Work Text:
Разделённая радость - двойная радость, разделённое горе - полгоря.
“Shared joy is a double joy, shared sorrow is half a sorrow.”
-—-
Hayden Pike didn’t really remember much about any of his grandparents.
His dad’s parents had both died before he was born, and his mom’s parents both passed away when he was still a kid. He tries not to think about it much - he hadn’t really been close with his mom's parents, with the language barrier and all, and then they were gone before he ever got the chance to try and rectify that.
He wishes he had taken the time to learn more about them.
Sometimes Jade or Ruby will ask questions about why they only have one grandmere and grandpere, why Daddy doesn’t have any parents, and Hayden will sit there and wonder if he ever asked questions like that to his parents. If he ever asked his dad where his parents were. If he ever asked his mom about her parents.
He wonders what they told him, if he did ask. He doesn't remember.
Jackie still has her parents, thank god, and her own grandmother, so the kids know and love their mom’s side of the family, but Hayden… well, he didn’t have much of a family left until Jackie came along and gave him hers.
He tries not to think about it, tries to just be grateful for the family he does have. He has his brilliant, beautiful wife, of course, and her family, their amazing kids. He has his team, his friends, and Shane - and Shane’s parents, because he’s been blessed to have a best friend who is more than willing to share his own family, as small as it is.
So he doesn’t really need to think about the grandparents he lost before he ever really tried to get to know them.
And then he found out that his best friend was dating Ilya fucking Rozanov, and suddenly, he’s thinking about his mom’s parents again.
His Deda and Baba had been dead for almost twenty years now, but every now and again, small things would remind him of them. The daylilies in the twins’ favorite park, the Russian bakery down the street, and now, the familiar curl of his name in a Russian accent.
“Hello, Hayden.” Rozanov - no, Shane keeps reminding him that this is not Rozanov, this is Ilya - smiles, all teeth and tongue.
“Hay-den is not a Russian name, Katyusha. Why do you name your son this?” His Deda had said once when Hayden was still a little kid. Hayden remembered it, remembered distinctly the way his grandfather had said it - Khey-den. The H had a weird sound to it, almost like his grandfather was preparing to spit a loogie onto the floor.
It sounds so similar, so familiar coming from Ilya Rozanov’s mouth that Hayden just… freezes up.
Roz - no, Ilya - stares blankly at him when Hayden doesn’t respond. “Are you going to invite me inside, or…?”
“Shit, yeah, sorry. Come in, Ro- shit, I mean… ugh, Ilya.”
“Sweeeear jar~” Ilya sing-songs at him, seemingly entertained by Hayden’s anguish. “Shane is in car, will be out in a second.”
“Yeah, okay.” Hayden relaxes slightly. Shane is an easy conversion topic for them. “Jackie is in the kitchen, the kids are upstairs. I just put Amber down for her nap, but the twins and Arthur are very excited to see you.” He tries not to grimace.
Be polite, Hayden, this is Shane’s boyfriend.
Ilya’s eyes brighten, and he grins. It continues to baffle Hayden that the man who adores playing princesses with his daughters is the same man who once broke his nose during a pre-season game and never apologized.
“Hello, little Pikes!” He hears Ilya say as he strides up the stairs.
“Uncle Ilya!”
Shane comes in a few minutes later, looking a little harried. “Hey, Hayd.”
“Hey, Shane!” Hayden grins, glad to see his friend. It’s the off-season, so Shane’s been back in Ottawa with his parents - and Ilya - which means that Hayden hasn’t had the chance to actually hang out with him in a while. “How’s it been?”
Shane smiles. “Good, good. We’ve been at the cottage, ya know, all that. How are Jackie and the kids doing?”
Hayden’s remaining worry fades as he shifts to his favorite topic with one of his favorite people.
By the time Jackie shouts that dinner is ready, Shane and Hayden have fully debriefed about their respective vacations, and Hayden’s been summoned upstairs to collect a crying Amber. Everyone gathers together at the dining table - another thing that reminds Hayden of his grandparents. It was one of the first things they bought when they moved to Canada. His mom had kept it after they died, and then he’d gotten it after she died. He thinks his dad is still alive somewhere out there, but he hasn’t spoken to him since his and Jackie’s wedding, so he’s honestly not sure.
