Work Text:
“I did something stupid,” Ilya says.
He is sat on the couch across from Dr. Galina.
“Ah.” She looks back at him and he looks away. Brings one hand up to wrap around his mother’s crucifix where it rests against his throat but doesn’t speak.
“Would you like to tell me what it was? This thing?”
He just sighs and uses his other hand to scrub at his eyes.
Galina sighs as well but its gentle. There’s no demand behind it. “You do not have to tell me, of course but...We have spoken several times recently about your mother. About ‘the age thing’ as you called it. It’s not long now until your birthday. Would I be correct in thinking your so-called something stupid might be related to your feelings around this?”
Ilya nods once.
“And are you thinking of doing it again? This thing?”
He nods again but still can’t bring himself to answer her. All his skin feels too tight. Maybe this is how Shane feels. When the noise and the lights and the pressure get too much. When the wrong food at the wrong moment in a broken routine meets the wrong question from a journalist and one too many mistakes on the ice and everything is too much. All too much and then it all has to stop.
This year, in just another few weeks, he will be older than his mother.
Galina is still waiting. Patient and unhurried, her expression even. “Ilya, you once described falling in love with your rival as very stupid and very irresponsible. So would you like to tell me what your new stupid idea is so I can support you with it?”
Despite himself, Ilya laughs.
“Uhh, okay, okay, you are right. It’s about Mama and yes, maybe it wasn’t - isn't stupid. Maybe...uhh, okay, I will tell you.”
--
He does it again. The stupid thing. The skating class. For the third week in a row.
Except this time, he commits. He thinks of what Galina said. He gets out his phone, finds the saved video and goes to speak to the figure skating instructor.
The class has been over for ten minutes now. The gaggle of chatter and excitement has drifted away, off the ice towards the locker room. He has dawdled, still out on the ice, waiting for an empty rink.
Now it is just him and Lexi, the instructor. He glances around once more to check the place is empty, grips his phone too tightly and skates over to where Lexi is still leant up against the boards.
She smiles at him as he approaches. "Hey there Ilya. Lovely to have you with us again this week. How did you find the class today?”
"Yes, was- was good.” He shrugs, “is... I like it.”
She beams at him. "Well, I’m glad to hear it. I’ve been enjoying teaching you.”
He must look surprised at that because she laughs.
“What? Don't look so shocked. It's been a pleasure having you here. Plus, from a professional standpoint, it's been interesting, you know? Teaching someone with so much skating experience, even if it’s, of course, a very different kind of skating. It's an interesting new challenge, you know? As an instructor. And I have to say, you’re very good. I’ve never had a student pick things up quite so quickly. But then I guess, I’ve never had the NHL’s best skater come to my class before, so...” She shrugs one shoulder at him, still grinning.
He smiles back in spite of himself, shaking his head. "No, no, I am not here for flattery.”
“Rozanov, it’s not flattery. I mean it. You're doing very well. You've only just started.”
"It feels all...uhh,” he waves a hand, unable to summon the precise words in English. “I like it but is so weird. Feels different.”
"Yes, I’m sure it must be strange having to both rely on your skating experience and change old muscle memory at the same time. But seriously you have a talent for this. Is this your first time? Did you ever try figure skating as a child?”
Ilya is not going to get a better opening than this
"No no no, not really but... you know, my mother, she was a figure skater. Irina. She was... before she got married, she was Irina Sokolova.”
He sees the recognition. Sees her eyes go wide.
"Your mother was Irina Sokolova?”
He grins, even as his chest aches. It is not often now that someone will recognise her name. Or, well, he supposes he doesn't mention it often either. Who she was before him and Alexei. Before she was a Rozanov.
"I had, actually... I had a question - a favour, maybe. I do not know if it is something you can do? I could pay, of course, but...”
Christ, he doesn’t know how to say this. He gets out his phone instead. Pulls up the video clip.
"I have video here. Is..." He trails off, holds up the phone to show her. She comes to stand next to him, their shoulders brushing, as she watches the little video on his phone screen.
