Chapter Text
It’s the morning after they get to the cottage, and the sun hasn’t even broken the tree line when the police show up.
Ilya answers the door, still blinking sleep from his eyes when the officer speaks, tone entirely devoid of emotion and giving no indication of the enormity of the news he was bringing.
“Is this the Hollander-Rozanov household?”
“Yes,” Ilya croaks. His mind immediately goes to Yuna and David. “What is this? Is-is someone hurt?"
Please no.
The grim faced officer at the front frowns and Ilya's blood runs cold.
“Sir, are you aware that your brother Alexei Rozanov was found dead in his apartment in Moscow last week?”
"He what?" The words come out in a strangled gasp.
It is then that he finally zeros in on the small figure standing behind the second officer. Blonde hair falling limp from a ponytail, pink cheeks, a small sparkling backpack clutched in her small hands. He hasn’t seen her in years—not since throwing her father against the wall of a shadowy Moscow restaurant. She’d been much smaller then, probably five or six years old, but he would recognize those eyes anywhere. They were his mother’s.
The polished hardwood beneath him seems suddenly gelatinous as the breath is stolen from his lungs. It is with a dawning sense of horror that he begins to understand why the police are on his doorstep at the crack of dawn.
The slightest twinge of sympathy flashes on the officer’s face. “In her letter, his wife says that Alexei overdosed on cocaine, that it was an accident, but not a surprise."
Ilya can't tear his eyes away from the small girl, struggling to keep up with the officer's words as the suspicion of where the conversation is headed grows.
"The letter?" he asks. "What letter? I don't know any letter."
"Yesterday evening, Sofiya Rozanova arrived at the Ottawa International Airport as an unaccompanied minor with a valid tourist visa. It had been determined that she would meet you at the baggage claim and spend the week at your home before returning to Russia.”
Ilya drags a hand through his ragged hair. “I-I did not know this. I-”
“We know that now, sir. After no one came to pick her up for several hours, she was taken to the customs office and we found a letter addressed to you from her mother inside of her bag.”
Ilya blinks “Her mother? Viktoriya?”
He had barely met the woman his mess of a brother had foolishly brought a child into the world with eleven years ago. From what he had gathered over a decade of stilted family dinners and tense phone calls. She was a meek woman, always sitting in the corner hushing the crying baby or nodding along to Alexei’s drug-fueled tirades with a placid sort of acceptance. She certainly had never written him a letter.
“I don’t understand. Alexei is dead, this is not big shock, but Sofiya...” His gaze flickers back to the wisp of a girl peering back at him with large blue eyes.
“Viktoriya wrote that she was unwilling and unable to care for the girl any longer,” the officer continues, “that she hadn't wanted to be a parent in the first place and wished to relinquish her parental rights. She put Sofiya on the plane in hopes that you could find it in you to give her a home.”
It was then that the shuffle of footsteps came from behind, followed by a sleepy voice.
“Ilya? ‘S someone here?”
His husband appears at his shoulder, wearing a pair of boxers and an old Raiders hoodie that he must have grabbed in a hurry. He starts to lean into Ilya’s side but freezes when he sees the police.
“Holy shit…” he breathes.
“My brother is dead.” Ilya forces out, because Shane will surely be assuming the same things Ilya had about his parents.
"Holy shit," Shane repeats.
“Mister Hollander?” The officer who had been doing the talking says, and to Shane’s eternal credit, he straightens up and nods.
“Yes, sir.”
“We were just telling your-” the officer takes a pause that might have been imperceptible had Ilya not spent the past year hearing it. “-husband, that his niece, Sofiya, arrived in Ottawa last night with a note from her mother indicating that she wanted to give custody to her uncle.”
Shane’s eyes dart across the group gathered at the doorstep as if they are an opposing team’s players. Finally, he settles on Sofiya. His shoulders sag.
“I think you guys should come inside.”
The officers and Sofiya follow Shane and Ilya to the living room where the sun is just rearing its glittering head over the lake. The smell of smoke from last night’s bonfire still lingers in the air, a stark reminder of the life Ilya was suspecting was about to change forever.