“Da, yes, little Pikes, I will keep your drawings forever.” Ilya is saying as he comes down the stairs, the twins following behind him like ducklings, Arthur toddling a little further behind them. “I will even keep them in my pockets, look-”
Ilya pats down his pants, then frowns.
“Shane, where is my- uh-” Ilya pauses, searching for a word. “Koshelek?”
Hayden doesn’t think about it, just grabs the missing wallet off the counter and hands it to Rozanov, still occupied by Amber’s crying. “Here-”
“... Spasibo.”
“You’re welcome, no problem- hey, no, sweetheart, shhh, it’s ok-” Amber starts to whine again, her little face screwed up and flushed red with tears. “Daddy’s got you-”
“You speak Russian?” Ilya’s voice is simultaneously incredulous and thrilled, like he can’t quite believe it, but he’s excited all the same.
Hayden shakes his head, shrugging, still rocking Amber. “Uh, not really? I only know a few words and phrases here and there from my Deda and Baba. I understand it more than I can speak it.”
Ilya’s eyes somehow get wider. “Deda and Baba- You have Russian grandparents? You are Russian?!”
“I guess? Technically?” He shakes his head again. “But my grandparents are dead, both a long time ago. They moved from St. Petersburg to Canada sometime in the 70’s when my mom was a kid, I think? My Deda passed away when I was like… nine, maybe? And my Baba passed a few years later.” He bounces Amber in his arms. “We didn’t… talk much. They didn't like speaking English at home and I never learned to speak Russian. My mom never really taught me, so...”
Ilya frowns. “That is no good. We must teach you. Is the language of our people.”
Hayden stares at him. “... What?”
“You are Russian, and I am Russian, da?” Ilya looks at him like he’s stupid. “We share this.”
Hayden just blinks. Holy shit. He has something in common with Ilya Rozanov - something more than hockey and Shane and loving his kids, at least. Something that isn’t about anyone else. What the fuck.
“Shane is learning Russian too, you can learn together!”
Oh god.
-—-
Dinner does not go… peacefully after that discovery - Ilya keeps trying to test Hayden’s Russian, even though Hayden has repeatedly said that he never actually learned Russian. His mom never spoke it at home! He remembers whatever scarce words he learned from his grandparents and that’s it.
He doesn’t actually even consider himself to really be Russian. He’s Canadian, born and raised here. His mom lived in Canada for forty years. How the hell could he be Russian? He doesn’t speak the language, has never seen the country - hell, he doesn’t even know of any Russian holidays or traditions!
But now Ilya fucking Rozanov is quizzing him on his heritage.
Jesus.
-—-
Messages with: Shane
Shane: Hey, Hayd. Sorry if Ilya was being… a little much about the Russian thing. He’s just very excited to have something in common with you, I think.
Shane: That being said, if you DO want to learn Russian, it’d be great to have someone to commiserate with 🙂
Hayden: ... he wasn’t joking, was he?
Shane: Nope.
Shane: You might be better off just… going with it.
Shane: He can get… a little intense.
Hayden: … god save me now.
-—-
Messages with: Rozanov (Ilya)
Rozanov: помнить
Rozanov: pomnit'
Rozanov: Means “remember”
Rozanov: as in, remember to do your Russian lessons, yes?
Hayden: Jesus.
Hayden: It’s 8 am, dude
Hayde: this couldn’t wait?
Rozanov: Кто рано встаёт, тому Бог подаёт!
Hayden: … what
Rozanov: god gives to those who wake early 💪🏆😎
-—-
Messages with: Rozanov (Ilya)
Rozanov: коньки
Rozanov: kon'ki
Rozanov: is “ice skates”
Rozanov: as in, the thing you wobble on like newborn giraffe
Hayden: are you really going to do this every day?
Rozanov: 🙂
-—-
Messages with: Rozanov (Ilya)
Rozanov: лучший
Rozanov: luchshiy
Rozanov: Means “best”
Rozanov: as in, Shane is the second best player in league
Hayden: … i still can’t believe you chirp him like that
Hayden: like man, that’s your boyfriend??
Rozanov: ah but here is the thing, hayden
Rozanov: chirping is just flirting for us
Rozanov: флирт
Rozanov: is funny! flirt is same in english and russian
Hayden: …
-—-
Hayden is about to lose his damn mind.