"Oh, wow, she was such a good skater. Such beautiful form. You see there, just wow. But this- this routine. It isn’t the one from the World Championships. This isn't the one that got her the gold, but it looks... well, it's certainly not easier...”
"No, this- this was for Olympics. Olympics in Yugoslavia.”
He can see Lexi frown, still staring at the video. “She never competed at the Olympics though. She was the favourite, right enough. Favoured for gold but then she didn’t...”
"Yes, she did not. This... this was her routine. Or this- it would have been, da?"
“Oh, I never knew that. Gee, I knew she didn’t compete, of course, but I didn’t know she had a whole routine developed. Especially not one so...”
“Yes. Its,” Ilya starts, “I...”
Lexi looks away from the video then, turns to look across at him instead.
"Could you teach me? This, I mean.” He waves the phone around a little. “Could you teach me this routine? I know it's...maybe some of the jumps, you know, the twists, will have to be different. Not so many spins or not so technical but...do you think I could learn it? In a year, could I learn this?”
--
@BradleySmth_63:
Was at the rink after hours this evening and you are never going to fucking believe what I saw...
[ Video clip taken from high up in the arena seating, showing two small figures on the ice. One skating through pieces of a routine, the other stood to the side observing. ]
@AndrewF54:
Is that Ilya fucking Rozanov?
@MetrosManiac101:
No fucking way. Why the fuck has the Russian menace gone all dancing on ice? Maybe he really is gay after all
@GabrielSantos90:
Ilya Rozanov? Fucking figure skating?
@LifeOnTheIce:
I...what in the world is happening?
@CentaurForLife:
It’s certainly an experience, being an Ottawa fan.
@SallySouthland31:
Is he like low key good?
@SkateFirstTalkLater:
He’s not low key good. He’s just good. Like, that’s really fucking impressive.
@SofiaVolkova72:
Yeah, there is a huge difference in technique between the kind of skating hockey players use and figure skating. So this, yes, is really fucking impressive...There’s still a few movements there that could tighten up, for sure. But especially if we are assuming he only started recently, that’s like really fucking good.
@Rozanov81:
To everybody asking, yes I have seen video. Stop tagging me. I know.
I have been outed as mama’s boy.
But is not finished. I have five weeks left still then I will explain.
--
The door to Harris’ office is already ajar when Ilya drops by after practice. He pushes inside without knocking.
"Harris,” he calls with a smile because as fucking rough as he feels today, it's hard not to smile at Harris.
The man in question looks up from his desk, as bright and cheerful as ever if a little harried.
“Hey Roz, can I help you with something? Or, fuck, is this an ‘I’ve already done something and now I’ve come to tell you about it’ type of visit?”
"No, no , Harris, do not worry. I have not done anything." He tries for a lazy smirk but he’s not sure if it comes out right. “Not yet anyway.”
"You have no idea how not reassuring that is, Rozanov.”
Ilya laughs. “Is okay Harris, honestly. I just... I have favour to ask, okay?”
Harris frowns but he looks more concerned than annoyed at that. Ilya supposes he's not normally here to ask for favours exactly. More to point out where he set things on fire, in a virtual sense at least, in case Harris needs to do something about it.
This though is different. Ilya swallows, rubs a hand against the back of his neck.
“I...so...Harris, can you post this?” He sets a pen drive down on the desk between them. Which, okay, is probably a bit old fashioned but he hadn't wanted to put this in an e-mail. “Tomorrow. Can you post it for me? Is video. Caption is all already written too. Its all on there. Please do not change anything. Is mama’s birthday tomorrow so this - it has to be tomorrow but...” Ilya waves a hand, hoping Harris can fill in the blanks of all the things he doesn't want to say. “I will be with Shane but is important. This. It is important. It shouldn’t take long. There is already... it's just... would that be..."
“Yes, of course, Ilya. I mean, it’s literally part of my job and also, it's no trouble anyway. I’m happy to help honestly. Especially for something like this.”
Ilya’s shoulders drop and he lets out a long breath. "Okay, thank you. I...good, yes, thank you Harris. But just as it is please. No changes. Is nothing bad, I promise. It is just... is important.”
