Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Hayden Pike, Troy Barrett, Ottawa Centaurs Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hockey Injuries, i needed angst, hollanov husbands, Post-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Autistic Shane Hollander, Medical Inaccuracies, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-13 Completed: 2026-01-21 Words: 8,301 Chapters: 4/4

there I saw you standing (must have been a holy light)

Summary

There’s a sudden cacophony of yells. As Shane turns to find the source of the noise, the only thing he can see is red splattered across the ice and a #81 jersey.

For an absurd moment, all he can think is “my parents are at this game. Hayden and Jackie are in the stands. Thank god the kids aren’t here.”

He doesn’t remember moving, but the next thing he knows, he’s kneeling in a pool of blood with his hands on Ilya’s neck, certain that he was about to die.

Notes

Trigger warning for medical trauma

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

It was supposed to be an easy game. An easy win. Buffalo was just as bad as they’d always been.

Ottawa was up 3 in the third period, with 2 minutes left on the clock and a shutout from Hazy. Unless Buffalo suddenly gained a star player, they were done for.

Rozanov had, as always, been chirping at everyone that came within hearing distance of him. Shane had given up trying to rein him in after the first period of his first game with the Centaurs, over a year ago. Now he mostly tried to do damage control when it looked like his husband was about to be socked in the face. Today though, he found no small amount of pleasure in watching Ilya slam player after player into the baseboards. Especially #92, a right wing from Russia who had been spitting slurs at him and Shane all night. Despite his still-struggling knowledge of the Russian language, Shane knew enough to understand why his husband’s face had been stuck in a permanent snarl for the last hour.

As the clock ticked down with only 25 seconds left on the clock, Shane intercepts the puck from a player whose name he never bothered to learn, racing toward the goal and sinking the puck in the left corner of the net. He let out a whoop and lifted his arm in the air in celebration, accepting shoulder pats from Dykstra and Bood.

Shane is smiling as the buzzer sounds, joining in the cheers of his team.

His haze of joy is broken by a shout behind him.

There’s a sudden cacophony of yells. As Shane turns to find the source of the noise, the only thing he can see is red splattered across the ice and a #81 jersey.

For an absurd moment, all he can think is “my parents are at this game. Hayden and Jackie are in the stands. Thank god the kids aren’t here.”

He doesn’t remember moving, but the next thing he knows, he’s kneeling in a pool of blood with his hands on Ilya’s neck, certain that he was about to die.

Ilya stared at him wide-eyed, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the blood streaming from the cut on his neck. Shane vaguely registers Luca, Troy, and Nick wrestling 92 to ground, Barrett pulling him into a headlock and screaming for police. Buffalo jerseys blur behind them, as the opposing team stands in shock.

“That was on fucking purpose! Ref get the fucking cops, he just -“
“He killed him! He killed him!”
“Did you hear what he fucking said? He meant to do it!”
“Police!”
“Help! Help!”
“Medics!”

Shane can hardly keep track of the shouting around him, his eyes fixed on his husband’s gurgling as he presses his hand more firmly onto Ilya’s neck. If he learned anything from obsessing over the most horrific on-ice accidents, it’s that pressure is always the first step in first aid. Shane’s skin crawls as more blood pours out between his fingers.

It felt like an eternity before the medics are on them. “Good, Hollander, stay there, press hard.”

Shane follows the instructions, pressing hard enough that Ilya’s mouth pops open, eyes going impossibly wider, at the cut off of his air. He sucks in a wet gasp, his body beginning to tremble.

“-der. Shane!” His head snaps up to look at the medic closest to him, Callie, he thinks. “When I tell you to,” she continues, “you move your hands. Not a second earlier, do you understand?”

He nods, unable to form words, feeling as if it was him laid out on the ice with his neck split open.

There’s more shuffling around him, and then Callie is forcing a metal device into Ilya’s mouth, forcing it wide open. “Talk to him, Shane,” she doesn’t look up from her ministrations. “Okay, Ilya. This is going to hurt and it’s going to feel like you can’t breathe, but I need you to not fight this. I can’t control the bleeding without blocking your airways, so we need to put this tube in to ensure you don’t suffocate.”

Ilya’s eyes are darting between Callie and Shane, his face scrunched in pain and his tears never ending. Shane pulls himself together, the world around him going silent as he stares into his husband’s pained eyes.

“Ilya. Ilya. My love, look at me. Look at me.” Finally, Ilya turns his eyes to Shane, who forces a watery smile.

“You’re going to be okay. We’re getting you help, you’re going to be okay. We’re going to go back to the cottage, and spend days swimming in the lake with Anya. And Mom is going to make your favorite pasta and I’ll buy you all the ice cream you want, okay? You’re going to be fine. This isn’t how you go out.”