Ilya has been texting him every single day at 8 AM with a new Russian word and a chirp to go along with it.
The worst part? The part that really makes Hayden want to scream?
It’s fuckin’ working. Hayden’s Russian vocabulary has expanded exponentially since Ilya decided to aggressively “teach” him Russian. He now knows words that he has no purpose for. Why does he need to know that butterfly is бабочка (babochka) in Russian, and that Ilya thinks that Hayden is like a butterfly on skates - clumsy and weak.
Hayden hates this fucking guy so much.
-—-
Messages with: Shane
Hayden: I’m going to kill your boyfriend.
Shane: … What did he do this time?
Hayden: I just got a package in the mail…
Hayden: [Picture of a very hefty Russian-English dictionary, sitting next to a little note that says “Практика важна, Пайк! Не забывай! - Илья” written in neat Cyrillic.]
Hayden: what the FUCK does that note say?
Shane: Swear jar!
Shane: Also, I think I know some of those words?
Shane: The last one is Ilya’s name. I think the first word might be practice? But I’m not confident on the rest.
Hayden: … he’s making me do homework
Hayden: i have four children
Hayden: what free time does he think I have to be doing RUSSIAN HOMEWORK
Hayden: I DON’T EVEN SPEAK FRENCH, WHICH IS LITERALLY ONE OF THE MAIN LANGUAGES SPOKEN IN FUCKING MONTREAL
Hayden: WHY THE FUCK DO I NEED TO LEARN RUSSIAN
Hayden: I KNOW HOW TO SAY PLEASE AND THANK YOU AND THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH
Shane: wow. Um.
Shane: I can tell him to back off?
Hayden: NO ITS TOO LATE NOW, IM TOO FUCKING BUSY TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THE FUCK THIS NOTE SAYS
*20 minutes later*
Hayden: IT JUST SAYS PRACTICE IS IMPORTANT, PIKE, DON’T FORGET
Hayden: ALL OF THIS FUCKIGN EFFORT FOR A STUPID FORTUNE COOKIE ASS NOTE!?!!?
Hayden: i’m going to kill him.
Hayden: He’s dead to me, Shane. DEAD.
Hayden: I IGNORED MY DAUGHTER FOR THIS SHIT
Shane: … sorry?
-—-
Messages with: Lily
Shane: Please stop harassing Hayden, baby.
Shane: i can’t tell if he’s genuinely upset or if he’s being like, funny upset?
Shane: but he’s spamming my texts now
Shane: maybe just back off for a bit?
Lily: Hi, Good Morning, How are you?
Lily: i’m great thanks for asking
Shane: … hi, good morning, i love you
Shane: please stop harassing hayden
Lily: is not harassing
Lily: is… forcibly educating him 🙂
Shane: … baby
Lily: yes lyubimyy 😊?
Shane: … at least forcibly educate me too? So its fair?
Lily: oh?
Lily: is that the real problem?
Lily: you’re jealous that i’m buying hayden books?
Lily: do you want me to buy you a book?
Shane: what? no?
Lily: oh? you want in person lessons?
Lily: some… hands on learning?
Shane: … call me in five, I’m out getting groceries
Lily: 😏
-—-
Messages with: Hayden
Shane: I tried.
Hayden: what?
Hayden: what does that mean???
Hayden: SHANE??
--—--
The first game between Montreal and Ottawa comes, and Hayden is already dreading it. It’s been weird, now that he knows about Shane and Ilya. Hearing the other guys in the locker room talking shit about Rozanov, talking about how much Shane hates him, blahblahblah... It makes Hayden want to scream a little.
How Shane can stand it, Hayden doesn’t know.
Hayden barely likes Ilya, and he still wants to shake Drapeau by the shoulders and shout at him.
Hey, that guy you hate? Yeah, he’s in love with our captain. Oh, yeah, and our captain loves him too! And my kids fuckin’ adore him! He’s friends with my wife!
He’s not the fuckin’ Boogy Man! He’s not the fuckin’ Antichrist! He’s a real person who’s been trying to teach me Russian!
He’s been sending me and Jackie recipes for borscht and blini so I can taste the food my grandparents made when I was a kid! So that I can share the culture that I didn’t really get the chance to experience with my kids!
And yeah, he is an asshole, but he’s still better than you because he knows where the fucking line is!
