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A sharp noise, almost like a frustrated shout, and a muted scuffle pull Shane from the banter session that’s somehow picked up between Hayden and JJ.
They’re muffled through the thick outer door of the arena and something Shane would normally ignore, but there is also the glaring fact that Montreal is about to play Boston in just under an hour and the door they just passed is the one that leads to the nearest smoking area from the visitor’s locker room.
As much as his plan has progressed over the years, Ilya still smokes sometimes. Especially when he’s stressed, and Shane knows for a fact he’s stressed about a few bruised ribs and a twinge in his hip that even Shane’s yoga regime hasn’t been able to kick.
Naturally, with his. . . big Russian fuck buddy(?) being a shit disturber (and a smoker), Shane pauses at the noise.
It’s cold as shit though today and even Ilya, a steadfast to the core Russian that doesn’t feel the ‘weak Canadian cold,’ tends to smoke less when the weather is as ruthless as it is today.
Still. . .
“Shane?” pausing in his rather spectacular mental workout to look over at Hayden and JJ, Shane can’t quite brush off this feeling that something is wrong and he should open the door to the ruthless cold of the day even though he’s only in a loose fitting long sleeve and his Montreal branded workout pants. They’re both looking at him like they can see his thoughts and think he’s got a screw loose for even considering such a terrible idea. . . but-
With a long breath he turns to the door, “I think I heard something. I just want to be sure that everything’s alright before the game.”
Hayden continues to look at Shane like he’s grown a third head but JJ laughs, “it’s probably just some fucking Raider’s ruining their lungs before the game Capitaine. You should just let them. Makes it easier for us if they think they’re above fucking cancer and general lung health.”
Biting his lip, his indecision is clear, Shane knows JJ is making a fantastic point; what the Raider’s do is absolutely none of his business. It’s just that, what one of those Raiders may or may not be doing outside is very much something Shane cares about and wants to shut down immediately.
Shane opens the door.
Of course, he’s immediately hit with deep regret, the cold air whipping through his ultra thin layers instantaneously. He can still hear both Hayden and JJ’s protests as they follow him out of the door and onto the thin ice clinging to the pavement outside the rink.
The door slams with an unforgiving snap that should call to Shane, but then his eyes clear the harsh light of a clear mid-day in Montreal and he can see what exactly caught his attention; Ilya, thrown up against the metal of the outer wall of Centre Bell, with a raging Montreal fan wailing on him.
Shane is certain of this because there’s no way Shane wouldn’t know it’s Ilya standing there, not when he’s still wearing the clothes and jacket Shane had helped put on him – Ilya is even still wearing the scarf Shane had forced him to borrow, one his mom had gifted him years ago and Shane couldn’t stand the feel of around his neck.
The fan. . . is definitely a fan; decked head to toe in red and blue and various Shane-specific merch.
It doesn’t make any sense though. Fans shouldn’t even be able to get to this area right now. Security is always ramped up hours before even the most hardcore of fans think about starting to line up outside the main entrance.
Noise bursts from the three of them as they run to intervene.
Even JJ burst into action, hauling the fan off of Ilya with not-so gentle hands, yelling for him to calm the fuck down and get out of Ilya’s face. Hayden is helping him, restraining the guys hands when he goes to lunge around JJ.
Between the two of them the guy is done. No one gets around JJ when he means business.
Shane is the last one to the fray, going straight for Ilya and not sparing any of the other three people a moment of his attention. He approaches Ilya slowly, searching his face for recognition, but Ilya doesn’t look up at him.
Actually, from the moment Shane had stepped out of building, Ilya hasn’t moved. Not when the guys hands were connecting with his cheek, jaw, and ribs. Not when the guy screamed and screeched, and yelled so loud that there is no way his words could be understood – Shane isn’t even sure if the guy had been speaking French or English – Ilya hasn’t so much as flinched.
Now is just the same, not moving or acknowledging that the guy is gone and not looking up to see Shane there.
Why the hell did he not fight back?
