Chapter Text
“You think this is good idea?”
Shane glanced over to the passenger seat where Ilya was staring at him with those dark eyes. He waited for Shane to speak, lips slightly parted in the way they were when he was concentrating hard on something.
“It’s not a bad idea. It’s the right thing to do,” he clarified, fingers tapping anxiously against the steering wheel. “He’s done the same for me.”
Ilya shot him a sideways look. He opened his mouth to speak when the back door opened and Scott slipped through, grunting with the effort. The door slammed closed after him as he slumped against it, seatbelt an afterthought as he struggled to snap it into place as it fit snugly over his chest. A weak cough left him winded, chest aching.
“Do you want the heat on more,” Shane offered as he fumbled for the controls.
Scott raised a hand to halt him. “M’fine. Don’t change anything on my account.” Honestly Scott was starting to feel a little too warm. The idea of a fever never really crossed his mind until now with the heat intolerance and the steady ache that gripped his muscles. He chalked it up to the exertion of the game, but even this was a little bit much for him to handle. Scott’s body didn’t handle fevers well, that much he knew. This may change things.
The drive back to the Hollander-Rozanov home wasn’t that far from the rink, at least it didn’t feel like it when Scott was more or less dozing in the back. His thoughts swarmed with that of the game and Kip back at home without him. He swallowed a groan as the muscles in his back seized, head twisted, pressed so hard back against the headrest that it felt as though it would snap. The pain eased just as fast as it came, Scott’s body an unmovable heap as gave into the weariness he’d been fighting since his head left the pillow that morning.
“You think he is dead,” Ilya questioned.
“What?!” The vehicle threatened to swerve as he looked back to find Scott was as limp as Ilya insinuated, though his chest still rose and fell albeit labored with each breath. “Fuck, Il! He’s just sleeping.”
Ilya slumped back against his own seat with an indifferent lift of his shoulders. “Thought he was dead. Is old enough to die in sleep, no?”
Shane gripped Ilya hard by the knee and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t be an ever bigger asshole than you normally are! He’s already having a hard enough time without you adding to it.”
“Is my personality.”
“Then can you dim down your ‘personality’ at least for tonight? If you can’t do it for Scott, then can you try to do it for me?”
The raise of Shane’s eyebrows, the pleading glint in in his eyes, and the way his bottom lip protruded in the smallest of pouts was all it took for Ilya to fold. He made a show of crossing his arms over his chest and turning away from the Canadian, but Shane could see right through his bravado in a way no one else could.
“Fine, fine, but there better be big reward for me.”
“Big reward. And what do you have in mind?”
“May I remind you that I’m not actually asleep back here,” Scott mumbled with his eyes still closed. “So can we refrain from finishing that sentence until after I’ve left?”
Shane’s cheeks took on a bright shade of scarlet while Ilya merely made a face. Although he would never admit it, Shane knew that Ilya was slightly embarrassed.
“Yes, Hunter,” Ilya managed to purr, further making Shane want to crawl into a hole and die. Thankfully their home was less than five minutes away, and the rest of the drive was uneventful. Ilya grasped Shane’s hand once they neared their home, warmth flooding through Shane in a way that he feared he would never know how to verbalize.
When they finally pulled into their parking spot, Shane was practically vibrating with nervous energy. He had never invited any other players, besides maybe Hayden on accident, to his and Ilya’s spot. This was Scott and he wasn’t about to judge, and yet Shane couldn’t stop the seed of doubt stirring in his mind that this was actually a horrible idea and he shouldn’t be doing this. This was completely different from when he was taken to Scott’s home. He was so much younger and he wasn’t out and was scared and….
“Shane!”
Shane hadn’t even realized he practically jumped out of the car and was pacing right in front of the headlights that danced across the snow littered ground. He managed to place the car into park, but he hadn’t shut it off nor closed the driver’s door. He hadn’t even realized he was on the cusp of panic until he was left pacing back and forth, hands shaking at his sides.
Warm hands came to grasp his own, holding them steady at his side. Shane fought for a brief moment to free them until his eyes caught sight of Ilya standing in front of him, his own blue eyes dark with worry. Swallowing hard, Shane fought the impulse to pull his hands free and run as far from his partner as he could.
“Shane, breathe. You do not need panic.”
“Fuck,” Shane ground out, the tightness in his chest palpable. Mind racing, he longed to just drop down and become one with the cold ground. It’s what he would do if he was actually indoors but sitting on the snowy ground seemed like it would be the opposite of productive.
