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An overtime win 3-2 in New York is like some kind of hallucinogenic to the Centaurs. It’s rare that they win their home games, let alone their aways, and the Admirals are currently top of the league so they did a fucking good job. No goals for Ilya, but he did get an assist on Haas’ goal so he can’t complain. He especially can’t complain when he gets to see Shane’s famous ‘dad mode’ in the airport on the way home as he does his seventh head count before they board the plane.
Ilya would probably appreciate it more if he didn’t feel like shit. Their flight is the same day as their game, so they didn’t get long in the New York bar they chose that cost sixteen dollars a pint and made even Ilya want to run for his money, but Ilya didn’t bother to complain when they had to leave. They were barely there two hours and the overhead lights already felt like they were going to burn their way into Ilya’s brain, even if the drink did help curb the weird feeling in his body.
It’s not that he needs to drop. Admittedly, Ilya’s never been all that great at understanding why his body feels bad when it does- he’s way too used to just pressing it down and trying to ignore it- but this definitely isn’t regression related. It might make him drop if this fucking headache gets much worse, but it’s not the cause.
The plane ride is okay, though. New York to Ottawa is only a two hour flight, and Ilya spends one hour and fifty minutes of it curled into Shane's side with their seat reclined, sleeping, his hood up over his head and face tucked into his husband's neck. After complaining that he's cold for the twentieth time- no, Ilya, the AC isn't on, it's not even cold in here- Shane covers him up with his jacket. He sleeps peacefully after that, soothed by the sound of Shane and Bood’s voices.
He continues sleeping peacefully when they land, and Shane only wakes him for the five minutes it takes him to walk down the steps out of the plane before he's picking him up under his thighs, Troy trailing behind them with their bags as well as his own.
“His face is really hot.” Shane says, adjusting Ilya in his arms, and Ilya can almost hear the frown in Shane's voice.
Outside is a lot colder than on the plane. The sky has darkened in the time that they were flying and it must be at least ten in the evening now. Ilya shivers and tucks his face closer into Shane's neck, and, okay, maybe he has dropped just a little.
It takes Troy a moment to respond. “Um, I mean, I know he's your husband and everything Shane, but I, uh…”
“No, not that- not that type of hot.” Shane shakes his head, sounding mildly exasperated, and tucks his jacket more around Ilya's shoulders. “Physically hot. Maybe he has a fever?”
“Right. Maybe… can I?”
There's a cool palm on Ilya's forehead. If he's cold, then Troy must be even colder, because his hands are freezing.
“You're right, he does feel hot.” Troy agrees.
Ilya must fall asleep again after that because he doesn't remember anything until the soft sound of Shane mumbling under his breath and fumbling for his keys in his pocket. They're at home- Shane must've driven- and Ilya's back in his husband's arms, his back against the cold brick wall on their porch so Shane can balance him and have a free arm to unlock the door with. There's still a light throbbing behind his eyes from his headache. All of Ilya's limbs feel really heavy, like he doesn't want to move and couldn't even if he tried. He's suddenly glad that Shane's holding him.
But Ilya really doesn't feel well, and he isn't a fan of still being in the cold. He whines to let his displeasure be known and rubs one eye, jostling the jacket that's still tucked around his shoulders. It falls onto the floor.
Shane curses. “Hey, Ilya.” He tries to make his voice sound bright, even though he probably isn't having a great time. Ilya wouldn't be if he was Shane. “Just wait a minute, baby, and then we'll be inside. Give me one second.”
More fumbling with the keys. Ilya wiggles, impatient and cold, and Shane finally gets the door open. Obviously Ilya goes in first and he's deposited on the couch with one of the small lamps on while Shane puts their luggage in the kitchen. That can be unpacked in the morning. Ilya barely registers the rustling going on behind him, drifting in and out of sleep with his head tilted back drowsily against the couch.
Something pokes at Ilya's ear. It's cold. Ilya instinctively tries to get away, one hand coming up to bat at the object as he groans.
“It’s okay, it's alright. Stay still for me.” Shane murmurs, and Ilya goes limp again. If Shane's saying it's okay then it must be, right? “Good boy.”
Something beeps, and Ilya screws his face up as the object is removed from his ear. Shane makes a sound that's half worried and half sympathetic and strokes Ilya's hair out of his eyes for him, painfully gentle. His hand feels like Ilya's mother's used to when Ilya wasn't feeling well. She'd let him lay in her lap and stroke his hair away from his flushed face, just how Shane is doing. Soothed, and also because everything feels very heavy, Ilya lets his head fall back against the couch again.
“No wonder you weren't feeling great.” Shane is saying, still stroking Ilya's hair. “I should've realised. Lets get you some medicine before bed, okay?”
