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There was a beeping in the background as he rejoined reality. At first, he thought it was Shane's alarm, but usually he was good about shutting it off when the time came in the morning. Ilya was the one who was guilty of letting it continue until he hit the snooze just one more time.
But the beeping was different than an alarm clock. It was a steady rhythmic pulse that was familiar, lighting up his brain with terror at the implication of what it meant.
It was a heart monitor.
He was in the hospital.
Why couldn't he remember coming to the hospital? Why couldn't he remember anything before yesterday?
The world was blurry and made of static, and he struggled to swallow against the noose tied around his throat. There was an overwhelming feeling of guilt festering in his bones, and he had no reason to jump to conclusions, but he feared the worst. That he was responsible.
He couldn’t remember any details of how he got there, but there was a faint memory of pills. Did he take too many? Did he do it on purpose?
There was a small part of him that always knew he would end up following in his mother's footsteps. The small part of him that knew it was only time, and he couldn't fight his fate. He could just try to make the best of it before the darkness swallowed him
But that was the theology he carried before he truly knew Shane, before he had the Centaurs, before he had a family again. There were bad days, of course, but the support system made those days easier to bear.
If he put himself in this hospital, what would that mean for his future, what would that mean for his past? Did it negate everything he's fought towards these past years? Hell, his whole life?
Maybe he wouldn't be drowning in the what-ifs and self-doubt if he had a clear idea of what happened. The clock on the wall read 5:00 a.m. Did he even know what day of the week it was? Maybe, maybe not.
He tried not to panic at the fact that Shane wasn't there. He could be in any one of a million places. Just because he was his husband doesn't mean he had to sit by his side 24/7. Especially not if Ilya did this to himself. He wondered if Shane would ever forgive him. He probably would. He's too good. Too good of a person. Too good of a husband; Ilya didn't deserve him.
He shifted in the hospital bed, feeling coming back to his limbs as they screamed in protest from being stationary for so long. He looked around the room for any clues to tell him what was going on, what he had missed. It was hard to take stock of everything with the light still dim above him, and the tiredness coming back in violent waves.
He didn’t want to sleep! He wanted to fix it! His body wasn’t in control of itself, and Ilya wondered deliriously as his eyes closed, if he ever had control.
…
Shane was in the middle of a contracted photoshoot when he saw the missed call from Ottawa General. Shit. Why would the hospital be calling? He indicated that he needed a break and practically ran off set to find the privacy of a bathroom or someplace he could call back without his conversation ending up in the papers.
“Thanks for calling Ottawa General. How can I assist you today?” The woman on the other line sounded pleasant, but exhausted.
“I saw I had a missed call from you guys. Hollander. Shane Hollander. Can you tell me what this is about?”
“Let me check your profile… alright, it seems we contacted you, Mr. Hollander, in relation to another patient who was brought in with your emergency contact. Do you want me to connect you to his care team?”
“Yes, please.” He whispered, unable to summon the strength for anything more.
Emergency contact? Care team? What the fuck was happening? He needed to call his mom; she would be able to check on Ilya. Or maybe Coach Weibe would know? Fuck. How was this happening?
“I’ve sent the request over to the proper channels, Mr. Hollander. Someone will be reaching out to you shortly with more details.”
He nodded his head before remembering that she wouldn’t be able to see it. “Thank you.”
The call disconnected and Shane felt as if he too became untethered. As far as he knew, he was the emergency contact for exactly one person.
His husband.
…
The next time Ilya woke up, his room was no longer empty. His beautiful husband sat next to his bed, taking vigil, and the ugly beast of guilt clawed at the corners of his mind again. Shane deserved so much better than this. Than him. He blinked back the welling tears, refusing to let his emotions win. He had already let his emotions take enough. How could he have done this?
“Hey, baby, don’t cry. Are you okay? Are you in pain? Let me get a nurse.”
