Chapter Text
Shane was coming back from checking on a patient when he literally ran into Dr. Rozanov.
The other man’s head was down, walking hurriedly in the other direction when they collided.
“Woah, hey,” Shane exclaimed, grabbing onto Ilya’s biceps to steady him and get a good look at his face. Ilya’s eyes were red-rimmed and his hair was a curly mess atop his head, sticking up at all angles. He looked tired, and stressed. Not a unique look for an E.R. doctor, but Ilya usually carried the stress of the job better than anyone else down here.
“Jesus, you look like shit.” Shane said, the words lacking their usual teasing lilt and bordering on genuine concern.
Ilya huffed and averted his eyes. “Not now, Hollander.” He said, taking a couple steps away from Shane before hurrying off.
He watched the other doctor disappear into the bustle of the emergency department, wondering what could have caused him to act like that.
Shane leaned his arms against the desk of the nurses station, trying to look friendly instead of panicked.
“Hey, Harris.”
Harris Drover looked up from the computer he was tapping away at and smiled amicably. “Dr. Hollander, what brings you down here?”
Shane smiled genuinely. Harris had been working as a nurse in the E.D. for as long as Shane had been a surgical resident, so they weren't particularly familiar, but he was always friendly and happy to lend a hand. It helped that he and Ilya were thick as thieves, their friendship sparked from Harris’ endless supply of puppy photos on his phone and Ilya’s charming investment in other people’s dogs.
Shane fiddled with his stethoscope. “I was uh, just wondering how it’s going down here.”
Harris cocked his head to the side, friendly smile slipping into something more confused. “Slow day for surgery?”
“Nah, you know me, I'm always staying busy. I was just wondering if there were any interesting cases today, or like, um, how are your doctors?” Shane fumbled. He didn’t know how to go about this and Harris’ friendly brown eyes were throwing him off.
“You’re asking about Ilya?”
Harris was smart, and he and Ilya were undeniably close. It wouldn't take a lot of snooping for someone to realize that Shane and Ilya were more than coworkers. He just hoped Harris thought he was a concerned friend asking about his fellow doctor.
Shane all but reached over the desk to shush him. He glanced around, making sure no one was paying them any attention before he said, “Yeah, I talked to him earlier. He seemed um, not his usual self.”
Harris’ eyes softened, and he scooted closer in his rolly chair before speaking to Shane in a hushed voice.
“He was fine this morning, but then, um, we had a thirty-nine year old woman come in, overdosed on prescription pain killers. Ilya was in charge, so he broke the news to the husband and teenage son when she, uh. Passed.”
“Shit.” Shane cursed.
“I know. Telling the family is the worst part of the job but this one seemed especially rough for him.”
Shane looked around the E.D., seeing no sign of a familiar mop of dirty blond curls bouncing from room to room.“Is he with a patient now?”
Harris shook his head, “He went on break around five minutes ago…” He paused, looking at Shane, “Would you like me to page him?”
“No, that’s fine, thank you Harris.” Shane made a mental note to grab something for the nurse the next time he stopped by the hospital Starbucks.
“No worries, always a pleasure Dr. Hollander.”
Shane had a hunch about where Ilya might be from the time the two of them spent as interns in the E.R.. Away from the bustle of the exam rooms and patients coming in and out, down a long hallway that contained only a seldom-used bathroom and poorly-stocked vending machine, there was a supply closet with a cot. When shifts down here felt especially long, it wasn’t uncommon for one of their E.R. doctors to catch a couple minutes of shut eye in here before their pager inevitably woke them up and called them back to work.
During Shane’s time interning down here, he and Ilya had also used this closet for things other than sleeping. Not that anyone knew about that.
Shane cracked the door open, peeking into the dark room to find a familiar scrub-clad back, curled up and turned away from the door.
Shane shut the door behind him and approached the cot. “Rozanov?”
Ilya shifted, cot groaning beneath him. When he caught sight of Shane he sat up, propping his legs on the tiled floor. “Hey.”
Shane sat down next to him and cringed when the frame complained loudly. These cheap hospital beds were certainly not built to occupy two fully grown men.
“You okay? Harris told me you had a rough case today.”
Ilya smiled sadly. “Have you been gossiping, Hollander?”
The closet was dark, with only a small window on the corner reflecting the orange late-afternoon light. Ilya was back-lit and beautiful and sad, brow furrowed and lips downturned in an expression Shane rarely had rarely seen on his handsome face.