To Shane’s surprise Ilya hauled him forward until he wrapped him in a massive hug, practically crushing him. Shane lived for that strength, that heaviness against him to regulate a nervous system that didn’t always regulate itself. He wrapped his own arms around Ilya’s shoulders, clutching him for dear life. His head crashed into his chest where he fought to hear that steady heartbeat through his sweatshirt.
Ilya murmured a few reassurances in Russian before reverting back to English just as quickly. “Breathe,” he commanded, breath warm against the side of Shane’s chilled face. “It is only you, me, and old man. We do not judge. We only help.”
Shane stifled a groan. “Hunter.”
“Is in backseat maybe dead….maybe asleep.” Ilya sounded like he couldn’t have cared less which option it turned out to be. “Better chance of Cup if he is.”
“Ilya,” Shane grumbled.
Ilya drew back just enough so that he could stare down at the man in his arms. “Everything is okay. We are doing right thing, yes? That is what matters. Nothing else.”
“Nothing else,” Shane repeated with his eyes closed.
Ilya kissed his brow, then each cheek, before finishing with the softness of kisses to Shane’s lips. “Yes, nothing else. Do you believe me, Lyubov’ moya?”
Shane’s head dipped in the most indistinguishable of nods, one that only Ilya could see. The Russian’s hand brushed over Shane’s thick, black hair to plant a kiss on the top. The two of them pulled apart enough for Shane to waltz back to the car to turn off the engine and close the door behind him while Ilya went for the bags and to check on Scott.
Although he wasn’t asleep, Scott stared at his phone even after Ilya knocked several times on the window. He wedged open the door when Scott still didn’t move, a rush of cold air invading the once warm vehicle. That caused Scott’s head to turn, a look of bewilderment etched across his face until realization seemed to dawn on him.
“Yes, is me. Do you need cane to walk inside?”
“Asshole.” Scott unbuckled himself and twisted off the seat, pushing past Ilya on his way to the front of the vehicle. There he found Shane looking a little worse for wear as he shifted awkwardly from foot to another. The moment he realized Scott was staring at him, he jumped into action. “You okay? Don’t tell me you caught this shit too?”
Shane took a minute to process what Scott actually asked before he gave his head a vigorous shake. “Oh no. I was—just….um.”
“Waiting for me like gentleman!” Ilya bounded over to Shane’s side, and despite all the duffles strewn over his back, threw an arm around Shane’s shoulders. Shane stumbled a bit at the force, Ilya unable to stop himself from kissing the side of Shane’s mouth. “Unlike some ancient hockey player who just leaves me.”
“I’m not….” Scott trailed off. No way was he touching that. If he knew one thing about Ilya Rozanov, it was that he always had the final word. Each chirp would always be met with a rebuttal on and off the ice. He may have Shane with him right now to mellow him out, but he would always be that same man that Scott could seldom stand.
Shane pushed Ilya halfheartedly, but the Russian held on tight. “Ignore him. Let’s all get inside before we freeze.”
“I am Russian. We do not do this.” Ilya cast a playful glance over his shoulder to Scott, who followed them while rubbing at his nose with the back of his wrist. “But weak Americans might.”
Normally that would definitely be something Scott would respond back to. However, he was having his own problems, presently the chill that caused his nose to run, toying with that tiny itch in his sinuses that intensified the more he attempted to force it back. Suddenly resigned to his predicament, Scott clamped his forefinger and thumb around his nose as he sucked in an involuntary inhale.
“Hih’htxght! Hih’hgxght! Hih’hxxght!”
Scott’s sinuses burned in the aftermath as he dropped his hand from his nose, sniffling like mad. The itch was still very much apparent, though it didn’t burn with the same all consuming need. It would demand attention soon, when holding back would no longer be a sufficient option. Right now Scott believed he could fight it no matter how frustrating it became. With one more snuffle that left his entire face feeling achingly heavy, he rushed to keep up with the two Centaurs players in front of him.
They didn’t hear his struggle from the way that Ilya was still infatuated with Shane, not allowing Shane to even try to take any of their duffles. Showing off may be an understatement as Ilya began to jump around Shane before leaping right out of reach before Shane could lunge to catch him. This level of playfulness caused Scott’s heart to stir at the thought of him still doing the same with Kip. If only he was there.
The three of them made their way into the front door, Shane easing it open after he unlocked it. Immediately the sound of pawsteps greeted their ears as a dog rushed forward, crying softly in glee. Ilya dropped the bags and bent down to pet her. Shane kneeled to do the same while Ilya whistled for her to follow so he could let her outside. That left Shane and Scott, who was turned enough away to cough into his lifted shoulder.
“I can show you to the guest room or the bathroom. You can take a shower or are you hungry? I think we have something.” Shane’s brow knit together as he tried to recall what they actually had in their fridge. There had to be something edible if Scott wanted something.
