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I'll meet you at the cottage (IMYC) by windoq - masterpost
The fifth and final part of The Boston Year.
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Summary: After spending Christmas with the Hollanders Ilya realises he has unfinished business in Moscow; namely, saying goodbye to his mother's grave and recovering the pieces of his history. Before meeting Shane at the cottage for their second summer together - and before upending his life and moving to another country once again - Ilya decides to return to his home city and attempt to lay his past to rest.
Chapter One: Ilya POV
Behind him a stall opened, Ilya’s gaze flicked up from his phone to the mirror, catching as two men stumbled out of the cramped space. The first balked when he saw Ilya and scurried away but the second… fuck. The second was fucking Sasha. Ilya vaguely remembered Svetlana mentioning that Sasha was back in town and wanted to catch up, vaguely remembered shrugging, non-committal, when she’d asked if he was interested in seeing their old friend.
The ‘friendship’ he had with Sasha had not been like what Svetlana had. Their relationship had been secret, frantic sexual encounters in storage closets at ice rinks and in bedrooms when their fathers weren’t home. The kind of sex that was fine-but never more than just fine. Ilya had since had sex that was great, mind-blowing, life-affirming. Sex that was devastating and romantic and so intimate he’d felt cracked open. What he’d had with Sasha had been teenage experimentation and intimacy borne of assured mutual destruction.
Sometimes he thought about how much worse it would all get if he ever came out. The gaudy, rainbow-saturated Pride collections he’d become the face of. The last thing about himself that was just his turned into another selling point, another key demographic his brand could reach, another box to check in the gambit of representation. There’s a world of opportunity here, if they do it right his mother had said. About his sexuality. About his relationship. His own mother attaching dollar signs to the last shred of himself as a person, not a brand, that he had left.
If he ever came out, hockey would move further down the list of things he was. Not Shane Hollander: hockey player, generational talent, Hall of Famer, legacy builder. But Shane Hollander: gay, half-Japanese, representative of inclusivity in sport, hockey player. The one thing he wanted to be remembered for, to be admired for, moved to the bottom of the list.
(Please be aware that this chapter contains: mentions of domestic abuse, depictions of violence, descriptions of blood, descriptions of nausea, homophobic slurs, references to wound stitching and hospitals.)
His brother hadn’t changed at all since Ilya had last seen him. Same angry eyes, same twisted expression, same hard-set jaw. So much like their father, too much like their father.
“I was just leaving,” Ilya said. He was suddenly, acutely, aware that he hadn’t thought through how bad this could be for his sister-in-law and niece.
“Why the fuck is he here, Yelena?” Alexei growled, storming into the room, making the space feel suddenly tighter, smaller, the high-ceilings pressing in. Ilya stepped into his brother’s path, attempting to shield Yelena from view with his body.
“I just wanted to see my niece,” Ilya said, placating. “I came by to see her.”
“You don’t fucking get to see her,” Alexei crowded him against the dining table.
The thing was, Shane hadn’t meant to lose it on Ilya.
He’d had a plan. Call Ilya. Make sure he was okay physically. Tell him that he had people who loved him, who were worried about him, who were here for him at any time of the day or night. Try and prod into how he was coping emotionally. (Maybe have phone sex with him if that would help alleviate some stress.) Remind him that he could access early check-in online from tomorrow morning for his flight to Ottawa. Tell him, again, that he was loved, so loved. Hang up. Call again in a few hours. Rinse and repeat.
Losing it had not been a part of the fucking plan.
“I know you probably don’t want to talk to me about it,” David began, eyes locked ahead, as if trying to give Ilya some semblance of anonymity, like in confession, “but I just want to ask… are you okay?”
“I…” Ilya clamped his mouth shut. Lying to David didn’t feelright. “Honestly?”
“Ideally.”
“No,” Ilya shrugged and David nodded, glancing at him briefly to smile.
“We can talk about it,” he offered. Though the look in his eye told Ilya that David knew he wouldn’t want that.
“No thank you,” Ilya laughed, shaking his head. David hmm’ed and turned back to the road, checking his blind spot before changing lanes.
