Chapter Text
Ilya admits that he needs his therapist. Galina knows this, which is why she can essentially force him into going to this stupid barbeque.
There’s nothing about it which he dislikes. On a fundamental level it’s everything he loves: good food, his friends, dogs to hug and even rooks to bully. Beyond that he knows that everything about the party will remind him of Shane. The talking, the eating, the laughing. Ilya knows that he’s going to be thinking about the vet the entire time, the idea of what could have been.
Galina told him, in that perfectly intelligent way of hers, that this is why going to the barbeque is so good. A reminder of the importance of friendship, a chance to connect with his support network outside of their work. Ilya had reminded her that they didn’t have ‘My Little Pony’ in Russia.
He stubs out the cigarette that was hanging loosely from his lips, not even having the energy to clamp and draw properly, and breathes in the air of a quiet road. Anya’s on leash and absent mindedly snuffling around his legs, pleased to be out on the grass where they’ve pulled in to a little verge about ten minutes from Bood’s. It’s been a rest break for Anya, but for Ilya more than her.
He gets back into the dull old mustang, a more diluted option to the original choice of his bugatti, and peels off back down towards the cul de sac area where Bood lives, just about pushing the speed limit. Anya seems to know exactly where they’re going from the way she hops around in her seat and whines.
When he arrives, there’s a mound of different sports cars (and one fancy truck) already sprawling from Bood’s drive so he awkwardly parks the mustang next to the pavement near a neatly trimmed hedge. Anya looks up at him expectantly, she can probably smell the burgers from here. Ilya just attempts a few breathing exercises in the car, rubs his hands over his face once and carries Anya out the car.
Everyone’s already out in the garden when he finally walks in, holding a bottle of good Russian vodka which he gives to Cassie as well as a quick kiss on the cheek. She reaches down to stroke Anya.
“Can you go get the glasses from the cabinet?”
He gets some glasses, as well as a few plastic cups for the rooks. More for himself, really, to give some normality. The guys react predictably, Holmberg glares at him in anger and Young tries to make a case for himself. His pleas are ruined when LaPointe barrels into Haas from behind causing him to drop the orange cup. Dykstra, wearing an ugly green cowboy hat, gives them all a judgemental look and actually whispers, “I told you so.”
Anya and Chiron are yapping at the side of the garden where Gen is fussing over them both whilst simultaneously attempting to snap a few photos on her phone. Anya puts her front paws on Gen’s knee and accidentally knocks the phone out of her hold with a wet nose.
“Cannot handle small dog?” Ilya laughs, “in Russia we handle bears.”
“Wow,” Gen rolls her eyes, “out here with the stereotypes.”
Ilya decides to see who else is worthy of harassment at the party. There’s a certain level of homophobia that he feels brewing under the surface when he sees Harris and Troy interlocked on the same beanbag talking to Caitlin. They’re both close, in the way that immediately says these are not merely good friends, and the ugly feeling rears up inside Ilya’s chest at the sight of them so comfortable.
“Ilya!” Harris beckons him over with a grin which shoots the ugly feeling dead, “you know Lady Gaga.”
“What? Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta? Of course, I am bisexual.”
“See!” Harris exclaimed, grabbing one of Troy’s arms, “you should know Lady Gaga.”
“I’m gay, not bisexual!”
“I’m straight and I know Lady Gaga.” Caitlin chimed in, “despite what Dykstra listens to.”
“Caitlin has an insane husband and still knows Lady Gaga, Roz has an awful fashion sense and knows Lady Gaga.”
Ilya chooses to ignore that first part, “I was born in Soviet Russia, Barret, but I know that Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta is still in love with Judas.”
“I just don’t listen to…”
“To?” Caitlin prompts.
“Like, pop music.”
Harris groans, “you just asked if Lady Gaga wrote Shape of You, that’s beyond not listening to pop, babe.”
“Two completely different accents,” Caitlin agreed, “it’s like saying that Luke Bryan and Zack Bryan are the same man.”
Before anyone had the time to question who those people were Lisa appeared with a cheery grin and whisked Caitlin away towards the makeshift booze table.
“I’ve not booked time off to not get at least tipsy!” Lisa exclaimed as the two left. Ilya plopped down in the vacated beanbag.
Harris looked Ilya up and down, then side to side, then all around.
