never been disappointed in you.”
Ilya was glad that they were tucked away alone, because he didn’t want to be embarrassed by the tears that were slowly leaking from his water line. “Thank you for agreeing to come. It means a lot to me.”
David's eyes furrowed for just a moment, “I didn’t agree, it was my idea, son.”
Not Shane’s? Not Yuna’s? But David’s?
“Really?” Ilya asked before he could stop himself.
“Yes, Ilya, you are family. To me, you are family. And I was excited to show the world that, now that I can. Now that we are allowed.”
Ilya lunged forward, arms wrapped around David for the second time in the last hour. He felt hands at his back pulling him close.
—----—
The next evening, when the Centaurs were facing off with the Nashville Aliens, they showed the dads on the Jumbotron. Ilya got to look up and see David Hollander proudly wearing Rozanov 81. He got to know that someone was there just for him. He got to feel that unconditional love he had learned to live without.
Really, the Alines had no chance in this game, because Rozanov was determined to show off for his dad.