Chapter Text
Kip starts to notice little things. Like that Scott is kind of weird about phones and security cameras. Not weird about them really, he just seemed hyper aware of them. Like whenever they went anywhere, Scott could tell Kip where every single security camera was.
Kip chalked it up to the whole hockey star thing. That because Scott was famous, like quasi-sort of famous to specific people. Like a niche micro internet celebrity famous, but to people who were really into hockey. Because Scott had a certain amount of stardom, it was easy for Kip to make sense of it. How weird Scott was about phones and security cameras.
He could have left it alone, if it was just that. But it wasn’t. Scott had this weird thing about Ilya Rozanov. It wasn’t weird like Scott was into him weird. Well—at first that's what Kip thought it was, Scott weirdness about Ilya Rozonav. Like maybe Ilya and Scott were exes, or had hooked up at a hockey event down the line. Eventually, he asked Scott about it, if he and Rozanov had ever….Kip had never heard Scott laugh so long or so hard in his life. When he stopped laughing he’d kissed Kip, still whipping tears from his eyes.
“Never,” he’d said and Kip believed him.
So if that wasn’t it, Kip was at a loss. Cause Scott was kind of weird about Ilya Rozonav. It wasn't super noticeable, Kip had only caught on recently, and he’d only caught on cause he knew Scott so well. There was this…well not reverence, but sort of admiration Scott showed to Rozanov. It was sort of like curiosity. Scott followed Rozanov’s career in the way he didn’t for any other hockey players. He watched his interviews, his clips and whenever they were at the same event, Kip could always see Scott’s eyes following Rozanov across the room.
It wasn’t romantic, but still it was odd. He couldn’t place it. Scott kind of had a thing about Ilya Rozanov.
Okay like this.
A few months ago they’d been in Miami for the All Star Game. They were doing a promotion where fans got to vote to pick the teams—which had ended in absolute disaster, to the surprise of no one. But it had been fun, and it had put Scott and Rozanov on the same team for the first time. Scott didn’t like the guy, but he had a respect for him. Or at least that’s how he describes him to Kip.
The game was a blowout. Scott and Rozanov’s team won and they had a big party in one of the penthouses to celebrate. Scott asked Kip to come.
That party. They could hear the music as soon as they got off the elevator. Scott rapped at the door and was met with an exuberant Ilya Rozanov.
“Scott Hunter! My favorite teammate! And his cute artist boyfriend!” Rozanov pulled them into the party and gave them each a kiss on the forehead. The place was packed. Kip had been to a few of these parties before, he knew hockey players could get a bit wild but this was rager. It was a Y2K Lindsay Lohan trashes a hotel room level party. Kip didn’t know whose name the room was under, but they were in for a hefty fee tomorrow.
“Aren’t you worried about a noise complaint Rozanov? There are a ton of people in here!” Scott shouted to Rozanov over the music.
“Oh my god Hunter you are so boring. We won, take chill pill. It is a party, have fun,” Rozanov thrust two drinks in their hands and then disappeared into the crowd.
So. They did. First they finished the drinks Rozanov handed them (champagne, not bad) and then there were beers someone had procured from somewhere and then it was shots. And then one more shot. And then it was vodka sodas that were 80% vodka with a splash of soda thrown in. Needless to say they were drunk, they were putting the sot in besotted.
And now Kip found himself outside on a patio sharing a joint with two people he thinks are JJ’s cousins from Montreal. He had finally heard someone talking about something other than hockey, a conversation about the specificity and uniqueness of Miami's architecture and his ears perked up. He followed these maybe cousins and now here was the joint.
He was debating the pros and cons of the Art Deco revival—aka "Echo Deco"—in Miami when he became acutely aware that Scott wasn’t near him, that he hadn’t seen Scott in a while actually. And now the Scott-less-ness of his life had overwhelmed the other things he had going on and all he could think about was where Scott had run off too and what he was doing, and also if he missed Kip.
He excused himself from the cousins and set back into the penthouse to find Scott. The party was clearing out, but it wasn’t getting any less wild. People were doing lines of coke off the coffee table. They were smoking a pipe of something Kip was sure wasn’t weed. It was turning druggy, people were about to start acting up. Kip was usually around a school full of degenerate art types, he knew the signs.