“Just say it, whatever it is.” Ilya ground out.
“It’s a no from Shane, then?”
“Do you fucking see him?”
“Woah,” Harris recoiled a bit in shock, even Troy’s eyes widened at Ilya’s sharp tone, “sorry, Roz. I won’t pry then.”
“No, no,” Galina would have a field day with this story, “I am sorry. I tried to convince him but he said no, now I am mad about it, being beaten.”
“Awh,” Troy Barrett had the audacity to look apologetic, “that sucks man. I’m sure he would’ve enjoyed.”
“No, no, it’s okay. I am three thousand dollars too annoying, I know.”
“Three thousand dollars?” Harris asked, “as in, Canadian dollars?”
“Yes?” The questions were repetitive and useless, “no, I gave Canadian man in Canada American dollars.”
“You tried to give him three thousand dollars?!” Troy asked in shock. It wasn’t like that was a massive cut from Ilya’s salary, in fact he would’ve preferred to give more but he was scared that’d scare Shane away. It turns out it didn’t matter in the end.
“No, I gave him. Three thousand so I could message him, three thousand to come to barbeque.”
“You gave him three thousand dollars to come to the barbeque?” Harris asked in confusion, “did he ask?”
“No?”
“So you forcibly paid Shane to come to this barbeque?”
“Yes!” Ilya hissed, exasperated, “and look, he is still not here, so drop it.”
Harris had the indecency to actually drop his head into his hands and Barrett just blinked at the two of them, Harris’s muffled voice emerged, “you know, he probably didn’t want you to pay him for literally just spending time with you.”
“But he needs money more than me,” Ilya pointed out.
Even Barrett was now looking at him like he’d grown a second head, “Did you say this to him, Ilya?”
“Why is everyone so confused. English is your first language, catch up.”
“Oh my God, Ilya,” Harris burrowed his face into the side of Barrett’s neck. The other man leaned into him and rubbed his back comfortingly, “perhaps Shane didn’t want to be paid.”
“Everyone likes money.”
Barrett and Harris shared a look that was so laced in love and their intimate knowledge of each other that Ilya left with a weak excuse of grabbing a drink. Yes, he got it, they were gay and in love. That didn’t mean they had to ram it down everyone else’s throat.
Lisa and Hayes weren’t faring any better. The goalie had a large arm wrapped around his wife’s waist and she was leaning into him sipping on some Drover cider. Great. Bisexuality was now his curse, he could be both heterosexually and homosexually jealous.
“Rozy!” Hayes calls out, “get the speaker off Dykstra, I can’t stand this country shit!”
“Hey! It’s not that bad, quit being so dramatic!” Dykstra defends from where he’s guarding the speaker next to the patio with a wooden spork.
“You’re from Manitoba, not Texas, turn it off!” Bood waves his hot spatula at him, a much more formidable weapon. Dykstra chooses life and changes the music to what Ilya can only assume is a latest hits playlist, not without sending the entire garden a soul eating scowl.
“Rozanov!” Ilya hears a woman call, Yuna Hollander steps out the house holding a drink with Mr Hollander trailing behind her, “I knew I saw Russian vodka!”
“The only good vodka,” Ilya tried to quip back in an attempt to soothe the cut that was deepening in his chest. Shane’s parents were just being friendly, they weren’t really anything but, yet Shane’s features haunted their faces. Especially when David pulled the apologetic yet friendly smile that he’d seen etched on Shane so many times. Stupid Canadians.
Yuna quirked her lips, “I see the poor rookies have been demoted.”
“Yes,” Ilya tried not to think of stupid vets and instead kept his voice playful. “Cannot trust them with smashables, they are worse than Anya.”
“Speaking of.” Mr Hollander produced a small plastic mat with lots of ridges and holes. “It’s a sniff toy,” he explained. “Spaniel’s have an amazing sense of smell, so hopefully she’ll enjoy it! That’s what Shane told us, anyway. He’s a vet, so it’s on good authority!”
Ilya did then suddenly realise that neither Hollander had ever mentioned Shane’s profession to him, but the pride was still there in every word.
“Thank you,” Ilya tried. Then feeling it wasn’t enough, “thank you, I am sure she will love it.”
“Hey, even if she doesn’t she might enjoy tearing it up!” Mr Hollander laughed, “although, Shane does say to be careful about plastic digestion, which is why this one is recommended as it only tears into larger pieces.”