“Ilya?” Shane keeps his voice soft and steady, carefully not acknowledging the soft, almost accusing gasp, from behind him at the name drop. He doesn’t know if it’s Hayden, JJ, or the fucking crazy asshole who’d done it, he’s too busy trying to break through the vacant look in Ilya’s eyes.
Biting his lip Shane takes another cautious step closer, like he’s trying to talk to a wild animal instead of his regular situationship of nearly a decade. He must look a little crazy himself but he’s willing to do just about anything for Ilya’s eyes to look at him with something more than sadness and confusion, Hayden and JJ be damnded.
“Ilya?” he tries again, just as softly but this time paired with a brush of his fingers against Ilya’s that are still hanging limp at his sides – the same way they’ve been since Shane burst through the door – “hey, Illyusha? Baby, can you look at me?”
The pet names seem to get to him, just a little bit, as his eyelashes flutter with the sluggish movement of his eyes as they finally land on Shane. They’re just so, so sad and they break Shane’s heart, “Shane?”
Forcing himself to at least not cry in front of an audience Shane just laces his fingers through Ilya’s, “yeah baby, it’s me.” Ilya blinks but doesn’t say anything more, “are- are you ok? Do you- Do I need to get a Doctor?”
Face crumpling instantly Ilya just shakes his head and tears begin to slip down his cheeks. Making as much of a soothing sound as he can get around the growing lump in his throat Shane uses his free hand to pull Ilya down to him. With only the slightest encouragement Ilya is burying his face into Shane’s shoulder and his body shudders. Hard.
For a long time Shane stays just like that. He doesn’t even feel the cold anymore, not when Ilya is here and something is so clearly wrong.
Shane has too many questions and they all try to bubble up and spill out of his lips, gnarling on his tongue until all there is is white hot anger.
Through all of this, Ilya stays with his face buried in Shane’s neck. He doesn’t even make a noise when Shane turns to the side so he can see where Hayden and JJ are still holding the raving lunatic, jaws dropped and eyes wide.
“Call the police. Get him inside and into an empty office and don’t let him leave,” Shane doesn’t even look at the guy as he starts arguing again, this time with Shane and looking like even more of a lunatic because of the name and number plastered to his jersey and gloves and hat and fake tattoos and flag and. . . keychain plushie? What the fuck? “JJ, you make sure you stand outside the door. Hayden, get one of the trainers and tell them to be discreet. No one in or out of the medical suite until I say so.”
JJ scoffs a little but listens.
Shane is using his captain voice now and he knows, even when they grumble and groan about it and maybe put up as much of a fuss as they think he’s willing to tolerate, that each and every player on his team would do as he asks of them. Question and queries later, when Shane is not at the rink and not so much their captain as he is their babysitter, but that’s later and this is now.
There will be so many fucking questions later, Shane knows this as much as he knows that he would do this again in a heartbeat if Ilya is hurting, but JJ and Hayden do as he says now.
Staying back, just for a moment, Hayden catches Shane’s eyes, “what are you going to do with him?”
Shane doesn’t have to ask who and he doesn’t have to ask why Hayden looks like he knows something is up. It doesn’t take much to put two and two together and Hayden probably knows him better than anyone else at this point.
Hayden had already half hinted at knowing ‘Lily’ may not be a Lily and that he wouldn’t care either way. Shane hadn’t said anything then, still too scared of what Hayden wasn’t showing him that he couldn’t see what he was showing him, but he’s got that same look to him now. Shakier now that he has an inkling of who ‘Lily’ is and not just a suspicion of gender, but the look is still there.
Support. Confused support, but support all the same.
So, with the not asking and the knowing that Hayden probably knows something, Shane doesn’t lie or avoid the truth, “I’m going to get him looked at by a trainer and then I’m going to take him home.”
Again Hayden doesn’t look particularly surprised, he doesn’t even mention the fact that they have a game in, now, less than an hour, he just nods once and turns to head inside.
Still Ilya does nothing but shudder and lean a not insignificant amount of his weight onto Shane.
