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“Hey, sweetheart, where's your Papa?” Shane stroked the bottom of Anya’s chin on the spot that usually made her melt into his lap, but today she didn't take the bait. Instead, she continued to whine and paw at Shane until he turned down the Sports Broadcast he had on in the background, shifting his focus fully to his girl.
Ilya had taken her out for a run a few hours ago, and while typically he would be back by now, it wasn’t that uncommon that he would lose track of time playing with the dog. What was uncommon was Anya returning all alone.
“Ilya?” Shane called out for his husband, a trickle of worry spreading across his spine at the silence that answered.
He didn’t hear the shower running or see Ilya’s sneakers by the door, leading him to believe he was still outside. Why had he separated from Anya? She continued to whine and make figure-eights between Shane’s legs as he tried to walk towards the front door. Something was wrong; he wasn’t sure what, but he knew well enough by now when to trust his gut. Was she sick? She couldn’t be pregnant; Harris had her spayed before the adoption even went through. What the hell was going on?
As soon as he stepped through the doorway into the spring air, she dashed towards the tree line bordering their property. The wooded trails were some of Ilya’s favorites to run, Shane's, too, when he opted for cardio instead of yoga like he did today.
“Anya! Where are you going?” He huffed in mild annoyance at her ditching him for the trail, jogging to keep up. Usually she was the best running partner, always keeping pace and keeping them on track, but now he struggled to see her tail disappear over the slight hill, blocking the view of the rest of the trail.
When he crested the top, all annoyance faded as he felt the ground go unsteady underneath his feet. A couple of yards away lay Ilya, crumpled on the ground, his back braced against a tree.
“Oh my God, Ilya!?” Shane was at his side in a moment, dropping to his knees, gently pushing Anya out of the way so he could assess his husband.
His light grey tank top clung to his defined muscles, slicked with more sweat than a usual run would produce. Ilya looked like he was drowning, his skin tight and red, breath unfocused and way too fast for Shane’s liking.
“Hey, baby-” He tilted his chin up so he could look into his husband's eyes, desperate for an answer, an explanation, a clearly defined problem so then he could fix it. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Ilya’s eyes were glazed over, and Shane wasn’t even sure that he was seeing him. With one hand firmly refusing to let him go, Shane dialed emergency services with the other. He wished he had more information to give them, but he was still just as clueless about what was going on.
Did he hit his head? How long has he been like this? Has he stopped breathing at all? Even as Shane tried to coax information out of his husband, it was obvious that he was cognizant enough to answer properly.
“Hmm, Мне плохо.” He murmured against Shane’s steady hand, his head shaking. “I don’t feel so good.”
“I know, baby. It’s going to be okay. You’re alright.” By now Shane had him propped up on his lap, afraid to move him too far until the paramedics arrived, but unable to continue watching as his shaking head would hit the bark of the tree. Now he just shook in Shane’s arms; as hard as it was to witness, it was a relief to hold him.
He could feel the tension in his shoulder as something started to shift, and supported his weight as Ilya emptied his stomach onto the forest floor.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.”
God, please don’t let him lose him like this. Shane genuinely didn’t think he would survive. He’d lived in a world where he’d known Ilya longer than he hadn’t, the first 17 years of his life not quite the full person that he had become in the following 18. He brushed a sweat-soaked curl out of his eyes, trying to focus on the fact that Ilya was alive and breathing, and every second he held on, they got closer to help arriving.
…
They had Ilya loaded onto the mobile stretcher quicker than Shane would have thought possible, one of the EMTs taking vitals while the other strapped him in. He was halfway into the rig himself before he realized that Anya was still nervously pacing the yard. Shane stole a moment to run with her inside before locking the door behind him; he would call and ask his parents to check in on her. He would have to make sure she got the biggest treat she wanted, hell, anything she wanted after she had helped him find Ilya like that.
“Does your husband have any history with drug abuse? Do you think he’s taken anything?” The paramedic said it without judgement, just the cool professionalism of a woman whose job it was to find answers.
It wasn’t like the thought had never crossed Shane’s mind; his recurring nightmares always started with him finding Ilya on the floor, a bottle of pills discarded to his side. He was working with his own therapist on how to deal with the fear he felt for his husband on his bad days. But Ilya wasn’t in an episode. He wasn’t having bad days recently…was he?
“No history. I don’t think he’s taken anything.” Shane’s voice wavered at his own uncertainty.
He wanted to look away but couldn’t as they used shears to cut through the middle of his tank, exposing his rapidly fluttering chest to the sterile air.
“Holy shit.” He didn’t mean to cuss out loud, but the red, swollen bite mark on his abdomen
“Looks like we’re dealing with an allergic reaction, insect bite or sting if I had to guess.” She said to her partner, who was already getting out an auto-injector that had to be filled with epinephrine if Shane had to guess.
“Allergic reaction? But he was breathing okay?”
She answered without looking up from what she was doing, clinical and methodical with her movements. “Progression of symptoms and severity can vary with different people; the fact he’s still breathing so well on his own is a good thing.”
Shane nodded, only finding himself able to breathe again as he witnessed the injection taking effect- the redness of Ilya’s skin, which he now realizes were hives, was beginning to fade back into his regular polished tone.
Goddamn insects.
…
Ilya awoke to a stinging in his chest and throbbing in his thigh. He felt as if he were coming from a dream; flashes of Shane’s face and Anya’s whine filled his mind alongside the smell of pine needles on a dirt floor. Blurry pieces of his collapse, throwing up, the ambulance ride, all started to knit their way back together as the fog began to lift.
“Hey baby, how are you doing?” Shane asked softly from the side of his bed, the other chair occupied by his Mama Yuna.
“Hmm. Better now, I think.”
“You had a pretty bad allergic reaction to an insect bite or sting. What do you remember?”
Ilya thought for a moment. “You. Anya. Not much.”
A smile blossomed on Shane’s face at the mention of their dog; he was one proud Dad and knew that Ilya would be too.
“We’ll have to get her something special; she saved your life today. I might not have found you in time if she hadn’t been so insistent…” What Shane didn’t say was that he already almost didn’t find Ilya in time. He didn’t say how terrified he was, because he was so close to losing the other man, and he couldn’t even think about the possibility.
“She is a good girl,” Ilya said, smiling, knowing the sadness that lay just behind the relief in Shane’s eyes. “Takes after her бабушка.” He winked at Yuna.
His mother-in-law smiled, and Ilya wanted to freeze that moment forever- a mother's smile, directed at him. “Smart, kind, tenacious, fast as hell- I think she takes after both her dads.”
Ilya laughed, meeting Shane’s gaze with a playful shrug. “Who are we to disagree with Mama Yuna?”