Work Text:
Shane was inside the moment Ilya opened the door, endearingly frazzled in his concern.
“He’s a fucking idiot, Wilson should’ve known better than to come at you from that angle, anyone with half a brain could’ve seen that hit would turn bad!”
Ilya let the door swing shut and turned around, suppressing the smile that rose just at the sight of him.
Shane’s eyes scanned over Ilya’s body once, twice, lingering on the sling, his shoulder, the bruising at the collar of his shirt. Ilya had texted him from the hospital, so he already knew what was wrong and that he was okay, but clearly he needed to see it for himself.
“Hello? I love you too? Good flight?” Ilya teased.
“Hi. I love you. How did you get home from the hospital?” He started a third pass.
“Walked.”
Shane glanced up to his face momentarily and then continued his examination.
“I had my phone, I took Uber.”
“By yourself?”
“I am a grown up, Hollander, it is allowed.”
Shane muttered under his breath and Ilya thought he caught something like “shouldn’t be.”
Ilya let out a small breath.
“I am okay, Shane.”
Shane’s eyes stopped, and then met Ilya’s, the crease in his forehead deepening. He humphed, but he must have seen something on Ilya’s face because after a moment he let his face relax and his shoulders came down out of his ears. When Ilya stepped forward, he leaned in and let himself be thoroughly kissed, resting his hands gently on Ilya's hips.
“Come on,” after a few minutes, Shane wrapped an arm around Ilya’s waist and urged them both towards the living room. Ilya considered reminding him that his legs were fine, but it was nice to have him close, so he didn’t.
Shane let go when they reached the couch, watching as Ilya slowly levered himself down, using his good arm for support in an attempt not to jostle anything. He tried, he tried so hard, but -- motherfucker! -- he couldn’t help the way his face contorted with pain as his body settled onto the cushions.
“Should you be in that much pain?” Shane was a taut wire again.
“It is fucked up shoulder, it is going to hurt.”
“Well yeah, but they gave you meds at the hospital, right? Are they not working?”
Ilya busied himself picking lint off his pants. “Didn’t take them.”
“What, why? Ilya, you’re clearly uncomfortable. And do you know how important pain management is for healing? It’s still the beginning of the season.”
“Yes, I know this.”
“But you didn’t take them.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Ilya didn’t look up, already knowing the look he would see on Shane’s face. What he didn’t expect was for Shane to leave, heading towards the front door.
Instead of the door though, Ilya heard the soft sounds of his kitchen cabinets opening and closing, the tap running, and the distinctive crinkle of a waxy paper bag.
Shane came back with a glass of water in one hand and a small orange bottle in the other.
Fuck.
God, why did he leave them there on the counter, why did he even fill the prescription? He knew why, the nurse who was doing his discharge had noticed he was alone and offered to wheel him to the hospital pharmacy first on his way out. She was nice and he didn’t want to raise any red flags, so he said yes. But he should’ve dumped them in the toilet when he got home.
Shane stood facing Ilya, placing the glass down on the coffee table and opening the childproof bottle with a click, shaking one, two pills out into his palm, meticulous. Ilya watched as Shane put the cap back on the bottle but didn’t seal it all the way, presumably so that he could open it by himself later. Shane swapped the pill bottle out for the water and held out the pills and the glass for Ilya to take.
“No, Shane.”
“You’re being stupid.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t understand, is it some sort of macho thing? The pain makes you stronger? Anything less than gritting your teeth and pushing through makes you less of a man?” Shane started to gesticulate and remembered what he was holding, pausing to carefully set the glass and pills on the coffee table.
Ilya pulled a face. “No, that is fucking stupid.”
“Then why?!”
“It is not your problem.”
“Of course it’s my problem, you’re my problem!”
“Well then at least you are leaving tomorrow, so I am only a problem for a few more hours!”
“Jesus, why won’t you let me help?!”
“I do not need it!”
“You do! You need to fucking take them, Rozanov, you’re in pain! And for no reason!”
“Fuck off, Hollander!”
The air rang in the sudden silence. Shane stared at him, and for a moment Ilya was in Las Vegas.