It’s another long moment before Shane can even hear the tiny and very much not enough little, uneven breaths Ilya is pulling into his lungs. It’s almost like it’s his body forcing air in even though Ilya is fighting it.
When Shane has a panic attack or is really scared about something he finds he does the same thing. It’s almost as if, when you feel like everything is so out of control and you want something to go the way you want it to go or you want so much for your body to do what you need it to do that you take it out on one of the few things you can control.
For Shane, it’s his breathing.
For all his bravado and his posturing, Ilya is a deeply emotional person. Shane has no idea what had happened and why it seems like Ilya all but receded into himself because of it and he doesn’t think he should ask – not right no, not when they’re both probably freezing and hurting and overwhelmed – but he does need to get them the fuck back inside.
If he simply took Ilya home right now like his entire soul is screaming at him to do, to take Ilya home and to protect him from any and everything and everyone that thinks they have the right to hurt him, and he turns out to be actually hurt hurt, bleeding out or something, Shane would never be able to forgive himself.
“Ilya.” Ilya pushes his face in a little more, “Ilya.” Cold fingers, colder than if an icicle where to impale him, find their way under Shane’s shirt to sit at the just of his hip.
So, not enough, then.
Shane plays dirty.
Ilya never fails to respond to his truly imbecilic attempts at Russian. Not once.
So Shane plays dirty.
Leaning in so that he says it against Ilya’s ice cold ear, Shane plays the ace up his sleeve. “Illyusha, moya kroshka. Pozhaluysta, vernis.”
Ilyusha, my baby. Please, come back.
Though he’s come a long way Shane knows he still sounds like a toddler when he tries to pull together a full sentence, Still Ilya looks up at him, indulgent as always.
There’s more in his eyes now but Shane almost thinks it’s worse to be subject to the sadness there. Not just sadness, but hurt. Ilya is hurting and Shane can only fumble his way through elementary Russian and bring him to see an almost Doctor.
Their actual Doctor is such an asshole and he probably wouldn’t be willing to even glance at Ilya before the game let alone make sure he’s not injured. Shane can even hear the, “not my player, not my problem,” he’s said countless times before.
The trainers are generally better but not always.
There’s no other choice, really. Shane doesn’t know any of the Raider’s medical staff and he’s not sure they’d let him take Ilya anywhere if they saw what had happened.
Selfishly, Shane doesn’t want that to happen. Even though the Montreal staff don’t know Ilya, and probably don’t like him all that much, Shane knows they won’t really question him if he takes Ilya somewhere. He doesn’t need to tell them where either.
An almost Doctor is most certainly not what Ilya wants or thinks he needs, but Shane forces him back inside and down the halls anyway. He tries to go back to hiding in Shane’s shoulder but they’re already going to have to do so much damage control for earlier that Shane finds himself tensing at the contact.
Ilya’s gone before Shane can really work through what Ilya might think is going through Shane’s mind and Shane can’t help the fear and the hurt that lances through his heart when Ilya only looks dejected sitting on a bed in Montreal’s medical suite.
He can’t even fix the mistake because his friends are always so fucking efficient and one of the trainers is striding through the doors. She doesn’t even blink when she’s sees Ilya sitting there like a sullen child with a purpling bruise blooming across his jaw and cheek and, fuck, his eye is bloodshot too. Like the vessels where broken from a direct hit.
Frantically Shane searches the rest of Ilya’s face, cataloguing the damage that hadn’t been there this morning. Fuck. How long had Ilya and that asshole been back there before Shane decided to make up his fucking mind and check on them?
Fuck.
Shane feels sick and he’s only seen the damage to Ilya’s face.
There’s no doubt dozens more marks hidden by the coat and scarf still securely wrapped around Ilya.
He must be warm now in the heat of the building, even Shane felt like he’s beginning to thaw out.
Neither of them move to peel the coat off though. Shane is fucking terrified at the thought of seeing any more of Ilya covered in the harsh purpling of abused skin.
He- he can’t. . . he might not be able to keep it all bottled in.
