Chapter Text
Shane frowned at his phone. It had been four days since he’d left Ottawa and he’d had a bad feeling since his plane left the tarmac. There was something wrong with Ilya. He was trying his hardest to pretend he was fine, but his answers were stilted, his texts were short, his smile didn't reach his eyes. Shane knew he was hiding how bad things were, not because he was afraid of how Shane would react, but because he didn’t want Shane to come home. He was set to be away for almost two weeks on a tour of the United States, filming different promos and doing interviews. It made sense to get it all done in one go. Ilya had insisted that he and Anya would be fine while Shane was away.
“We used to do it all the time. How hard could it be?”
Shane was struggling with the distance so he knew Ilya was too. They spent nearly everyday in each other’s space on the ice or in their home and he felt a distinct Ilya shaped hole where his husband should have been.
He didn’t think that Ilya’s depressive episode came strictly because Shane was gone; it felt like the worst timing in the world. Their season had ended in the finals, but without a cup, Shane left immediately after that, Anya was having issues with a skin rash and Shane knew it was upsetting Ilya, and to top it all off they had been changing Ilya's medication. It felt like the perfect storm.
Shane had tried to insist he didn't need to go, that he was better off staying in case something happened, but Ilya refused. He didn't want Shane's life to be on hold because of him. It was a ridiculous notion. Shane’s life wouldn’t be on hold if he was being a supportive husband. Staying would have filled Ilya with guilt. It would have made it worse in the long run.
Shane chewed on his nail. Their group chat had been lacking Ilya; another sign things weren’t good at home. When he was struggling, Ilya put his effort into keeping contact with Shane and taking care of Anya, most other things fell to the wayside.
His phone buzzed in his hand, but it wasn’t Ilya, like he’d been hoping. It was the Centaurs group chat.
The Best Team in the MLH
Bood: Had a bbq last night
Bood: anyone want to guess who was missing?
Hayes: hmmm I wonder
Hayes: could it be our fearless captain?
Dykstra: dear diary, it’s day four without my husband, things are looking grim
Shane wanted to yell at them. Wanted to scream that this wasn’t funny. That Ilya was suffering and he needed their help. There was a reason why he wasn’t at the barbeque or answering their texts. Didn’t they remember what life was like before they came out? But, for all they knew Ilya was just being reclusive because he really did miss his husband. It surprised him a little when his phone dinged and there was a response from Ilya. It might have been better had he not answered at all, because all this managed to do was set off more alarm bells in Shane’s already nervous head.
Ilya: haha
That was it. Ilya would normally send some snarky text back about how great things were going for him without Shane around, or he’d tell them he didn’t go to their barbeque because they were just as boring as Shane was. ‘Haha’ was not something Ilya said when he was okay. Or at least not just ‘haha’. It had to be followed up by something.
The group chat agreed. Apparently Shane wasn't the only one who realized Ilya's pattern of behavior had crossed the line into concerning. The team knew their captain, afterall. Shane was grateful for that.
Haas: Are you okay Roz?
Bood: That’s it? No defending yourself?
Barrett: You have been pretty quiet recently.
Ilya didn’t respond again. Now Shane was chewing on his lip, wondering if he should call someone. Ilya would keep avoiding telling Shane the truth until he was home, then he’d open up and they’d both feel terrible about not having done the right thing. There was a huge part of him that just wanted to fly home despite knowing that was exactly what Ilya didn’t need; something else to feel guilty about.
After some deliberation, Shane decided it was time to call in reinforcements. Ilya’s depression wasn’t a secret anymore. It had taken time but slowly he opened up to the team, and eventually the public, about his mental health struggles. It was important to him to fight the stigma, to show that everyone needed help sometimes, to talk openly about going to therapy and taking medications. Shane was so proud of him. It was a long road to get where they were, both Ilya and Shane struggled, but they were doing their best. They were on a team that supported them unconditionally and loved each other like family.