Scott shook his head, a small smile grazing his lips. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just turn in for the night. Although I wouldn’t say no to some NyQuil if you have any. I think I’d prefer to sleep this off.”
Shane brightened at the idea of being given something useful to do. He spend off towards the kitchen while Scott turned to pick up his duffle. However, the very act of bending down proved too much for his clogged senses, a wave of dizziness washing over him. He settled for twisting to fall back on his hip, head tipped back as everything started to spin. His eyes squeezed shut out of desperation as he would not be caught dead fainting on Rozanov’s floor.
“Scott!”
The panic in Shane’s voice did nothing to reassure Scott of his own predicament. Slowly, his eyes peeled open to see the blurry form of the Canadian in front of him, eyes dark pools filled with concern. A blister pack of NyQuil was clutched in one hand and a glass of water in the other. That was cast aside in favor of hovering in front of Scott on his knees, uncertainty freezing him to the spot.
“Ilya,” Shane shouted down the hallway in the direction Ilya went with Anya.
Scott lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose where the pressure was the worst. It certainly wasn’t helping with the dizziness. Hell, it could be the cause of it for all he knew. Part of him feared that it may even be the cause of it. He could not afford to have a sinus infection right now, which is what this whole thing was starting to feel like.
“Shane, it’s fine,” Scott interrupted as he could practically feel the tension coiling in the younger man’s body. “Just—give me a minute.”
Too late. Ilya’s footsteps drew near as he dropped down beside Shane, hand rested on the smaller man’s shoulder to keep him from swaying. “What happened? Did fossil fall?”
Scott’s face scrunched at the very insinuation. “I didn’t fall. I’m just taking a minute. Don’t everyone lose their minds all at once.” The more Scott spoke, the more he struggled to. Instead of up, he forced his head down into his bent knees, the same way he would do if he got hit on the ice.
“Water,” Ilya announced, grasping the glass and pressing it close to Scott’s chest. “Drink.”
Scott’s fingers enclosed around the cool surface as he lifted the water to his lips. He took down a few gulps, followed by the NyQuil that Shane mercifully popped out of the blister pack. They were thick, round, and nearly impossible for him to swallow no matter how much water he drank. When he finally managed to swallow them down, he could just imagine the jokes that Ilya could make on his behalf.
To Scott’s surprise, Ilya didn’t.
“Is helping,” Ilya questioned when Scott’s breathing started to slow.
Not trusting himself to move, Scott replied verbally. “Yeah, M’fine,” he answered gruffly as a croaking cough burst free, barely contained into a fist when he realized what was happening.
Ilya turned his attention back to Shane. “Bed first. Then we see what else we have. Good?” Scott was just about to answer when it was clear that Ilya wasn’t looking at him, but at Shane for an answer. “Shane? Yes, good?”
“Yeah, yeah, good.” Shane blinked his eyes deliberately to clear his head. He was quick to grab the water and blister pack and rise to his feet. He headed for the guest bedroom, mind on autopilot, leaving Ilya alone with a still slightly woozy Scott.
Scott raised an eyebrow at Ilya, face dawn with black bags all the more visible under his eyes. “He alright? I didn’t mean to freak him out.”
“No, no, not you for once.” Ilya’s hand flicked from where it was rested over his knee. “Tough day. Already stressed. He wants to help but mind moves too fast.”
Ilya’s explanation didn’t quite clear everything up for Scott. However, it was enough for him to understand and not need to push further. He’d been a somewhat silent observer to Shane’s tendencies since the All-Star Game and wasn’t about to question things further. Luckily for him, his sinuses offered him a quick out.
“Hhuh’txcght! Huh’Tcxght!” Scott sat with his head bowed forward, a burst of pain searing through his skull. He was barely able to compose himself when the feeling was upon him once more. “Huh’tcxght!” Scott squinted against the sensation, nose helplessly plugged as he knuckled at the side to abate the worst of the growing tickle.
At first Scott wasn’t sure that Ilya noticed, the Russian’s attention clearly still on the man in the other room. That proved false immediately as he shot him a sideways glance. “You should not do this. Bad for….” Ilya trailed off and lifted a hand to motion to his own sinuses, lost on the English word.
A genuine laugh broke free from Scott, palm resting over his left eye and pressing hard. “You sound like Kip.”
“Good to know one of you is smart,” Ilya flashed.
“Ode of the reasons I barried hib.” Scott’s face twisted into a frustrated grimace at how his voice betrayed him. He shouldn’t be surprised with all the abuse he’d put his sinuses through. Still, he’d be damned if he made himself a spectacle between these too. Scott wouldn’t go so far as to claim himself embarrassed, though self-conscious may be a better distinction.