He doesn’t say any of that. He really wants to. But he doesn’t. Mostly because it would make Shane’s life harder. But fuck if it isn’t tempting to tell Comeau that Ilya Rozanov has babysat his kids and has Russian nicknames for all of them and lets them call him Uncle Ilya.
“You good, Hayd?” Shane asks quietly, pulling his skates on.
Hayden nods. “Just… feels weird, hearing them talk about him like that.”
Shane huffs. “Yeah, I know. Just ignore it. They’re being assholes.”
“How do you… put up with it?”
“I just tune it out.” Shane shrugs. “Just… don’t give it any attention. It’s not worth it. I mean, it absolutely pisses me the fuck off, but if I say anything, it’ll just get worse, so it’s… better to just ignore it.”
Jesus.
And look, Hayden’s not stupid - he’s seen how fucking hard it’s been for Shane since he came out to the team. He’s tried his best to curb the worst of it, but there’s only so much he can do against the guys like Comeau and Drapeau. Stupid homophobic bastards. Hayden is not even gay and he still feels like his skin is being peeled off when he hears them muttering behind Shane’s back.
So Shane being able to just tune out the team is a skill he envies, even if Hayden hates that Shane has had so much practice with it. Hates that Shane has had to have practice with it.
It must suck to have to hear your friends talk shit about the man you love.
… Fuck. Hayden talks shit about Ilya all the time too.
Usually, it’s just… chirping, but fuck, what if he’s said something that crossed the line and Shane didn’t want to say anything because there are already so few people who know about them that he didn’t want to risk losing Hayden too?
Having your best friend and your secret boyfriend not get along must be really frustrating. Hayden realizes, in that moment, that he needs to be better, to make life easier for Shane - including actively trying to get along with Shane’s boyfriend. Even if that boyfriend is Ilya fucking Rozanov.
-—-
“Privet, Pike.”
Oh, come on- man, seriously? During warm-ups?!
“Fuck off, Rozanov.”
“Скажи это по-русски, и я оставлю тебя в покое.” Rozanov smirks and, look, Hayden knows that this is the same Rozanov who spent an hour with his daughters a few weeks ago in a plastic tiara, referring to himself as Printsessa Uncle Ilya, but fuck if Hayden doesn’t hate him right now.
“What?”
Rozanov huffs. “I will say it slower, ok? Skazhi eto po-russki, i ya ostavlyu tebya v pokoye, ok?”
Fuck, okay. Rozanov has been doing these stupid challenges recently, where he’ll say something in Russian and not leave Hayden alone until he can figure out what it means. So he just has to figure out what it means.
Something, something “in Russian”... “and I” something “you” something...
Okay. Fuck, what was pokoye? It’s definitely familiar-
Something “in Russian and I will” something “you” something…
“Need a hint?” Rozanov grins, and Hayden wants to punch him in the face so badly-
“I don’t know most of those words, dude, give me a second-”
What was the thing Rozanov said the other week? “With so many kids, you never get any pokoye, da?”
Pokoye… is it quiet? Or peace?
Something “in Russian and I will” something “you in peace”...
“What the fuck does oh-stav-loo mean? I think I’ve got the rest of it, but I don’t know that one!” Hayden huffs, pissed off now.
Rozanov nods. “Is new word, ostavlyu. Means I will leave, eh, something. Like I leave it alone.”
Okay. So it’s; something “in Russian and I will leave you in peace”...
Oh, for fuck’s sake- really?!
“Say it in Russian and I’ll leave you alone?”
Rozanov grins at him. “Yes, da, very good, Pike!”
“Oh, fuck you. I hate you.”
“Say it in Russian-” Rozanov sing-songs.
How the fuck do I say fuck you? Uh, you is tebya? And, um. Fuck is… shit, I know this- uh… blyat? Or blyad?
Just say something to get him to go away, Hayden!
“Blyad tebya?” It ends up sounding more like a question than an exclamation, but leave him alone, he’s trying here!
Rozanov’s brows go high, and a sly smile shifts onto his face. “Very close, Pike. Technically, that is… a translation, but is not… native. Russians like to say Хуй тебе instead, Khuy tebe.”
Hayden rolls his eyes, trying to ignore the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. “Then khuy tebe, Rozanov!”
