Chapter Text
Ilya spent several days trying to ignore his phone. He kept it in his pocket, in his drawer, in his bag. He never looked into his messages. Eventually, he gave up.
So, what’s the plan? He texted his brother. When is she coming? Where is she staying?
He waited a while for Alexei’s reply.
After summer. She will stay with a host family in Montreal and go to school.
She can stay with me. Ilya knew it made no sense. He and Shane were on the road far too often to take care of a teenager. But he could not help wanting.
No, fuck you. Absolutely not. I forbid it.
Ilya wasn’t even sure what he could answer to that. What was safe to write. For his niece. Maybe also for his brother. Because Russia. Or was he being paranoid?
He just knew that he wanted to meet his niece. Wanted to believe that it wasn’t a coincidence that she was coming to Canada. To Montreal, of all places, two hours from Ottawa. That she wanted to meet him.
Send the money so we can book everything. His brother wrote.
Ilya almost laughed at that. He could do it, easily. He had done it so often, he could do it in his sleep. He almost considered it. The money had never been the problem. But he had sworn to himself never again.
So you can spend it on coke and bad decisions?
Fuck you. I won’t.
No. Ilya replied.
Ilya felt Shane’s eyes on him before he even reached the kitchen, following him while he started the coffee machine. He took out a plate, two slices of bread and cream cheese, and started spreading the cream cheese on the bread.
Shane was seated at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, his tablet in front of him. “Good morning.” He said and smiled at Ilya.
“Morning.” Ilya smiled back and got a cup from the drawer.
“How are you?”
The question was innocent enough.
“Fine.” And it was true, mostly. He had maybe not slept perfectly well, but otherwise he was fine.
Ilya turned to the coffee machine and pressed the button and enjoyed how the machine drowned out any potential other noises. The gravelly sound of grinding beans, the rhythmic clicks, and the final hiss when the liquid began pouring into his cup.
“Ilya. We need to talk.”
Ilya considered taking his coffee and taking it to the deck. Maybe smoke. Or at least pretend to smoke. He hadn’t touched a cigarette in a year now.
“What?” Grudgingly, Ilya turned to face Shane.
Shane would just follow him. He was stubborn like that.
“You are doing it again…”
“What?”
“Hiding.”
“I’m not hiding anything”, Ilya said, spreading his arms to prove the point.
“Bullshit,” Shane’s voice was an odd mixture of anger and tender exasperation. Fortunately, the tenderness won. Ilya was in no shape for a quarrel today. Shane got up to stand in front of him, effectively preventing him from leaving.
“You promised. No hiding.”
“I’m not!”
Shane gently put his hand on Ilya’s cheek and stroked his cheekbone with his thumb.
“I can see something is bothering you.” Shane’s eyes searched Ilya’s face quietly, his eyes, his lips, his jaw, to the set of his shoulders.
Gentle, and so sharply analytical. Ilya wanted to squirm. “But, when your knee bothers you, you look different, or when the rookies annoy you, or when you worry about Anya.”
“You have catalogue?” Ilya joked, but even he could see he was not escaping.
Shane kissed him gently on the lips.
“Yes.”
Ilya deflated. He had promised. About a year ago, Shane had been diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder, and had been in a veritable panic about potentially (again!) missing things that upset Ilya. So Ilya had promised to always tell him. He should have known how hard that would turn out to be.
“Maybe I am having bad dreams again,” he admitted. He leaned his cheek into Shane’s hand and closed his eyes. It was easier like that. “About Russia… my family…”
Shane hugs him gently and strokes his back and Ilya just enjoys the contact for a while.
Later, they sit across each other, eating breakfast.
“Is it because of your brother calling?” Shane asked.
Ilya sighed.
“Probably, yes.” He ran a hand through his curls, leaving them slightly messy and sticking to the side. “I also start remembering things, from … before. When I was a child.”
“Is that a good or a bad thing?”
“I don’t know. It’s not pleasant, mostly. Only sometimes, my brother was nice. When we were very small. Before our father taught us how to be men.”
“I’m sorry…” Shane took Ilya’s hand, warm and dry and comforting.
Ilya sniffed and dropped back into his chair.
“I’m a mess…” he said. “Again…”
“You’re not!” Shane said vehemently. “It’s not your fault that you had shitty family.”
Ilya was quiet for some moments, then he said, “I will maybe buy him a plane ticket to come here.”
“What?” Shane suddenly sat completely still.
“I will anyway buy ticket for my niece, for her exchange year. I want her to come. Maybe he can come with her. Then I can talk to him.”
“Ilya…”
Ilya turned his head away from the look on Shane’s face. The mixture of disbelief and pity, compassion and protective anger. He couldn’t deal with any of it. He kept his hand in Shane’s though.
“You know I will support you in everything you do, but… are you sure this is a good idea?”
“No. But.” Ilya still didn’t manage to look at Shane. “I cannot do this on phone. I want to see him. I need.... I need him to know me, I maybe want him to like me.” He made a frustrated noise. ”Or maybe respect me. At least. Admit that he was wrong.” He blinked away some helpless, angry tears.
“I hate that I want all of that.” He gripped Shane’s hand tighter.
“Ilya… Ilya.” Shane sounded serious now. “You don’t have to do this. You can ignore him forever. You don’t owe him anything.”
Ilya shook his head.
“I need to. Is like open wound. Will not heal otherwise, maybe. You understand? I hope that meeting him, it will make it heal.” He rolled his eyes in a weak attempt at black humor. “Or it will make it worse, who knows…”
Shane stood up and dragged Ilya with him and pulled him in an embrace and a soft kiss. He then placed his hands on Ilya’s cheeks and shortly looked into his eyes and smiley wryly.
“Ok, you are a mess. But you are my mess and I love you.”
Ilya smiled despite himself.
“Just for the record though.” Shane’s voice grew hard. “I hate your brother, and I hate what he does to you. You don’t deserve that.”
“Ok.” Ilya buried his nose in Shane’s silky hair, smelling the familiar shampoo and beneath that, Shane. He nuzzled deeper, and started planting kisses along Shane’s hair, his temples, his cheek until his mouth found Shane’s mouth and kissed him greedily.
Send me the flight details. I’ll book two seats.
Two? For what?
Yes, two. One for you, asshole.
You can get off work for a couple of days to chaperone your daughter on her journey, right?