Shane continues his ramblings before Callie cuts him off. “Alright Hollander, I’m going to count down from three and then Howard over there is going to take over for you while I intubate him.” He forces a nod. “Alright. 3… 2… 1, now!”

Shane throws himself away from Ilya as the other medic - Howard, he thinks distantly - takes his place seamlessly. He watches, horrified, as Callie forces a tube down his husband’s throat. Listens as Ilya’s limbs shoot out and his hands scramble for purchase against the ice. That’s what shakes Shane out of his stupor.

He crawls to Ilya’s head, framing his forehead with his hands, and feeling the clammy, pale skin beneath his fingers. Ilya’s eyes immediately find his, and Shane’s breath is knocked out of his chest with the sheer panic he sees there.

Ilya is steady. Ilya is not supposed to panic. Ilya is supposed to laugh with the rookies, endlessly chirp at his opponents, drink until his laughter is the loudest in the room, let the dog on the bed when Shane has told him a million times -

This isn’t how Ilya is going to die. Shane will not allow it.

“Look at me.” He says it with enough force that Ilya stills, halting his subconscious fight against the medics.

“Ya tebya lyublyu. Ty ne ostavish' menya segodnya.” He brushes his thumb across Ilya’s eyebrow and leans down to press a shaky kiss to his forehead. He only realizes he’s crying when his tears splash onto Ilya’s cheeks.

“We need him on the stretcher so we can get him in an ambulance and into the closest OR possible. Shane, I need you to step back and let us do that. Your parents and teammates are on the ice waiting for you. Go with them and let them drive you-“

“No,” he frantically shakes his head, “no I’m going with him.” Ilya is being yanked from his hands as he’s moved onto a stretcher.

“Shane,” a hand on his shoulder. It’s Wiebe. “You can’t go in the ambulance like this. We will be right behind them.”

“I can’t-“ he doesn’t have a choice. They’re wheeling away the love of his life and he’s left kneeling in the ice with his hands outstretched. “No, no, I can’t-“

Suddenly his mother is there, holding his face. He doesn’t know how he got onto the ice, but he doesn’t have time to think about it before his face is in Yuna’s hands. Her usually tanned skin is starkly grey, her face flushed and mascara running down her cheeks. “Shane, you need to get off the ice. Hayden went to get your clothes and shoes. You can change in the tunnel. Your father is getting the car, we’re following right behind the ambulance. We need to go.”

He stands, automatic and hollow. He distantly notices that his knees are wet. Soaked in his husband’s blood. Matching his hands, his forearms, the splatters across his chest that blend with his jersey.

Shane lifts his eyes as his entire body trembles. His team is lined along the path the stretcher, marked by lines of blood where the wheels smeared it. They’re wide eyed, with blood drained from their faces. Shane stares for a moment before someone - Wyatt, he thinks - grabs his arm and pulls him gently across the ice and away from the thousands of eyes he can feel on the back of his neck

The Centaurs fall in behind him as he manages to skate toward the tunnel. The minute the lights of the stadium fades behind him, he stops, turns away from Wyatt, and vomits. He braces his hands against the wall, sliding down until he’s kneeling beside the mess he made.

He turns onto his ass, sitting hard, his head slamming into the wall behind him. He’s stuck.

He needs to get to Ilya. He needs to move, to run to him.

He cannot move. He cannot do anything but sit on the ground and rock himself back and forth. His hands tug at his hair, dragging blood and sweat across his cheeks.

He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until he feels hands on his knee and his chin, gently forcing his head up. Hayden is there.

“Shane,” he says, softer than Shane has ever heard him, “I know you want to shutdown right now, but Ilya needs you. I’m going to take your skates off, then we’re going to get you changed and to David’s car. Troy is grabbing a wet towel to help with the - with the blood. Do you understand?”

Shane can only stare at him for several heartbeat before he nods. Hayden quickly starts on his skates, unlacing them with quick precision.

With the Centaurs a wall around him, keeping prying eyes out, Hayden pulls him to his feet and tugs on his uniform until Shane helps shed his gear. He pulls on the clothes Hayden brought for him, a pair of Ilya’s sweats and Raiders hoodie he keeps in his locker.

Troy is in front of him, now, holding out a wet towel. Shane just stares at it, prompting Yuna to step in from where she was hovering to Shane’s left. His mother takes the towel and starts on her son’s face, gently wiping off her other son’s blood. She makes his way down his arms, leaving his legs dirty but covered by the sweatpants he had put on. Bood is at his feet, guiding his foot into his tennis shoes with the gentleness only a father can exhibit.

“Alright,” Hayden says, grabbing Shane’s face and pressing their foreheads together. “We’re going to walk to the garage. We’re going to go to the hospital. The team will meet us there with Wiebe. Jackie is going to stay behind to drive some people. Yuna and I are coming with you. Okay?”

