Chapter Text
In sickness and in health. Those words on the vows seemed so foreign. Like a fantasy world where one of them would be sick.
On a more practical and less dramatic concept, Shane thought of them as light sickness: an injury on the ice, a cold. Those day to day things that they know pretty well.
He didn’t expect The Plague. And not even in his wildest nightmares, he expect that it would get them both. At the same time.
Ilya, on the other hand, was just really thankful for Shane’s real estate kink. Two complete bathrooms don’t look like “too much” at this moment…
A call from Hayden at midnight, just two days after their dinner together sounded weird, but not too out of ordinary.
“Hey, Hays. What’s up?” Shane cheerful expression melts away in seconds. He glances over at Ilya, brow furrowed.
Ilya sips his drink and makes him a quizzical look.
Shane just says a quick “ok, thanks for the heads up” and ends the call.
“Pike is having the tenth kid?”
“Ilya… Are you feeling ok?”
“Ahn? Yeah…”
“Are you sure?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re drinking ginger ale and didn’t chirp Hayden…”
“I’m fine.” He shrugs.
“Love… Hayden called because everyone in his house has a stomach flu… We were there on the weekend…”
“So?”
“So, it’s contagious… We probably get it. Specially you, since you love to roll around with kids and share food…”
“Ok. If we start sneezing, I’ll kill Pike next time…”
“Babe… Stomach flu is not like that…”
“It’s flu…”
“No, love. It’s stomach, like in vomiting, diarrhoea…”
Ilya visibly pales at that. None of them loves to puke. Shane thought that he had a horrible phobia on that matter. But since they are together-together he found out that Ilya had it even worse. He doesn’t know if it is the feeling per se or the memories that it brings back, but the Russian becomes a crying mess, begging and pleading for help as soon as the heaving starts.
“Ilya, don’t worry, ok? Probably it won’t be nothing. Hayden is just warning us, yes? Come here.”
He pulls him to his chest and pretends not to feel the sense of doom building up.
The sense of doom was right.
Shane wakes up at 2a.m. to a sniffling husband.
“Sweetheart?” He mumbles half asleep, already pulling Ilya to him. His body always reacts before his mind. He’s more than familiar with Ilya’s nightmares, night terrors and insomnias, so he starts comforting him even before fully registering the problem. “What’s wrong?”
He gets a string of babbled Russian. “Ilya, can you speak slowly, please?”
“Not want…”
“You don’t want to speak? That’s ok. We can just snuggle for a bit” Shane turns the light on and realization hits him awake. “Oh baby…”
Ilya is pale. Not normal pale, green pale. Every inch of his skin is sweat-covered, his hair plastered to his forehead. His trembling is not nightmare related.
Now that he’s awake, he can feel the temperature rising from him and the way he’s clutching his stomach.
“Oh love… Ok, let’s just rest and breathe, ok? You’ll be fine…”
“I’m dying…”
“No, you’re not, I won’t let you die. Just breathe. In through the nose, out from mouth. Nice and gentle.”
Ilya tries, he really, really tries. But as the first heave curses through his body, he tenses all the way and starts sobbing.
“Sweetie, come on, calm down, that won’t help.”
No amount of gentle coercion calms him enough. Not when he knows that he’ll throw up, no matter how much he tries not to.
He sits up suddenly, desperately pushing and pulling Shane (don’t ask how he does it) before the dinner makes a reappearance. All over him and the comforter.
“Oh love, that’s ok. Let it all out, you are ok.” Shane rubs his back and holds his forehead, pushing his hair out of the way, grimacing.
Ilya dry heaves before falling back on the bed. “Shane…”
“I know, love, I know. That’s awful. Let me take this and your shirt and I’ll come back to help you, ok? There you go…” Shane slips his shirt of, using a clean part to wipe his mouth and dropping a kiss on his cheek. “Shhh, just rest there.”
He takes the soiled bedding and bundles everything. He doesn’t get out of the door before Ilya bolts to the bathroom, door slamming behind him.
Yes, this will be incredible fun…
By morning they are both exhausted. Ilya is practically living on the bathroom floor, between the toilet and the trash can.