“Yes, okay, that's fine. I can do that for you Rozy, I promise.”
“Okay, okay.” Ilya runs a hand down his face and collapses into the chair across from Harris. “Uh, thank you Harris. So... do you have pastries? What did Troy bring you today? There are leftovers or...?”
Harris laughs at him, shaking his head, already reaching to open his desk drawer. He pulls out a very promising looking crinkled paper bag and sets it on the table between them.
--
Instagram post by OttawaCentaursOfficial:
[Video begins]
The video shows a split screen, at the top is the footage of Irina Sokolova performing her lost Olympic routine. The bottom half of the screen shows Ilya Rozanov performing the same routine at the Centaur’s home rink, the stands around him empty and deserted.
The song Irina chose for this routine plays along with the video, both figures keeping in time, mirroring the music and each other.
[Cut]
Ilya is standing on the ice near the edge of the rink, not far from the camera. His face still sheened with sweat, his breathing settling out.
“Phew, okay, okay.” Ilya runs a hand down his face then takes a deep breath and turns to address the camera.
In Russian, Ilya begins to speak. His own home done subtitles appearing across the bottom of the screen.
“I love you, Mama. Happy birthday. I hope you liked the skating. I am not so good as you were but,” Ilya shrugs, glancing at the camera and away again, “I am trying, da?”
He runs a hand through his sweat damp curls and squares his shoulders. “I am older now than you were when,” he clears his throat, “when...but you are not forgotten.” Ilya lifts his necklace and kisses it. “You will not be forgotten. Not ever.”
He takes a breath, looks down at his feet and back up to the camera, the ghost of a smile on his face. “I am sorry you could never skate at Olympics. That you didn’t get to keep competing after you...but today whole internet will see you skating Mama. Will see how you were the best. Always so beautiful. So good.” Ilya kicks one of his skates, a little sheepish. “And they will see my slightly shitty skating too. Was not so bad. Bit shaky in that last double twist, yes? Landing was a little off. But, I think you will like it anyway.”
Ilya pauses, his gaze fixed on the empty stands, unseeing. He turns back to the camera and gives a bright blinding smile. Just for a moment, out on the rink all alone, there and gone again. One brief, blinding, sad smile that’s for Irina and Irina alone, even if the whole internet will get to see it later. “And I like it. This.” He waves a hand behind him at the empty ice where he just finished his routine. “I would like it better if you were here but...At least he is dead now, da?” Ilya takes a shuddering breath and swipes a hand at his cheek. “He cannot stop us skating anymore.”
He shakes his head, lets out a sharp bite of laughter. “And if you are watching this at home. If you are watching this and you want to ask your father if you can be a figure skater. If you want to ask if you can please be a figure skater like Mama. Not just stupid hockey player. If you ask and he says ‘no Ilya, of course you cannot do this. Figure skating? This sport is just for women and faggots. Of course you cannot be a figure skater, it will turn you gay.’ Well, better to skate anyway because,” he shrugs and flashes a trace of his usual smirk at the camera, “was already too late for that, da?” Ilya looks straight at the camera and winks.
[Cut]
A short clip plays, barely fifteen seconds long, the footage a little muted. It shows a slim elegant woman out on an empty ice rink. Wrapped up in a well fitted coat, her blond hair piled atop her head, she twirls in a smooth controlled spin. She has one hand above her head, fingers fluted, as she turns, a bright smile on her face. Beside her is a tiny figure with oversized clothes and a mop of blond curls. A boy who looks to be four or five. He attempts to spiral into a pirouette of his own, trying to twist into the same tight turn as his mother. There is a moment where it seems he will make the first full spin but one small, skated foot angles wrong. The boy's balance shifts and he falls down, face first onto the ice.
Irina slows her spin so she can scoop the boy up into her arms. She twists into a fresh turn. The boy wraps one small arm around her neck, little fist gripping onto her collar. She twirls and he throws his head back, face scrunched and giggling, as Irina locks the two of them into another rapid spin.
Once, twice, Irina spins them both, looking down at the child tucked into her arms, a bright wide smile on her face.
