Chapter Text
When Ilya suddenly disappears mid season, Shane isn’t surprised that he doesn’t hear from the man. He checks in occasionally, trying not to be too much of a bother if something is seriously wrong with Ilya. He sends vague sentiments about hoping Ilya is okay, but he’s met with nothing but radio silence.
He only learns that the man is back in America when an article pops up on his feed. A death in Rozanov’s family has made him the guardian of a young girl, assumed to be his niece. The photo is from the airport, Ilya is carrying the girl, her head buried in his shoulder while he flips off the camera. Shane feels his blood boil at the sheer indecency of the paparazzi to harass Ilya during such a hard time.
Jane: Hey, saw the news
Jane: Hope you’re okay and she’s settling in well
Lily: I have no idea what the fuck I am doing
Lily: I need to leave in 2 days for game
Lily: I cannot leave her but I cannot drag her from hotel to hotel every time I play
Shane is surprised by the barrage of messages after weeks of silence, like a dam bursting. Ilya must be completely overwhelmed and honestly, Shane doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t have the full picture and it already sounds like a stressful task.
Jane: There’s no-one who could babysit?
Jane: One of the team WAGs?
Lily: Mila does not speak english
Lily: I could get nanny who speaks Russian but do not think i could trust a stranger with her
Shane bites his lip as he considers the issue. It’s a shocking amount of honesty from Ilya, more than Shane could have imagined.
Jane: Maybe I can help?
Jane: I babysit Hayden's kids all the time. And we’re out of the playoffs so I have the time
Jane: Obviously you can say no if it's too weird!! But it’s another option
Lily: Language is still an issue
Jane: Okay, don't make a big deal about this
Jane: But I have a dumb hobby where I learn a language every summer
Jane: This year I learned Russian
The typing bubble appears and disappears a handful of times, until Ilya seems to give up and calls him instead.
‘You speak Russian now?’ Ilya demands in Russian, forgoing any greetings.
‘A bit. If you are slow.’
‘Why did you learn this?’
‘Bored.’
Ilya laughs. ‘Fuck, Hollander.’
‘Is my accent bad? Tell the truth.’
‘It’s fucking perfect. You asshole.’
Shane chuckles, switching back to English. ‘You want me to come over?’
‘You would really do this for me?’
‘Of course man. You want the help or not?’
‘Fuck. Yes. Please.’
‘Okay. You’ll leave on Friday right? How about I get the first plane over tomorrow morning so she can get used to me with you there?’
‘You are my fucking hero. I owe you.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Thank you.’ Ilya sounds genuinely relieved and grateful. Shane wishes they were facetime so he could see the man's expression. ‘Goodnight Hollander.’
‘Goodnight Rozanov.’
He hears Ilya laugh again before hanging up. Mentally praising himself for his compulsive dedication to learning new languages, Shane jumps out of bed and starts to pack for his impromptu trip to Boston.