Chapter Text
July 2017
Shane sat in bed, half listening to Ilya breathe next to him. He hadn't been able to doze off, instead he sat, mostly relaxed against the head board, mind spinning. We'll figure something else out, he’d told Ilya. Now he just had to figure out what ‘something else’ was. He thought about what Ilya had said about being a free agent and picking a Canadian team. Shane's mind spun through those options. Not Montreal. Toronto was also out. Winnipeg was too far away. Ottawa was only two hours away, but they were a shit team and if Shane thought about it too long, his nose scrunched in disgust.
He thought over every laid out plan, Ilya Ilya Ilya. Ilya moves. Their contracts are coincidently up at the same time, but it makes sense for Ilya to move to Canada, but Shane hates the idea even if Ilya was willing. His future–his boyfriend–wasn't going to play for Ottawa of all places. Shane had faith that Ilya could turn them around, but not fast enough.
Shane considered his options if Ilya resigned with Boston. New York was out, unless Scott Hunter decided to retire. Brooklyn was a maybe, as was New Jersey. Shane mentally listed out every team even remotely close. The ones that were in any way realistic made him wrinkle his nose. Yeah, no way was he letting Ilya move to Ottawa unless absolutely necessary, and at that point, why wouldn't Shane also move, just cut down that two hours to zero instead while they're at it.
That's an idea, Shane thought. They could both start over with a new team. They had All-Stars to thank as proof they could work together. Shane's mind was spinning almost faster than he could keep up, forgetting to rein himself in. It would also rewrite the rivalry (Shane kept the charity idea he'd thought of earlier in his back pocket, it wouldn't completely go to waste, but its purpose might just change). If they were on the same team, especially if they could make it look like a coincidence… It wouldn't be a complete sell to some of the crazier people in the world, but Shane had long learned to ignore those ones.
What teams could afford both of them? Not many and almost no good ones. Shane hated change, extreme change especially, but this was necessary. He unlocked his phone and hovered his thumbs for a moment, deciding what to do first. He made a decision, opening google to search gay cities north america. That was a priority, a city that would be safe for them, even if hockey might not be. Shane had the latent thought that he was choosing a relationship with Ilya over the possibility of good hockey. Or at least winning hockey.
The list of cities that was presented wasn’t long, but his eye caught near the top, Seattle, and he remembered something. A conversation, a card, and a secret vacation. When was Seattle supposed to get an expansion team? They should be drafting soon, right? Not this year, but maybe… if it was in the next two years…
By the time a new plan had formed, light had started lightening the shade of grey from nearly black to granite. Shane slid down to wrap around Ilya, pressing kisses to the back of his neck and across his shoulders. He felt Ilya start to stir.
Shane didn’t say anything, just kept kissing Ilya's skin. When Ilya shifted to try and capture Shane's lips, he moved from his ear, across his cheekbone, to finally unite their mouths. Ilya hummed into the kiss, and pulled back to notice that Shane was perhaps too awake.
“Morning,” he mumbled. “Did you sleep at all?”
“No,” Shane confessed, suddenly needing to tell Ilya his plan. “I had an idea.” Ilya wiggled his eyebrows. “Not that. Later, listen. What if we play for the same team?”
“What? Hollander–”
“We could, if you wanted. Obviously not Boston, or Montreal, but there are a few teams with cap space. Most suck, some would suck less with both of us, but…” he took a deep breath, with Ilya’s full, if confused, and a little foggy, attention on him. “Seattle is getting an expansion team. Next year, I think, maybe 2019, but they’re starting from scratch and I already know they’d take me if I wanted. I could convince them to take you too. We start over completely fresh. We're not just making a team great, we get to build it from the ground up.”
Ilya was staring at him a little dazed, “Hollan-Shane, you–” English seemed to be failing him.
“I mean, if you want. I liked playing on the same team as you, and–” Shane was embarrassed, trying to get a read on Ilya's reaction. He seemed to find at least a few words.
“You would leave Montreal?” Shane blinked, thinking that, oh, that’s exactly what he was saying. The thought should scare him more. He'd always imagined, dreamed, that he'd retire in Montreal after winning them at least seven cups and have number 24 in the rafters. He'd never planned to fall in love with his rival, but here he was, planning on giving it up to play hockey with Ilya. That was it wasn't it? Hockey was supposed to be fun, and it was the most fun with Ilya.
“I– yeah, I would. To play hockey with you? All-Stars was the most fun I've had playing hockey in a while. We're still the two best hockey players, it’s not like we’re going anywhere or going to suddenly stop being good at hockey. But to be just a guy playing hockey? With you? Yes, I would leave Montreal. We’re trying to figure out the whole rivalry narrative, so what if we removed it entirely? Just, poof? Gone. No more Montreal, no more Boston. Goodbye Atlantic division, even. I'm not letting you move to Ottawa, Ilya, or any other bad Canadian team. Especially not when you're already giving up so much.”