That makes Ilya perk up again immediately. No, he doesn't want medicine! Even in this state, he can visualize his mama laying on the floor of her bathroom, passed out, beautiful golden hair splayed over the pale tiles. There's always risk with medicine, even the ones that Shane counts out so carefully to make sure the dose is right. It can always go wrong. Ilya knows this.
“No.” Ilya murmurs, turning his head away from Shane. Tears spring to his eyes at the thought. All of his limbs feel heavy and he's tired and cold and Shane's asking him if he wants medicine. This is the worst day of his life.
Somewhere behind him, leaning over the back of the couch still, Shane sighs. He kisses Ilya's hair and leaves for a moment, and when he comes back he's holding the liquid Tylenol they bought specifically for little Ilya. His mama took pills, so if he takes liquid then he's less likely to end up with the same fate.
“Here, baby, see? I have the cherry one you like. We can read the leaflet together, so you know it isn't going to hurt you.” Shane attempts, holding out the dreaded bottle to show Ilya. He remains with his head turned away. “C'mon. Let's read it.”
Ilya doesn't turn his head, but he can hear the leaflet rustling when Shane takes it out of the box. Big Ilya often likes reading the leaflet with Shane. If he knows the dosage and the signs that he's taken it wrong, he's less likely to be hurt. But the words are always so long and confusing and Ilya's head is already aching.
“No.” Ilya whines again, rubbing his face with one hand.
“No… you don't want to read it? Or-”
“No read it.”
That was definitely a whim on Shane's part, but he sighs quietly again, glad that Ilya's not just flat out refusing the medicine anymore. “Okay. We don't have to.” There's a tint of relief in Shane's voice now. “This is the one you've had loads of times. You know it's safe.”
One of Shane's hands rubs between Ilya's shoulderblades soothingly and he eases him into his side. Safe.
“Okay.” Ilya mumbles. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand.
“Okay?”
The only confirmation Ilya gives is a small hum. He doesn't feel well enough for much more than that. Sometimes he'll fight more, will kick and scream and wail for an hour at least, but that's when he doesn't feel this shitty. When the four spoonfuls are held out to him, he opens his mouth and swallows as Shane instructs him to, letting his mind go numb as he focuses on following whatever Shane's saying. It must be right because Shane is saying it, so.
After that, he's given some water before Shane starts praising him as he carries him through to the bedroom, his voice considerably brighter than before despite both of their tiredness. Probably glad that he dodged the tantrum from being given medicine. He sets Ilya on his feet by the bed and presses his stuffed bear, Grizzly, into his arms while he changes him into pajamas- Shane's shirt and some clean boxers. He'd normally have some trousers, but his fever is deemed too high and Shane says he needs to cool him down.
“Shane?” Ilya asks, one hand on Shane's shoulder as he's helped into his boxers, the other clutching Grizzly. Shane immediately looks up.
“Yeah, Ilya?”
“Don't feel well.”
More tears well up in Ilya's eyes, and Shane's chin wobbles as he looks sympathetically up at Ilya. It isn't often that he admits so openly to not feeling his best- his father always said it was a sign of weakness to be sick, and Ilya definitely doesn't want to be weak- but right now he just needs Shane to know. In case he couldn't tell already.
As soon as the boxers are around his hips, Shane stands and scoops Ilya up into his arms again to rock him slightly, kissing his head. “I know you do. That Tylenol will work soon, though.” Shane reassures. “And Grizzly makes you feel better, doesn't he?”
Sniffling, Ilya nods and tucks his face more into the warmth of Shane's shoulder. “Da.”
“I'm just gonna put you down for one minute.”
Shane tucks Ilya carefully into the duvet with his hockey blanket and Grizzly as he changes into some pajamas of his own. Tired eyes track his partner's movements from the bed, and Ilya fights to stay awake. The heaviness in his body makes it feel like he's being weighed down to the mattress, even though he doesn't have Shane's heavy blanket on top of him. It's a weird feeling.
Apparently Ilya doesn't manage to keep his eyes open for long, because he opens them again when he feels something rubbery press against his lips, Shane saying something gently above him. His pacifier. He eagerly opens his mouth to accept it, suckling lightly on the silicone as he's eased into Shane's arms. Drowsy, he tucks his face into the first part of Shane he can reach- the crook of his neck- and tucks Grizzly into the warm spot between them.
“Goodnight, Ilya.” Shane murmurs. His breath is warm against Ilya's scalp.
“G’night, Papa.” Ilya replies. Sleep drags him under almost seconds later, content with the feeling of Shane pressed against his chest.