“Da, okey! Good luck with the game, Pike!” and he skates away, leaving Hayden confused, a little embarrassed, and slightly furious.
“What did he want?” Shane skates up just as he leaves.
“Just chirping at me in Russian.” Hayden rolls his eyes.
Shane laughs. “He’s such an asshole.”
He sounds so absurdly fond that Hayden wants to get off the ice and go kiss his wife. What the hell, man…
-—-
Montreal wins the game, but Rozanov puts up a good fight. Sucks that he’s on a shit team - he's a damn good player.
If he’d stayed in Boston, or even traded to just a better team than fucking Ottawa, he probably would’ve won another cup by now. Hell, he and Shane could’ve been tied for two cups each.
But he chose to move to fuckass Ottawa. And yeah, they’re better this year than they were before he joined, but they still aren’t a great team. Their defense is a mess, and they only have two players that can actually handle the puck. They had acquired Hayes from Toronto in the middle of last season, so they've shored up their goal tending at least. But they still aren't good.
And Ilya couldn’t have predicted that trade, though, so he had traded to this team last season only knowing that they hadn’t left the bottom of the rankings since the 80’s.
And Ilya knew that he would be on this shit team for the foreseeable future because Shane was going to stay with Montreal until retirement and there were no other teams closer to Montreal than Ottawa.
Fuck.
He really had moved for love, hadn’t he?
He’d given up Boston, the chance for another Cup… for Shane.
Goddamit, why does Ilya keep doing things that make Hayden want to like him!?
--—--
Someone is knocking on the door.
Hayden groaned, rising from his spot on the couch and hobbled over to the door. His entire body ached from the game last night - he’d gotten boarded more often than usual trying to block the hits on Shane. It’s been a few weeks since they played Ottawa and they had been on a roadtrip, but thankfully were back on home ice last night. Unfortunately, they were playing Toronto and Dallas Kent was always an asshole.
And not even a fun asshole, like Ilya. Just a straight up asshole.
Jackie had seen him come home last night, exhausted and aching and simply told him that she was taking the kids to visit her mom in the morning. Hayden had protested, telling her that he could take them to the park to see the daylilies so she could take the day off, but she had laughed at him, pushed him onto the couch, and told him to take a rest day.
God, he loves his wife.
But now there’s someone banging at his fucking door.
“What the fuck do you-”
“Privet, Hayden.”
Motherfucker-
“What the fuck do you want, Ilya? Why the fuck are you in Montreal?”
“Swear jar!” Ilya was grinning on his doorstep. “And we are going shopping!”
“... what?”
“We are going to Russian grocery store and making pelmeni,” Ilya states as if this were a known fact or a pre-decided plan. “Come, we go now, davai!”
“Ilya, I’m not-”
“Nyet, we go now. Davai.”
Hayden stares at him. Ilya’s grin doesn’t falter.
Hayden takes a breath, closes his eyes, and pinches the bridge of his nose.
Saying “no” to Ilya Rozanov is like telling the Earth to stop revolving around the sun.
“Where’s Shane?” Hayden asks, hoping that maybe, just maybe his best friend could put his boyfriend back on his leash. Shane was usually the more… reasonable of the two - though Hayden is beginning to get the idea that they mostly just encourage each other’s insanity. God, they really are perfect for each other.
“He has a shoot today, but will be back later, so we are making dinner for your family and for him.”
… Fuck.
Well, Hayden is supposed to be in charge of figuring out dinner for his family tonight. It had been the one thing Jackie charged him with before she left.
And he hasn’t had pelmeni since his mom died.
“... fine.” He opens the door wider. “Let me go get changed. Do you want something to drink?”
-—-
Hayden has actually been to this Russian grocer before - after the first time Ilya sent him a borscht recipe, he’d come here in search of ingredients. Hell, he’s been here in the last few weeks to buy some of the specific jam that Shane has started taking in his tea. The Russian-ification of his best friend is well and truly underway, it would seem.
He’s never seen the old guy manning the counter look so delighted before though.
“Hello, Sergio!” Ilya greets with a wide grin.
“Hello, Ilyashenka!” The older man, Sergio, crows, his dark eyes brightening. “How are you, synok? Chto vy delayete v Montreal? Davno you ne videl.”