Shane forces a nod. His mom grabs his arm and begins to pull him away from his team, who take turns holding his shoulders and hands and arms as he passes. Usually, that much physical contact would send him spiraling, but right now, it’s only grounding him to the world when all he wants to do is slip away.

Chapter End Notes

Russian translation per Google Translate: I love you. You will not leave me today.

Planning to continue this!

Title from “At the Beach, In Every Life,” by Gigi Perez

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Shane didn’t remember the walk to the car. Or the drive to the hospital. The next thing he knows, he’s sitting on the passenger side with his feet pressed down on the concrete of the parking lot, his fingers twirling the wedding ring he wears on a chain around his neck, his dad is kneeling in front of him. “Shane,” David says softly, “We’re here. We called ahead, they knew we were coming. We’re going straight up to the ICU and his medical team will meet us there. We need to be quick, there will be cameras at the entrance.”

“Cameras?” He croaked, shaking his head. “Fucking vultures.” Shane was grateful for the anger that enveloped him then. It was better than the never ending hollowness that’s trying to eat him whole.

“I know,” Yuna is standing in front of him now, Hayden next to her. “I’ll deal with them. Let’s go. Our boy needs us.”

Shane takes a shaky breath, giving his ring one final twist before standing, David rising with him. Wordlessly, he walks toward the entrance of the hospital, his family, barring the most important piece, behind him.

The second he leaves the safety of the parking lot overhang, he’s assaulted by flashing lights and microphones shoved into his face. He pushed past them all, shoving people out of the way with aggression that he typically reserves for the ice. He can feel his eyes watering, something that would normally send him spiraling… crying, over his husband, in front of all these people. He knows his face will be plastered on front pages within the next hour.

He distantly hears his mother screaming behind him. He pays her no mind as his dad and Hayden flank him on either side, clearing a path forward. He crosses the threshold into the hospital, and for a moment, it’s blissfully silent. Then his senses are assaulted by antiseptic, keyboards clicking, and bright glaring lights overhead.

He made a beeline to the front desk. “Hollander-Rozanov, they told us to go straight to the ICU.” He didn’t bother with niceties and formalities. Everyone here knows who he is anyway.

“Mr. Hollander,” the lady is shocked when she looks up. “Ah, yes. Yes, ICU, they’re waiting for you. 4th floor.”

He’s running before she ever finished her sentence, David and Hayden right on his heels. His heart is racing as he stumbles out of the elevator following the signs to the ICU. He hardly takes a step inside before a nurse is on him. “Mr. Hollander, we’ve been expecting you. Please step outside with me.” She places a gentle hand on his shoulder and turns him down a corner to a private waiting room, pulling the door shut behind the three men.

“Please, just - Is he… Is he?” Shane doesn’t want to verbalize the thoughts running through his brain. Is he gone? Did he die? Was it in the ambulance? Was it here? Was anyone holding his hand? Was he scared?

“My name is Estella. I’m an ICU nurse that has been assigned to Mr. Rozanov-“

“Ilya.”

“Ilya,” she corrects gently, “is in surgery. He was unconscious when he came in, the paramedics said he lost consciousness in the ambulance. It was clear that the blade hit his carotid artery, give the amount of blood and pattern of bleeding. We were unable to determine if his vocal cords were in tact before he was rushed into the OR.”

Shane sat there, breathing heavy. Vocal chords? He hadn’t even thought of that. Ilya with no words that was - that was wrong.

He opened his mouth but no sounds came out. His father took over. “Is he stable?”

“The last I heard from his surgeons, he was in critical condition, but yes, stable. I don’t have much other information, he’s only been in the OR for about 20 minutes.”

“When will we know more?” David continues.

“It’ll be at least an hour or two before any updates.” Estella let that settle in for a moment before continuing, “Mr. Hollander - Shane. I will tell you as soon as I know anything else. For now, you can stay here. It’s private, nobody should bother you. We also have social workers if you want to talk to anyone, and religious advisors if that’s something you’re interested in.”

“No, no, I don’t- no.” Shane realizes he’s shaking his leg, tapping his fingers in a frantic pattern onto his knee.

Estella nods her head gently and stands. “I’ll be back with updates,” she repeats.

Shane zones out for a while after that, staring a a specific spot of dirt on the floor. The door opens again and he recognizes his mother taking a seat across from him. His dad quietly relays what the doctor told them. Shane can feel her eyes on him, but keeps his gaze downward. If he looks at her, he’s scared he’ll see all his worst fears glaring back at him.

The next thing he registers is a thundering of foot steps growing louder until his team - their team - spills into the small room. There aren’t enough chairs to fit 20+ large men, so they quietly take their places on the floor. Shane can feel hands on him, his shoulders, his neck, his knees, his feet. He feels bodies enveloping him, and he lets himself sink into the warmth, unable to tell who is who and which way is up. Eventually, the shuffling stops and he listens to the familiar voices blending together.