That’s why he called Harris.
He picked up on the second ring, “Heya, Shane! How’s America!”
Shane didn’t have the bandwidth to pretend to be put together, “I’m worried about Ilya, can you please go check on him?”
He could hear the smile that always adorned Harris’ face slip from its place, “Yeah, yeah, of course I can.” He paused, “...We can?” Implying Troy too.
“Yes, yeah, you and Troy. I just- he’s not smiling or texting right and he’s quiet and I’m a thousand miles away. He left this morning to take Anya for a walk but hasn’t left since. He’s been getting a lot of takeout and-” He was rambling. And maybe it was inappropriate to spy on his husband with their front door camera but what else was he supposed to do?
“Whoa, whoa, Shane, it’s okay! Deep breath. bud.”
Shane forced his lungs to inflate.
“Good. Don’t worry, okay? Troy and I will go and check on him, we’ll let you know how he is soon.”
“Okay, yeah, good. Thanks.”
“Now go knock Rolex’s socks off.”
Shane huffed a laugh. He was a terrible model on the best of days, how was he supposed to be put together when he felt like he was going to shake apart? “I’ll try.” He murmured before hanging up. He’d just have to wait to see how it all went.
_/ \_ _/\_ _/\_
Troy tapped his fingers nervously on the steering wheel as he drove. This was far from the first time he and Harris had visited the Hollanov residence but it felt vastly different as he pulled up the driveway and parked the car. It felt like an invasion of privacy, even if Shane had asked, practically begged, them to check on Ilya.
Ilya had his moments. When Troy first joined the team it was fairly easy for the Russian man to hide them, mostly because it was the only version of him anyone knew. Over the years they’d all seen him open up, turn into something bright and brilliant, sometimes so much so he was hard to look at for too long. It was easier to notice his lows now. He also warned the team on particularly hard days, usually with a text, or Shane would mention it.
It wasn’t like the Centaurs cared that he had off days. Mostly they worried for him. Like they were now, even if most of the team didn’t know how worried to be after his uncharacteristic texts.
Their group chat was still buzzing away. Bood had texted Troy separately to ask if he’d heard from Ilya or Shane; he’d ignored it for the time being. Hayes also asked. Later, if it was important enough, Troy would loop them in.
Harris rang the doorbell. There was no response. He tried again. Nothing.
With a frown, he knocked until he winced. They were greeted by silence.
Dread settled heavy as lead in Troy’s stomach. It was fine. Ilya had texted less than an hour ago. He wasn’t expecting guests. It was fine.
Harris located the Hollanov residence key on his key ring, where he had a key for most of the players on the Centaurs. God help them if he ever lost it. The security concerns would be off the charts. They let themselves in, Harris calling out to avoid Ilya being frightened, “Ilya?” Shoes were removed and left by the door.
Anya came prancing down the stairs and stopped in front of the two men, her tongue lolling and tail wagging happily. There was food in her bowl, the water was full. That was the only thing in order; there were takeout containers on the counter and dishes in the sink. The house was the messiest Troy had ever seen, and that included after the parties Ilya (and Shane by association only) had thrown.
“This is bad.” Harris muttered under his breath.
Anya yipped and trotted up the stairs, compelling the men to follow her like some Canadian Lassie. As they ascended, Harris called out, “Ilya! Hey, we’re in your house but it’s just Troy and me! We’re not here to burglarize you!”
Anya made her way into a room neither Troy, nor Harris, had ever been in: Shane and Ilya’s bedroom. It was sacred and it felt like sacrilege to be entering. It felt like breaking trust. Like the crossing a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Shane would be pissed if they didn’t.
“Why are you in my house?” A tired Russian voice asked from in the dark room. The two pushed inside. Troy hated what he saw; it was wrong to see Ilya so… small.