The clip cuts to black.
[Video ends]
Caption:
We are honored to post this video on behalf of our Captain Ilya Rozanov.
He has asked that anyone who feels moved to, please donate to the Ottawa Refuge Center [link] for Irina’s birthday. Or to a women’s refuge center in your area [Link to search by area code]
See you all on the ice.
--
Shane gets up the moment he hears the front door open. He’d been sat at the kitchen table. A forgotten cup of herbal tea gone cold in his hands. There's no point pretending he’s doing anything other than waiting for Ilya to get home from walking Anya. Not today and not after watching that video.
Ilya rounds the corner into the kitchen and goes straight to pull Shane into a hug. Which, well, it’s Irina’s birthday today. Ilya can have as many hugs as he wants. He can have as many hugs as he wants any day of the year, as far as Shane is concerned, but right now that isn't the point. Today is the point. Whatever it needs to look like.
Ilya lets him go, turning to the sink to grab a glass of water. He drains the glass, sets it down and leans back against the counter. Shane can feel his gaze on him, heavy, assessing. He doesn’t need to tell Ilya that he’s seen the video. Ilya will be able to read it in his face.
“Hmm, you have been crying, no? You see my video with my pretty pretty skating and now you are weeping because you are so jealous, yes?”
“Fuck off, asshole. It was all the...it wasn’t the skating, it was what you said. All that stuff about...”
“Ah, so you did not like my skating?”
“Oh my God, Jesus.” Ilya throws up his arms and Shane sighs. “Come here idiot.”
Shane reels him in. Draws Ilya toward him until they are standing with their toes almost touching. He reaches out and places a hand on either side of Ilya’s face. Knocks their foreheads together, gentle as he can manage.
“Ilya Rozanov, your skating was fucking beautiful.”
“Yes?”
“Fuck. Yes. Of course, Ilya. It was... Like, I know this was a thing you needed to do on your own. Just you and your mum. But I wish I could have seen it in person.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Yeah, really. It was amazing. Actually, maybe I am a little jealous. You had me wanting to try it. Those jumps with the twist, it just looks so..."
Ilya steps back then, just a little, peering at him.
"You would want to try? You are serious or is just like,” Ilya waves a hand.
“I mean, well...” Shane keeps his eyes fixed on Ilya’s feet, one hand reaching out to tug at the hem of his sweatshirt. “If you wouldn’t mind then I thought, maybe?... I don’t want to crowd you. I know this is important.”
“No, no, Shane. Well, yes, is important but is done now. This part. Now it’s just ... whether to carry on with classes.”
Shane grabs one of Ilya’s hands, running his thumb across Ilya’s knuckles. Fuck, he really does not want to screw this up. He doesn't want to overstep but also doesn't want to miss out on this chance. Shane settles for asking another question, gathering more information before he jumps.
“And do you want to? Carry on, I mean?”
“I...Yes, yes, I think so. But it's just classes now. Is different. So... if you wanted to...?”
Shane looks up and Ilya is the one looking at the ground now. The one carefully not meeting his eyes. So Shane steps forward again, right into Ilya’s space and wraps him up in a hug. Says quietly into Ilya’s ear, “yes I do want to if... if it won't bother you, then yes, I would love to learn too.”
Ilya laughs, the sound rough and choked and crowds him back against the counter. He lifts Shane until he’s sitting on the countertop and Ilya can step into the space between his legs. Can press their chests flush together, arms tight around each other.
“Really? You want to?” Ilya asks, pressing the sound into Shane’s shoulder.
“Yes. I think so.”
Ilya just squeezes him harder and Shane twists his head to place a kiss against his curls.
“Have you ever tried? Did little baby Shane Hollander ever want to figure skate?”
“Um, not really. I mean, I never tried it, no. I thought about it once or twice. The jumps and things. It looked fun, y’know? But...”
Ilya’s chin has settled on his shoulder now. Quiet, listening. “But?”
