Archive of Our Own

He had to wonder how it had gotten this bad.

Shane's chest was tight with anxiety, his hands cold as he thought about the way Ilya's body had given out on the ice. One minute they were skating through the neutral zone, the puck secure on his stick, barely glancing before letting it fly toward Ilya.

Playing on the same team, on the same line, married…

It was more than Shane had ever dreamed.

Of course it hadn't lasted.

The puck hit the boards, Shane almost to the net before he realized Ilya wasn't where he was supposed to be. Shane cut his blades into the ice, turning to see Ilya stopped. Like he couldn't keep moving forward, his brows pulling together as his chest heaved. His face was paler than it should have been near the end of their shift. Ilya was normally flushed from exertion, ready to score and get back to the bench. Not…this.

Play stopped around them as Boston watched their former Captain.

Something was wrong.

Shane moved, his thighs tensing as he pushed his way toward the center of his world, but he didn't make it. He wasn't fast enough.

Not fast enough to get to him before Ilya's eyes rolled back in his head and the weight of his limp body pulled him to the ice.

His helmeted head bounced as it hit the ice and Shane dropped to his knees beside him. His hands fluttered helplessly around Ilya's shoulders, unsure what was wrong, what happened. Fingers brushing his neck, panic gripping him at how cold and clammy Ilya felt.

"Ilya? Ilya, please," Shane begged, every noise around him muffled. The only thing he saw was his husband, his unmoving husband. Ilya's beautiful eyes were closed, but his chest rose. It stuttered, but he was breathing, and that was all Shane could focus on.

Alive, alive, alive.

"Hollander, we need you to back up," A voice said over his shoulder, but Shane didn't move. He reached for Ilya, his fingers skating over the stubble on his jaw before strong hands pulled him back.

He fought.

"Holley, you gotta give the medics room," Cliff Marleau said, pulling Shane toward the Centaurs. Wyatt left the net and gripped the back of his jersey.

"I've got him, Marly."

Zane came up on Shane's other side, his eyes never leaving Ilya, but his hand firm and grounding on Shane's shoulder.

"Ilya?" Shane whispered as he pushed against the hands holding him back. "Ilya, you have to be okay. I can't be okay if you're not okay."

Wyatt made a distressed noise behind him at his words, but Shane didn't care, nothing else mattered. The only thing Shane could think about was Ilya opening his eyes. He needed him to open his fucking eyes.

"What the fuck happened?" Zane asked.

No one knew. He had been fine all day, for most of the game. Only now, nearing the end of the third period… it was like his body had just given up on him.

That had been six hours ago.

Shane sat in the hospital in his sweaty compression shirt. His jersey and pads were stacked in the corner of the room as he stared at his still husband, laying in the hospital bed.

He hadn't woken up yet.

Ilya's beautiful curls were smushed against the pillow, unruly from his helmet and the long game they'd played. And Shane's hand. Tracing his fingers over his husband's face and through his hair, was how Shane had spent the last few hours, in-between fielding phone calls from his parents and their team and their friends. He couldn't help it.

Please wake up.

His silent plea echoed through the room, filling the space with his desperation. The doctors hadn't been able to tell him anything, running test after test and telling Shane they would have to wait for the results, but he was more than welcome to stay here with Ilya tonight.

As if he could go anywhere else.

Shane hadn't even finished the game. They'd taken Ilya off the ice, and Shane had gone with him. If it hadn't been for Harris meeting him at the door with his shoes, he would've left the arena in his skates. Or more likely, his socks. He hadn't gone back to the locker room and showered and changed, following after the ambulance in his car. The only time he'd let Ilya out of his sight was when they'd wheeled him away for scans.

Please, Ilya.

The door clicked as it opened, and Shane didn't glance up, assuming it was his parents back from their coffee run.

"How's he doing?"

Shane lifted his head to see Coach Wiebe, dark hair disheveled, standing in the doorway, staring at the captain of his team laying motionless in a hospital bed.