When the door opens again, it’s Estella, followed by a doctor in scrubs, stained with blood. Shane wants to throw up, but he forces himself to stand, staring expectantly.

The newcomer glances at the room with decidedly too many people, far beyond the number that’s meant to be up here. But with a reputation like theirs, it would be pointless to argue. “I’m Dr. Patrish,” she starts, “I take it you’re all here for Mr. Rozanov?”

“Yes, yeah, what’s-“ Shane trails off.

“Ilya is out of surgery. He’s stable.” Shane feels hope flare in his chest. “He’s certainly not out of the woods. He lost a lot of blood, but we manage to repair his carotid artery. From what I was able to tell, his vocal cords are in tact. We’ll have to wait and see if there’s lasting damage, but I’m hopeful. He’s getting a blood transfusion and he’s still intubated to ensure his breathing. By all accounts, he extremely lucky. We’ll keep monitoring him closely and-“

“When will he wake up?” Shane interrupts.

“I don’t know. So long as he remains stable, I’d like to hazard a guess around 24-48 hours.”

“Can I see him?”

“Yes, but only you. The rest of you will have to wait here. I suggest at least some of you go home to rest. He won’t be awake tonight.”

“We’ll stay here, if that’s alright,” Luca speaks softly from the back of the room, a bruise forming along his cheek. Troy and Harris nod eagerly next to him.

“So long as this room remains free, you’re welcome to stay. But only two at a time in his room, at least until he’s awake,” Estella says firmly. “Shane, would you like to come see him? The rest of you can fight over who can keep them company.”

Shane is across the room in an instant, climbing over bodies and trying not to step on fingers. He’s lead down the hallway to a room with glass walls, curtains pulled so that nobody could see through. Estella opens the door, letting him through and closing it softly behind her.

Ilya looks smaller than Shane has ever seen him. His neck is wrapped with large bandages, but bruises are beginning to peak out onto his chin and chest. There’s a new tube in his throat, taped to the side of his face. His eyes are shut, his face pale, his curls flat. There’s a long cut along his right cheekbone that Shane didn’t notice before. He doesn’t want to think about how that got there. About why it’s there.

Shane crosses the room to his husband, taking his hand. He notices that the nurses left Ilya’s chain on the bedside table, Irina’s cross and his wedding ring still attached. Shane gently takes it, pressing it into Ilya’s hand. “We’re here with you,” he whispers.

Suddenly, everything he had been pushing down erupts from him. He lets out a whine, hunching over Ilya’s body and sobbing into his husband’s chest. The beeping of the machine continues, but Shane is all too aware of it now. The constant noise. He tries to cover his ears in Ilya’s chest, but the beeping goes on. Shane stays there, paralyzed.

There’s a hand in his back, and David is there. “Shane. Shane. Hey. It’s ok, he’s ok.” He turns around, sliding off the chair and onto his knees, burying his face in his dad’s stomach.

“This is all my fault,” he sobs.

David stills under his son’s touch. “What? Shane what do you mean?”

Shane shakes his head, his whole body trembling. “This happened because of me. Because of us.”

“Shane no, that’s not - this is not your fault. Hey, hey,” he pulls his son to his feet, wrapping his arms around him like he was still a child. “This could never be your fault,”

“No, Dad, you don’t understand,” his face is counted with tears, “Morozov,” the name will be burned into Shane’s mind forever. That name on the back of a jersey as he’s pulled away from Ilya, the blood on the floor, his snarling face-

“Morozov did this on purpose. He did this because of this,” he holds up Ilya’s wedding ring. “Because of us. Because of me.”

“Shane,” David’s face crumbles, “what that man did will never be on you. Or on Ilya. Whatever he thinks, whatever his reason was… nothing could make that your fault.”

“I know why he did this! He was spitting slurs at him all game, Dad! He called him a freak, a disgrace, a traitor. This is my fault!”

“Shane, Shane,” David grabs his face, forcing his son to meet his eyes, “Ilya loves you. He chose you. Just like you chose him. If anyone wants to hurt,” his voice cracks, “to hurt either one of you for that, it’s not your fault.”

“He could’ve been with anyone,” Shane whispers. “He could’ve been with a woman. He could’ve settled down and gotten married to a pretty girl. Then he could still go home. Then this never would have happened. God, he could’ve married Svetlana-“

Shane stills. “Oh my god, Svetlana. I have to tell her, I have to -“ He pulls out of David’s grip.

“Your mother already called,” he stops him. “She’s at the airport, taking the first flight from Boston. She’ll be here by the morning.”

Shane nodded, silent. David just stares at his son, unsure how to heal what was breaking apart before his very eyes. All he could do was press a kiss to Ilya’s head and pray that the worst is over.

Chapter End Notes

Next chapter will have a lot more Ilya, don’t worry

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

He feels like he’s floating. An abyss of nothingness. He can’t feel his body, not truly. He doesn’t know if he exists.