Ilya didn’t realize that his husband had seen him. Great, now he was making him feel bad. He didn’t want to, but he knew ripping the band-aid off would be the best way to go. He slowly turned his head to face the other man.
“Shane.” his voice cracked, and the tears came again. Ilya stubbornly wiped at them with the heel of his hand, desperate to stop his body from reacting.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He cooed as he stroked Ilya’s hair in the way that always got him to relax. “I’m here. You’re okay.”
By the time Ilya could get his breathing under control enough to try and attempt talking again, a nurse had appeared, and Shane had to move to let her take vitals. Having him gone after having him so close felt like the cruelest thing of all.
“Looking good, Mr Rozanov. Your attending is doing her rounds, and should be by shortly with an update and care plan.”
Care plan. Like putting him in a fucking psych ward? Maybe it would be for the best; he couldn’t even remember the attempt. Somehow that scared him more than if he did. What if the feeling came back and he didn’t recognize the warning signs? He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to lose Shane.
A hand stroking up and down his arm brought him back to reality, and he relaxed into the familiar touch, letting it ground him.
“Can you tell me what you’re thinking about, baby?”
He could hear the worry in Shane’s voice. The fact that the heart monitor had sped up exponentially couldn’t be helping his case. After swallowing down the lump in his throat, he turned back to his husband.
“I’m sorry.”
He couldn’t vocalize the rest of it. He hoped Shane would understand. Would forgive him.
“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. It was the medication.”
Ilya nodded, his fears confirmed. “Yes, the pills were my fault.”
“Ilya, you can’t control how your body reacts. Side effects happen to a lot of people, just…usually not this bad.”
“Side effects? What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?”
The pit in his stomach changed to something else. Was he really going to make him say it?
“Was it whole bottle? Or just a few? Shane, you have to know.. I don’t remember taking them. I love you. So much. Please believe me.”
Concern had cemented itself on Shane’s face, his eyebrows in a deep furrow. “Ilya, baby, I’m confused. What do you think happened?”
“I had accident. Like my mother, yes?”
He had to look away from the terror that filled his husband's eyes. There was a hand against his, rubbing soothing circles against his knuckles.
“The doctors told me it was a low dose of your new antidepressants having an adverse reaction to some of your other medication. It caused a minor seizure. Ilya…are you saying that you were trying to-” Shane couldn’t finish the sentence, but the question was there.
Ilya shook his head. “No, I am telling you that I do not remember how I got here- I just remember pills, and then waking up alone, and I thought…I thought I wasn’t strong enough.”
Shane took his other hand and gently cupped his face, tilting his jaw so they would make eye contact.
“You are the strongest person I know. Okay? And the tox screen didn’t have nearly enough medication to indicate overdose. Is this what had you so upset?”
Ilya’s chin trembled as he tried to hold back the tidal wave of emotions that were threatening to break through. Could it be true that this was an accident? Like a real, proper accident?
“Mom is already putting together a case for medical negligence for this happening in the first place, but I told her it was up to what you wanted.”
It wasn’t his fault? Ilya didn’t do this to himself?
“I’m sorry, Shane. I was just so scared. I thought-” his sentence turned into a sob, the relief of being wrong unleashing the feeling he had been trying so hard to keep in check.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He continued to play with his hair, leaving small kisses on his forehead until he had covered every inch of skin.
“Is that something you worry about happening?”
Ilya let out a shaky sigh. “No more than usual.” Shane looked unimpressed by his answer. “Ever since I was 12 years old, in the back of my mind, I think this is a thing that could happen. But I don’t want to think that. I love you, I am happy with you. Even when I’m not happy, and my brain is being bad, I still want to be around you.”
Shane nodded and held his husband closer.
“You make me happy too. I love you. And just for the record, your depression isn’t your fault either. It’s an illness, and we’re fighting it. We’ll find another medication that works for you; we’ll get you into Galina soon- you’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”
Maybe it was because it was Shane saying it, and Ilya was always inclined to listen to him, but there was a part of him that believed it.