"I don't know," Shane whispered, brushing the persistent curl that kept migrating back to Ilya's forehead away. "The doctors haven't told me anything yet. He hasn't woken up."

Wiebe walked to the end of the bed and gripped the rail there. "What do you think, Shane? I have my theories, but you're with him more than I am. What do you think happened?"

The question confused him. If Shane had any idea there was a possibility of this, did Coach really think either of them would've been on the ice tonight?

I have my theories.

"You…think you know what happened?" Shane asked, dragging his eyes away from Ilya to stare at Wiebe.

Coach sighed. "Probably the insomnia catching up, is what I'd guess. Do the doctors have his updated medical chart with his new antidepressants? The medic talked to me about the side effects, and Roz mentioned he hasn't been sleeping very well at our last meeting."

Shane stared at him. "He said he hasn't been sleeping well?"

Coach Wiebe met his gaze, surprise smoothing over the concern. "You didn't know?"

"He didn't tell me," Shane said. He slid his hand down Ilya's arm and slotted his fingers between Ilya's. "I didn't notice. Fuck, how could I not have noticed?"

"You've had a lot going on Shane, which is probably why Ilya didn't want to burden you with his problems," Coach said, coming close to lay a hand on Shane's shoulder. "It's very Ilya, isn't it, to hold everything close so the only person he hurts is himself."

Shane squeezed Ilya's hand, wishing desperately that he would squeeze back so he could be angry at him. Angry for not telling him something was wrong, that he was struggling. That it was so bad he ended up in the hospital.

"I'm his husband. He is supposed to burden me with his problems. I burden him with mine! I hate that he's been struggling and he didn't…he didn't tell me," Shane stared hard at the gentle rise and fall of Ilya's chest as he spoke, comforting himself with the small movement.

Alive alive alive.

Shane shook his head. "And after not sleeping and whatever his new medication is changing about his body, the exertion of the Boston game pushed his body over the edge. Ilya was never going to take it easy against his old team, no matter what he felt like. And his body just…gave out."

"That is my working theory, at least," Wiebe said. "I'm sorry, Shane. That he didn't tell you."

His eyes burned with exhaustion and unshed tears, but he managed to give his coach a grateful look. "Thank you. The only thing that really matters right now is that he's alive. Everything else can come later. He's alive."

"He's alive," Coach Wiebe agreed. "Do you need anything, before I go?"

"No, everything I need is right here."

Coach Wiebe smiled. "Damn right. Don't worry about updating the team, I've got your mother's number. You focus on Ilya."

"Thanks Coach."

Hours passed in quiet monotony. Visitors came and went, Shane's parents delivering coffee and snacks and comfort, doctors checking Ilya's vitals and reporting nothing of value.

And no matter how much Shane stressed, Ilya didn't wake up. Didn't open his eyes to tease him or flirt with him. He stayed still, breathing softly, and being farther from Shane than he had ever been before.

Shane leaned over the bed and pressed a kiss to the skin between his eyebrows. "Come back to me, Ilya. I'm waiting for you."

His heart ached with every beat, and it wasn't long before the hours dragged him under. He fell asleep with his hand clutched around Ilya's and his face pressed to the mattress. The angle was uncomfortable and Shane knew he would be hurting when he woke up, but he was too exhausted to care.

And he was never going to leave Ilya's bedside, so he didn't have very many options.

His dreams were a chaotic mix of beeping and warmth, colors moving around him before he could really even figure out what they were.

And a voice.

A voice Shane would recognize anywhere, calling his name.

Shane. Shane. Shanya. Shanezhka. Shane. My Shane. Shanya.

There was a hand stroking through his hair.

Warm. Familiar.

"Hollander if you do not wake up, I am going to go back to sleep," the voice said from above him as Shane dragged himself back toward consciousness.

The hand in his hair slid down to caress the skin on his cheeks.