“You know me- surgical resident and resident gossip.”
“That was terrible joke, Hollander, you are making me feel worse.”
Shane pressed closer on the bed so they were touching from shoulder to thigh. He tentatively reached for the hand in Ilya’s lap and grasped it in both of his, thumb coming around to stroke at his knuckles. Ilya’s hands were warm but dry- a side effect of having to sanitize them so often, Shane was deeply familiar with them but he didn’t think he had ever held Ilya’s hand just to hold it, which was kind of funny given all the other things they’ve done.
Shane closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths, focusing on the motion of his thumb caressing Ilya’s knuckles and the ever-present smell of anti-septic. A couple years ago, Shane lost a patient. A seven year-old car crash victim who had been impaled in the abdomen by a large piece of shrapnel. Shane was in surgery with him for hours before all the blood loss caught up to him and he died on the table. It was the youngest patient Shane had ever lost and he was a wreck, scared to even hold a scalpel for days after until his attending- Dr. Theriault made him talk to the hospital social worker. She told him it was important to take time for himself, even if it was a couple minutes and a few deep, conscious breaths. The mother’s screams when she found out her child was gone still haunted Shane, but now he could breathe about it.
So they sat together while Ilya silently grieved a woman he didn’t really know but had tried to save, Ilya being sad made Shane sad, always tethered to the other man in some way or another.
“Was just a bad day.” Ilya whispered, voice breaking towards the end.
Shane finally broke himself and reached for him. He pulled Ilya’s head to his chest and wrapped his arms around his broad back. The other doctor was tense at first before relaxing into Shane’s embrace.
“That’s okay.”
He rested his cheek on Ilya’s head and rocked them back and forth, murmuring reassuring words into his tangled curls, Ilya’s strong arms wrapped around his waist, the fabric of Shane’s scrubs clenched in his hands.
They sat like that for a few more minutes, until Shane’s pager beeped to let him know he was needed in surgery. He held down the button to respond, letting Theriault know he was on his way.
He released Ilya from his hold and crouched down in front of the cot, holding onto the other man’s thighs and making sure he looked him in the eye. Ilya’s face was drawn, eyes red and eyelashes clumped together from unshed tears. Shane was suddenly reminded of the cocky med student he met all those years ago, confident and intelligent and ready to take on anything. He had been so envious of him then.
“I know I'm not like, your boyfriend, or anything, but uh, if it ever feels like too much, please just text me, call me, anything, okay?”
Ilya’s face broke out into a tired smile and Shane reflected it. “You Liiike me, Hollander,”
He rolled his eyes. That was nice while it lasted. “Whatever, asshole.” He said, already getting up to leave the room, ignoring the ominous creaking of his knees. Damn, he was getting old.
Shane paused in the doorway, glancing back at the other man. Ilya looked impossibly small in the dark room, knees to his chest and hunched over himself- but he was still smiling softly and the sun coming in through the window caught the green of his eyes so they were sparkling, filled with grief and mischief and something else Shane couldn’t name.
“Take as long as you need, okay? Maybe even take the day.”
It was Ilya’s turn to roll his eyes. “You know I cannot do that.”
“You’re a stubborn asshole, you know that?” Shane asked, finally leaving the room.
“Go save some lives or something!” Ilya called, the lilting vowels of his accent following Shane as he jogged in the direction of the O.R., his pager beeping again and Theriaults voice coming in tinny and furious through the speaker, “Where the fuck are you, Hollander?”
Over the course of the rest of his twelve hour shift, Shane made every excuse to pop down to the E.R.. To an outsider, Dr. Rozanov was acting his usual boisterous self, treating his patients with the utmost care- making kids laugh and old ladies swoon, ribbing his interns and bothering his attending. But Shane could see the way his eyes went sad and vacant every quiet moment and his hands trembled administering medicine.
Somewhere between his fourth and fifth jaunt down to the E.R. (one of the interns said they had bagels in the breakroom, how could Shane pass that up?), Harris caught his eye from the nurse’s station and waved him over.
“You’ve been down here quite a bit, Dr. Hollander, I wasn’t aware we needed so many surgical consults today.”
“The uh, guy in bed twelve got out of surgery a couple hours ago, just making sure he’s comfortable.” Shane said absentmindedly, eyes tracking Ilya where he was charting on the other side of the room, blue light from the computer highlighting the bags under his eyes.