Ilya had been at the cottage for four days but still Shane felt like he was waiting for the man to suddenly slip through his fingers, dissolving like fog over the lake on a sunny morning. So he just needed one more minute.
They hadn’t talked about Russia yet. Shane wanted to blame the wild, frantic, mind-blowing sex they just couldn’t stop having for Ilya’s reticence, for the lack of a conversation, but… Ilya’s suitcase was still in the boot of the Range Rover, and he hadn’t gone outside once since Shane had shown him the plaque for Irina. It had been storming for the past two days, the sky dark and rumbling, endless sheets of rain pounding on the steel roof, loud and rhythmic but also soothing, cocooning them inside the cottage; the wind and the rain and the thunder background noise beneath the sounds of their bodies moving, their mouths gasping. It had been a perfect few days but still… they had not talked about Russia.
Shane was not delusional; he knew Ilya would avoid the topic for as long as possible, maybe forever if he could get away with it. He’d known Ilya for far too long to be under any impression that the man would just open up willingly.
“You didn’t come back to bed last night,” Shane murmured, eyes locked on Ilya’s, assessing. Looking too closely. Ilya did not want to be seen.
“I did,” Ilya lied and Shane’s mouth pinched.
“You didn’t,” he insisted and then his eyes dragged from Ilya’s face to the glass jar, crowded with discarded cigarettes, and he frowned. “How many have you smoked?” he asked, an edge to his tone, bordering on reproachful.
Ilya was too tired for a lecture. He just shrugged. That only seemed to deepen the line forming between Shane’s dark brows.
“You really shouldn’t be smoking,” he griped. “It’ll make you sick.”
“Everyone dies eventually, Hollander. Fucking relax,” Ilya snipped, stubbing out his dwindling cigarette and lighting another. Only for the satisfaction of making Shane’s eyes narrow, a glare levelled at the thing, the kind of glare Shane usually reserved for when Ilya was really pissing him off.
Shane rolled his eyes but interlocked his finger with hers, like he would when he was a boy. It was juvenile but it warmed something in him that still missed the summers of his childhood.
“Are you two making secret deals?” Ilya asked, approaching them.
“Top secret, no assfaces allowed,” Svetlana retorted and Ilya flipped her off, ignoring her as he stood over Shane, dripping lake water all over the blanket.
“You’re getting water all over the rug, asshole,” Shane grumbled. Which was a mistake. Ilya shook his head out like a dog, spraying Shane and Svetlana with droplets of cold water. “Asshole!”
“Ilya!” Svetlana shrieked. Ilya just grinned, toothy and wolfish.
When Ilya was ten, he broke his arm. It was his first real hockey injury, and he’d been so damned proud of it. He’d fallen wrong. The entire weight of his body crashing down on his arm because he’d forgotten to twist, to tuck in his elbows, and he could still remember the snap of it, the sudden searing pain, the ice cold beneath him and his nerves suddenly on fire. He’d smacked his chin on the way down, the end of his stick bumping into his mouth, knocking his tooth right from his gums. The bloody baby tooth his first real trophy. He was a man now. A real hockey player. His mama had let him keep the tooth in an empty matchbox beside his bed.
Grigori had lectured him when he’d gotten home from the hospital. Unimpressed by the cast Ilya proudly showed off, disappointed that Ilya’s season was over. Not because Ilya was hurt but because Ilya had been careless. He could remember his father saying, ‘you know better than to fall like that, Ilya. You are just like your mother. Finding any excuse to avoid your responsibilities.’
The arm never healed right, and sometimes, when it rained, it ached. A deep, throbbing pain; a permanent bruise on his radius.
I'll meet you at the cottage: Chapter seven by windoq
Summary: Chapter Seven
The fifth and final part of The Boston Year!
“You didn’t come back to bed last night,” Shane murmured, eyes locked on Ilya’s, assessing. Looking too closely. Ilya did not want to be seen.
“I did,” Ilya lied and Shane’s mouth pinched.
“You didn’t,” he insisted and then his eyes dragged from Ilya’s face to the glass jar, crowded with discarded cigarettes, and he frowned. “How many have you smoked?” he asked, an edge to his tone, bordering on reproachful.