Ilya was now staring with wonder in his eyes. “You really thought this through, huh? Mr. planner. You would really run away with me? All the way to west coast?” The first part was teasing, but the last question came out softly. “You really think that far ahead, Hollander?”
“For us? Yeah, I do.”
Ilya turned his head away and Shane let him gather himself for a beat, just one, like he'd done in Tampa, before nudging Ilya's cheek and saying, “Hey… hey.”
Ilya pushed him back and started planting kisses anywhere he could reach, mumbling something in Russian over and over into Shane’s skin with each press of lips. Ilya pressed another kiss to his lips, pulling back, resting his forehead on Shane's and translating, “I love you.”
“Holy shit.”
“I mean–”
“I love you too.” Shane couldn't let Ilya back track. Ilyas eyes were wet and he held eye contact for a beat before collapsing with a, “Fuck, Hollander.”
“Oh my god, I love you so much.” Holding Ilya to his chest, stroking his hair while he pressed his lips periodically to the top of Ilya’s head, Shane blinked back tears. His heart pounded in his chest, but for the first time in a long time, Shane felt at peace. Ilya loved him. Ilya knew that Shane loved him. They’d gotten here, after everything, they’d ended up here, together.
Neither had the energy to speak, but Ilya pushed himself up anyway to kiss Shane on the lips, slipping his tongue into his mouth, the salty taste of mixed tears easing the way.
“I love you,” Shane said again. Ilya sniffled and kissed him again.
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” he said back in Russian. Shane tried to commit the words to memory, not that he’d ever forget what they sounded like, but he would like to be able to say them to Ilya correctly. He pulled Ilya back down and rolled them so Shane could drape his limbs over his– over Ilya, who immediately conceded to the new position and hauled Shane closer. “I thought you liked Ottawa idea.”
Shane didn’t react to the question, except to briefly pause the shapes he was drawing on Ilya’s skin. He restarted. “I did, kinda. It’s not a bad idea, but… I was thinking about something Rose said–calm your tits–and it kinda spiraled from there.”
“What did Rose Landry have to say?” Ilya asked, unsuccessfully keeping the scowl out of his voice. Shane pinched him.
“This was before we even dated, right when we first met and were just talking. Her brothers play hockey, she’s from Michigan, so… We were talking about hockey and she asked… She asked me when hockey stopped being fun.” Neither of them speak. Shane swallowed around his thoughts and gathered them into a better shape. “Until she asked, I didn’t even realize that hockey wasn’t really fun anymore. Obviously, I love it, but I told her it just got intense the older I got, you know, the pressure of being captain, playing professionally, it all just became a job. A job I love, but a job. Even after we broke up, I just keep thinking when did hockey–the thing I love–stop being the thing I love because I love it. When did it stop being fun to play?” Shane shook his head to clear it. “Anyway, I can’t stop thinking about it, when the last time I had fun playing hockey was, and I think I only have fun when I’m playing with you. Like at the All-Star game, or when Boston and Montreal play…”
“What does this have to do with Ottawa?” Ilya asked, simultaneously more and less confused.
“It has to do with not wanting you on a losing team, or to waste good years whipping them into shape just so we’re evenly matched. We’ve been playing against each other for a decade almost, and… I remembered a conversation I had with this guy back when you won the cup, about an expansion team, and I just started thinking that it would be fun to play together. If we join a brand new team, then neither of us are giving up too much for us, but then we can still be together.”
“You said it was Seattle? They don’t have a team?”
“They’re getting an expansion sometime soon,” explained Shane. “I have Mr. B–what’s his face’s card around somewhere. I totally forgot until I was thinking of plans for us and–”
“Shane.” He lifted his head to stare at Ilya. “Is good plan, I like it. I would like to play hockey with you. I maybe lied before, when I said it would be ok. If better option is living together instead of two hours or five hours apart… I want that.”
“Ok.”
“Okie,” Ilya smiled at him. “I love you.”
Shane kissed his sternum. “I love you too.”
Ilya carded his hand through Shane’s hair, watching the strands bounce back to lay against his head. “Would you be mad if I had a cigarette?”
Shane’s expression went deadpan and he blew out a breath. “No, I guess not. You know–”
“They’re bad for me, yes, Shane. You have been telling me for a decade.”
“Well maybe one day you’ll actually listen to me,” Shane sniffed. “Go have a cigarette, I’ll make coffee.”