All the shades were drawn letting in only filtered light, Anya jumped up onto the bed and laid gracefully across Ilya’s feet, or Troy assumed it was his feet. There was a mound of blankets and somewhere under it was Ilya Rozanov. The bed was a rumbled mess, there was a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand along with a few empty bags of chips, a handful of cups with various amounts of liquid left in them. Troy didn’t smell any lingering smoke in the room. The only evidence that Ilya was actually present was the mop of curly hair that stuck out from the tangled nest of sheets and blankets.
“Should not be here.” Ilya clawed the blanket down, his face sticking out. He looked like shit; eyes sunken, with circles under them so dark they looked like bruises. It was made worse by how deathly pale he was.
Frowning, Harris crossed the room to Ilya’s side, “Are you alright? Sick?”
Ilya scoffed, “Sick, yes, is one way to put it. Sick in head, maybe.”
“Don’t be like that, Ilya.” Harris’ voice was so soft, like when he spoke to the children in the hospital.
Which Ilya recognized, of course he did, “Do not talk to me as if I am dying. I am just-” He made a frustrated sound and retreated back into the blanket fort he’d made. “Why are you here?” His voice was muffled but that did nothing to soften the frustration in it.
“Shane asked us to come check on you.” Troy supplied.
“And you did so without Chiron? Stupid. No point.”
Troy was sure Ilya knew he was being unnecessarily rude. It wasn’t often that Ilya got so tired or upset he looped around to just being plain mean, but when it did happen the team took it in stride. Especially when Ilya apologized afterwards, as he always did. It wasn’t like they were all saints all the time. Once, Dykstra had yelled at one of the rookies so much the kid refused to look at him for a month.
Standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed, Troy let his eyes scan the space. Off to the right was a spacious bathroom, there was a dog bed for Anya next to his feet, and a few of her toys were scattered around the space. The walls were absolutely covered. There were pictures of the two of them, artwork that had been collected over the years, shelves with knick knacks on them that made no sense to Troy.
A beat passed, then two, and Harris sat on the edge of the bed, by where Troy approximated Ilya’s torso to be, “Ilya.” Harris put a hand on the sentient blanket lump that was Ilya Rozanov, “I have a question to ask. It’s a serious one.”
The blankets heaved a sigh, and Ilya fully pushed out of them. He sat up, pressed his back against the headboard, and Troy was glad to see that he had a shirt on, at least. It did appear that maybe he… hadn’t changed the shirt in a day or two but it was a shirt.
“What is it?” He was frowning, his curls a mess and in every direction. They also didn’t look like they'd been cared for and Troy winced at the effort it would take to tame them.
Harris took a deep breath, concern etched into his features, “Should you be alone right now?”
A series of complicated emotions flickered over Ilya’s face. Embarrassment, anger, shame, relief. Ilya clutched the blanket in between his hands so hard his knuckles went white. Finally, he choked out, “Yes, maybe… probably not, no.”
After that, it was all hands on deck. They needed to get the house cleaned. First, Harris and Ilya called Shane, who answered on the first ring in a panic, “Is he okay? Did you find him?!”
Ilya hummed softly, “Yes, am fine, you are… uh, what is phrase? Wart of worry?”
Shane sighed, it crackled softly, “Worry wart.”
“Yes! That. That is what you are.” But then Ilya added, “Was nice they checked on me. I should… probably not have been alone.”
Shane’s voice was shrill, “I knew it! I’m going to come home and-”
At the same time Ilya shouted, ‘No!’, Harris said, much more calmly, “There’s no need for that, Shane. We’re going to take care of him.”
“You and Troy?”
Troy was already tapping away on his phone to a new group chat. He’d made it special with only those closest to Ilya; no rooks or recent trades. Only those who knew Ilya. Shane was included. Ilya was not.
“No, all of us. Don’t worry,” Troy said, “We’ve got our Captain’s back.”
Ilya’s eyes watered and he looked away. The blanket was pulled back up to his chin but at least he was still sitting up.
