Chapter Text
"Mr. Hollander, Mr. Rozanov, how did it feel winning against the Metros tonight?" A reporter shouted out, and Ilya smirked.
"Ilya..." Shane warned, but he was already fighting back a smile.
"Yes, yes, I know, would be very bad for me to say I hope the other team loses all their games and cries when we win the cup," Ilya declared, flashing a devious grin at the reporter. "So I will say nothing."
"Mr. Hollander?"
Shane held for a beat. "What he said," Shane answered with a straight face. Ilya let out a deep throated laugh, looking at Shane with delight.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ilya spotted a flash of metal.
He heard his name screamed by an achingly familiar voice, and then found himself smashed off the chair and to the ground by something heavy. His head bounced off the hard floor, and he winced, bringing a hand up to where it hurt. He pulled his hand back to find blood on it, so much blood, soaking every crease on his palm and fingertips.
For a moment, Ilya panicked.
Then he registered Shane's familiar weight on top of him, and sighed, letting himself sink back. If Shane was there, then everything must be okay.
Until he realized Shane wasn't moving.
Then Ilya figured out where the majority of the blood was coming from, and really panicked.
"Shane?" Ilya's voice was shaking as he gently slid Shane partway down his body, enough to carefully turn Shane over.
There was a bullet hole in Shane's stomach.
Ilya didn't register it at first, couldn't take it in. It was too much. The sheer amount of blood was almost covering the hole completely, but then the blood was what shocked Ilya into recognition. Without thinking, his hands went over the wound and pressed down. Then he quickly ripped his jersey off and pressed the material into the wound instead.
Shane's back arched, his face contorted, but this time in pain not pleasure. He moaned, head thrashing as he tried to fight the source of the agony. "Shane, moya lyubov, moye solnyshko, please," Ilya cried, tears streaming down his face. He felt like he was choking on his fear, but pushed through, because Shane needed him.
"-ya, hurt?" Shane gasped out, and Ilya shook his head frantically.
"I am fine," he tried to assure Shane. Ilya reached one bloodstained hand up to stroke down Shane's pale cheek.
"Gunman down!" someone shouted.
"Good," Shane sighed out softly. His words were coming slower now. "You're safe. Love you. So much."
"Ya tebya lyublyu, ya tebya lyublyu," Ilya cried, and then his body was pushed to the side by the medics, who took over the pressure. Ilya immediately scrambled to Shane's head, his hands stroking up and down Shane's face.
"Scared," Shane breathed out, so softly Ilya would have missed it had he not been so close.
"I know, moya lyubov, I know," Ilya breathed back. "How about after this, we go to the cottage?" Ilya's words were choking him, his tears coming down so hard he could barely see. "We will go to the cottage and you will get better and everything will be fine."
"Yeah?" Shane asked, words now coming out in ragged gasps.
"Yes, I promise," Ilya sobbed out.
"So cold," Shane mumbled, and Ilya could feel it on his skin, the ice seeping its way into Shane's veins.
"I will get you all the blankets at the cottage, all of them." Ilya knew he was rambling now, but he couldn't stop himself.
"Hold me?" Shane whispered, and Ilya, sobbing, gently brought Shane's head and shoulders into his arms, careful not to dislodge the medics hard at work. He cradled Shane to his chest, running soothing hands over every safe space he could find.
"I have you, moya lyubov," Ilya vowed.
And then Shane's heart stopped.
Ilya could feel the exact millisecond it happened, because it felt like his heart stopped too.
"No heartbeat!" He heard a medic yell, and suddenly he was shoved to the side, Shane's body now resting on the floor again. "Trying defibrillator!" Everyone clear the space!" Someone grabbed Ilya around the waist and jerked him backward, but Ilya fought the arms around him, thrashing in his desperation to get back to Shane.
Ilya was frantic, feral. It was like he had no control over himself anymore. He was screaming without even registering it, howling into the cold, full room. He saw Shane's body jerk, heard the call of "Still no heartbeat! Clear!" and fought harder, feeling his elbow connect with the person holding him.
"Ilya!" He heard a familiar voice yell, and realized it was Troy who had a hold on him. He could hear the tears in Troy's voice. "Ilya, stop! It's Troy! You can't go over there!"
"We got a heartbeat!" the medic yelled, and Ilya sagged in Troy's arms. Troy released him and Ilya crawled to Shane, who was being lifted onto a stretcher. "We've got an ambulance outside, let's go!"
Now Ilya was running, keeping pace with the stretcher as it flew by outside. "I am coming with him!" Ilya cried out, stumbling into the ambulance after Shane. The doors closed and the ambulance began to race to the hospital.
There was noise all around Ilya and Shane. "Call ahead for a blood transfusion!" one paramedic shouted. "Let them know we've got a gunshot victim coming in!" As the IV was placed into one of Shane's hands, Ilya grabbed the other hand, clutching it between his own.
"I am right here, Shane," Ilya said, voice shaking. "I am going nowhere." He pressed a kiss to the back of Shane's hand, then kissed each knuckle. "Stay here, Shane, please. Do not go away." Shane's eyes remained closed. Ilya stared at Shane's chest, memorizing the ragged, short breaths causing it to stutter step up and down, not even registering the movement of the ambulance as it raced around a corner.
"Vitals are dropping!" the same paramedic yelled, and Ilya's head shot up as he took in her tone.
"What does that mean?" Ilya asked frantically, quickly glancing from one paramedic to the other. "Is that bad?"
"Upping oxygen levels!" was the only reply, and Ilya's eyes went back to Shane's chest. With his own eyes he could tell Shane's breathing had grown even shallower, and there was a rasping noise coming from Shane's throat.
"Shane, you need to breathe. Continue breathing, moya lyubov, please." Ilya leaned over Shane, his cross lightly dusting Shane's chest as his hands went to cup Shane's face around the oxygen mask. "Like me." Ilya took measured breaths, trying to regulate his breathing the best he could with the sobs choking their way out of his own chest. Shane’s eyes didn’t open.
Suddenly the ambulance stopped, and the back doors flew open. Shane was hurried in through the emergency room doors, Ilya running after. He was barely able to squeeze Shane's hand one more time before Shane was pushed through to surgery.
Once Shane was gone, Ilya just stood there. He didn't know where to go when his home was behind a set of doors, a place where he was not allowed to follow. So he stood in the waiting room, staring at the place Shane had been.