Chapter Text
Shane is slow to get the the phone when it rings, his hips twinging uncomfortably as he shuffles over to retrieve his phone from where he'd set it on the counter. He doesn't recognize the number, but that doesn't mean much these days.
"Hello, am I speaking to Mr. Shane Hollander?" The young man on the other end of the line is politer.
"Yes, this is him." Shane sighs. Probably another MHL intern looking to brush off the cobwebs and get him back in front of an audience, or maybe they needed a presenter at the awards again this year. No, wait. Wrong time of year. Time passed oddly up here at the cottage, seemed to slow and jump forward at random intervals.
"My name is Timothy, and I'm calling from the Hockey Hall of Fame in Toronto. I imagine you're familiar with it."
"Of course, son." Shane said, smiling patiently into the phone.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hollander, of course you know about it. I'm a little nervous, you see... Actually getting to talk to you on the phone, it's unbelievable."
"Thank you, Timothy. Now what did you want to talk to me about?" Shane asked. It had been years since his last panic attack, but he always felt those pangs whenever he had conversations like this, with fans he wasn't really aware of even having. Fuck, he'd probably been retired by the time this kid was even born.
"Sorry, sorry. I'm calling on behalf of the Hall of Fame to let you know that your band has officially been retired, and to invite you to the hanging ceremony."
"...Hanging ceremony?"
"Shit, I mean, shoot, uh... I'm so sorry, Mr. Hollander. I mean the ceremony for your band being hung up in the Hall of Fame. When the band is filled with names and can't be shifted down anymore, it's removed and hung up. There's a ceremony for it."
"Oh."
"A-a-and we were, um, we were hoping you would be willing to say a few words. If you attend, that is. I know it's a long trip to Toronto for you."
Shane listened to Timothy rattle off the dates and times, and when he needed an answer by. What Timothy didn't say, of course, was that there weren't many of Shane's Stanley Cup class left to give a speech and do the photo op. Shane sighed involuntarily, but Timothy heard it on the line.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Hollander. I don't mean to keep you. I'm sure you're very busy." He apologized.
"Please don't worry, kid. I'm just old." Shane said. "Lots of memories on that cup."
"Oh, yeah, I know. I got to see the band the other day, and seeing your name there with Scott Hunter, and Ily- I mean, all the other hockey greats of the time, it was just... wow. All of your wins are on the same band, which is just so cool to see."
"I'm sure. Let me think about the ceremony, okay?" Shane said, smiling again into the phone.
"Absolutely, Mr. Hollander. Thank you for taking my call. And let me just say, congratulations on the honor."
"Thank you. I'll be sure to tell Ilya about it." Shane said. There was a slight hesitation on the end of the line, but then Timothy was back, stammering through his thank yous, and his goodbyes.
Shane hung up and looked out the window at the still lake for a long moment. The water was peaceful, the birds were probably chirping even though he couldn't hear them so well these days, even with the hearing aids.
"Well, you hear that, lyubimyy?" He says, "We're going to be in the Hall of Fame together. Forever."
He turns toward the urn displayed lovingly in the corner, a soft smile on his lips. He reaches out to touch the gilded lillies carved into the marble.
"Just like we always wanted."