Chapter Text
It started with a sneeze.
More-like Shane realized something was wrong after the sneeze, but if he was honest with himself, he noticed Scott Hunter fully off his game the moment they hit the ice. It was only when Shane drifted to the center for the opening face-off that his suspicions were truly confirmed as Scott Hunter skated over to meet him, head bowed and stick rested over his knees.
“Good luck tonight,” Shane mumbled before snapping his mouth gear firmly into place.
Scott looked like he was about to answer only for his entire body to grow rigid, shoulders hunched up by his ears. A single breath seemed stolen from his lungs before he sneezed loudly and openly at the ice in front of him. His head lifted a moment later, eyes watery with dark bags etched under his bottom lids. He snorted back whatever mucus was threatening to leak free, drifting back to the center once he determined that one was actually enough.
“Sorry,” he apologized gruffly, voice hardly indistinguishable between himself and a clogged garbage disposal.
Although not exactly the biggest fan of wayward germs, Shane’s concern for the opposite captain overrode this fear. “You alright, man?”
“Concentrate on the game, Hollander.”
It was such a curt response that Shane almost missed the puck dropped by the ref above them. Still, he managed to knock it away from Scott with almost no resistance, akin to playing against a child instead of one of the most proficient players in the league.
The rest of the period didn’t go much better with Shane actually feeling a flicker of remorse when he slammed him into the boards and Scott didn’t immediately scramble back to his feet. Shane fumbled the pass when he looked back to check on him, effectively being pulled sometime later.
By the end of the first period it was 2-0 and the Admirals were less than thrilled. Shane couldn’t help but hear grating coughs sounding from the opposite bench when he was about to follow Ilya to the locker room. He didn’t need to look to know that it was Scott.
“Hey,” Ilya questioned as they walked side by side, shoulder pads brushing. “Where is your head? It is not in game.”
Shane looked aside at Ilya’s findings. He could never hide anything from him, even if it was something as simple as him becoming worried for another player. They had been in the league long enough to start friendships, and despite their somewhat rocky history at times, Shane would consider Scott one of his better friends, or at least someone he looked up to and respected. The last thing he wanted was to see him in this state.
“It’s Scott,” Shane hissed as he hung back to talk to Ilya without the rest of his team hearing.
Ilya eyed him quizzically. “What about old man? Are you curious, Hollander? Maybe ask Kip if you want to compare to Russian you already have at home.”
“What? Ewe, gross! Why the fuck would that be it?” Ilya’s eyes glowed in amusement as Shane socked his shoulder. “No, I’m saying I’m worried about him.”
“What for?”
“I think he’s sick. I mean, he’s really playing like shit and he sneezed at our first face-off.”
Ilya shot him a baleful look that only Ilya could come up with. “And that makes him special? I sneeze on ice too. You worry about me?”
“Not today you didn’t. I think this was more than just the temperature bothering him.” Shane felt his voice start to rise and he was quick to lower it so not to draw attention from the rest of the team that were just at the end of the hall. “Just can you keep an eye on him if I can’t? Please?”
Ilya turned his gaze up at the ceiling. His shoulder slumped, a sigh of exasperation leaving his lips. “Fine. Half of team was out last month with flu. We don’t need that to happen again.”
Shane rolled his head, unable to stop himself from butting his head against Ilya’s shoulder. Ilya’s arm came to wrap around him for a fleeting moment until Shane pointedly pulled away. “In case you forget, we were among those out with the flu.”
“I blame Pike.”
Shane laughed over his shoulder as he continued down the hall to the locker room. “It’s not his fault that one of the kids brought it home from school,” he called back to Ilya.
“I still blame Pike.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shane was inclined to worry even more than before as third period stretched on and the Admirals started to fall apart. Without their star captain, the rest of the team didn’t stand a chance, especially against Ilya and Shane. The Canadian almost felt bad, watching Scott miss easy passes and assists that were easily laid out for him. Unfortunately due to the lack of eligible players on their side, Scott ended up playing far more than he seemed physically capable of.
When the final buzzer finally sounded after a grizzly defeat of 5-1, Shane almost felt embarrassed to line up to shake hands at the conclusion of the game. Ilya filed in right behind him, flecks of ice sprayed up from his skates.
“We kicked old man’s ass,” Ilya exclaimed in Shane’s ear.
Shane elbowed Ilya in the ribs, though with the amount of padding he had on, he doubted that Ilya actually felt it. “It’s hardly something to celebrate. He played like shit.”
“Wow, guys, thanks.”
Both Centaurs whipped around to see that Scott Hunter was next, and clearly heard at least part of their conversation. Heat rose in Shane’s cheeks as he looked away shyly, struggling to come up with something to say. “Sorry, uh tough break.”