Slowly, sensation returns.

He cannot breathe. He cannot breathe.

There is something in his mouth, in his throat. He lifts a hand - at least he thinks that’s what he does - and pulls on the offending thing. It hurts. He tugs.

Get it out. Get it out.

He feels hands on his wrists. He kicks his feet out. Get away he wants to scream, but his lip won’t move.

He vaguely registers sound. He does not know what is happening to him. But there are hands grabbing at him, forcing his own away from his face.

There’s a piercing sound, a flush of warm, and then nothing.
———

The next time Ilya comes back to his body, the only thing he registers is pain.

He can’t determine where it’s coming from. All he knows is that his head hurts and he can’t open his eyes. He tries to turn his head, only to be made aware of something pulling at his mouth. He tries to inhale and is stopped by -

God, what is that? Is something in his throat?

He chokes, his throat constricting. There’s loud beeping going off by his head. Why can’t he breathe, what’s happening?

“-ya. Ilya! Otkroy glaza. Otkroy glaza, Ilyushka.” There are hands on his face. They seem familiar. Fingers brush over his eyelids.

He forces his eyelids open, light flooding his sight. He blinks once, twice, three times. When his vision finally clears, he sees a familiar face leaning over him, brown curls brushing his cheeks.

Svetlana smiles, “There you are.”

Ilya feels a hand brush his forehead, and he turns his gaze to his left. Yuna Hollander is looking at him with a teary gaze. He must be asleep. The two most powerful women in his life, in the same room. The thing of nightmares. Or perhaps his wildest dreams.

He reaches out a hand to touch her, to determine if this was real, only to be held back by something soft on his wrists. Ilya looks down, suddenly becoming viscerally aware of the restraints on his wrists and ankles. His eyes widen. He might be a fan of bondage, but he certainly didn’t appreciate waking up tied down.

“It’s ok,” Yuna says softly, “you panicked before. Tried to pull the tube out, so they had to restrain you. If you’re awake enough, I will get the nurse to let you go.”

He scrunches his face, looking at her confusedly. His mind begins to wake up, and suddenly his thoughts are racing.

What happened? Why is he here? What is in his throat? He woke up before?

Where is Shane? He wants his husband.

“I’m going to get the nurse sweetheart, I’ll be right back,” Yuna pats his hand and walks out of the room.

Ilya turns his attention back to Sveta, looking at her pointedly. What is happening? He tries to say. Everything hurts.

She sighs, in that ever-suffering way she does only to him. “You took a blade to the throat.” Well, that’s his Sveta. Always straight to the point.

He furrows his eyebrows at her. What the hell does that mean?

“We don’t need to get into details right now. Your throat was slit. The skate hit your carotid artery. The tube is to make sure you don’t stop breathing. They think your vocal cords are fine, so you can continue to annoy us all with your grating voice,” she tries to remain stoic, but Ilya can see tears in her eyes. “I’ve already texted Shane,” that got his attention.

Yes, Shane. He needs Shane.

“David finally got him to go take a shower, he was still covered in sweat and blood. I’m sure he’ll be mad,” she sighs, taking his hand. “Your team is here, refused to leave.”

Sveta brushed a curl away from his head. “You have a family,” she said softly. “They love you.”

Before Ilya could think too much on that, Yuna returns with a nurse in tow.

“Ilya, it’s great to see you awake. My name is Estella, and I’m going to be checking you out, okay? Let’s get those restraints off.”

Ilya shakes his hands a bit, trying to get her to hurry. She quickly moves, unclipping his ankles first, then his wrists. “Can you try to roll both ankles and wrists please?”

He does, though it takes much more effort than he expected it to, shooting pain up his arms and legs. He winces, and Estella turns to the monitors on his right. “Great, I just wanted to check your mobility. Let’s get your pain under control.” She fiddles with something out of his line of sight, but after a moment he feels the odd sensation of medicine being pushed through his IV. For a second, his mouth tastes like chemicals.

Ilya is still painfully aware of the tube down his throat. He tries to clear the feeling, which only serves to make him feel like he’s suffocating.

He raises a hand to his neck, feeling around the bandages. “Oh, no, Ilya, leave those. Your wounds are still incredibly fresh.”

He gestured to the tube with questioning eyes. “We can’t extubate until your attending gives the ok. For now, the restraints are as good as I can get you.”

Ridiculously, his eyes well with tears.

He just wants to go home. Where is Shane?

Like his - what do you call it, knight in shining armor? Yes, his knight in shining armor came rushing through the door before he even finished his thought.

Suddenly his throat felt tight for a different reason. Even without the meds the nurse had just given him, he thinks his pain would have washed away just seeing Shane.

His husband runs to his side, grabbing his hand. He looks the worst Ilya has ever seen him, hair out of place, bags under his eyes, glasses askew. His nose was red and eyes puffy. He looked like shit.