The Ride or Dies
Troy: 911
Bood: Oh fuck new group chat
Dykstra: HAYDEN PIKE IS HERE
Pike: This has to be about Shane?
Troy: No Roz
Troy: He’s not doing well
Troy: Needs our help
Dykstra: How bad we talking?
Bood: Already in my car
Bood: Cassie said she’s got Milo
Hayes: be there in 20
Barrett: bad like worst ive ever seen him
Barrett: need to clean kitchen, do some stuff around the house
Barrett: doesnt want to be alone
Haas: do you need me there? I can be there
Barrett: yeah kid, all hands on deck
Barrett: not you pike
Barrett: stay with your thousand kids
Pike: thank you for giving me permission to stay with my family
Pike: seriously tho, is he okay? What do you need from me?
Pike: can get a babysitter asap
Shane: I’m really crying, you are all the best teammates and friends we could have ever asked for
Haas: anything for our cap
Haas: and you too, Holly
Haas: youre family
Barrett: When we all get here, we’ll game plan
Dykstra: I’m away this week, but keep me in the loop for when I get back
Dykstra: going to Manitoba
Dykstra: could bring back fresh food
Dykstra: always helps me
Hayes: No one wants your squirrel
Dykstra: squirrel is delicious and you don't know what you're missing
Hayes: ew
Hayes: eating squirrel would make Cap worse
Barrett: anyway
Barrett: will keep you updated dykstra
“Who are you texting so furiously?” Ilya frowned at Troy, “Shane?”
“Yeah, and the guys.”
Ilya whined dramatically and flopped onto his side on the bed. It was good to see his depression hadn’t taken his theatrics, “Is making big deal from nothing. I am fine!’
“When was the last time you showered?” Troy said seriously.
Ilya huffed, crossed his arms and said nothing.
“Didn’t think so. And you were the one who said you shouldn’t be alone.”
“Yes, yes, whatever.”
Harris was scritching Anya behind the ears. She looked like she was in heaven, and Troy ignored how weird it was to see Harris sitting in Ilya and Shane’s bed. He made a list in his mind about what needed to be done; the kitchen, the bedroom (new sheets looked to be in order), Ilya had to shower, they had to detangle his hair… maybe Anya needed a walk? Laundry, definitely.
Suddenly, Ilya was sitting straight up. It startled Harris, who yelped not unlike the many dogs they had. The Russian didn’t seem to notice, “Is important you know I take care of Anya.”
Troy frowned, “We didn't think you didn’t.”
“No, but is important you know. Is all I can do. Feed her, walk her, I love her and I take care of her.”
“Ilya.” Harris put his hand on Ilya’s and squeezed, “We know.”
“Yes… yes, good.”
A moment passed with the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. It was obvious Ilya was upset that someone might think he’d harm or neglect Anya. But they all knew better, Troy had even seen it when he first walked in the house; Anya was well cared for. The doorbell rang, forcing Troy to leave the room.
Ilya frowned, “Who is that?”
“Reinfocements.”
“Am I… do I have to get up?”
Troy was already heading down the stairs but he heard Harris say, “No, you stay there and let us take care of you for once.”
Bood was at the door, Hayes right next to him. Troy knew they had to have broken several laws to get to Rozanov’s as quickly as they did, but as long as they weren’t caught it didn’t matter. They marched into the room like soldiers, arms crossed over their chests, assessing, “What’s got to get done?” Bood asked.
“Is Roz okay?” Hayes followed up.
Troy made a so-so motion with his hand, “He’s been better. Embarrassed, for sure, but that’s… he doesn’t have to be.”
Hayes nodded, “Nah, of course he doesn’t. But it's hard to believe that, sometimes. So… kitchen has to get done. Holly would combust if he saw it like this.”
Bood grunted his agreement, “Kitchen, we can do that.”