His freckles.

Shane's eyes widened.

"Ilya!"

He bolted up, startling his very awake husband.

"You-you-you're—"

Ilya tilted his head. "You are not usually this panicked when you wake up, Shanya. I should not have woken you, you looked so beautiful sleeping there."

"You absolutely should have woken me," Shane refuted, reaching for him. His hands captured either side of Ilya's face and held on as if he was going to disappear any moment. "This is real, right? You're here, you're awake? I'm not still dreaming?"

Very calmly, and very deliberately, Ilya turned his face into Shane's palm. Before Shane could do more than breathe, Ilya had opened his mouth and bit down.

"Fuck, Ilya, what the fuck!" Shane said, jerking one hand back. "Why did you bite me?"

Ilya grinned and Shane's breath caught in his chest. "Bite me I am dreaming, yes? I helped."

Shane stared at him.

Ilya's grin grew wider.

And Shane couldn't help it. Laughter bubbled up out of his chest, and he leaned down, pressing his forehead to Ilya's. "God, I'm so happy you're awake, fuck. You can't ever do this to me again, Ilya, I won't survive it."

Ilya's hand, attached to the monitor and I.V., came up to rest on the back of Shane's head. "I am okay, moy lyubimyy. I think…just tired."

"Yeah, about that," Shane said, lifting his head. "Why didn't you tell me you haven't been sleeping?"

Ilya frowned, his beautiful eyes darting away from Shane's. "I did not want to worry you. Playoffs is soon and you have enough on your plate."

"And you think I would rather you exhaust yourself trying to keep up with normal life when you haven't had a real nights sleep in who knows how long, than…what? Lose a hockey game?" Shane asked, continuing before Ilya could even attempt to answer.

"You could have really hurt yourself, Ilya. Maybe you did and we just don't know it yet because the doctors haven't come back with the tests. Hockey is not more important than your life. Especially not to me."

Shane stroked his thumb under Ilya's eye, smoothing over the dark circles that he had been too blind to notice, and trying to inject some humor into his voice. "And besides, we would still win without you. Ottawa is home to the best hockey player in the league."

Ilya leaned into Shane's touch, his blue-hazel eyes soft on his husband's face. "Ah, yes. Troy is very good."

"Fuck you, Rozanov."

"Maybe not in hospital, Shanya," Ilya said, a smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth. "Though, I don't know, we haven't tried. Anyone could walk in, but you like audience, yes?"

Before Shane could even manage an exasperated Ilya, the door to the room opened and Ilya's doctor strolled in.

Her face lit up when she saw Ilya awake, and Shane couldn't help but mirror her expression.

"Mr. Rozanov, I am so glad to see you awake," She said as she moved to the other side of the bed and began to routinely check Ilya's vitals, comparing them to the chart at the end of the bed. "I came in to share the results of some of your tests. You'll be happy to know most came back negative for anything super dangerous—"

"Is this doctor term? Super dangerous?" Ilya asked, a shit-eating grin spread across his face.

"Yes it is," She said. "But what we did see is something you probably already know, Mr. Rozanov, and you have figured out, Mr. Hollander."

The doctor settled her clipboard against her chest and shrugged. "You're exhausted. You pushed your body too hard and it shut down. I know hockey players tend to form bad habits with their health near and during playoffs, but that doesn't mean you should let it happen."

"I did not do on purpose," Ilya said. His voice was quiet and he refused to make eye contact with either of them. "It started when I changed my medicine. I just could not get to sleep. Not even with my Shanya in my arms, which has always helped in the past. So I have just been awake. And awake. And awake. I cannot sleep."

"And is there a reason you didn't bring this up with your Primary?" She asked.

"Or your husband?" Shane added.

Ilya shook his head. "I thought it would get better. Some things take time, yes?"

Shane sighed, reaching out to tilt Ilya's head in his direction, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Ilyusha, even if that is what you wanted to do, you still should have told me. We could have figured it out together."