“Ah, I am good, Sergio! This is my friend, Hayden!” Ilya gestures to Hayden, who waves awkwardly. He only understood parts of the exchange, certain words or phrases that he’s learned over the past few months via Ilya’s… forced education. “I am uchu yego lepit' pelmeni.”
“Ah, pelmeni is a good vybor!” Sergio nods enthusiastically. “Gotovili s nulya or ispol'zovali gotovoye testo?”
“Razumeyetsya, s nulya, Sergio - ne nado menya tak oskorblyat'!” Ilya gasps as if mock-offended.
Hayden is… very lost. He only caught some of what was said, and even then only a few of the words used were ones he was familiar with. Ilya was speaking slowly, obviously for Hayden’s sake, but it was still a little too fast and a little too much for him to understand it all.
What he does catch is the way Ilya has been grinning this entire time, the way his whole personality has lightened as he stands there, chatting in Russian. The way he seems so at home, so comfortable in this grocery store, surrounded by ingredients Haydent can’t name and labels hecan’t read.
Ilya is proud to be Russian, Hayden realizes. He had already known that, in a way, but seeing it is… new. It’s different.
Is this why he was so insistent on teaching Hayden Russian? On sharing the pieces of culture that Hayden had missed with his mom’s careful assimilation? On showing Hayden all the good parts of being Russian?
Hayden knows that Russia isn’t good for gay people - he’d researched it, recently. He was curious, okay! It was… disheartening to read. Ilya could never go back to Russia if he and Shane were out.
He was risking giving up his country for Shane. Hell, he already moved to fuckass Ottawa for Shane.
Fuck, this asshole keeps doing things that make Hayden want to like him.
“Davai, let us go. I show you the good stuff, da?” Sergio hobbles out from behind his counter, leaning heavily on his cane. He gestures for them to follow him, leading them toward an aisle with another label that Hayden can’t read.
“Vypechka,” Ilya says without turning to look at Hayden. He’s still smiling at Sergio. “Baking in English, vypechka.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Russian, Hayden."
Hayden sighs. “Spasibo, Ilya.”
“Dobro pozhalavat.” You’re welcome.
-—-
Hayden stumbles through a Russian conversation with Sergio, flushing as he stumbles over his words. It is deeply embarrassing.
But fuck it, he’s trying.
Ilya is kind enough to not laugh at him too much when he trips over his own tongue or forgets words or gets butterfly mixed up with grandma. Ilya has been… shockingly nice about all of it. He still chirps, of course, because he’s an asshole - but he’s not mean about it. It’s teasing, a shared joke, rather than mocking.
If you had asked Hayden a year ago if he thought Ilya Rozanov was capable of being emotionally intelligent and kind-hearted, Hayden would have laughed in your face and then called you an idiot.
Look who’s the idiot now, Hayden.
-—-
They get back to the house in one piece - despite Ilya’s absolutely godawful driving - and unload their goods quickly. Ilya starts laying out the ingredients for pelmeni, narrating everything he’s doing in Russian. Hayden only catches bits of it, but it’s more than he would’ve been able to understand a year ago, so he takes it as a win.
Ilya says the name of every ingredient in Russian, then in English, and tells Hayden to repeat it. It’s… a little frustrating, and very embarrassing. Hayden’s pronunciation is… not good. But again, Ilya doesn’t mock him for it, just corrects him until he gets close enough.
Ilya shows him the steps one by one, slowly. How to mix the dough, the ratios for the filling, the best method for folding the individual dumplings. Hayden does his best, but his come out much more… lumpy and clumsy than Ilya’s.
“Ah, is not bad, Hayden.” Ilya says when he notices Hayden staring at his wobbly little pile. “It is a new skill for you, yes? I made pelmeni hundreds of times with my mama, or when I was in Boston, with my friend, Sveta. We made pelmeni a lot - was harder in Boston, was no good Russian grocery store close to my rookie apartment.” Ilya shows him the motions again - flattening, filling, folding-
Hayden’s are still very lumpy, but they’re not actively falling apart so he’ll take it as a win.
“Is one of the first things I looked for when I was buying my house in Boston, actually. I told my realtor, I don’t care how far it is from the rink, I just need to be close to a Russian grocery store!” He laughs and Hayden chuckles along. “I think… ah, I think I was very lonely in Boston. I loved the team, of course, and had Sveta, but… is hard, being Russian in America. People make a lot of, ah, what is the word… assumptions, yes?”