Kip was walking down a hallway towards one of the bedrooms when he found him. Scott was in a sitting room off the hallway and the lights were off. Kip was going to walk in, but something made him stop himself, made him pause before he did.
Scott was leaning forward in his seat with a bottle of vodka in his hand and across from him was Ilya Rozanov. They were passing the bottle back and forth, and Rozanov was smoking a cigarette.
Kip waited at the door and leaned in. He knows it’s rude to eavesdrop, but he was curious. And drunk. And high. He couldn’t help himself.
“Was it hard? Coming here? Not knowing anyone or the language or anything?” Scott was earnest and serious. He was drunk, but his gaze was locked onto Rozanov’s as though his answer to this question could cure cancer or something.
"Oh yes. Yes it was hard at first. But English…english is not so hard to learn. Not like Russian, Russian makes no sense sometimes,” Rozanov responded.
“I don’t know any Russian,” Scott said with real sadness in his voice. “I’ve thought sometimes…about trying to learn. I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to learn.”
“Russian? You don’t want to learn Russian Hunter. You couldn’t learn it. Been hit in the head with a hockey puck too many times.”
“Shut the fuck up Rozanov.”
They traded the bottle back again. Kip felt weird standing there. Should he move on? Should he go into the room? Had he waited too long that going into the room now would be weird?
“What’s it like?”
“What?”
“Russia.”
“Russia? You want to know what Russia is like?" Rozanov shrugged and leaned over the table to put out his cigarette. “It is cold and gray. You wouldn’t like it.”
“How would you know what I would like?”
“Okay Hunter whatever—I don't know what you like. But Russia is terrible and miserable and sad and no one trusts anyone, so no one is honest. It is also beautiful, cold. You Americans, you won't understand."
“I guess not, I guess we don’t." And then under his breath,"Us Americans.”
So yeah. Scott was kind of weird about Ilya Rozanov.
And then there was the fact that Kip had never seen a picture of Scott's parents. Anywhere, there weren't any in the apartment. In fact, Scott had no family photos at all. Not a frame, or an album, not a one.
Kip didn’t want to pry and he didn’t want to assume. He knew himself the tragedy of losing a parent, how raw that always felt. Kip had lost just one parent, he still had his sweet, wonderful Dad. He couldn't imagine what Scott must go through. He couldn’t comprehend the weight of losing two. The weight of it all.
But one night Kip couldn’t help himself, it all came to stupid head.
Kip was showing Scott an album his dad had made him. It was all these photos and commentary from a road trip they had taken together when Kip was in eighth grade. And the moment was so nice and warm and Kip just asked,“What about you? Any pictures of you in full middle school glory? I’m sure you have albums full of awkward Scott in hockey gear and school pictures and family vacations."
And the energy in the room shifted immediately. Scott got weird and cold and then his face got very serious. Set in a way Kip hadn’t seen before. It was like his face carried the weight of the whole world.
“They’re gone. All the pictures, I don’t have them anymore.” He said very matter of fact, very serious. He wouldn’t look at Kip, his eyes were starting somewhere into the middle distance, into all space and time for how long that stare was. He abruptly closed the album and stood up.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry if I said something, I didn’t mean to bring anything up—" Kip asked, worry flooding his body.
“No, no, no. I’m sorry, I’m overreacting. How could you have known,” Scott ran his face through his hands and when he looked back at Kip he looked like himself again, the same old Scott. A little weary, but there were his warm eyes and golden smile. “You did nothing wrong, I promise. My history, my parents—its just brings back stuff to me, stuff I’m not ready to share. Okay?”
He kneelt in front of Scott, right in between his thighs and places his palms on either side of Kips face, running slow circles through his hair.
Kip sighs, he loves him. “Okay,” he says. “Of course that’s okay.”
Scott kisses him. Kip pulls away, “But if it is something you ever do want to talk about, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t share it with me.”
“I know Kip, I know. And I will, just not right now. Right now I just want to kiss you.”
“Oh really? Prove it.”
And Scott pushes him back into the couch and kisses him.
And Kip moved on after that. Scott had shit, everyone had shit.
But then one day, and it was really just a day, they were just going for a walk. Nowhere special just down their block back from the grocery store. It was Sunday.
