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Ilya knew what was happening. He knew it when they got to the cottage two days ago. After the charity camps finished and they finally were able to retreat to their sanctuary. He knew that Shane knew it too. Shane knew and he was ignoring it. Playing dumb. Trying to avoid the inevitable. Ilya was not going to let him suffer just because he was stubborn.
“Is that tea?” Shane asked from the couch as Ilya walked in, carrying a steaming mug. “It’s July. And we’re inside, in air conditioning. Why are you bringing me tea?”
“No reason. Always a good time for afternoon tea, yes?” Ilya responded, leaning over Shane to set the steaming mug next to the couch and dropping a quick kiss on his cheek. Shane eyed him suspiciously but then continued reading. They both settled into a quiet afternoon and Shane even slowly sipped his tea once it cooled a bit.
Shane’s eyes drooped and his chin nearly hit his chest. He never took naps. Could never fall asleep on the couch. The closest he ever came were times when Ilya practically manhandled him into a cozy cuddle session and even then he would only drift in and out but stay still in Ilya’s arms just to keep him happy.
Once Shane was clearly dozing, Ilya quietly and carefully got a blanket from the basket by the fireplace and draped it over Shane. He took off Shane’s glasses (such a shame) and gently re-arranged his pillow when Shane sluggishly settled but didn’t wake. No doubt about it, Ilya was right.
“What are you doing?” Shane stood in the entrance to the kitchen looking rumpled and still exhausted.
“Making dinner. You should go back and lay down.” Ilya said after glancing at Shane.
“Are you making soup?” Shane asked and Ilya couldn’t tell if he was in disbelief or still too tired.
“Da.” Ilya replied simply. When Shane just stared back at him, Ilya continued, “It’s almost done. Go back to the couch. I will bring it in soon.”
“You don’t want to eat at the table?”
“Too many questions, Hollander,” Ilya teased. “Go back to the couch. We can be comfy when we eat.” Shane gave up and retreated.
Ilya brought in a bowl of hot meat and potato soup and once handed off, ensured that the blanket was snug around Shane’s legs and feet before getting his own food. They played the next episode of the sitcom they had been watching together and ate dinner, occasional slurps and clinking spoons breaking through the quiet atmosphere.
“This is really good. Did you use a recipe?” Shane asked.
“Ah, no. It’s a family staple. Or what I can remember of it. I’m sure I have changed it some over the years, making it on my own.” Ilya said.
“It came from your mother?” Shane asked, knowing Ilya’s father would not have the knowledge, patience or desire to cook for his children.
“Yes. She used to make it for us when we got–” Ilya stopped short. “When we were young.” Shane just nodded and continued eating.
It was starting to get late and after a day of relaxing and unwinding–something they did each year after the camps ended–Ilya knew what would come next. Shane was cuddled up with him on the couch and started to nestle into his neck, kissing Ilya along his jawline, moving upwards to just below his ear. Before anything could escalate, Ilya moved out of reach.
“I have an idea. Stay here.” Ilya quickly left the couch and left Shane both confused and curious.
Ilya moved as quickly as he could, but it still took almost ten minutes for him to finish setting everything up. He was worried Shane would try to come find him, but remembered how obedient Shane could be when he wanted to. His fear of being found out lessened.
Ilya went back to the living room and found Shane exactly where he left him. He took Shane’s hand and led them both into the ensuite bathroom. It was warm and steamy and Ilya saw Shane’s eyes light up, maybe thinking they would shower together before whatever else was in store for the night. Then Shane saw the tub, full of bubbles and another cup of tea perched on the ledge.
“I don’t know if that tub is big enough for two. Guess we can try,” Shane smiled.
“It’s for you. Just you.” Ilya said, opening his arms to invite Shane to the tub.
“What? But I…Aren’t we going to…” Shane stuttered and Ilya tipped his head to the side, a sympathetic half-smile on his lips. “I’m not sick! Is this what this is? You think I’m sick?” Shane said, not quite yelling but raising his voice, almost to prove he could. Unfortunately for him, a solitary cough escaped him at the very same time, despite his efforts to stifle it.