The discussions that unfold over the tea Shane makes are frank. Yes Ilya is the girl’s closest living relative. Yes her mother is allowed to relinquish her rights. No, kinship guardianship across international borders is not unheard of, but yes there will be a load of bureaucracy to handle, especially because of the public nature of Ilya and Shane's career and relationship. The former would be helpful, the latter less so—a battle between the Russian government's love of traditional values and their love of money.
The officers show them Veronika’s letter and Ilya is surprised at how honest it is.
I never wanted to be a mother, it reads in rushed Cyrillic script, and I know I am a wicked woman for giving Sofiya up, but wouldn't I also be wicked to keep her when I am unable to be what she needs? I love her enough to want that for her, and I think you and that pretty Canadian boy I see on the TV might be what she needs.
He looks up from the letter to where his is sitting between the two officers, clutching her pink, glittering back like it is a lifeline. She hasn't said a word since they had sat down, and from the vacant look in her eyes, it was doubtful she understood the back and forth of the past hour.
“Sofiya,” he says gently in Russian, and his heart aches when the little girl’s eyes lift to meet his. “Has anyone explained to you what is going on?”
“Mama says I am going to live with you now," she answers, ducking her chin so it rested on her bag. "In Canada.”
“Do you want to live here?”
She frowns, like she hadn't considered the question before. “Is there somewhere else?”
He looks to the officer for an answer before realizing that he wouldn’t have understood the Russian.
“What are our options…her options?”
“If you don’t consent to the kinship placement, she won’t be able to stay in Canada. She’ll be in the hands of the Russian government, whatever that means.” The officer grimaces. “I’m not an expert in foreign family law.”
Ilya turns back to his niece, who he is horrified to find is staring at him with a wobbling lip.
“Sofiya,” he begins softly, “this man says that if you don’t want to stay in Canada with me, you can go back to Russia.”
“With mama?”
“No, your mama can’t take care of you any more. I…don’t know where you would go in Russia.”
The tears that had been threatening to spill since they had sat down finally do, leaking silently down her cheeks.
“Mama said you were nice. Before I got on the plane.”
He thinks of laughing, telling her a lot of people would disagree, probably his husband at times, but even Ilya Rozanov isn’t that tactless.
“I am,” he whispers. “We would have you, if you want to have us.”
At his side, Shane shifts. His Russian is simple, even though he has picked it up annoyingly fast, but he is clearly smart enough to follow along and offers a tentative smile.
“We are happy to have you,” he says with his barely detectable accent.
He looks so beautiful in the morning light and, even though Ilya’s heart is breaking, he takes a moment to appreciate the brave, caring man he married. How did he get so lucky?
Sofiya watches the two of them curiously, her brows knitted
“I think I want to stay with you, uncle. In this pretty house.”
“She says she’ll stay.” He translates “And of course we will have her.”
The officer deflates in his chair. “Excellent. That is all we need for now aside from a signature attesting that you’re willing and able to assume responsibility for her. There will be a much longer process to get through things like citizenship and adoption, but we can try to get out of your hair so you can start working with the proper channels.
Ilya’s heart is about to pound out of his chest, but he sucks in a stabilizing breath before answering.
“Thank you, officers. We appreciate the information.”
The police leave quickly after the papers are signed, with promises to follow up with additional contacts and requirements. It isn’t until the door is shut and Ilya returns from showing Sofiya the showers that the dam breaks.
Shane is leaning on the countertop, head in his hands. He looks up as Ilya enters.
“You are alright?” Ilya asks, coming up to his husband’s side.
Shane looks up, his eyes are rimmed red. “Am I alright? Babe, what about you?”
“I am fine.”
“Bullshit. Even for us, this is insane. I mean, a kid?”
“Are you not okay with this? I thought-”
“No. Ilya, of course I am. She needs us. It’s just that…this is a lot. Holy shit. We need to find her a school, she needs a bedroom, a fucking dentist. I-I-”
He is in what Ilya affectionately calls “crazy man planning mode” and, for once, Ilya couldn’t be more grateful. He hadn’t even thought of the administrative implications of Sofiya coming to live with them beyond a Visa.
