Chapter Text
Shane returned to his seat after trying to talk to Ilya in the rafters, he was upset at being dismissed but tried to hide it while sitting with the other guys. When the skating event ended, Vaughn invited Shane to go to dinner with them and then a party in the Olympic village. Shane agreed to go so he wouldn’t just sit in his room, replaying the entire exchange he had with Rozanov. During dinner Shane tried to be engaged in the conversation but his head was spinning, his brain racing. Four months ago, he had a night of intense passionate and mind blowing sex with Rozanov; and now it was like none of that mattered to Ilya at all. Shane excused himself from the party and went outside.
Shane walked out into the Olympic Village, the midnight rain freezing and bitter. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and began to walk around the village. Parties and teams could be heard shouting and celebrating in the distance, people from different countries getting to know each other. He turned away from them and walked around the corner, behind the dining hall where it was dark and he could be alone. As he turned the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks, the bright white jacket with a red shoulder and collar on the ground around someone who wasn’t moving, only curls visible in the night. That’s a team Russia jacket. He immediately went from walking to a sprint, the rain coming down even harder, steady and icy.
“Ilya?” Shane could barely get the name out, all the anger dissipating immediately replaced with fear. As he approached the unmoving body, there was a pool of water under it and as Shane got closer he could tell it wasn’t just rain. It was swirling with thick, dark crimson, washing out from Ilya’s unmoving body.
“ILYA!” Shane gasped, grabbing him and rolling him over. Shane’s breath caught in his throat, a raw horrific sound escaping his chest. Ilya’s face was unrecognizable, his lip was split, his right eye swollen shut, and bruising was already forming across his jawline and temple. He was shivering violently as his fingers twitched in the cold water beneath him, the rain pelting his blood-streaked and pale skin. Shane’s heart was racing, panic screaming in his head.
“Hey, hey, look at me. Please look at me.” Shane begged, holding Ilya’s face in his trembling hands as he leaned over him. Shane was terrified to hold him, not wanting to hurt him anymore but was also afraid not to. “Who did this? Ilya, who the fuck did this to you?!”
Ilya’s one eye that was not swollen shut blinked open, unfocused, trying to look at Shane in the downpour. He coughed, wet, weak and spitting out blood as he tried to speak. Ilya was able to choke out a single word: Alexei.
Shane’s emotions and body language flipped instantly, almost like Ilya had turned on a light switch. The panic racing through Shane’s body hardened into something terrifying, something sharp. The look on Shane’s face was one Ilya had never seen before, not even on the ice. Shane’s worry went dead, being replaced by a blinding, suffocating, all encompassing murderous rage.
“Where is he?” Shane’s voice was low, a primal growl, there was not a hint of the panic he had been filled with moments ago. Shane’s hands tightened on Ilya’s jacket, the blood staining his hands as he leaned down towards Ilya’s face. “Rozanov, where the fuck did he go?”
Ilya turned his head away slightly, feeling weaker by the moment and the words caught in his throat. He tried to shake his head no, desperately wanting Shane to stay and hold him. “Shane, no please, forget him, just stay.” Ilya’s accent was thick and broken by the pain as he forced the words out.
“Tell me where he went, Rozanov. Tell me right now or I swear to God I will search every square inch of this fucking country until I find him.” Shane snapped, his vision was tunneled and his eyes were dark with fury, focusing on the one and only thing that mattered to him: the suffocating urge to tear Alexei apart.
“He’s, he’s…” Ilya coughed up more blood, trying not to answer Shane, hoping that his broken body would snap Shane out of this fog. But the terrifying determination in Shane’s eyes told him that wasn’t an option. “He’s at the old training rink, in the city. Shane, wait, he’s not…”
Shane wasn’t listening past the words ‘old training rink’, he let go of Ilya’s jacket and stood up in a violent, single motion. He didn’t look back at Ilya or make sure he could move; Shane was blinded, seeing red with a primal, protective burning anger. Shane stormed off into the dark, getting into one of the complimentary golf carts and speeding off.
Ilya was lying in the freezing downpour, watching as Shane vanished into the night. His body was battered and bruised, aching everywhere but the panic flared through him. He knew Alexei wasn’t alone, he would meet his friends at the old rink to drink and do drugs. Shane was walking straight into a bloodbath and he was going to get himself killed. Shane was going to die in Russia and it was all going to be Ilya’s fault. He would have to call THE Yuna Hollander and explain to her that he was the reason Shane was dead.
Move, Ilya demanded his body, he was shivering violently, soaked by the icy rain and his own blood. His body was barely able to do anything, he thought of Shane, of Alexei, of what his brother was capable of. You have to move. Crying in agony with every breath, Ilya pushed himself onto his stomach, his vision immediately swimming with black dots. The concrete scraped his skin as he dragged it forward towards the housing blocks. Every inch ached, every breath he took felt like inhaling broken glass. He couldn’t follow Shane, could not get to him without even being able to stand but he knew this village. He knew two buildings over, on the third floor, was Scott Hunter’s room.
Scott Hunter was the captain of Team USA, an MHL veteran who carried himself proudly and with the authority that made everyone who played with him better. Ilya never liked Scott, chirped at him every chance he got and spent every moment reminding Hunter that he was an old man. Asking Hunter for anything was definitely not on a list of things Ilya ever wanted to need or have to do. Hunter demanded respect and perseverance, but more than that, Ilya knew Hunter would protect Shane at any cost. Since their rookie season, Hunter had been close to Shane, referring to him as ‘his rook’. If anyone could get through to Shane and stop him from making a mistake that could cost him his life, it was Hunter.
Ilya was terrified, Alexei had been beating him for years and he knew what that was like. Especially if Alexei had started drinking or even worse, had been snorting cocaine since he left him outside the village. Ilya crawled, crying with every inch through the shadows of the Olympic Village, his blood trailing behind him, the icy rain still pouring down. This is for Shane. He kept reminding himself. He finally reached the door and used every ounce of strength he had left to knock on it.