Ilya was too tired for a lecture. He just shrugged. That only seemed to deepen the line forming between Shane’s dark brows.
“You really shouldn’t be smoking,” he griped. “It’ll make you sick.”
“Everyone dies eventually, Hollander. Fucking relax,” Ilya snipped, stubbing out his dwindling cigarette and lighting another. Only for the satisfaction of making Shane’s eyes narrow, a glare levelled at the thing, the kind of glare Shane usually reserved for when Ilya was really pissing him off.
just realized how hard the gladiator costume is gonna go. like yes ilya rozanov wearing a gladiator costume is hot as hell in theory but ilya rozanov played by connor storrie??? it is genuinely going to be the hottest anyone has ever looked. we are not prepared for this my friends
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I'll meet you at the cottage: Chapter five by windoq
Summary: Chapter Five
The fifth and final part of The Boston Year!
“I know you probably don’t want to talk to me about it,” David began, eyes locked ahead, as if trying to give Ilya some semblance of anonymity, like in confession, “but I just want to ask… are you okay?”
“I…” Ilya clamped his mouth shut. Lying to David didn’t feelright. “Honestly?”
“Ideally.”
“No,” Ilya shrugged and David nodded, glancing at him briefly to smile.
“We can talk about it,” he offered. Though the look in his eye told Ilya that David knew he wouldn’t want that.
“No thank you,” Ilya laughed, shaking his head. David hmm’ed and turned back to the road, checking his blind spot before changing lanes.
Is there a fanfic of the rest of this day? Like what they say in the car, what happens when they get back to Shane’s and then his parents coming round at 5pm.
Would love to read. If anyone has seen or read any please share 🙏
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It's Tuesday night. They should be watching Predator or Die Hard, sitting on their couch at opposite ends while Dennis pretends Mac's not staring at him out of the corners of his eyes, but they're not. Instead, Dennis is in the hospital chair next to Mac's bed, pretending to be his husband for reasons that he doesn't want to think about right now. He just wants Mac to wake up. Well, if he decides to wake up, that is. If Mac decides him and the gang are worth coming back to at all.
Dennis just wishes that things could go back to normal. Before Mac decided he loved Dennis and decided to shove it down his throat, before things got stiff and awkward and stuck between them. Then Mac wouldn't be in this goddamn hospital bed and none of this ever would have happened in the first place.
If only Dennis remembered to be careful what you wish for.
Set after season 14. No major character deaths.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
This is my fic which features the 'friends' TK left behind in New York. It's been sitting dormant for a long while but I hope to get it finished soon as I have been hit by a writing lightning strike recently!! In this snippet, TK and Carlos have bumped into a blast from TK's past on a night out. And the pool table balls feel the tension.
Putting this fic under the cut because even though there's nothing too bad in this snippet I wouldn't blame people if they wanted to give this fic a miss.
“We never slept together,” he snaps as he slams the red ball too hard again and misses the pocket with a thud.
“I didn’t think you did,” Carlos says from behind him and then like a casual observation- “he still holds a candle for you though."
“I never felt that way about him, things were complicated when we were all using. We weren’t… we weren’t good for each other, any of us,” TK says. “Sam wanted to join the fire service too but he didn’t make the cut, he couldn’t keep it together like I- there was always tension- especially when one of us had something good going on. It wasn’t healthy.”
Carlos pauses, looking at him patiently. “You all used together?”
TK blinks, taken aback. He wants to shake Carlos, make him see what he was and still is without having to look into his eyes and tell him. Resentment bubbles at the naivety. Wasn’t it obvious?
“Carlos-“
“I’m not- That must’ve been really hard.”
TK scoffs. He feels mean and he doesn’t like it. “Funnily enough all the drugs I was doing made it a lot easier.”
“I meant tonight…seeing them again,” Carlos says calmly.
TK stops. Suddenly, the grip on his pool cue feels so limp it could fall right out of his hand, his spine feels so weak he could fold onto the floor. He bows his head and breathes deeply through his nostrils.