Shane is living there too, offering water and electrolytes and back rubs and comfort. Sometime before the sun rise, he coaxes his husband to a quick shower, to try and make him a bit more comfy, but it didn’t last long. He doesn’t want to think about the laundry that is piling up, but he knows that he has to start the machines soon or none of them will have clean shirts or underwear (yes, Ilya is using his…)
At lunch time, Shane starts feeling a bit off, but he thinks it’s the exhaustion talking. Until he has to mad dash to the hall bathroom, barely in time before exploding from the back end.
Shit (pun not intended)! This is bad. He can’t be down for the count while Ilya is so sick. He won’t let anyone near him besides Shane… Not like this…
He gets himself together and shuffles to their room. Ilya managed a few hours without emptying himself, so he coaxed him to bed, trash can besides him.
“Baby, are you sleeping?”
“No. I’m alone…”
“Sorry…” He exhales. “I have bad news…”
“What now?”
“I have it too, I guess…”
Ilya sits up a little too fast, a greenish tint colouring his face. “What?”
“The flu… I have it… It’s starting… Not too bad, yet…”
“Puking?”
“The other side…”
“Oh… Sorry…”
“Sorry for what?” Shane spoons him and kisses his head. “Not your fault.”
“I got it first… You’re here…”
“Yes, and I’ll stay. We’ll manage, ok?”
“Call your mom…?”
“No.”
“No?”
“You don’t want her here. That’s ok, we’ll manage… Try to sleep.”
They can manage this, right?
Nope, they can't. Two hours later, Shane is sitting in the toilet, a bucket in front of him, barely able to sit upright.
He can hear Ilya softly crying outside the door. He desperately wants to go taker care of him, but his body is betraying him in ways that he didn’t know that were possible.
“Ilya? Baby?”
“Malysh?”
“Take a deep breath for me, please? Can you? I’ll be out in a second…”
“Da, yes…” He hears him struggling with his breathing.
“Need to come here?”
“No… Not yet…”
“Ok, ok, that’s good. Give me a second.” He takes a few deep breaths himself. He cleans himself as best as he can, empties the bucket and brushes his teeth before coming out. He takes the bucket with him.
Ilya is curled up on the floor right outside the bathroom.
“Oh love, come on, let’s get in bed…”
He shakes his head. “Sorry…”
“Ilya, this is not your fault. It happens. Let’s get some rest…”
“Can’t…”
“Why? Do you feel nauseous again? Want more medicine?” He called his mother sometime in the afternoon and she send light soup, bananas, bread, anti-diarrhoea and anti-nausea medicine and electrolytes. Thank god for her!
“I puked…” He looks so scared…
“That’s ok, I’ll clean the bucket…”
“Didn’t make it…”
“Oh love…” Shane breaths, realization hitting him. “I’ll take care of it…”
“Sorry…”
“It’s fine, love. Come on.”
He changes the bed and they can finally rest.
Shane just prays that one of them gets better REALLY soon…
Ilya stops vomiting around midafternoon of the third day.
That’s good because that’s when Shane gets worst.
Now is his time living on the bathroom floor. Ilya doesn’t even flinch. He’s there holding him, cleaning him, getting water.
When Shane tries to make him go away and rest, he just shakes his head. “You were here too.” Shane doesn’t complain about it again.
They collapse in bed at 20p.m. because they are too exhausted to care about time.
A movie plays on the background, the bathroom light is on, buckets besides both of them. The washer and dryer run downstairs and they can feel the faint smell of bleach that Ilya used on the bathroom.
“How are you feeling, moy lyubeemiy?”
“Zombie-ish… You?”
“Tired… But I think I’m out of trees…”
“Out of the woods, love.” Shane smiles. “Good… You worried me for a second…”
“Sorry…” He kisses his head and shifts in bed. “Ass is killing me…”
Shane chuckles and winces. His muscles are all aching. “Poor you…”
“What? No tips for ass pain?” He teases.
“No, serves you right!”
“Oh, chirping back? Feeling better, hum?”
“A bit, yeah.”
They cuddle together and try to sleep for a few hours, before the next round.
It takes almost a week for them to feel 100% ok.
They lost a few pounds and they are germophobic in the end of it.
The house is scrubbed in bleach top to bottom. Their clothes washed at the highest temperature possible. Shane even steam cleans their mattress. Ilya wipes everything with disinfectant wipes.
Yes, they are weaker, more paranoid and not intending to visit the Pikes any time soon.
But they are together. In sickness and in health.
Even if they hope not to be sick together ever again!