There was a knock. It should have taken Haas twice as long to get there as Hayes and Bood but sure enough, there he was, with a bright smile plastered on his lips, “I’m here to help!”
“Fuck, kid, put that away, you’re going to blind someone.” Hayes teased, putting a hand up to block the brightness of Haas’ megawatt smile.
Haas’ cheeks pinked, “Sorry.”
Troy frowned and looked at his phone, checking the time. It hadn’t been too long since Haas had said he was on his way… “How’d you get here so fast?”
At this, Haas’ cheeks got even darker, “I- I, uh,”
“You sped the entire way?” Bood supplied.
“No! Yes. But you said Cap was in trouble… and… you couldn’t be here if you hadn’t sped too!”
“Yeah, but you’re practically a toddler-” Hayes.
“I am not!”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Troy couldn’t help but chuckle. He couldn’t have been happier with the team and the legacy they were building in Ottawa. “Enough, enough, we’ll discuss the legality of this all later. For now, we need a game plan. The sheets need to get washed, the bed has to be remade, someone needs to get Ilya in the shower, and of course the kitchen needs to get done. Maybe someone can take Anya out while all that’s happening to keep her out from under our feet…”
Hayes and Bood were openly staring at Troy, “Wow.” Bood said.
With a frown, Troy looked between the two of them, “What?”
“You’re hot when you take control like that.” Hayes teased, “It’s like a whole new side to you, Barrett.”
“Shut up. Who’s taking the kitchen?”
They divided the tasks amongst themselves; Troy had the job of getting Ilya’s ass in the shower, Haas was taking Anya out while Hayes worked in the kitchen, and Bood and Harris took the bed.
“I am not responsible for what you see.” Ilya warned the pair as he was pushed into the massive adjoining bathroom.
Troy snorted at the face that Harris made but agreed; he couldn’t think of anything worse than stumbling on the Hollanov’s sex toy collection. It was bad enough they all knew how freaky they were. Rozanov had a big mouth, but even if he didn’t they were always covered in marks; bite, scratch, you name it they’d probably had it once or twice or near permanently.
The shower was already on when they entered the luxurious space. Troy had taken the time to figure out all the complicated knobs; it was like trying to solve a puzzle. He hadn’t wanted Ilya to have to do anything today. Or anything at all until he was okay for Shane’s return.
“You good?” Ilya was unashamedly stripping down naked in front of Troy. Afterall, it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. It should have made him uncomfortable, being in Ilya’s private bathroom, but Troy was trying not to think about it.
Ilya grunted out a yes. Troy took his leave, thinking about what needed to get done next. Ilya didn’t want to and probably couldn’t be alone. What was the fix?
An update was sent in the group chat to mark progress. There were new sheets on the bed, the old ones were being washed (to Shane’s specifics, Harris had made sure), the kitchen was spotless. Haas was thrilled to have Anya all to himself. Troy felt good about what they’d managed to accomplish in such a short time. Ilya being in the shower gave them a few minutes to plan without his input.
Troy texted the group chat to keep Dykstra, Shane and Pike updated while those present devised a plan.
“We can’t leave him alone.” That much was obvious, but it was nice of Bood to restate it.
“Right, yeah.” Hayes nodded, “Can’t be by himself. When does Shane get back?”
Harris checked his calendar, “Eight days.”
Haas looked nervous. He wasn’t the kid he used to be, but they loved to tease him anyway. He had to have been scared, too, which Troy understood, it was scary. Seeing Ilya unwell was rattling but that’s why they were there, to help him carry the load.
“And there’s-” Hayes counted on his fingers, “There’s seven of us, so we can each take a day and a night? Make sure he isn’t alone? Pike might not be able to do a night.”
It was a good idea. Having a revolving door of Centaurs coming and going to make sure Ilya didn’t have to carry too much on his own. They hummed in agreement. Harris offered him and Troy for the first two shifts. Shane had reached out to them first, and there were two of them, it made sense they took two nights.