Hayden hadn’t thought about that. His grandparents came to Canada in the 70’s, and he doesn’t know what it was like for them. Or for his mom, because she never talked about being Russian. She rarely spoke Russian at home once he was old enough to understand her, only using English. She never wanted him to feel weird at school for being the only kid who spoke Russian or brought pelmeni to the cafeteria in their small Canadian town.
He never thought about the why.
Hayden doesn’t respond to Ilya, though, not sure what to say - he just continues flattening, filling, folding the pelmeni. He doesn’t want to interrupt Ilya, doesn’t want to ruin this small bubble of something-like-friendship they’ve crafted.
“It was… difficult, you know? Coming to America. I didn’t really speak any English, didn’t really have any friends. Everyone talks to me like I’m stupid because I stumble over my words in a language I had only started learning a few months before. I understand more than I speak, but still… is hard.” Ilya says, eyes locked onto his own dumplings. “Shane was… first person who talked to me like I was a normal person, hm? Not just that one Russian player, not Ilya Rozanov-” here he says it in the way the English-speakers do; Ill-ee-uh Rose-uh-noff. “It was nice.”
“Does it piss you off? The way people say your name.” Hayden asks, still focused on his pelmeni. They might actually be getting better? Or maybe his standards are getting lower… Hm…
“Eh.” Ilya shrugs. “It did at first - I was very annoying, correcting people all the time, but… after a while, it did not matter. It doesn’t matter if they call me Rose-ah-noff or Ro-zan-ov. As long as they know my name, I don’t care how they say it, you know?”
“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Ilya smirks at him. “That is because no one knows your name, Pike.”
“Oh, fuck off, Rozanov.” Hayden rolls his eyes. He deliberately pronounces Ilya’s name correctly, because it might not be important to Ilya, but it’s important to Hayden. He’s noticed Shane says it the Russian way too, so it’s probably not unwelcome. He hopes so, at least.
Ilya just laughs and continues carefully flattening, filling, folding-
"I think my Baba used to make these."
The words come out before Hayden really thinks about them.
Ilya glances up. "Da?"
"Maybe." Hayden shrugs awkwardly. "I don't know. I was little."
The admission sits heavier than he expects.
Because that's the thing.
He doesn't know.
He remembers fragments.
A tiny apartment that always smelled like onions and dill. A woman with rough hands that pinched his cheeks and a warm voice that called him Vnuchek or Zayka, or sometimes Kheydenushka. A hunched man who smoked cigarettes on the balcony when his mom wasn't looking, who always scolded him for not knowing how to read Cyrillic. Russian cartoons he couldn’t understand playing on an old television with so much static you could hardly see the screen. The sound of his mom’s voice singing an old Russian lullaby he was never able to Google because he couldn’t remember the words.
But none of it connects.
It's like trying to remember a dream.
"She used to make some kind of dumpling." Hayden frowns. "Maybe these."
He remembers gnarled hands kneading dough, flour dusting countertops. A faded headscarf she once told him was a wedding present from her mother. A birthday card with loopy Cyrillic cursive that he'd had to ask his mom to help him read. A few faded photographs she had taken with her when they left Russia. He… doesn’t know what happened to those pictures, actually. His mom probably kept them after Baba died, but he has no clue where they ended up after she died.
Ilya waits.
Hayden realizes he's waiting for more.
So he keeps talking.
"I don't remember her face very well."
The words feel strange.
Shameful.
He has never admitted that out loud before.
Not to anyone.
Not even Jackie.
Because what kind of grandson forgets his grandmother's face?
"Oh."
Ilya's voice softens.
Hayden stares at the pelmeni in front of him. "I remember my mom's face. I remember my dad's face." He laughs weakly. "I remember the stupid ugly mascot from my peewee hockey team."
Ilya snorts.
"But I don't remember hers."
Silence.
Not awkward.
Just… quiet.
Eventually, Ilya sets down his dough.
"My mama died when I was twelve."
Hayden looks up.
"She was… bright. She had a beautiful smile, was always laughing at something."
His accent thickens slightly, his shoulders tensing.
"I loved her very much."
Hayden waits.
"Now sometimes… I forget her laugh."
The confession lands between them.