How is your fic going that your writing about TK and the friends he left behind? :)
Aww wow thank you for asking! It's going very slowly. It's definitely the darkest thing I've ever tried to write so it takes it out of me in a strange way, I was full on crying trying to write a particular part lmao.
It's complicated because I want to write what I personally believe and what I want to write but at the same time being conscious of making what I'm portraying not being outrightly offensive and derogatory towards those going through active addiction. My pet peeve in fiction is when it feels like the writer has just shuffled the characters onto a therapy couch and makes them do therapy talk which sounds so unrealistic and out of character so I'm trying not to fall into that trap but also get the conflict resolved but also trying to be realistic and ahhhhhhhh its a lot of spinning plates.
I'm thinking of maybe having a sensitivity writer go through it when I'm done because I don't want what I'm writing to be genuinely harmful but then again I'm not trying to write the most unproblematic thing in the world. A part of me doesn't really care if some things are problematic because they're things I've genuinely experienced and tbh that's life?
It's really hard to remove yourself from your writing and I have a very critical social psychology view of addiction which I don't think will be very popular with some. So I will be putting warnings and tags in wip wednesdays and things and I really don't mind if some people choose to give this fic a miss. TK's friends are NOT in a good place so their behaviour and the things they say aren't very kind, that's not me trying to portray ALL ADDICTS ARE BAD. That's me trying to display the reality of how people behave when they are in active addiction and the effect it has on people around them. Because this is TK's story not theirs.
TK also gets triggered in this fic which was really sad to write but interesting to see how he deals with it immediately in the moment and how he and Carlos communicate about it afterwards.
Thank you so much for letting me get that off my chest!!!!! so for the long answer!!!!! The struggles with this fic have been time consuming and I haven't really spoken about it with anyone so thank you!!! I would say its around 55% done. I have the skeleton, I just need to put some meat on it's bones.
Here is a snippet of 'What we leave behind': No specific warnings on this one but its under a cut in case people want to dodge this fic.
“Dude, what the fuck is up with that snake in your living room?”
TK places the glass on the counter. “He’s a bearded dragon and his name is Lou.”
“That’s so weird.”
Chris scratches his cheek, hard enough to leave red lines.
TK attempts a casual shrug. “I guess but he’s apart of the family.”
He finds himself amongst terrain he hasn’t been familiar with in a while, strangely embarrassed, self-conscious. He hasn’t been made to feel truly embarrassed about who he is in a long time. It hadn’t really occurred to him that having a lizard as a pet was something to be embarrassed about. He knows Carlos finds Lou a bit strange… but he’d always thought that was more to do with being scared of him then finding him weird…
“Right. Family.”
“You doing okay?” TK asks.
"Peachy," Chris scoffs. “Since when do you date cops anyway?”
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I’ve become obsessed with reading Push fics. I love all the different takes on how TKs time in the hospital went. The conversations Tarlos had, how they discussed the break up, got back together and decided TK was going home.
I haven’t been able to find many fics from the moment they fall on to the couch at the end of the episode. I’d love to read some fics about TKs first week at home, his recovery, how they became intimate again, physical and emotionally.
I adore your fics on this time period. It’s perfect. I’d love to know if you have read any others or if anyone has any recommendations?
First of all thank you <3 Second I went through my bookmarks and tbh I can't think of any fics that are specifically about TK's first week at home, but I have an infamously bad memory and also there are probably fics that do deal with this but just don't make that clear in the tags or summary so I'm not sure how to find them :/ So open call for recs? People whose brains are not made primarily of mushroom soup, can you think of any?
Regarding TK and friends I agree that he probably had a lot of drug/party friends. I head cannon that he lost at least one friend to drugs. Reasons 1. It’s realistic especially for heroin users. Any group of hard core drug friends groups have usually lost one or two friends. 2. His proposal speech said his life he been scarred with lost, I know he lost his mom but I always took that as more than one lost and not just loosing Alex because TK wouldn’t include him as he knows that wasn’t real love. Alex was a bandaid 
Oh 🥺 yeah that is very heartbreaking and unfortunately probably very realistic.
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