Ride or Dies
Troy: Here’s the plan
Troy: for the next however long we gotta someone is always here
Troy: Harris and I are here for the next two nights
Troy: Bood is next
Troy: If hayden can take the next night?
Troy: Then Haas
Troy: Hayes
Pike: Give me two minutes to talk to Jackie
Pike: Nevermind, she’s mad at me for even asking if I can stay
Pike: If Rozanov isn’t going to be too upset
Shane: Ilya will get over it
Shane: I'm going to text my parents
Shane: they may come over one night
Shane: at least for dinner
Hayes: I call the night they come over. I want a David Hollander home-cooked meal
Dykstra: sucks I can't be more help
Bood: it's good man
Bood: we do what we can
Troy: that’ll leave two days before Holly gets back
Troy: may not have to stay that long
Troy: better to plan
Shane: You are all the best
Hayes: yes, we know
Hayes: but seriously, he’d do the same for us
Everyone knew that to be true. There was very little Ilya Rozanov wouldn’t do for his friends and family on or off the ice. They all were lucky to have a man like him in their corner, someone to call family even if they weren’t related by blood.
Ilya walked out of the bathroom with a towel low on his hips. The group of men in the corner all turned to look at him as a collective unit and he froze, “Why are you all looking at me like that?” He looked down at himself, “I am attractive, yes, but you all have partners. I am happily married. Or maybe we are planning my funeral. Better be fun one.”
“Not funny.” Haas frowned.
Ilya shrugged, while Troy was sure he felt better after his shower, he still looked so tired. “Really, what is wrong?”
“Nothing.” They took the time to explain the plan to Ilya, who, for a moment, looked furious.
“I am not some breakable doll! I do not need to be handled with care, I will not shatter!”
They were quiet for a moment, letting Ilya get it out of his system. His cheeks were flushed pink, from the heat of the shower or anger, it was impossible to tell. His chest heaved, getting quicker with every passing moment, “I don’t need help! I can- I can take care of myself!”
Harris took a step forward, bridging the gap between the five of them and Ilya, “We all need help sometimes, Ilya.” His words, like earlier, were gentle. Different this time then talking to the children at the hospital and more like when Troy had seen him try to soothe a frightened dog.
He watched Ilya relax minutely, “I am sorry.” He looked away. Troy was horrified to see a tear roll down his cheek.
No one acknowledged it.
“I am not used to- I do not wish to- to burden you.”
“Cap-” Hayes took a step forward, “You’re not burdening anyone. We’re here because we choose to be. Because we love you.”
Haas nodded his agreement.
Bood, who had his arms crossed over his chest, relaxed. His face was pinched tight with what, Troy knew, was worry, “If it were one of us, would you feel that we were troubling you?”
Anger flashed in Ilya’s eyes, white and hot like lighting, “No! You should know, I will always help you no matter what you-” Abruptly the words stopped coming. He blinked, “Oh.” Cleared his throat and then, “I… yes, I see.”
Hayes and Bood both nodded like this finalized things, “See? There. All taken care of.” Without warning they were pulling Ilya into a hug, he still was in his towel but no one seemed to mind. Haas joined, then Harris and finally Troy, too. They held Ilya tightly, pretended they couldn't feel the way he was shaking in their arms. They held him until Ilya wouldn't let them anymore.
Inhaling sharply, Ilya turned away from them, “I have to get dressed. I will- I will see you all sometime this week, I suppose.”
That was their cue to leave. Troy and Harris walked with the group to the front door, thanking them for their help. When they were alone, Troy slumped forward, forehead pressed against the solid wood of the door, breathing slowly through his nose. He couldn't imagine doing this for anyone in Toronto. They’d hadn’t deserved this kindness, this level of care. Nor would anyone have given it to him.
Harris rubbed his back gently, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Troy said honestly, “I’m just glad to be on a team where we all actually care.”