He was the most beautiful thing Ilya had ever seen.

Shane’s hand slid into his like two pieces of a puzzle. Like they were made to go together. Ilya vaguely registered David walking in behind him. The room was surely overfilled now, but he only had eyes for his husband.

“Ilya,” his husband breathed. Ilya wished more than anything that he could talk. That he had the strength to wipe the tears from Shane’s cheeks. That he could wrap him in his arms and tell him how much he loved him.

Shane took his face into his hands, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, careful of the medical equipment he was attached to. Ilya leaned into his touch as much as his neck would allow.

Ilya made a gurgling sound around the tube at his attempt to talk. To comfort.

“Shh shhh. When your doctor is here, he can get that out, okay? For now, just lay here, we’re all here.”

Those familiar hands moved to swipe the tears that fell from the corner of his eyes. “I know,” Shane whispered, “I know. But you’re okay, moya lyubov, it’s okay.”

———

Extubation was one of the worst experiences of his life.

He didn’t remember the tube being put in, and he didn’t remember the blade to his throat. He thinks maybe those would be worse….

The last thing he remembers is the buzzer going off, and something slamming him to the ground. Given the fact that Shane kept staring at his neck, white as a sheet, Ilya hopes those memories don’t come back to him.

The extubation is bad enough.

On the bright side, the crowd in his room filtered out, leaving only Shane behind. Questions and reunions would come later, he knew. For now, he just wanted Shane.

He always just wanted Shane.

“I-“ he rasped, coughing slightly, feeling stabbing pain shoot through his neck. Shane quickly grabs an ice chip from Ilya’s bedside table, raising it to his mouth in offering. He sticks his tongue out obediently. If it were any other day, Ilya was sure he’d have a joke ready to make his husband blush. As it was, he could only take the ice between his teeth and let it sooth his aching throat.

Shane just stared at him in silence. Ilya opened his mouth again, “I love you,” he croaked out, his voice grating and sounding foreign, quiet, hardly audible.

“I love you too,” Shane whispered. “God, Ilya, I was so scared. There was so much blood and… I thought I was about to hold you while you died. In front of all those people. I-“ he cut himself off, shaking his head. “Fuck, okay, we don’t need to talk about this right now. I promise we will, just - just not now. For now, you need rest. Mom sent your team home for the night, and promised they could visit in the morning. I think they want to move you to a regular room. Something more private. Now that you’re - well…” he trailed off.

“Not dead,” Ilya finished.

“Jesus Christ, Ilya.”

Ilya tries to smile. “Is true.”

“I can’t think about you and death right now. Ever, actually. I never want to think about you and death again.”

That sobered Ilya up. Looking at Shane now, he’s grateful he’s the one in the hospital bed. He wouldn’t have been able to handle it, if the roles were reversed.

“Moya lyubov,” he whispered, “I am here.”

Shane shakes his head, eyes watery. “You almost weren’t.”

And, well, Ilya doesn’t know how to answer that.

Chapter End Notes

Russian translation: open yours eyes; my love

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

And that’s all folks… Enjoy.

It’s the first time in almost 5 days that Shane has left Ilya’s side for more than a half hour. As much as Ilya loved his husband, he was happy for it.

Shane has been terrified, constantly clutching to Ilya like he was scared of him disappearing. He didn’t mind the constant contact. In fact, he craved it. Shane was grounding. Shane was safe.

Ilya hasn’t helped his husband’s panic at all. He’s been having nightmares. Yelling himself awake like a child.

Terrible flashes of red ice, of Shane’s panicked face over his prone body, of screaming and crying and pain. So much pain. Of being paralyzed, cold seeping into every pore in his body. Of gasping for air and getting none. Of choking on blood, the metallic taste filling his mouth.

Still, he doesn’t truly know what happened. Shane won’t tell him, and it seems his husband has put a gag order on everyone around him. Ilya thinks that’s unfair. Shane should only ever be gagging him.

Now, his teammates are his only company. He thinks the Hollanders, Svetlana, and Coach were having a “secret” meeting about his impending discharge and recovery. They are not so subtle, Ilya thinks. Regardless, he would take this opportunity to milk his team for all they’re worth. He was still their Captain after all.

“So,” he starts.

“Oh no,” Wyatt immediately sits up straight, “he’s got that look in his eye.”

“Whatever it is, no,” Bood says, “we’re not helping you escape. We’re not sneaking you a cheeseburger. Shane gave strict orders.”

“Shane this, Shane that. I am your Captain, not him.”

“Uh, Cap, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Hollzy is terrifying,” Luca piped up.

“Luca, we both know if I asked you to, you’d get me that cheeseburger.”

A blush was the only response he got.

“Ok, cut it out,” Troy cut in, “what do you want?”

“Back to being asshole, yes, Barrett? Harris, hit him.”