He might not even be allowed to stay. Janine, the trainer Hayden found – one of their best, and of course the nicest – is giving Shane a look now, like he should know better. But Shane. . . can’t leave. That would be worse, somehow, than seeing Ilya hurt.
So, he doesn’t move a single inch, standing awkwardly a few feet from Ilya, not touching even though that’s all he wants to do – it’s a physical thing almost at this point – and she sighs, heavily, like maybe shed expected him to be this dense. “Shane. I know you’re worried about Mr. Rozanov, but you can’t be in here for this. This is something priv-”
“No!”
“No.”
The outburst is simultaneous except for the flavour.
Shane is outraged that she would think- that she would kick him out. Ilya is, he’s everything to Shane. He should be here.
He should be allowed to shout it to the masses that he has a right to be here.
Ilya’s is quieter. Heartbreakingly soft and hitched like he might not fight her if she insisted but a protest that’s been dragged out right from the bloodied and bruised part of his heart.
Both Shane and Janine stop short.
Shane’s argument is lost on his lips at the way Ilya’s hand reaches out to him, hesitant in a way that makes him looks smaller and Shane nearly trips himself to grab on. Janine stays silent, no longer protesting, but still looking at them like they might not be who she expected in this room and that maybe she should be worried about aliens and shape shifters, not two of the biggest rivals in the hockey world.
She gets over the shock rather quickly though – she’s the best of their trainers in Shane’s personal hierarchy for a damn good reason, after all – and just shakes her head with a little puff of breath and a smile. None of them say another word as she puts on a pair of gloves and gives them a meaningful look, gesturing to Ilya’s clothing.
Shane almost laughs. Almost.
Ilya doesn’t move a muscle and Shane only hesitates for a second before his fingers are moving to the buttons of the coat.
He gets them undone without shaking.
Then it’s the scarf and he’s shaking a little bit as more bruises are starting to unveil.
The scarf is carefully folded and placed on the table and Shane watches Janine take a few pictures. He knows it’s valuable evidence and they’re going to need them but his stomach lurches anyway.
By the end of this Janine, and the police, will have more pictures of Ilya on their phone than Shane has ever allowed himself to keep. Even in a locked folder.
He swallows the jealousy and the anger down when Janine moves back enough for him to move back in and help Ilya out of his coat. Ilya doesn’t even move his arms to help with the sleeves; it’s almost like he’s gone catatonic again and Shane has no fucking idea what to do about it.
He folds the coat and places it on top of the scarf.
The shirt is soft and smells of Shane’s detergent. One of Ilya’s better shirts, one Shane had helped him pick out – well, more like Shane had been there, said he liked the feel of the fabric, and Ilya had gone and bought one in every colour the store offered – the buttons are hard and all wrong in his fingers.
This is not the way Shane thought he would be undoing these buttons today.
The taste of the thought is sour in his mouth. Why the fuck is he thinking something so. . . so tasteless. Of course this isn’t how he is supposed to be taking this fucking shirt of Ilya, he shouldn’t be taking the shirt off Ilya ever, but certainly not in front of another person and when Ilya is clearly in pain.
Certainly this isn’t how any of them thought the day was going to go and he’s not sure which of them had it worse, Janine or him.
Janine probably.
Ilya certainly. His breathing is back to being shallow and not enough and it’s clearly because of pain now. He’s listing to the side a bit and Shane unconsciously fits his shoulder under Ilya to give him more support. Ilya’s eyes don’t open, they don’t eve flutter, but he does sigh a little and his shoulders loosen and his breathing gets a little easier.
This time Shane doesn’t let himself tense up or even glance at Janine.
Ilya is more important right now.
Ilya has to be more important.
He sees them before he can push the shirt off Ilya’s shoulders. Behind him Janine gasps a little and turns away, probably because her face is doing the same thing Shane’s is. At least Ilya’s eyes are still closed and he’s humming an old lullaby to himself. Small victories.
It’s. . . not good.
Certainly it’s not the worst Shane has seen, but that’s talking about hockey – a sport where the players knowingly consent to the bruises and the injuries and the heavy hits – this isn’t hockey. This isn’t hockey at all. This is. . . horrible.