And then, like Las Vegas, Shane walked away.
Ilya let his eyes close as his head dropped back onto the couch cushions.
Shit.
He was being cruel, and more than that he really was being stupid. He didn’t have to do it like this, he could just tell him. Explain. He knew Shane would listen, he always did. But Ilya didn’t want to explain, he wanted Shane to just know already. It made him miss Sveta. He missed Shane all the time. He was so tired. He was exhausted and frustrated and angry about being injured so early in the season. About being injured at all. And now Shane was gone. And his shoulder fucking hurt.
“These were in the bathroom cabinet, does that mean you’d take them?”
Ilya’s eyes snapped open, relief coursing through him. Shane was holding two more pill bottles in his hands, red and blue respectively.
The over-the-counter stuff would barely take the edge off of this, Ilya knew. Shane knew, too. But it was something.
Ilya nodded.
Shane repeated the same motions as before, starting with the Tylenol, shaking the medication into his palm. He hesitated slightly when he reached for the Advil.
“Have you eaten?”
“It is fine, Hollander.”
Shane clearly considered the fight, sighed softly, and gave in.
They watched some TV. They ordered takeout from a place Ilya found that had food Shane would eat, and they had dinner on the couch. Ilya wasn’t hungry but he managed enough that Shane didn’t comment.
When Shane got back from putting away the leftovers he paused in the doorway.
“Do you need a shower?”
Entering the bathroom, Shane turned on the water, stripped efficiently, and began to help Ilya out of his clothes.
Ilya just gazed at him, watching his face as he unclipped the sling, moving carefully and pausing when Ilya winced.
“You are mad.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” Shane always answered him anyway.
Shane tested the temperature of the water before guiding Ilya into the shower, hand soft on his back. He fingered shampoo and conditioner through his hair, washed Ilya’s face using delicate hands, and with small circles of a frothy washcloth slowly rubbed away the sweat and grime and misery of Ilya’s day. So very gently.
After, standing dripping in the steam, he pressed a quiet kiss into the back of Ilya’s neck. Neither of them said a word.
Once Ilya was towelled off and propped up in bed by far too many pillows, Shane pulled on his borrowed shorts and moved across the room to plug his phone in on the opposite nightstand, doing a final scroll through his notifications.
“I have to leave early tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“Like really early, I need to get back to the hotel before the bus leaves for the airport.”
“I know.”
“So if there’s anything you need me to help you with you need to tell me now.”
“Shane-”
“Cause you should be asleep in the morning when I leave.”
“Shane.”
Shane looked up.
Ilya reached out his good hand. “Please.”
Shane nodded, turned off the lights, and climbed in next to him, curling into Ilya’s non-injured side. They lay in the quiet, breathing, holding each other the best they could given the circumstances. Some time passed that way, Ilya didn’t know how much.
“I cannot take them.” In the dark, Ilya’s voice was small.
“Why?” Shane’s was soft.
“Drugs… what they do to me… when I was a kid, at parties and in clubs, it was cocaine. The others they would do a little, have a good time, go home. For me… it was fun, yes, but it was also like it was never enough. It only took the edges off.”
Shane’s hand stroked back and forth on his skin, listening in that way he always did.
“When I got hurt the first time during a game -- really hurt, not just bandaid or arm in cast -- they gave me those pills. And for a few days, I felt like I understood my mother… a little.”
“You understood why she killed herself?”
Ilya shook his head. “Why the pills. It was so easy to take, to take a little more. The world, it felt… soft.” Gentle.
“Was that scary?”
He swallowed hard. “Terrifying.”
Ilya took a deep breath and it shook both on the in and the out.
“I cannot take them, Shane.” It sounded like an apology.
Shane sat up, carefully, placing one hand on the back of Ilya’s neck and cupping his face with the other. Holding him steady, he kissed him sweet and long.
When he pulled back, he gazed at him in the little light coming in through the windows and ran his thumb across Ilya’s cheek, smoothing away the wetness there. He rested their foreheads together.
“Okay.”
It sounded like a promise.