Chapter Text
Somewhere Entirely Different...
Shane: I have a weird question.
Wyatt: Ok.
Shane: How do you know if someone’s from an alternate universe?
Wyatt: Ok.
Shane: I’m serious.
Wyatt: Is this like… a real-life question, a Reddit question, or like you’ve started watching a TV show or something?
Shane: It’s not a real-life question. That would be weird.
Wyatt: Have you gotten lost on Reddit?
Shane: Sure. Listen, I’m in a time crunch.
Wyatt: Ok. If they, like, know stuff they shouldn’t. That’s a tipoff. Or they’re like, confused about the world. If they’re just being weird. Which Subreddit are you on?
Shane: No comment.
Wyatt: Oh, so you’re in the middle of an embarrassing internet fight. I love this for you.
Shane: How do you get them back to where they belong?
Wyatt: Depends.
Shane: Just tell me.
Wyatt: Sometimes it’s a wish, or like a magical object.
Shane: Can that object be a power washer?
Wyatt: Probably not.
Shane: Anything else?
Wyatt: Uh… magical people. Usually the magical people are trying to teach that person a lesson. Like Freaky Friday where they switch bodies. Not quite the same thing, but kinda is?
Shane: Ok. So like what if they don’t quite remember the encounter? Like something is making him not remember?
Wyatt: Well, that kind of makes it harder to reverse, doesn’t it? If this is a story or something, you are writing yourself into a corner.
Shane: I just need to know how to undo it.
Wyatt: I don’t know. The character retraces their steps? Hypnotism to remember what they’re forgetting? A machine of some kind to broach universes? It can be anything that makes sense, really.
Shane: None of this makes sense.
Wyatt: What should I explain further?
Shane: I mean… the situation. Universe hopping or swapping, not remembering how you got there, and not knowing how to get home.
Wyatt: If you don’t get it, why are you engaging with it?
Shane: Because my life has been out of control for the last 24 hours.
Wyatt: Everything ok?
Shane: No.
Wyatt: Anything I can help with?
Shane: This has been a big help. If you think of any way to fix this “plot hole,” let me know immediately.
Wyatt: Does this have anything to do with Ilya Rozanov being at your house and Scott Hunter coming out?
Shane: Yes. Fucking Harris.
Wyatt: Don't blame him. He told Troy. He tells Troy EVERYTHING. They should just get married. Anyways, Troy told me. Is Rozanov from another universe? Is Hunter?
Shane: I’m mentally ill but I’m not crazy.
Wyatt: Just kidding. You’ve been doing really good, man.
Shane: I’m glad someone notices.
Wyatt: If you need more help with your plot hole, text or call?
Shane: Definitely.
Wyatt: And let me know how it comes out.
Shane: If it does, I’ll even tell you the Subreddit.
Wyatt: Ok. Good luck.
***
Somewhere Else...
They got into the house. Shane put his keys away, took off his shoes, went into the kitchen, got them both a glass of water and sat down at the kitchen table.
Ilya followed him around like a puppy, the real dog on his own heels. Instead of sitting down, he leaned against the counter. He may need to pace. Mostly because he was fucking nervous.
Shane leaned forward, hovering over his untouched glass. “Ok. What is going on?”
Ilya examined the palms of his hands. “Ok. Um… Your--our teammate. Wyatt Hayes?”
Shane's brows knit together. “You’re having an affair with Wyatt?”
Ilya's face contorted in distress. “I said it was not an affair.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Shane sat back in his chair. “Ok. I’ll shut up.”
Ilya let out a breath that almost shuddered with nervous energy. “Ok. So Hayes is into those science fiction things. Makes video reviews and stuff.”
“Yeah.”
Ilya hesitated. But it was now or never. He needed to just dive in and not think too much about his approach. Or he'd never get it done. “What if some of it is real?”
Shane shifted in his chair uneasily. “You’re not filling me with confidence that we don’t need more help than just your therapist and psych.”
Ilya ran his hands through his hair repeatedly. “When I woke up yesterday, everything was different than the day before. And yes. It sounds insane.” Maybe he did need help-help.
Swallowing, Shane visibly thought about how to respond. “Ok. We’ll put a pin in getting help. Just tell me what’s different.”
“I said it was a dream. But that is how everything was. I called it off. I called it off, and everything went…” he made an explosion gesture and sound.
“Ilya, that’s not—” Shane started in frustration but stopped himself. He had promised to hear Ilya out. “Ok. The dream felt—was real.”
Shane was humoring him. He knew it. But he’d started this. He’d decided to come clean. He knew he couldn’t continue pretending because he wasn’t doing a good job at pretending. “I fucked up. I fucked up so badly.” His voice strained at the end, and he wondered if he was going to cry again. He had shed more tears in the last two days than in the last five years. He realized that that was fucked up too.
Ilya began again. “I want this.” He gestured to everything around him. “But it isn’t mine.”
Again, Shane was silent. SO silent. For so long.
It went on and on, and Ilya felt compelled to fill the silence. “I don’t deserve this.”
“Ilya, we went through hell to get here. You built this. You do.”
“But it wasn’t me. I was a chickenshit. Fucking Hunter won the cup and that very night I called and said I couldn’t do it. I left. I had excuses. I didn’t even unblock you and say I was sorry when you got outed.”