Shane can hardly force himself to look, so he doesn’t, he looks up at Ilya’s face and traces the familiar lines as the dark fabric of Ilya’s shirt hangs limply in his hands.
The simple thought of folding it. . . it’s almost revolting.
Janine takes her pictures and Shane doesn’t even bother to move. You can’t see his face anyway and there’s no way in hell he’s going to be moving away from Ilya any time soon, not when he’s leaning on Shane’s shoulder like Shane is the only thing standing between Ilya and the floor.
When she steps back this time Shane finally lets himself look at Janine. She looks pale and ragged in a way he’s never seen before, not even in the face of the most gruesome of injuries, but again, this isn’t hockey. This is something else entirely and none of them are ok.
She looks up at him now and she seems to be working herself up to speak. When she does, her voice is rough with emotion, “I- I know there’s probably more bruising but- if he doesn’t want to, or if maybe he doesn’t want me in here for it-” Shane notes the way she doesn’t mention him anymore in Ilya’s need for privacy- “I can leave and come back when you’re done so that I can examine him. I can do that if he needs it.”
There’s not a trace of anything but concern in her tone and Shane is grateful for it.
With who Ilya is, with who he plays for, there was that small part of his brain that’s been screaming at him to be careful. . . it loosens now.
Weakly, he smiles at her, “I think you’ll have to do it anyway. I don’t have enough hands to hold him up and take pictures.”
“Oh!” a faint blush cuts harsh across the paleness of her cheeks and Shane can see the wheels in her brain turning for some kind of solution to the problem.
“It’s fine. I don’t think he’ll mind and it’ll only be for a minute.” His hand tightens where he’s allowed himself to hold Ilya’s waist but he doesn’t say anything about how it actually kills him that she’s here and is seeing Ilya like this. That she’s going to have to touch him in just a few minutes. Even though it’s purely professional and she almost looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here, something protective still flares deep in his chest.
Somehow he coaxes Ilya to stand up and he get the belt and button undone and drop Ilya’s pants to his ankles.
There’s not much on his thighs but there are a few marks on his shins, like maybe he’s been kicked, and Shane curses, colourful and in three different languages.
Janine looks like she agrees.
The pictures are taken quickly and she turns away as Shane gets Ilya’s pants back up and the dead weight of him back on the table.
The examination is much better. Nothing (more) broken or fractured, just a lot of colour and superficial damage.
By all accounts, medically, Ilya will be fine once the bruises heal. Mentally, well heavily implied mentally, there’s probably a lot more work to be done.
Shane makes a note to call his mom.
He may not be the one to do the heavy lifting in that department – he leaves that squarely on his mom’s capable shoulders – but he can plan and he can make sure he’s always there when Ilya needs him.
He can take Ilya home and make him soup and call his mom so she can talk to Ilya and he can just be there for when Ilya comes out of this.
First things first, Shane takes Ilya home.
The police came and Shane made sure they missed them and the asshole as he’s paraded out of the rink. Ilya will speak to them on his own terms.
They leave. Ilya is quiet the whole way even though Yuna is on the phone. She talks to him though and he hums sometimes and Shane can see it’s good for him. He’s looser now.
The game plays on, both captains curiously absent.
Speculation run wild.
Ilya’s phone starts off first, vibrating so much it nearly takes a tumble to the floor. Shane’s is next though.
They both go ignored in favour of keeping one hand firmly on the back of Ilya’s neck, stable and firm, and the other buried in his hair.
The important ones will break through his Do Not Disturb.
Eventually Hayden comes, using the key Shane gave him to unlock the door. His eyes are tired but curious as he take in the sight of them on the couch.
Neither of them have done more than breathe in the hours since Shane got them through the door and Ilya is still settled squarely on top of Shane and holding him like he might try and run away. There no reason in the universe Shane would even think of doing it, not even when JJ scurries in the door behind Hayden and keeps his head down like he might see something he doesn’t want to if he looks up.