Harris nodded, flipping through his chart of patient records, “The pilonidal cyst excision?” He asked, voice colored with disbelief.
“That can be an invasive operation.” Shane explained, voice pitching up with the lie. “I’m just making sure there’s no, um. Post-op complications.”
“We have good nurses down here, I'm sure if something comes up you’ll be the first to know.” Harris squinted at him. “Are you sure this has nothing to do with Dr. Rozanov’s thing this morning?”
Shane wondered how many times Harris would have to catch him in a fib before the nurse flat-out asked if they were together. He hoped it wasn’t a small number.
Shane watched as Ilya got up from his rolly chair and made his way to a room with his clipboard. He wondered if his walk looked particularly sad.
He sighed and nodded. “I just need to know he’s okay.”
Harris smiled sadly, hand coming up to rest on Shane’s shoulder comfortingly. “Like I said, we have good people down here. If anything changes you’ll be the first to know.”
Shane huffed out a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Harris.”
“No worries, Dr. Hollander.”
“Is impossible, Shane always worries.”
Shane jumped at the deep voice next to his ear, clutching at his heart as Ilya grinned over at him.
“Jesus, where did you even come from?”
“I work here, Hollander, I am supposed to be here.” Ilya placed his hands on his hips, regarding Shane disapprovingly, “You should be upstairs, are you stalking me?” He said, but Shane heard I’m okay, stop checking on me and get back to work.
Harris glanced between the two of them, an amused smile gracing his face. “Shane is checking on the patient in bed twelve, said there could be post-op complications.”
Ilya scrunched his nose. “Butt cyst guy?”
Shane groaned, “Okay, heard, I guess I live in the O.R. now.”
Ilya laughed boisterously, throwing an arm around Shane’s shoulders, “Here, I will walk you, make sure you do not get lost.”
As they walked off, Harris caught his eye, glancing knowingly between the two doctors.
Shane walked out the Emergency Room doors and braced himself against the cold, pulling his coat tighter around him. He had his hospital bag over his shoulder and a to-go cup from the campus Starbucks clutched in one hand. As he rounded the corner to the abandoned courtyard, the smell of cigarettes eventually let him know he was in the right place.
Ilya was leaning against the hospital’s exterior, looking handsome as ever with a cigarette hanging between his pink lips. He was more settled than when Shane saw him last, now dressed in his civilian attire: a slouchy black sweater and jeans- Shane wanted to bury his face in the cashmere and just breathe him in, somehow missing him even when he’s standing right in front of Shane’s eyes.
Shane pressed the to-go cup into Ilya’s hand and crowded him against the brick, “You shouldn’t be smoking.”
Ilya cracked a crooked smile, “Doctor told me is okay. I have bad day so I can cheat.”
“Oh yeah? Which doctor was that? I happen to know a few.”
“Me.”
Shane rolled his eyes as Ilya brought the cup to his lips with the same hand holding the cigarette, looking very sophisticated and European.
His face scrunched up. “What the fuck? Is this chocolate milk?”
Shane frowned. “Hot chocolate, and I’m not going to bring you coffee when it’s literally dark outside, what the hell.”
For some reason that punched a boisterous laugh out of Ilya as he brought an arm up around Shane’s shoulders. Shane smiled and tucked his face into his neck, “Are you going home?” He murmured into the warm skin.
Ilya laughed again. “You are not smooth, Hollander.”
“Alright fuck you,” He laughed, pushing at Ilya’s shoulders, and walked backwards towards the parking lot, “I’ll just go home by myself.”
“Noooo Hollander,” Ilya whined, chasing after him after crushing his cigarette into the pavement with his boot, “You are so smooth, like Michael Jackson song!”
Shane cackled as Ilya caught up and barreled into him, wrapping his strong arms around his waist, “Take me home in your ugly car and I will do sexy things to you,” He purred into Shane’s ear, rocking them back and forth.
As they walked to the parking lot, a comfortable distance between their bodies but both smelling like cigarettes, Shane quietly gave up his plans for a quiet night at his apartment.
They end up going to Ilya’s apartment, Shane driving. The other doctor was uncharacteristically quiet in the passenger seat, head lolling against the window.
