Chapter Text
Anastasia Ilyinichna Rozanova was born at the end of June.
Tiny, blonde curls formed a pattern of spirals and swirls all around her head, and her eyes were seafoam green with a deep blue outline. She looked exactly how Ilya imagined she would when he was a young boy, contemplating the future he undoubtedly assumed he would have with his closest friend- Sveta. He always thought she was beautiful, and he loved her, loved what they had with one another. He had worried the baby would change things, but it didn’t. They were the same Sveta and Ilyusha- she was stunning, even while cursing him illicitly through her labor- and he would always carry her with him now, even from across the world, where they built different lives and different lovers.
Every fear he had had in the past months disappeared the moment he saw his daughter.
When Shane saw Ilya for the first time, the first thing he noticed was the mole on his cheek.
The second thing he noticed was the baby carriage.
Ilya was carrying his gear bag, a backpack, and a zippered tote bag threatening to slip off his shoulder. Shane blinked stupidly at him, to which Ilya made a gesture of exaggerated confusion, eyebrows furrowed.
“Can I come in, or no?”
He had a thick accent that Shane didn't anticipate, adding to the growing input of information he was trying to process- tall, muscular, blue? green? eyes, messy curls, tired eyes, definitely hadn't slept much- It took Shane a double take to realize he was standing in the locker room doorway. He shook his head and quickly stepped aside, mumbling a meek apology which earned him no response as Ilya looked him up and down, coming to the conclusion that he was trustworthy enough.
“Watch her. You wake her up, I kill you.”
Ilya spoke without any space for question, pointing at the wheeled bassinet and slipping past Shane into the locker room before he could even open his mouth to protest.
Shane looked around for anyone, but all the other guys were still getting ready- Shane had shown up unreasonably early and was already in his gear- so he cautiously peered into the stroller. Beneath the canopy and nestled in a bed of soft blankets was a baby, an infant at that, wrapped in a fuzzy white onesie with bear ears. She seemed to be sound asleep; eyes closed with long blonde lashes fanning across her chubby cheeks.
“Hi there,” Shane whispered, scratching the back of his head. He didn't know what else to do aside from stare at her, so that's exactly what he did. He stood still as stone, dutifully carrying out the order for his new mystery teammate. Thankfully, it took little more than a couple of minutes for Ilya to return, changing into his gear in what must have been record time.
“Ah, thank you,” he said, sounding genuinely relieved while peering into the bassinet to make sure the little girl's eyes hadn't opened. Ilya then returned his attention back to Shane, remembering that he should probably introduce himself to the first Canadian of his age he had spoken to.
“Rozanov, Ilya.” He gestured to himself, then to the baby, “Nastya."
Shane blinked. “Shane Hollander,” he answered, sticking his hand out to shake, which Ilya did not take. Instead, he grabbed the stroller handle and began to push it down the hallway.
“Sorry if I am being… blunt. English is not my first language.” He continued to speak as he walked as if expecting Shane to follow him. Shane did.
“Where are you from?” He asked. He could hear the rest of the team beginning to stream out of the locker room and towards the ice, chatting amongst each other.
“Russia.” Ilya answered, parking the stroller on the floor space in front of the bench where she could easily be seen and reached from the ice.
“Oh, wow. You must be good, then.” Shane tilted his head towards the ice.
“I am.” Ilya stated plainly, giving Shane nothing more than a shrug and the ghost of a smile before finally making his way to the ice.
“Hey, Holly! Get over here!” Shane was snapped out of his trance by Hayden's familiar voice shouting at him from the ice. Right. He skated towards the group of guys, some who already seemed to be crowding into miniature cliques. He stayed close to Hayden's side, but his eyes were glued to Ilya.
“Who's that guy? And what's with the baby?”
Shane shrugged, not breaking his gaze.
“Rozanov. He said he's from Russia- and the baby is his.” He answered the question seriously, as if it weren't obvious. Hayden shook his head aimlessly, muttering something baby-related that Shane didn't pay enough attention to hear. He was busy watching Ilya's head turn back towards the bench every couple moments as he felt-out the ice beneath his feet. Ilya was as strong as he looked, that was made obvious by the way he handled his stick as if it were an extension of his sturdy forearms. He moved with a nonchalance that would betray the untrained eye's ability to tell how skilled he was- but Shane knew.
It felt good to skate again. Better than Ilya was anticipating. He had felt so alien the last few months, every space sounded and smelled so unfamiliar- except for the rink. The sound of skates against ice and the smell of cold air was all the same, even across the world apparently. He coasted through the motions, his mental focus torn between keeping up with the coach's words- why does he keep speaking with the whistle in his mouth? Хватит уже- and glancing at his daughter at least every minute. By some miracle, she slept soundly through warmups and drills- spending the last month blasting hockey games on the tv to desensitize her to the noise paid off.
In the rare moments Ilya had time to turn his attention to anything else, he found his gaze drifting towards Shane. Despite his unassuming demeanor off the ice, his skills were undoubtedly impressive. He was fast, maybe even faster than Ilya, and moved with a calculated drive that could trick you in to believing he was the most confident person in the room. Ilya was excited to see him in action during a real game.
Practice came to a conclusion, but Ilya was still riding the high of being in the world of the living again. He had never done well in isolation; he thrived in team environments and had been going through the motions like a walking corpse the last couple of months.
As he rolled the stroller back towards the locker room, he listened to the other boys speak, trying to get a feel for their speech patterns and energy. He continued to do so as he parked the carriage outside the locker room, (the coach was kind enough to watch the baby for a few minutes while Ilya changed) and as the team tore off their sweaty gear, they made up plans to meet somewhere and do something at some time, all of which Ilya tuned out- he wasn’t going anywhere or doing anything anytime soon. That was, until someone spoke to him directly.
“So... do you like it here? In Canada?”
Shane Hollander was now beside Ilya once again, shirtless and shiny with sweat, a pink flush creeping from his chest and shoulders all the way up to his freckled cheeks. Ilya looked him up and down in a way that made him feel exposed all of a sudden.
“Dumb question, sorry.” He mumbled, pulling on a white t-shirt and dark blue sweatshirt. He had asked because he really was curious, but the question ended up coming out more like an awkward attempt at small talk.
Ilya huffed a laugh of sorts, shaking his head. He looked up at Shane as he sat back on the bench, pulling a knee up to tie his shoe.
He shrugged, cocking his head to the side in consideration.
“Canada is… boring, but fine. Better, at least, for my daughter.”
As if on cue, the trill of a baby’s cry revved up from the hall. Ilya jumped to his feet, muttering something Shane didn’t understand, and then he was gone.