Anger flares in Shane again but its weak and sluggish. He really doesn’t have any fight left in him.
If JJ came here to misunderstand or berate him there’s no reason for him to be in Shane’s home. Or his life, but that’s drastic and dramatic and Shane knows it. But he will definitely be kicking anyone out if they cross any line whatsoever.
Finally JJ looks up at him. He doesn’t look at Ilya but Shane is sure he knows Ilya is there and exactly what all of this implies – screams in your face more like – and there’s indecision in his eyes, but still he’s here.
There doesn’t seem to be any fight in him either.
Hayden is the first to speak. “The guy got arrested and they’re going to hold him until this all gets sorted.” He pauses and Shane can feel his gaze burning holes in the back of his head, “Janine handed over the pictures and sees to think there’s enough there even if Roza-”
“Ilya.”
“Huh- sorry?”
Shane knows he’s being petty and bitchy but it feels important somehow that they talk about Ilya here, not Rozanov, “his name is Ilya.”
There’s a pause. JJ looks up past Shane and probably to Hayden, surprise crossing his features briefly before Hayden is talking again, “Ilya. Yeah. Ok. They think there’s enough evidence to get the guy for assault even if Ilya doesn’t feel up to going in and making a statement, but they also said it never hurts for the vic- for Ilya to make the trip in if he can.”
More silence follows it up as Shane hears it, processes it, pets Ilya some more to calm down, and accepts, “ok.”
He knows he’s being rude to his friends who’ve actually done a lot better than anticipated in taking. . . all that he and Ilya are. . . but he feels irritated. They’re still looking at them like Ilya might jump up and growl at them – or, at least, JJ is. Shane can’t see Hayden.
Then, something happens, and JJ starts laughing. Like full-on giggling like they’re teenagers and they all just had their first taste of adrenaline for doing something against the rules, “fuck Capitaine, you don’t do anything halfway, huh?”
It breaks the tension in the room instantly. The icy chill that’s been sitting over the three of them since Shane burst through the door dissipates and Shane can’t help but grin a little, “never.”
All three of them are laughing now, full bellied and relieved now that the tension is gone, and Hayden’s hand finds his shoulder, “oh buddy, couldn’t you have found anyone else? I’m sure there’s hundreds of perfectly nice men in Montreal. I mean, I would have helped in a heartbeat!”
Tone light but firm, Shane looks down at the man in his arms, “nah. This is it for me.” Neither of them say anything more about the other men of Montreal and Shane feels himself relax a little bit more, “I knew him before I knew you guys anyway. There was absolutely no avoiding it.”
Not that he would ever want to.
There;s another extended silence, maybe a little bit less awkward, but Shane can picture their jaws dropped as they both process the implications of that statement.
“Fuck, I owe Jackie so much money.”
The confessions pops them all out of the funk Hayden had sent them into and JJ snorts, “how do you figure?”
Sighing like he still doesn’t think he should have lost, Hayden collapses dramatically into an armchair so that Shane can see him now. “She always said, even only after meeting Shane a couple times, that this rivalry seemed like too much and that it was all made up by the media but I never believed her. It’s just, way too much to think about Shane and. . . him being, I don’t know, not rivals.”
Huffing a little, just a puff of air through his nose Shane buries his face in Ilya’s hair and places a kiss there, “I mean, we are competitive, but, but yeah, never hated each other. Jackie is completely right this time, sorry Hayd.”
“Yes Pike, your wife is way out of your league. Is good you know this now. It was getting very hard to watch.” The heavily accented words are like a breath of fresh air.
The fact that Ilya is awake isn’t surprising to Shane. He’d felt the moment Ilya stirred, but he’s been hoping for exactly this; that maybe a simple conversation of how the hell something like this could happen might pull Ilya out of wherever he was hiding.
He should have known Ilya would never miss on an opportunity to chirp Hayden.
Seeing them now, Ilya, Hayden, and JJ, talking and chirping like this isn’t some huge scandal, Shane thinks that maybe it’ll all turn out fine after all.