When they got inside Shane quickly herded Ilya into the bathroom and stripped him down as the shower warmed up. After they had been sleeping together for a couple years, Shane felt comfortable enough to confess he would be more up for doing stuff if they had a shower first, claiming he didn’t want to have sex with “hospital air” still on him. Ilya was annoyed by it at first but it quickly developed into a comforting routine. Shane felt like the shower was a reset for them, like once they became clean they left behind their hospital, doctor selves and could properly fool around without worrying about anything work-related. At least that's how Shane felt. Ilya probably treated it like one of Shane's many neurotic routines he was forced to participate in.
They exchanged lazy kisses under the warm spray, Shane lathering his hair with Ilya’s fancy shampoo before rinsing and starting the process again on the other doctor's head. Ilya tilted his head back and closed his eyes as Shane carefully carded his fingers through his wet curls, the other man sighing at the touch.
“Okay, rinse,” Shane instructed and Ilya dutifully put his head under the spray as Shane scrubbed the last of the product out, suds cascading down his body.
After, once the two of them are squeaky clean and dried off, they laid side by side, making out on Ilya’s bed lazily. Shane ran his hands up and down Ilya’s sides, enjoying the feeling of his flush, clean skin, before pushing the other man back against the pillows and straddling his waist.
Ilya smiled up at him, lazy and unguarded, hands exploring Shane’s chest before coming to rest on the small of his waist.
“Thank you for today.”
“It was nothing,” he said, pushing the damp curls out of Ilya’s face.
“No,” Ilya objected, grabbing the hand in his hair and holding it to his bare chest, right over his heart, “Is not nothing. You are always taking care of me, Shane.”
Shane smiled at the rare use of his first name, bending down to press light kisses into Ilya’s neck, “We can take care of each other.”
Ilya grabbed his chin, pulling him up to eye level so they could really kiss, gentle at first before the other man was inevitably licking into his mouth. Things heated up from there, hands roving and tongues colliding. Shane could feel where Ilya’s half-hard against his thigh, mindlessly rutting up against the muscle as they kissed.
Something about sex with Ilya was almost comforting at this point, Shane thought. They’ve been sleeping together for however many years, their bodies familiar with one another down to the chemical level. Shane knew the quickest ways to get the other man off, or perhaps more importantly the best ways to drag it out. Sex with anyone else would feel like a compromise, starving his body from what it really wants. Or needs.
He was about to take things a step further when a loud, distinct grumbling sound interrupted them. Shane immediately pulled back, glancing down at the offending stomach.
“When was the last time you ate?” he asked, schooling his face into something stern.
“I don’t know. Afternoon, maybe? A patient brought us bagels.” Ilya shrugged, attempting to pull Shane back down, “Come back.”
Shane glanced at the clock next to Ilya’s bed: it was a little past 8PM. “You would’ve thought you'd figured out how to feed yourself by now,” Shane sighed, extracting himself from Ilya’s hold, sliding off the bed to rifle through the other man’s dresser.
“Hollander, what are you doing.”
Shane pulled out a fresh pair of boxers and slipped them on, before turning around to face Ilya on the bed, arm stretched out dramatically reaching for Shane.
“We’re not having sex if you’re about to pass out from hunger,” He dipped a knee onto the bed, kissing Ilya chastely, dodging the man’s grabby hands and heading for the door, “I’ll make us something really quick, stay here.”
He was familiar enough with Ilya’s apartment that he navigated the kitchen easily, pulling out the ingredients to make two grilled cheese sandwiches. He placed a saucepan over one of the burners and dropped a slice of butter to melt.
He methodically sliced the sharp cheddar, spacing the pieces out evenly on two slices of bread, placing two more slices on top before plopping them in the pan, giving each a good smack with the spatula.
Shane was by no means a cook. Ilya often made fun of him for the clinical way he approached his meals; eating for fuel more often than pleasure, but he knew how to make a good grilled cheese. He recalled his dad having a plate of grilled cheese and bowl of tomato soup ready waiting for him after skating on the lake, cheeks still pink from the cold and stomach grumbling.
Ilya definitely did not have the ingredients in here for soup, not that Shane was really awake enough to attempt that.
After a couple minutes, he scooped their sandwiches from the pan, grabbing a knife to cut them in half diagonally. He crowded the two sandwiches on one plate, figuring he dirtied enough dishes for one night, and maybe he also liked the idea of the two of them sharing.
When Shane re-entered the bedroom, food in hand, his heart softened at the sight that greeted him.
Ilya was tucked into bed, fluffy duvet pulled up to his chest, and tablet propped up in his lap, light reflecting onto his handsome face in the dim room.