Ilya then heaved himself to his own feet, a hand hovering in front of Scott’s face. The American thought about refusing before deciding better of it, clasping his hand around Ilya’s wrist with Ilya doing the same to help haul him to his feet.
Scott struggled to his balance briefly, the heel of Ilya’s hand pressed over his chest. A low cough heaved from his lungs, Scott’s head swiveled to the side even as he coughed with lips pressed tightly shut.
“Good,” Ilya questioned, scooping down to take Scott’s duffle before he could even attempt to do it himself.
Scott nodded slowly. Exhaustion was really starting to seep into every joint, every overworked muscle. He could only imagine the bruises that were already starting to blossom against his pale skin. Deep blues mixed with obnoxious purples before they finally faded to an awful yellow. The ones from the previous game weren’t even all the way faded yet before these ones would join them. These new ones felt all the more prominent thanks to the soreness from whatever infection his body was fighting. Sleep sounded like the absolute best idea for any of it.
As though reading his mind, Ilya started to lead him down the hallway, the same way Shane disappeared to. Anya padded beside them, Ilya halting by the guest room to kneel down to run his fingers through her soft fur. Shane was still inside, a wastebasket set by the bed as well as two boxes of tissues and some vapor rub. The blister pack of pills rested on the side of the tissue box, the glass of water also refilled on a coaster on the corner. The overhead light was off so that only the nightstand lamp illuminated the room. A round object on the dresser filled the room with steam, and although Scott couldn’t smell a damn thing, he was sure he detected a hint of eucalyptus in the air.
“Woab,” Scott found himself saying. “This all for be?”
“You are guest, no? This is guest room,” Ilya reminded him. He left Scott’s side in favor of Shane, taking the man’s hand and tugging him away from turning down the covers. “Come, Lybov moya. He does not need us to fuss.”
Looking slightly flustered, Shane allowed Ilya to lead him over to the door. “There’s some soup in the fridge if you want it, or granola bars, or—“
“Or anything you find in pantry,” Ilya interrupted. He smothered a kiss on Shane’s cheek, the smaller man practically giggling in his grasp. “If you are hungry later.”
Truthfully, Scott couldn’t imagine eating anything right now. Usually after a game he was always ravenously hungry, adept to devour multiple meals in one sitting. Kip always claimed that he never knew someone could even eat that much while often allowing Scott to finish whatever was left on his own plate. Nothing was safe when he was trying to replenish the energy he lost on the ice. The idea of food at the moment caused his stomach to flop dangerous as if daring him to even try to eat something that wouldn’t immediately make a reappearance.
“Thangs,” Scott told them, hands shoved in his pockets. His nose was starting to run again and he could feel it cooling his mustache. He longed to rip open a box of tissues to give into this cold fully, but not while he had a very attentive audience.
“We’re just next door if you need anything.” Shane’s voice was quiet, genuine. Although completely out of his element no matter what he tried to prove otherwise, Shane was concerned in an endearing way. How had Scott ever tried to fight him over a weak chirp?
Scott forced a smile, knowing how Shane responded to more exaggerated and overt facial expressions. “Thags, both of you. I apologize id advance if by snorig keebs you ub.”
“Don’t worry. Ilya sounds way worse.”
Ilya dropped Scott’s duffle rather unceremoniously, jabbing his fingers into either side of Shane’s ribs. “Do not. You kick!”
“And you snore, so I think we’re even!”
The two of them made their way out of the room and closed the door behind them. The moment that they were gone, Scott felt his entire body give into just how terrible he felt from the muscle aches, to the sinuses pressure, to the soreness in his throat. Playing through various injuries or illness wasn’t new to him, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t become all the more challenging the older he got.
Scott quickly changed into a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt instead of his hoodie. It was relatively warm and once he bundled himself under the covers, he didn’t want to risk sweating and having it cool on his skin. He was thankful he managed a shower after the game so he didn’t have to worry about it now. The idea of even standing long enough to clean himself was borderline painful as he collapsed onto the bed, right calf spasming from a cramp he hadn’t been able to work out after the same.
This was normally when Kip would lay beside him in, kiss every bruise and work out all the tightness in his tight shoulders. Scott would become putty in his hands, soft moans leaving his lips while his fingers tangled into the sheet. If he was feeling up for more, Kip would take him there too, worshiping his body when he held a hand on Scott’s stomach to keep him from moving and risking further discomfort. The fact that Kip was hundreds of miles away, sleeping in their bed without him, created a hollowness that formed inside his chest, threatening to consume him whole. He was not going to get emotional over that right now when he’d see him soon. He just needed to get through this night.