“She will love it, Mr Hollander, she loves smelling everything. It is very annoying on walks.”
“David, please, I hear so much about you Ilya from Yuna it feels all wrong.”
Ilya just nodded, the other man was giving him that gentle, Canadian smile that was Shane’s.
“Shane said Anya might enjoy a chew with holes for hiding treats in as well,” Yuna told him. “Good for their teeth apparently.”
Ilya was struck with the horrifying realisation that there was a very real, and very likely possibility that the Hollanders had asked Shane for his opinions regarding Anya specifically. “You asked Shane about Anya?”
“Indirectly,” David was oblivious to the spark of relief that soared through Ilya, “we just said that there was a friend with a spaniel. Why? Do you need a vet for Anya?”
“No, no,” Ilya assured him, “is all sorted.”
Yuna put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing amazing with her, Ilya. She’s so happy, you obviously care a lot for her.”
“Yes… yes, thank you.” He blinks rapidly, trying to rid the sheen of tears from his eyes. David offers him a bigger Canadian smile and follows Yuna as she goes to talk to Harris and Gen, who’ve migrated to the deck chairs and are pulling up photographs on an old Mac. He can just see the outline of the photo, it’s him, probably from the Montreal game. The game where Shane was watching, the last game that Shane will watch.
Ilya knows he’s ruined his chances with the man. For such a stupid reason as well, such a stupid barbeque that doesn’t really mean anything. It’s just a group of people in Bood’s nice garden eating grilled foods and yabbering at one another, it’s not worth Shane in any way. Not his friendship or… the potential of something more. Ilya doesn’t know why he’s still torturing himself thinking about it, seeing the words leave his mouth again and again and physically seeing their easy friendship crumble.
“Rozy!” Hayes whoops, “Bood’s thinking about getting a little pool, imagine that.” He pulls up next to Ilya and takes a sip of his beer, “a little pool.”
“Wow. New phrase, I’m so proud. You’re learning English so quickly.”
“Fuck off. Just like, imagine it. We could go swimming!”
“Not in small pool, not enough space. Could do a little doggy paddle.”
Hayes grinned, “I bet Chiron and Anya would love a pool. You’ve gotta stop taking her to these things, man. Lisa keeps on looking at dogs at the shelter, like hell either of us got time for one. Wouldn’t be fair to the poor thing.”
Ilya huffed out a laugh. Then he remembered that Shane had advised Anya not to swim until the ear infection had cleaned up. He would have to change vet practices, wouldn’t he, especially after he essentially harassed the man at his work place. Anya seemed to really like everyone there as well, and Shane’s friends would now hate Ilya so they probably wouldn’t be pleased to see them again.
“Maybe. As long as ear infection is gone by then.”
“Oh?” Hayes questioned. “Lisa’s always muttering on about ear infections in the swimming lot, it's the same with dogs then?”
“Yes, water creates an incubator for bacteria, swimmers ear. Spaniels are prone as their ears see less air circulation and are generally more moist.”
Hayes blinked in surprise. "You know a lot about ear infections, Rozy," he chuckled.
"Yes, I found out... online."
"The second best hockey player in the league and a great dad. Its a wonder people aren't throwing themselves at you."
"They do. I tell them to get up, sidewalk is hard and uncomfortable."
"Sidewalks! Roz, that reminds me-"
"Chiron! Leave!" Barrett demanded from the back of the yard. The dog in question merely pointed his black nose deeper into the tub he'd managed to find and get open.
"Oh my god," Harris groaned, "stupid thing. What have you got into now, eh?"
Hayes and Ilya walked over to where Barrett was attempting to drag the dog out via his harness. He flopped out with a huff to pad around the small group with a wet muzzle.
"God, can’t take you anywhere,” Harris muttered as he replaced the lid of the white tub. “Ugh, Chiron, it’s probably stagnant water, it smells all fruity.”
Hayes went dead still. “Fruity?” He sniffed the air cautiously.
“Something awful been fermented in there or something,” Barrett muttered, Chiron stuffed his nose into the crook of his knee, “ugh, Chiron!” But he sounded stupidly fond.
“Oh fuck.” Hayes suddenly stammered out. Everyone snapped their heads in his direction. “Smell the air again. You all know it, this is Canada.”
Oh shit.