They were talking about something innocuous, maybe a new student exhibit running at Kip’s school, maybe something Scott has seen in the park on his run.
It was all innocuous, until Scott tensed so suddenly. He squeezed his hand and stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk. “Did you see that black SVU on the last street too?” He asked tightly
Kip looked around, he didn’t see anything. “What black SVU?”
“It’s behind us, on the corner by the ATM.” Scott said, not moving his head.
Kip looked again.
“Be discreet. We’re just having a conversation,” Scott said.
Kip saw it. A black SVU by the ATM. “Hm. It looks like if familiar but you always see those kind of cars in New York. Probably someone’s driver or something. Why? What’s wrong? Do you think someone’s following us?”
Kip asked it half as a joke—who really got followed by black SVU’s in real life?
Scott relaxed and shook his head. “No, I’m being silly. I’m sure it’s just a driver,” he didn’t sound convinced. “It’s probably nothing, I’m just being paranoid. Let’s keep going.”
They kept going around the block but Scott was no less tense. He had Kip’s hand in a vice grip and his pace had increased, he was almost dragging Kip behind him. They walked faster and crossed through a side street to the avenue on the other side. Kip looked behind them. His heart skipped a beat. The black SVU. There it as again. There's was no way this was a coincidence.
“The black SVU!” He whisper-shouted to Scott.
Scott just nodded. He didn’t slow down.
“What are they doing? Is it like paparazzi, or fans, or something? Following someone? Who would do that though? This feels extreme.”
The black SVU stayed behind them. And then it got closer. It wasn’t trying to hide anymore. It was definitely following them. It pulled right next to them along the sidewalk and then it stopped. The window rolled down and a man’s face appeared.
“Scott Hunter?” The man said.
Scott faced them. “Yes?”
“We’d like a minute of your time.”
“Can I inquire about who’s asking?” Scott responded politely, but curt.
The man flipped open a badge. Out came that big yellow badge Kip recognized from TV shows. Right next to it, three unmistakable words: Federal Bureau of Investigation. The fucking FBI? What did the FBI want from Scott?
“Mr. Hunter I assure you this is a matter of great importance. All we need is a minute of your time, a minute of yours to help several minutes of ours.”
Scott studied the man in the car for several long minutes, his face unreadable.
“Fine.” He said finally. “Give me a moment to speak to my boyfriend and then you can ask you whatever you want.”
The agent glanced at Kip then. When the FBI agent’s eyes landed on him, Kip felt his whole body recoil.
“Five minutes,” The agent said. He started to roll up the window, but stopped before it was fully closed. He left it open, just a crack.
Scott and Kip turned to each other. Kip didn’t even know where to start.
“Scott you cannot go with them.” It came out in one breath. “You can’t just go into mysterious black SVU’s with FBI agents, this is kidnapping 101. What do they even want with you? Why you? This is not right, you cannot just get into that car and go with them.” Kip was babbling, he would have kept on going if Scott didn’t cut him off, his voice oddly calm.
“Kip. Listen. I need you to do two things for me. First, you need to call my lawyer. Their number is in the top drawer of my desk. Tell them exactly what happened here today and what you saw. Second I need you to call—“
Scott looked at the cracked window, he gave it a long stare.
“Second, call your dad. I don’t want him to worry. And I don’t want you to worry, you need to lean on him, he’ll be with you while I’m…taking care of this. I won’t be gone long, I promise. Okay? You know me.”
“But what do they want from you Scott, I still don’t understand—”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll explain it all when I get back okay?”
“Scott I—” Kip began, but then the FBI agent rolled down his window farther. He cleared his throat loudly and looked at the boys.
“It’s okay, Kip it’s okay,” Scott said and he pulled Kip in for a kiss. After he pulled away he lingered by Kip’s ear. “I need you to call someone named Stan Beeman. He’s an old family friend. His number is on a sticky note in the back cover of the journal in my nightstand. Call Stan, tell him—tell him Scott Hunter was taken in for questioning by the FBI.”
And then in a flash, the agents came out of the car and Scott got in and then Kip was alone on the sidewalk and Scott was gone, off somewhere into the night.
“What the fuck,” he said to the air.