Shane’s face did something. Some kind of pained contortion. Then it went flat again. “But that’s not what happened. The night Scott won the cup. He kissed Kip, we both saw it, and you called and said you were coming to the cottage.
Ilya felt his face also doing a million things at once as he ran through a zillion emotions. “Fucking Scott Hunter,” he mumbled.
“I really, REALLY think…” Shane trailed off, again nearly forgetting he’d said he would let Ilya talk this out. “I don’t know what to do here,” he admitted.
“If I am here, where is your Ilya?”
“RIGHT HERE,” Shane said with force. “There is no other Ilya.”
“There was a lady. At the club. I don’t remember what she said, but it was weird. Then I was worried. Then I went home. In Boston. And I woke up here. With all the things I do not deserve.”
Shane licked his lips, deciding something. “I think we should go to the hospital.”
“I can’t do that,” Ilya said quietly.
Then he did what he did best. He ran away.
***
Somewhere Entirely Different...
Shane set down his phone on the kitchen table where he and Ilya were sitting. Ilya was watching him as he typed, but hadn’t even tried to look at his conversations once. He just stared at him. Shane wondered what he was thinking about.
“Ok. First, Scott says fuck you very much for your message of support. He still hates you a little. I got a message from your wife. She’ll be landing shortly,” Shane said, licking his lips. “And Wyatt says we have to fix the plot hole where you don’t remember what the woman told you.”
Ilya looked as tired as Shane felt, even though he’d definitely had more sleep. “Her name is Svetlana.”
“I know,” Shane said, annoyed. “She should be here in an hour, maybe.”
“Well, what are we going to tell her?”
Shane hesitated. “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
“Maybe we should have told Wyatt everything.”
The laugh that came out of Shane was almost hysterical. “And get us BOTH committed? I can’t believe I’m in this with you now.”
Ilya smiled at him with soft eyes. He remembered that look, and it did things to him. Things he wasn’t ready to think about. He needed to solve this problem, they were on a time crunch, and then he could worry about if HIS Ilya ever even thought about him anymore.
As long as no one found out they were probably both bonkers. “Ok. So where did you meet this lady? Maybe we should go back there.”
Deep in concentration, Ilya didn’t say anything for a bit. “The place doesn’t open till four. I remember it. Maybe I should go alone?”
Shane shook his head. “Hell no.”
“What if she won’t talk to me with you there?”
A kind of anguish played out on Shane’s face. “Look, I don’t know if I forgive you. Or can forgive you. But you’re not doing this alone. Or where I can’t see you.” The idea of letting Ilya out of his sight was agonizing for some reason.
“Ok,” Ilya said quietly.
That was it? Shane felt like it was going to be a harder sell. “Ok,” he repeated. “Now what do we do about Svetlana? That place doesn’t open until four, and she’s going to be here in an hour. Maybe not even.”
“Get the hell out of here and don’t answer her texts?” Ilya asked. “There has to be someplace we can hang out. What is your favorite place in town?”
Shane sighed. “I don’t get out much.”
“If you got out much. Where would your favorite place be?”
Smirking, Shane had an idea. “How do you feel about a pool hall?”
“My Shane does NOT play pool,” Ilya said, but he was impressed.
Shane shrugged. “Did he ever tell you about getting caught as a teenager being a pool shark?”
***
Scott had shut off his phone for a few hours. In part because it was blowing up. In part because he knew it would be blowing up beyond anything he could logistically or emotionally handle. Partially because he and Kip had some fucking to make up for and were going to be indisposed for a while.
When he turned it back on, he skimmed his texts for anything important. His agent wanted to kill him. His coach questioned his sanity. His team was perplexed, insulted and disgusted. In that order.
There’d been a message from Hollander, thanking him. And a message from Rozanov that seemed a little saner than yesterday’s phone call. Mostly because it was on par with his other bullshit. “Better late than never. He is too good for you.”
He answered a few requests for quotes and interviews while Kip made them something to eat. He blocked a whole bunch of people. Including a few teammates. He purposely did not open the message from the commissioner. That one would just ruin his day.
He was out. He was fucking out. He’d done it. Jesus.
For some reason, he was having a belated panic attack about it, too. He sat at the island in the kitchen, staring at Kip’s naked back, zoned out, hard.
Kip turned and waved a spatula in his face. “You ok?”
“I did the thing.”
“You did the thing.”
“I feel better and worse at the same time.”
Kip nodded. “Understandable.”
“I mean, PDA. In actual public. Yay!” The last was said with wilted enthusiasm. “Fucking up the last few years of my career? Boo.”
Removing the last of the food from the stove, Kip turned off the burner and came around the island, putting an arm around Scott. “Whatever happens… it’s fine.”
“Whatever happens... it happens. I’m still glad I did it before I could stop myself, though.”
Kip kissed Scott’s equally bare shoulder. “Yeah. You did a great job. You were brave. You were bold. You were a little wordy in your press release. It was perfect.” He went back around the island and grabbed their plates. "Eat something."
Scott took the plate, thinking back to the weird conversations that had precipitated all of this. He stabbed his food with a sort of hesitance. "Rozanov was right about a lot of stuff. But the thing he was most right about: it was better late than never."
TO BE CONTINUED...