Work Text:
It had been 2 days since the fan mail incident. He knew the other shoe was going to drop; it was already dropping. He just didn't expect the call. Maybe he was naive to think that it would be anything different.
Guilt and emotional manipulation. These were things that described Ilya's relationship with his brother for as long as he could remember. There might have been a time when they were young, when their mother was still alive, when their father's heart hadn't hardened fully, when their relationship looked different.
But Ilya suspects Alexei will always hate him for getting out of Russia. And maybe there's a part of Ilya that will always hate him for staying. It made him feel like shit because that line of thinking led to him ruminating over the fact that Alexei was in Russia taking care of their father, or at least managing the funds that take care of him. Ilya could get out because Alexei stayed.
Maybe that was why he would always give in when 3:00 a.m. rolled around, and Alexei called for another couple grand for a coke fix or gambling debt. But he was done with that now. His father was buried, his brother cut off; he could move forward. Alexei must have noticed the finality in his voice because the calls tapered off and eventually stopped without Ilya having to block his number.
Maybe that was where he made his first mistake. Allowing himself to be reached by that part of his past that still hurt like an open wound. He had to give it to Alexei; he held out longer than he thought he would. But now the world knows Ilya's biggest, darkest secret.
At first he didn't answer the phone. He let it go to voicemail and didn't think about it for the rest of the night until it happened again. And again. And again. Shane was in Montreal trying to smooth things over with a team that didn't appreciate him, and Ilya was alone in a house that was too big to be alone in.
Each time Alexei called, he wouldn't leave a voicemail. It was killing him, thinking about what he was going to say. Would his brother be sympathetic? Surely not. Angry? Yes, probably. Would his call be filled with slurs and fast-spoken Russian? Almost certainly. Still, in the early morning hours, as Ilya stared up at the ceiling, wishing the space in his bed wasn't empty, he finally answered.
“Привет, брат. Hello, brother.”
The sound of his deep breathing echoed through the receiver. If Ilya didn't know better, he would think Alexei was drowning on land.
“Пидор. Я всегда знал, что ты — сплошное разочарование. Faggot. I always knew you were a disappointment.”
“Тебе повезло, что отец умер, иначе это его убило бы. You're lucky Father is dead, or this would have killed him.” He laughed, and Ilya noted that Alexei sounded drunk. “Иначе он бы тебя убил. Вообще-то, кто-нибудь должен это сделать. Or he would have killed you. Someone should, really.”
“Не думаю, что ты звонил, чтобы сказать мне это. I don't think you called to tell me this.”
“нет. No.” He paused; Ilya wasn't sure why. Could there be anything worse his brother could say?
“Я звоню, потому что мне нужны деньги. Илюша, нас просто распинают. Ты ведь не хочешь, чтобы твою племянницу осуждали из-за её дяди-пидора? Я знаю, что ты этого не хочешь. I am calling because I need money. Ilyusha, they are crucifying us. You don't want your niece to be condemned because of her faggot uncle? I know you don't want this.”
Ilya clenched his jaw. “Так это «мне нужны деньги» или же деньги нужны моей племяннице? Это не одно и то же. So is it ‘I need money' or is it that my niece needs money? These are not the same.”
Alexei spat out a string of curses. “Мои деньги уходят ей! Как ты думаешь, кто о ней заботится, кто её защищает? My money goes to her! Who do you think takes care of her, protects her?”
“Илюша. Мы в опасности. Ты подверг нас опасности! Ilyusha. We are in danger. You have put us in danger!”
“Ну что ж, уезжай. Я пришлю тебе денег, чтобы ты вывез жену и дочь из Москвы. Отправься туда, где тебе ничего не угрожает. Или ты не хочешь расставаться с коррумпированными полицейскими, с которыми водишь дела? Или с наркоторговцами, которых ты покрываешь? Okay, so leave. I will send you money to take your wife and daughter out of Moscow. Go somewhere where you are not in danger. Or do you not want to leave the corrupt police you play with? Or the dealers you protect?”
“Пошёл ты. Я не могу уехать из России! Не у всех есть возможность уехать! Fuck you. I cannot leave Russia! Not everyone gets to leave!”
Ilya thought of a time when they were younger, playing in the snowbanks while his fingers were freezing in his too-big mittens, their mother calling them to come in for tea. He missed that. He longed for that. He wanted to have tea with his brother again without any other pretences or alternative motives. He knew he was being naive, because time and time again Alexei had shown that there was only one thing he valued from Ilya. And yet still, he missed his brother.
“Мне жаль. I'm sorry.” It was obviously not what Alexei was expecting to hear. “Дело вовсе не в любви к нему. Совсем не в этом. Мне жаль, что из-за этого возникли трудности у тебя и твоей семьи. Так быть не должно. Приезжай в Северную Америку. Я помогу тебе найти хорошую работу. Тебе больше не придется жить в страхе. Not about loving him. Never that. I am sorry that it has made things difficult for you and your family. It shouldn't be that way. Come to North America. I will help you find a good job. You don't have to live in fear.”
Maybe things would be different this time. Maybe he would send money, and Alexei would use it to bring his family over, or stay in Europe but relocate to a place where they weren't being persecuted.
Maybe this time he wouldn't spend it on coke and hookers and debts that no doubt also put his family in danger.
Maybe this time he would get some small part of his brother back.
“Подумайте об этом. Пожалуйста. Think about it. Please.”
Between the thick, heavy breathing on the other side, Ilya wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not… a whispered: “может быть Maybe.”