"But, uhh, I was so sick of being called a pretty boy already, y’know? And the whole Asian thing. There were only two of us, and I guess the Asian thing isn’t the only reason people called me pretty, but it is a part of the reason. Part of the reason I couldn’t get away from it, you know? Made it feel worse too, when people did say it... So, I guess the thought of adding figure skating as well. It just would have made it all even worse again. And I didn’t mind too much – about not trying figure skating, I mean. It was just...it did look fun but mostly I just wanted to play hockey. Play hockey and have everyone leave me the fuck alone.”
Ilya shifts then. Shift so he can kiss Shane’s neck and shoulder and cheek. Lean their heads together.
“Fuckers. I am sorry Shane. I am sorry you had to...”
“Now who’s sounding Canadian, hmm?”
"Ah, fuck you, you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good. Also, you are very pretty, hmm? Very very pretty.”
"Fuck off. You know you’re the only person I don’t mind saying that? The only person I actually wanted to call me pretty.”
“Yes, but this is because when I say it, is very gay, yes? I am just being gay and stupid about you. Not being homophobic racist asshole.”
"No, just gay and an asshole.”
Ilya laughs and Shane can feel the sound of it moving through his own chest.
“Hmm, yes, true.” Ilya drawls. “All true. So pretty. Pretty Shane Hollander with his beautiful skating. You will be better than me at this, you know that?”
“What?” Shane leans back on the counter, trying to detangle enough to get a look at Ilya’s face. "Since when have you ever admitted that I would be better than you at anything?”
Ilya releases him, stepping back a little so that they can both see each other's faces.
Shane frowns at him. “You know that half the Internet right now is talking about how you have a natural talent for this. How, like, impressive it all is. That you should have been at the Olympics too. Twitter’s gone all haywire.”
Ilya gives him a particular type of frown that Shane has learned to identify as Ilya’s ‘why is there another stupid English word for me to deal with?’ expression.
"You are viral, I mean. Just like really viral.”
Ilya shrugs. "Yes, okay, good but is not the point. Point is, Hollander,” Ilya puts both hands on Shane's shoulders, massaging into the tight muscles of his traps. His fingers finding the knots, all the areas still sore from last week’s workouts. Shane’s sighs at the touch and tries not to get too distracted. He does not want to miss any part of this conversation, it’s too important, no matter how good Ilya’s hands feel.
"Point is, you are most beautiful skater in the league. Most beautiful face, most beautiful skating. Is both. I am strong skater, da? Is what everyone always says. Strong skater. And I can do graceful too, apparently. Twitter is saying so. But you...Is the one thing I was always sure Mama would say about you, you know that? If she had met you. ‘He has the most beautiful skating Ilya, can you see it? Most beautiful skating in whole NHL.’”
“I- what? Really? You think she would...”
“Da, yes, Shane. Of course. And she would be right.”
“I...um.” Shane never knows how to put this part into words. The ‘thank you for telling me.’ Thank you for handing me another piece of you and your mother and everything that goes with it. All your trust. I won’t drop it, I swear. Or he wants to say something like that. Something along those lines, probably. It's just... the words never really come out right. It never really feels like enough, whatever he says.
“Thank you for telling me. It's...um, thank you Ilya.”
“Da, is okay Shane. I should have told you this before. I have been thinking about telling you this for years. Since that first All Stars, I think.”
"Oh, I...” Shane leans himself forward again, resting his forehead against Ilya’s cheek. He says the only thing he knows how to say, in response to that. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”
“Da Shane, ya tebya lyublyu. Always.” Ilya clears his throat, gaze darting off to the side and back, flitting across Shane’s face. “You are sure? About coming to the classes?”
“Yes, definitely. I mean, as long as it doesn’t bother you then yes. I think I’d like that. A lot.”
“Okay. Good.”
Ilya raises a hand and grip Shane’s chin, tips his head back and angles it into a kiss. His other arm snaking around Shane’s shoulders, drawing them closer as he deepens the kiss.
“Okay, okay,” Ilya says against Shane’s lips, pausing the kiss though not drawing back even an inch. He’d been smiling a little too wide to kiss properly anyway. Both of them had been, really. “If you are sure, then yes. We will go. Will be good. Will be very good.”