Ilya’s sympathetic look deepened. His eyes pierced Shane, and without voicing it, said ‘really’?
“I’m not! Oh my god, is that what all this has been? The tea, the soup, now a bath? Look, I’m not sick, it’s fine.” Shane swallowed hard, grimacing.
“Shane. You think I haven’t noticed? Yesterday you were sniffling and drank more water than you do during a playoff game. Your throat hurts. And you don’t think I heard you this morning? You had a coughing fit in here when you woke up.”
“It was just a little phlegm, it was nothing,” Shane said, avoiding eye contact.
“It was not nothing. And you were exhausted all day today. You probably caught something from one of those little brats.” Ilya said with a smile, making it clear he was joking.
“I’m not sick. And if I am, it’s nothing. Nothing that will interrupt our time together. Our time alone.” Shane finally looked at Ilya, eyes shining. Ilya looked at Shane for several long seconds and frowned.
“Oh moy lyubov. This does not interrupt. I want to take care of you. Make sure you are safe and healthy. Let me help. Let me take care of you. Please.” Ilya said earnestly.
Shane sighed. “Fine. If I take a bath tonight will you give this up tomorrow when I prove that I am not sick and don’t need to be babied?”
“But you are my baby.” Ilya smiled, as he wrapped Shane in a warm hug. “Yes, thank you. Let me help you now.” Ilya started peeling off Shane’s clothes, making sure to put them in the proper hamper by the closet.
“And what are you going to do now, ogle me?” Shane asked as he lowered himself into the almost-too-hot water. Ilya did for a second; he watched in amazement as Shane’s goosebumps slowly disappeared the lower he sank into the water. He silently celebrated as Shane’s bunched up look of concern melted away with them.
“No, I am going to wash your hair,” Ilya answered. There was already a small foot stool placed at the end of the tub and a makeshift towel pillow resting on the edge. Ilya helped guide Shane to it and readjusted a few times until he was totally comfortable.
Ilya spent an unnecessarily long time washing Shane’s hair. It was really more of an excuse for a head and face massage. Ilya gently applied pressure to Shane’s temples and then swept his fingers back over his scalp and down the back of his neck.
After several passes he took a chance and slowly began to apply some light pressure on Shane’s forehead, under his eyes, and down his cheeks and jawbone. He was surprised Shane was letting him. Shane did not tolerate anyone, or anything, touching his face. Unless it was Ilya’s lips. Ilya smiled at the thought. And because he was right. He knew Shane was getting sick and he knew Shane would fight him about it. Well he wasn’t fighting him now, thankfully. Ilya continued the face and head massage as Shane drifted in and out of consciousness.
Before the water turned cold, Ilya helped Shane out of the tub and got him dried off. He found Shane’s softest and most favorite pajamas–flannel of course–and tucked him under the covers of their bed.
“Here. Take this.” Ilya handed Shane a couple of pills to help ward off fever and a full glass of water. “More tea?”
“No, I think I’m ok,” Shane said after swallowing the pills. He tapped the bed next to him and Ilya obliged, crawling under the covers and cozying up to Shane, spooning him. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of me today. How did you know to do all of that?” Shane whispered. Ilya wrapped his arms tighter around his boyfriend and placed a quiet kiss on the back of his neck.
“My mother.” Ilya simply answered. “She had a very specific routine when we got sick. She would do all of these things and more. She was very stubborn about making us rest when we started to feel sick. What is it called? Stop before it starts?”
“Nip it in the bud,” Shane said, fighting sleep.
“Right. Nip it in the bud. Don’t let it get worse. Rest and do all you can to get rid of the illness–it will only get worse if you don’t.” Ilya couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice, thinking of his beautiful, sweet, depressed mother. If only someone could have cared for her. Before it got worse.
“I love you. I love you so much.” Shane squeezed Ilya’s arms and brought his hand up, kissing the only part of him he could.
“I love you too, Shane. I will always take care of you.” Ilya remembered the fondness he felt when his mother took care of him all those years ago and chose to bask in that love rather than his sadness, at least tonight.