When he caught sight of Shane lingering in the doorway, he smiled and paused whatever was playing, “Took you long enough,” He whined, “I almost died of boredom.”
Shane rolled his eyes and joined the other man in bed, sliding under the covers, mentally cringing at the fact that they were about to eat in bed. At least they hadn’t gone to Shane’s place.
“What did you make me?”
“Grilled cheese. What are you watching?”
“American sitcom Marlow is always telling me to watch. The Office.”
Shane laughed. Sometimes Ilya’s foreignness caught him by surprise, “I’ve heard of it.”
“Is very funny,” he said, reaching over to grab his grilled cheese, taking a hearty bite, “Perfect.” he moaned, “You should quit being doctor and just cook for me, Hollander.”
Shane took his own bite before he replied, “Am I getting paid in this scenario? Or are you extorting me for grilled cheese?”
Ilya wiggled his eyebrows, “I’m sure we can figure something out.” He said, somehow trying to be sultry even with a mouth full of cheese and bread.
Shane rolled his eyes, “You’re ridiculous.”
“I think you like it,” he replied before leaning over to unpause his tablet, “You have to watch this Hollander, funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Ilya ended up eating all of his sandwich and half of Shane’s as they shared a pillow and watched one of the most popular sitcoms in the world. When a particularly funny moment happened onscreen and there was no familiar cackle to his left, Shane looked over to find the other man fast asleep, plate of crumbs cradled to his chest and mouth gaping open.
The first thing Shane did was take a picture, (for blackmail, of course. No other reason.). Then he gently eased the plate out of the doctor’s hands and turned off the tablet, setting them on the floor to deal with in the morning. After that was taken care of he slipped out of bed, moving to the bathroom to brush his teeth as quietly as possible, eyes lingering on the two toothbrushes above the sink. One purple, the other a light blue- they came in a pack together. Shane remembered the night they bought them, around a month ago.
Ilya insisted on stopping at the store on their way to his place, for lube of all things (Shane could hardly object to that, it was a necessity.) when Ilya ducked out of the sexual health aisle, returning with the two-pack. Purple and blue.
“Are you trying to tell me something?”
“What?” Ilya glanced down to where Shane was gesturing to the toothbrushes, “Oh. Ha! Your breath is very nice, Hollander. Just thought you should have one of your own.”
“At your apartment?”
“No. Is for hospital when you eat your stinky rabbit food in the break room.”
Shane rolled his eyes. They didn’t even really share a break room, “Why?”
“Why? Do I need to teach you how to brush your teeth, Hollander? I guess they do not teach this in medical school.”
“No, I mean like, why now?”
“You are at my house often enough. You should not have to fish toothbrush out of your hospital bag every night. Just have this one in the bathroom. Easy.”
Shane was still confused. And endeared. And feeling like they let this thing between them go on for far too long, ( several years too long.). And now they were at toothbrush stage and Shane didn’t exactly know how they got here.
After brushing his teeth and having a minor breakdown about brushing his teeth, Shane slipped back into bed, careful not to jostle the other man. Once he was settled under the cool sheets, he sidled up to Ilya’s warm chest, scooting down a little bit in order to tuck his head under Ilya’s chin, arm coming up to wrap around his back.
Ilya shifted and Shane stilled, but he just let out a long sigh, settling fully into Shane in his sleep, face buried in his hair, hand tucked into the waistband of Shane’s (Ilya’s) boxers.
Only after his teeth were clean from his own toothbrush, his belly was full from a meal he made here and his body was warm from a heavy, snoring Russian, did Shane realize they never actually had sex.
Huh.
That’s never happened before.
The two of them have had plenty of sleepovers (See: The toothbrush), it’s only convenient when they’re going to the same place first thing in the morning. Their jobs are stressful, it’s healthy to get together with another consenting adult in order to let off some steam every once and a while. Maybe even several times a week.
So. So, Shane and Ilya have done a lot of things together, but they've never done this: shared a meal, watched some t.v. in bed and then just. Slept.
Shane rationalized that Ilya had a very bad day at work. While it’s normal to have a regular sexual partner that helped with the harsh realities of working in a hospital, it’s also normal to hang out with a friend after a hard day of work. And that’s what they were: friends.
Maybe best friends. And coworkers who also happened to have sex occasionally.
Yeah.
Shane breathed deeply into his Best friend-coworker-fuck buddy’s neck. This was probably something he could contemplate further in the morning.