Shane rattles off half a dozen other considerations, all just as important as the last, but it’s Ilya who comes to the realization first.
He isn’t going to play hockey next season.
It settles over him like a cool breeze, and he is surprised to find how welcome the realization is. Of course hockey will have to go. Of course this is more important.
When he says it out loud, however, Shane’s reaction is as if he’d pushed him into the lake in January.
“You can’t!” he splutters, reaching out to grip Ilya’s knee. “No way.”
“Is not forever. Just until Sofiya is settled, learns some English.”
“My parents-”
“Are strangers to her.”
“You’re a stranger to her too.”
Ilya swallows. “Yes, but I am her uncle. I speak her language and know where she comes from.”
Shane stares back, concerned. “You can’t give up hockey for this. Ottawa just started getting somewhere.”
Ilya lays his hand on top of Shane’s—the one still cupping his knee—and squeezes.
“I’m not you, Shane. I love hockey, yes, but is not my life. You are my life, our family is my life.”
The conversation continues, but after that, it is all but settled. They contact Farah and their coach and begin working on the announcement that is sure to rock the hockey world not even a year after they’d done it last: Ilya Rozanov isn’t going to play this season.
They have dinner at 4 pm that first evening, just Shane, Ilya, and Sofiya. Shane had originally planned on making some of his rabbit food, but offers to try to make something Russian instead. Ilya swells with affection at the offer until he realizes he doesn’t even know what the girl he had just taken on permanent custody of likes. Shane was right. For all intents and purposes, she is a stranger. He panics again, quietly so as not to disturb the already traumatized little girl on their sofa, and starts to search.
They settle on pasta. It’s the protein stuff made of chickpea flour, but it’s all they have.
Sofiya doesn’t talk much during dinner, anyways. Shane tries to ask some questions in his awkward Russian, but she seems alarmed, only answering with nods or stilted Das and nyets. They fall into silence for the rest of the evening.
___
The next 3-4 days are a blur of constant calls with lawyers and coaches, halting conversations with Sofiya about nothing at all, and quietly contacting Shane’s parents with the news. Yuna and David are perfect, of course. Treating the situation with appropriate levels of compassion and preparedness. When they learn of Ilya’s plan to take the season off, they instantly offer to take care of the girl in his place, but when he says he needs to be there, they completely understand.
On the 5th day, they have the press conference. Shane stays home with Sofiya who has come to accept her strange, Canadian uncle in her own quiet way. Ilya silences the notifications on his phone the moment he steps out of the conference and drives home in silence.
When he gets back to the cottage, he finds them on the couch. Shane is asleep, but Sofiya, still jet lagged somehow, is awake and staring at the glittering reflection of the moon on the lake.
“Hello,” Ilya greets softly as he settles into the soft cushions across from her.
“Where did you go?”
“I had to take care of things at my job.”
She tilts her head in a way that reminds him so much of Shane. “What kind of things?”
“I’m going to take this season off. I have more important things to take care of.”
“Me.”
“Yes.”
“Are people mad at you?”
“Mad? What-why would you say that?”
“I’m eleven, uncle. Not five. I can hear my parents when they talk about you. I know you’re the best player on your terrible hockey team. I know that people won’t be happy if you disappear for a year to take care of some random girl.”
Ilya’s throat tightens. He realizes with a jolt that he was nearly the same age as Sofiya when he’d found his mother in a puddle of her own sick and an empty bottle of pills at her side. It makes him ill. Had he really been that young?
“Sofiya,” he begins, voice thick. “Don’t worry about what other people think of my decision. I know you probably miss your parents and Russia. I know that I haven't been there for you over the years like I should have been, but I want to now. I want to be here for you.”
She lets the words hang between them before speaking again. Her voice comes out barely above a whisper when she does.
“I don’t know if I miss mama and papa.”
“I know how that feels. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
They fall asleep on the couch and when Ilya wakes up the next morning, he sees the notification on his phone.