“Ilya, I’m not hitting boyfriend. That’s domestic abuse.”

“So boring,” Ilya shook his head, “all you Canadians.”

They stared at him expectantly. Ilya sighed. Boring.

“I want you to tell me exactly what happened,” he started. “I’ve been remembering flashes. Bits and pieces. But I don’t have, what do you say - the whole picture.”

“Roz-“

“No, listen. I know what Shane says. I know what doctors say. But I am remembering more and more, and I think I deserve to know what’s coming, don’t you?”

It was quiet. “I need to know,” it was the closest thing Ilya would get to begging.

“I don’t think we-“

“He’s right,” Troy cut Wyatt off. “He deserves to know.”

“Troy-“

“No, Harris. It happened to him. He’s going to remember eventually, or if he doesn’t, he’s going to read about it the second he gets out of here. Better we tell him now.”

“Obviously, this was not some crazy hockey accident, da? Or else my husband would not be so keen to keep it from me.”

“Oh big word there, Roz.”

“Fuck off, Bood. It was word of the week.”

“Ok, listen,” Troy takes a deep breath, raising his eyes to meet Ilya’s, “you remember Morozov?”

“The Russian asshole on Buffalo? Yes. He is asshole.”

“Yeah,” Wyatt scoffed. “Understatement of the century.”

Ilya had a sinking feeling in his gut. He thinks he knows where this is going.

“Well, Morozov had been targeting you all game. Playing dirty. I’m not sure how much you remember, but… it was bad. Kept throwing slurs at you. Russian and English. Shane told you not to fight him, not to give him the satisfaction. And you didn’t. Stuck to chirping. You guys had a few exchanges in Russian, but obviously I don’t know what you said,” Troy paused, studying Ilya’s face carefully, looking for signs of distress.

Ilya kept his face stoic. He remembered the Russian. He remembered the slurs. He’s been hearing those words his whole life, far before fucking Brad outed him.

“Continue,” he said flatly.

“Uh, he - Jesus, ok. After the final buzzer, he grabbed you from behind. Threw you onto the ice before you had a chance to fight back. He - fuck, guys, can someone else-“ Troy cut himself off. To everyone’s surprise, it was Luca who spoke next. Quietly, eyes cast downward.

“He basically stepped on your neck.” Luca swallowed, “he slit your throat with his skate. Said something in Russian. We can all guess what he meant.”

It was silent, save for Ilya’s harsh breathing. “And then?”

“We pulled him off you,” Bood’s voice cracked, “called for medics, for police, for anyone. Shane got to you first. They say he saved your life.”

Ilya nodded. Yes, he thinks, that makes sense. Shane would always save him.

He thinks of his husband, kneeling beside him. Hands bloody, crying in panic, thousands of eyes on him. He’s suddenly grateful it’s him in this hospital bed. He thinks he might have died if it was Shane. His Shane. Blade to his throat, bleeding out on the ice, cold-

Ilya shook his head. No, he could not think of that now. He’ll have plenty of chances for nightmares later.

“Ilya?” Wyatt asked.

“Thank you for telling me,” his voice is flat, even to his ears. Numb.

“How-how do you feel?” Harris lays his hand on top of Ilya’s. He shrugs.

“I don’t know. I am not surprised, I don’t think….” He trails off, “I always thought this might kill me.”

“Hockey?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “no. Me. Liking men. I always thought maybe it would get me killed one day.”

“Ilya, that’s-“

He cut Wyatt off, “Russia. That is Russia. It was stupid of me. To think that I escaped that. To think I was safe.”

“That’s not stupid, Ilya, was normal. That’s what you should feel. This-This is - God fucking damnit I don’t even know, this is beyond fucked up,” Troy rambles.

“Mother Russia is not so forgiving to traitor.” He says it like a fact.

“You are not a traitor,” Bood is using his dad voice, but Ilya can’t be bothered to make fun of him for it, “your country betrayed you first. Ilya, this… nothing you could ever do would make you deserve this. Would make this okay. Morozov is fucking sick, and everyone knows it. He’s sitting in a jail cell, where he will rot. There’s enough camera angles and eyes to put him away for a while… or, I don’t know, send him back to Russia.”

Ilya lets out a laugh. “Russia! He will be celebrated. He slit the traitors throat.”

“Fuck,” Wyatt whispered. “Shane is going to kill us.”

“Do not worry about Shane. He knew I’d find out eventually.” Ilya took a deep breath, pulling his hand from Harris’s. “I’d like to be alone now, please.”

“Roz,” Bood starts. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“Oh? What will I do, hang myself with my bed sheets? I don’t know if I can even lift my arms that high.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Luca whispers.

Ilya does not apologize. He will not. But he does nod to his rookie (who is not a rookie anymore).

“I promise I will be fine. I just need to think. Go get lunch. I’m sure Shane will be back after his super secret meeting, da?”