Scott huffed out a laugh that morphed into a cough halfway through. He managed to pull the collar of his jersey over his face to contain it before letting it slide back down. The redness around his nose was noticeable to the naked eye, as even with the temperatures on the rink, it didn’t cause that much agitation. The catch at the end of each exhale was borderline wheezing, forced through an open mouth. Dark bags hung under Scott’s eyes that made them look almost hooded, all the more visible against his ghostly pale skin.
“Get ya next time,” Scott replied with a hearty sniffle, bridge of his nose scrunched against the effort. “Maybe you can work on an actual chirp instead of parroting whatever the fuck your lover says.”
Shane was left stunned as Scott skated past them, but not before breaking off to sneeze two monstrous sneezes into the crook of his elbow. Shane could see Scott grimace as he shuffled off towards the visitors’ locker room, contaminated jersey almost thrown over his shoulders before he made it off the rink.
“And you say I am asshole,” Ilya snorted, gloved hand rested atop Shane’s shoulder.
Shane shrugged off his hand. “You are an asshole when you play. Hunter is just having a bad game.”
“Yeah, yeah. He can mourn loss. We celebrate win.” Ilya pulled in front of Shane and rushed down the hallway into their locker room, joining in on the caterwaul of celebration from mostly the younger players. The Admirals weren’t seen as the greatest threat this season, though beating them had boosted the confidence of the rookies. Ilya wouldn’t be able to help himself egging them on in their celebrations even if impractical.
Shane was thankful he wasn’t chosen for the post game interview and he could head right to his locker to remove his jersey and pads. Sweat caked along the back of his arms and neck, uncomfortableness prickling through him like a second layer of skin. He shivered against the feeling and started to strip down only to be distracted when he heard the familiar buzz of his phone.
Confusion sparked through him. Ilya was in the other room while his parents were on a vacation in Paris. Who else could be calling him this late at night?
Shane slipped his phone from the top shelf of his locker and was more than surprised to see that it was Kip. While he had Kip’s number from the various times he seen him over the years, he didn’t think that Kip had ever called him. They shared a few texts, sure, especially a few years back when he crashed at their apartment when he was recovering from a pretty bad cold himself. That felt like a lifetime ago, and truly, it was.
Shaking his head to clear it as his phone continued to ring, he swiped his thumb over the bright green check mark and held the phone up to his ear.
“Shane speaking,” he said obviously.
‘Shane? It’s Kip.’
“Hi, Kip.” Shane went silent for a moment, unsure of what to say next. He was horrible on the phone, even worse than actual conversations. He could never tell who should speak next or what to do in a lull of a conversation. Luckily, Kip seemed that he was ready to cut right to the chase.
‘Sorry to bother you after your game. Congrats on the win by the way. Anyway, I wanted to know if you talked to Scott?”
That was strange.
“Uh, yeah a little, I guess right after the game. He….didn’t say much.” Shane decided not to go into details about their awkward conversation, nor the way that Scott left rather abruptly after.
There was a brief pause at the other end of the line. ‘Did he say anything? Did he sound okay?’
“Well I think he’s a little under the weather. The game probably took a lot out of him.”
‘Shit. That’s probably why he’s not answering his phone.’ A shuffling of papers sounded from the other end of the phone before Kip continued. ‘If you see him again before you leave can you ask him to call or text me?’
Shane crossed his arms over his chest so his phone was cradled between his shoulder and ear. He sat down heavily beside his locker, mind racing back to Scott’s demeanor on the ice. “Yeah, I can try. Do you think it’s serious?”
‘Oh, no, nothing like that. It’s probably just a cold or the flu, that’s been going around for a while now. He just doesn’t do great when he’s alone.’ As though realizing what he just said, Kip was quick to backtrack. ‘Don’t tell him I said that. He’s so stubborn when he’s not feeling well.’
A small smile graced Shane’s lips. “Yeah, I have one of those myself.”
Shane recalled the last time that Ilya was sick, body burning up with fever and coughs wracking his entire body. He still insisted on making breakfast for Shane, where he promptly fainted in the kitchen and it took all of Shane’s self-control not to call the paramedics. He doubted that Scott was that far gone by any means, but working oneself to death was a trait for most seasoned hockey players. If there was something more going on with Scott than just a stuffy nose and sore throat, he wasn’t about to share it with anyone, not even Kip.
‘So you get it. I promise that it’s nothing serious and I’m probably just overreacting. Time of year and all that. Thanks again, Shane.’
“No problem.”
With that Kip hung up, leaving Shane more confused than anything else. Time of year; what did Kip mean by that? It was nearing playoff season, but that couldn’t be it. The Admirals were pretty much guaranteed a spot even if they would need to fight for more than that. Shane wasn’t given much time to ponder it as Ilya waltzed back in, already changed in a lose fitting pair of sweatpants that almost dropped from his waste and a Ottawa Centaurs sweatshirt to match.