Hayden continues flattening, filling, folding - because what can you say to that?
"I remember her hair." Ilya continues. "I remember her favorite teacup. I remember she always smelled like cigarettes and some flowery perfume I’ve never been able to find." A smile flickers across his face - it’s small and quiet and full of longing.
"But sometimes I try to remember her laugh and I… just cannot." His shoulders lift in a shrug, forced casual. "But what can you do, hm? Is just… life."
Hayden stares at him.
Because somehow-
Somehow it had never occurred to him that remembering people could fade for everyone.
Even the people you loved.
Even the people you knew.
"I've always felt… guilty about it." The words slip out. “Like I had failed, for not remembering. For not knowing more about them, for not trying harder to… to know them, I guess.”
Ilya immediately shakes his head. "Nyet."
Hayden blinks. "What?"
"No. Nyet. That is stupid."
Hayden rolls his eyes. "Great argument."
"Is good argument."
"It is objectively not."
Ilya points a flour-covered finger at him. "You were small."
"I was thirteen."
"You were stupid."
"Okay, rude."
"True."
Hayden laughs despite himself.
Ilya continues before he can interrupt. "You were a child. You did not decide when people die."
The kitchen falls quiet again.
Hayden looks down at his hands.
Flour dusts his knuckles. His wedding ring. His shirt. The counter. The dough. Everything. All covered in flour. He tries to dust off his hands.
It’s still everywhere.
"I keep thinking I should have asked more questions."
Ilya nods.
"Da. Maybe."
"I should have tried harder to learn Russian."
"Yes, probably."
"Thanks." Hayden rolls his eyes.
"What? You should have!" Ilya looks rather indignant. “Is much easier to learn as a kid. Learning languages as an adult sucks, Hayden. Is so hard being hot and smart in two languages… not that you would know that.”
“You’re such an asshole.” Hayden huffs, shooting him a sharp look.
Ilya grins.
"But." The grin fades. "You were a child, Hayden."
There it is again - simple, matter-of-fact.
No dramatic speech. No grand wisdom. Just a fact.
You were a child.
The guilt doesn't disappear, but it loosens. I was just a kid. I can’t go back and make different choices now. I just have to live in the life I’ve made.
It’s not a bad life to be living.
"You know," Ilya says suddenly, returning to his pelmeni, "your Deda and Baba would probably be very happy."
Hayden blinks. "What?"
"You are learning Russian." Ilya shrugs.
"Against my will."
"You are making pelmeni."
"Against my will."
"You have four children."
"Okay, that one was not against my will."
Ilya rolls his eyes at Hayden. "You do remember your family, Hayden. You hold their memories with you."
Hayden stills. The rolling pin pauses in his hands. "You think so?"
Ilya gives him a look. A very Russian look. One Hayden has become alarmingly good at interpreting.
Of course, idiot. Or maybe duh, dumbass.
"In small ways, yes?"
Hayden opens his mouth to argue.
Then closes it.
Because.
Shit.
Maybe he does.
The daylilies in the park. The bakery. The old table.
The words he somehow never forgot.
Spasibo.
Privet.
Davai.
“My vnuk does not know any Russian, Katyusha! You do not teach him Russian? We are Russian! Vnuchek, come, come- this is koshelek, okey? Wallet in English. Important to remember! Koshelek, da?”
“Da, Deda. Co-shell-ick.”
“Ochen' khoroshiy, Kheydenushka.”
Tiny scraps he'd carried for twenty years without realizing it.
Across the counter, Ilya smirks.
"Also, if your Deda met you now, he would probably scold you for your accent."
Hayden immediately chucks a ball of dough at his head.
Ilya ducks, laughing.
And, not for the first time, Hayden realizes that being around Ilya isn’t as awful as he once thought it would be. It doesn’t remind him of what he’s lost, or what Ilya’s given up, or what Shane risks losing by being with Ilya.
It reminds Hayden of what he still has.
He has his brilliant, beautiful wife, of course, and her family, their amazing kids. He has his team, his friends, and Shane, Shane’s parents. And, now, he has Shane’s boyfriend, who is probably the only person who could understand the strange sense of culture-grief he’s been experiencing.
And isn’t that fuckin’ novel?
Ilya Rozanov taught Hayden Pike Russian and the power of friendship.
Jesus Christ.