"I did not want to bother you," Ilya admitted and Shane felt his heart break inside his chest. "I thought it would get better and I would have brought it up for nothing."

"Ilya…" Shane said, unable to keep the pain of his admission out of his voice. "Even if it had turned out to be nothing, I still want to know. We're married. I'm here for you, it's literally my job. I need you to tell me when something is wrong."

The doctor cleared her throat before Ilya could respond, reminded them she was in the room with an apologetic look. "We are prescribing rest while we contact your regular doctor about your medication. We'd like to keep you here tonight to monitor you, make sure there's nothing else we missed, and we will give you something to help you sleep. How's that sound?"

Ilya took Shane's hand again. "Shane can stay with me?"

"Of course," the doctor smiled, scribbling something onto her clipboard. "Someone will be by soon with meds to help you sleep."

"Thank you."

The door closed softly behind her. The room was quiet except for the persistent beep of the machines attached to Ilya. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

Ilya broke the silence. "Are you going to yell at me?"

From the way his shoulders tensed and the skin around his eyes tightened, Shane knew that's what Ilya expected. Shane to yell at him, to be angry at the secrets.

And he had been angry. He wouldn't lie and say he hadn't. But seeing Ilya awake and talking and okay took all the wind from his sails. Now, Shane was only angry at himself.

"No, Ilyusha. I'm not going to yell at you. None of this is your fault and even if it was, I wouldn't yell at you. That's not the kind of person I am," Shane said.

The look on Ilya's face made it clear he didn't entirely believe him, but knew better than to say so.

Alright. Maybe Shane would have to prove it in another way.

He stood up, slipping his shoes from his feet and climbing onto the bed with his husband.

Ilya grunted in surprise as Shane swung his leg over his hips, settling there like it was exactly where he was meant to be.

"What are you doing?" Ilya asked, voice colored with shock even as his hands came up to rest on Shane's thighs. "Hollander we are in the hospital."

Shane leaned forward, one hand sliding behind Ilya's neck and the other burying in his hair while he held his gaze. "I'm upset, yes. I was so worried about you and no one could tell me anything. The one solace I have is that we're married so no one questioned when I abandoned the game and came with you."

"You didn't finish the game?" Ilya asked, stunned.

"I'm insulted you think I would," Shane said, tugging on Ilya's curls. "You just…collapsed on the ice. No way could I stay there without you. So yes, I'm upset, because I was afraid I was losing you and that is not something I can handle."

Ilya's hand came up to wipe away the tear that had slipped from Shane's eye, his palm warm and familiar against his skin. "You will not lose me."

Shane felt a smile tug the corner of his lips. "I hope not. But either way, I'm not angry, Ilya. I promise. I would never treat you that way, I love you too much for that."

He pressed a gentle kiss to Ilya's lips, very aware of where they were, but unable to keep himself away. It was a feeling Shane would never tire of, even when both their lips were chapped from the game, it was the best thing in the world. Kissing Ilya.

Ilya wrapped the arm not connected to various tubes and machines around Shane's back, pulling him down so their bodies were flush together. His tongue found its way into Shane's mouth and they spent many minutes like that, breathing into each other and reveling in their lives.

Being alive.

It was a while before Shane pulled back, resting his forehead against Ilya's. "I love you," he said, breathless. "I will love you forever, Ilyusha."

Ilya pressed a kiss to his nose, his face lighter and more relaxed than Shane could remember seeing it recently. "Ya tebya lyublyu, Shanya."

Shane grinned at him, glancing toward the door. "Do you think they'll let us sleep like this?"

"Maybe if we are asleep when they come back," Ilya suggested, getting comfortable as Shane shifted to lying only half on top of him.

Ilya kissed the top of his head as Shane snuggled into his chest, both of them sighing with contentment.

Whatever happened next, it didn't matter.

As long as they were together, they'd get through it.

No matter what.