“You slow,” Ilya commented as he hung his pads up in his locker across the room from Shane’s. “You look like you seen ghost. Did it have big dick?”
“I just got off the phone with Kip,” Shane blurted.
Ilya’s expression immediately morphed in one of seriousness, pads and skates discarded without much care in favor of his own curiosity. “Kip? Scott’s husband. What did man who fucks fossils want?”
“Ilya.” Shane pinched his fingers between his eyes, a headache already starting to form.
“Okay, okay.” Ilya came to sit beside him, no longer looking like he was going to crack another joke. “What did Kip want with you?”
“No necessarily with me. He wanted to know if I heard from Scott after the game. I guess he was trying to call him and he hasn’t picked up.”
Ilya nodded in understanding. “Hunter is in trouble when he gets home.”
“I-I think we should invite him to stay with us for the night.”
Ilya stared at Shane as though he sprouted another head. His jaw momentarily gaped before he reached forward the press the back of his hand to Shane’s forehead. His hand then trailed to Shane’s cheeks, still lightly flushed from the change in temperature. Shane ducked away, corners of his mouth twitching in the tiniest of smiles.
“What the hell are you doing,” Shane groaned.
“Checking to see if you have fever to be talking such nonsense.” Ilya’s hand retracted to rest back on his own knee. “Perhaps you have brain eating parasite and this is why you say odd things.”
Shane leaned back against his locker. “I know I never should’ve introduced you to Monsters Inside Me. Should’ve picked House Hunters or something.”
“You love my big brain.” Ilya tapped on Shane’s temple with his knuckle. “Almost as big as yours.”
“Now I’m thinking it’s you that has that brain eating amoeba.” Shane shook his head to clear it. His focus needed to be on Kip and Scott, not on Ilya. “I’m serious, Il. I really think we should ask him to come back to the house. It’ll be more comfortable than some stuffy hotel room that he has to share with another player.”
“You are serious?”
“As a heart attack.” It was a phrase his father used to say all the time and Shane looked expectantly to Ilya for him to understand the joke. However, it seemed as lost on him as it used to be for Shane before his father explained it. He added that to the list of expressions to teach the Russian.
“So, what? We have great big slumber party?”
“No.” Shane couldn’t stop the groan in his voice. “We just keep an eye on him when he’s sick. Don’t you always do the same for me? Watch me like a hawk?”
Ilya turned up his nose at the suggestion. “You are my husband. Scott Hunter is not.”
“Il, I think it’s something that we really have to do. At least offer if nothing else.” Shane dropped his voice low as the memory of him sitting in the back of Kip’s car, shivering and coughing helplessly graced his mind. He was in no position to go back to the hotel alone, even if Hayden was just a few doors down. Scott was much older and well qualified to look after himself, but that didn’t mean that he should have to.
Ilya let out the longest sigh Shane had ever heard. For a moment, it’s seemed like he was going to stay where he was and try to become one with the locker. However, one more glance into Shane’s pleading, brown eyes sent him over the edge. He could never say no to Shane no matter his question or desires. If he wanted to invite Scott Hunter into their home, Ilya wasn’t going to be able to convince him otherwise.
“Fine, fine, I will talk to Hunter. You, shower.”
Shane leapt to his feet a moment after Ilya, head shaking with droplets of sweat falling from the ends of his hair. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Why don’t we talk to him together?”
“No, I go now. You stink. Will scare old man away.” Ilya waved his hand in Shane’s direction as though motioning him to take a few steps back.
“I stink?” Shane nudged his shoulder against Ilya’s, a playful glow shinning in his eyes. “That’s what you say when we win a game against the Admirals? I must be sweating because I worked harder than you.”
Ilya shrugged. “Perhaps. It is because I am lazy.”
Shane rested his cold hands on either side of Ilya’s face. His body heat warmed the chilled digits, though Shane’s attention was on his lips. “You are never lazy. Now, show me how not lazy you are and pick me up a Hunter.”
A laugh burst free from Ilya’s lips. It just so happened to be Shane’s favorite sound, after which the two of them sharing a deep kiss that left each one wanting more. However, when Ilya moved in for another with his hand dropped to Shane’s waist, the Canadian rested a hand on his chest to turn him around.
“Hunter, go,” he encouraged.
With a frustrated grumble, Ilya pulled away, hands drifted into his pockets. He mentally prepared himself to venture to the opposite locker room and have an actual serious conversation with Scott Hunter.
Leave it to an American to completely derail his nightly plans. Oh yeah, he was never going to hear the end of it.