Chapter Text
Present Day
No matter where he was, the food choices in Canada were always the same. Boring. The same old choices wherever he went. The entire aisle dedicated to protein bars were filled with two choices: chalky fudge or squirrel food. He opted for the squirrel food, as it seemed to have a good ratio of chocolate and nuts. Translation: the entire bar was coated in chocolate and there were mini chocolate chips inside as well. The chocolate really made it edible.
He could have bought them online and had it shipped to his place. In fact, that was probably the smartest option—there were always crazy fans somewhere. Even with a baseball cap and hoodie pulled over, Ilya was recognizable. His towering size always gave him away and his demeaning (so he’s been told) alpha scent didn’t help either.
But, Ilya was itching to get out. He wanted to get to know the place he was calling his home for the foreseeable future. Prior to this, he had only been in Ottawa for short periods of times for games. Thanks to those games, he knew the hotels and clubs in Ottawa well enough.
Dawdling through the aisles, Ilya perused the options he had available to him. He picked up some pasta and jarred sauce.The likelihood of him cooking at home was becoming smaller and smaller as practices were soon going to ramp up. He would probably be bone tired until playoffs. That is if their team even makes it close to the playoffs. It was a distant dream but it may be possible with Ilya on the team now. The Centaurs were good people and had a good foundation, they just needed some more guidance.
Just as Ilya was about to grab a jar of the most processed peanut butter imaginable, he heard it. At first, he thought his ears were fooling him—maybe he was too tired and his brain was automatically translating everything. But then, he heard it again. It was a little girl delightfully chatting in his mother tongue with someone Ilya could only assume was her father.
“Maybe I will be a chef just like you one day!”
“If that’s what you want. You can be whatever you want, as long as you work for it.”
The girl’s accent and mannerisms were unmistakably Russian—born and raised in Russian. The man, however, Ilya could tell he had a bit of a foreign accent; he spoke fluently and his accent was near perfect, but there were definitely Western influences to the way that he spoke.
“Your papa really likes these. Shall we get some?”
“Yeah! Mama likes them too?”
Curiously, Ilya turned his head towards the voices. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, there were times where his heart ached for his home, even if he knew that his country and his people didn’t love him the same way. The jar of peanut butter slipped out of Ilya’s hand before he quickly caught it. Everything around him stopped. He could no longer hear the generic pop music playing in the grocery store.
“Shane.” His name practically fell out of Ilya’s mouth.
Shane Hollander stood at the end of the aisle, with a young girl with long black hair sitting in the main compartment of the shopping cart along with the rest of their groceries. He looked much older than when Ilya last saw him, shoulders broader, face more mature but still clean shaven, and hair slightly longer. But, in many ways, Shane was the same too: same freckles (god, Ilya loved those freckles), same seriousness plastered on his face, and same warm brown eyes.
A blush began to form on Shane’s face, almost highlighting his freckles. “Ilya.”
Ilya’s mind began to race at a million miles per hour, though he should really get used to converting everything back to the metric system. Stupid Americans. Where had Shane been all these years? It had been six years since they last saw each other, since they… Based on her size, this child looked like she was around six, he guessed. No, that couldn’t be.
Just like Ilya, Shane was frozen, feet glued to the floor. The only thing they could do was to stare at each other, watching a million emotions and thoughts race through.
The girl, suddenly sensing a shift in energy, followed Shane’s eyes and turned around to look at Ilya. It did little to calm the storm going through Ilya’s mind. She looked nothing Ilya… or Shane. She looked unmistakably Siberian.
“I…” Shane opened his mouth to speak but the words died on his tongue.
“My name Elena,” the girl said in English thick with a Russian accent.
Shane shook out of his stupor. “My name is Elena,” he gently corrected.
Elena turned around to, Ilya could only guess, flash Shane a grateful smile because Shane fondly smiled at her. She repeated his words slowly.
Somehow, Ilya’s feet carried him closer towards them. “Hi Elena, my name is Ilya,” he smiled, bending down to her level. It was always easy for him to be around children. They were kind and meant no harm—the exact opposite of the meathead jocks that dominated the ice. He could sense Shane’s eyes on him but he fixed his attention to Elena.
“You’re Russian too?” Elena gasped, hearing his accent.
“Yes. And you speak Russian?” Ilya cocked a brow at Shane. His heart was thumping in his chest. There was still so much that he wanted to know. Despite his unease, it was always impossible for Ilya not to tease Shane.
“A little,” Shane replied, voice painfully shy.
“I heard you. I think is more than a little.”
Shane cleared his throat before pulling his shoulders back, standing impossibly straighter than he already was. “Elena is my neighbour, and I’m just babysitting her while her parents are out on a date.”
Ilya tried his best not to let his relief show on his face or anywhere on his body, though he didn’t know if he had the right to feel relieved. Even if Elena was Shane’s daughter, it was Shane’s life, which Ilya had no part in. Shane made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with Ilya. Silence was Shane’s answer to Ilya’s attempts to reaching out. So, Ilya did the only thing he could do: nod with a tight-lipped smile.
It was rude to impose, so Ilya turned away to leave. He had more things to buy and he didn’t want to bother Shane more than he already had.
“Ilya!” Shane exclaimed.
Ilya stopped in his tracks and turned around.
Shane took a deep breath. “Can we... can we talk?”