Slowly, they nodded, standing. Troy went to open the door when Ilya spoke again, “Wait.” They turned toward him as one. “Promise me- promise me you’ll look out for Shane. Something like this cannot happen him.”

“Roz, I’m pretty sure nobody is ever going to let the two of you out of our sights ever again.”

Ilya was slightly scared by the look in Troy’s eye as he left.

Then, for the first time since waking up, he was alone with his thoughts.

———

When Shane returned an hour later, it was obvious their team had told him what happened. He approached Ilya carefully, like he might approach a cornered animal.

“Come closer,” Ilya grins, “I will only bit of you ask.”

“Ilya,” Shane sighs, exasperated. He takes his seat to Ilya’s left, grabbing his hand like it was second nature. He reaches to brush a curl out of Ilya’s eye. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Ilya answers honestly. “But glad. That I know.”

“I wasn’t planning to keep it from you forever. I just - I don’t know, I think I was just scared. That if you knew, it would be real. That it actually happened.”

Ilya stays silent for a moment, considering. “I am sorry,” he finally says.

Shane pulls back, staring at him confusedly. “Sorry? Why would you be sorry?”

“This is my fault,” Ilya says it like a fact. Like it has to be true. “I brought you this drama. Like stupid American soap opera.”

“Ilya - no. This isn’t your fault. You didn’t bring anything. Mor- he did this to hurt you. To hurt us. Because of him and who he is. It’s not on you, Ilya. It will never be your fault.”

“But I-“

“No,” Shane commanded. “No. If anything, I should be sorry.”

“You?” Ilya looks incredulous. “Why the fuck-“

“This happened because you’re with me, right? You can never go back home, because you’re with me. You could have been with a woman, could have been happy with one. But you’re chose me. And now-“ he cuts himself off.

“Shane. Moya lyubov'. I did choose you. I will always choose you. I would do it all over again. I would die a hundred times for you. I am home, here, with you. Russia is- Russia is not home. Not anymore. You are. This is our home,” Ilya takes Shane’s face in his hands. “Ya lyublyu tebya vsegda.”

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Shane whispered, leaning his fleshed again Ilya’s. “Let’s just agree it’s neither of your faults. Not yours. Not mine.”

Ilya nods, thought he doesn’t truly believe that. He thinks the guilt for putting Shane in danger will eat at him for a long time. Even after his wound scars over.

——-

Ilya gets to go home on a snowy Sunday. The nurses lead him toward a back entrance of the hospital, where Shane is waiting with his boring British car. They’re hoping to avoid the reporters waiting in the front for him.

He leans on Estella for support, grateful for her insistence on walking him. He can stand on his own two feet, but moving them is still a bit of an issue.

His body aches. His throat hurts all the time. His voice is scratchy and every time he uses his vocal cords, he wants to cough. And every time he coughs, he feels like he’s being stabbed in the throat.

Well, he supposed that’s already happened. He’s mostly just upset he won’t be able to suck his husband’s dick for a long long time. Fuck you Morozov, he thinks. Thats the worst hate crime of all.

When he finally makes it to the back exit, Shane is waiting there for him, David in the driver’s seat and Yuna in the passenger. “Welcoming committee,” Ilya mutters as Estella passes him to his husband like a child.

She quietly reminds Shane of all of Ilya’s at-home care needs. How to clean his wounds. When he needs to come back to get his stitches removed. What medicine he needs to take and how much. Shane nods along, even though Ilya is sure he has this memorized and a copy of the instructions in every room of their home.

Ilya isn’t sure how long it takes for them to get home. He stares out the window with unseeing eyes, his head blank. When he blinks, they’re pulling to the driveway.

Before Shane has the chance to stop him, Ilya is out of the car, shuffling to the from door and typing in their security code. When the door clicks open, he steps inside with no hesitation. “Anya!” He cries.

And there she is. His daughter. His pride and joy.

She runs to him, jumping on his legs. Ilya leans down and lets her lick his face, laughing as he hooks his arms around her and pulls her to his chest. It feels like he can finally breathe. God, he missed his dog.

“Ilya!” Shane calls. “Please be careful. She could get your bandages dirty.”

Ah yes. The stupid bandages still wrapped around his stupid throat like he is an emo teenager with a choker. He rolls his eyes at Shane. “She is angel. She would never.”

Anya licks his face in response, letting out a happy bark.

———-

David and Yuna stay for dinner, Yuna cooking a lovely soup that reminded Ilya of his childhood. When they leave, they both hold Ilya tight, kissing his forehead with teary eyes. “We’re so glad you’re okay,” they tell him. He believes them.

Later, he’ll be able to put it into words, how much they mean to him. Later, he will send flowers and cards and balloons and thank them a million times. Later, he will send Svetlana new shoes, a new coat, and plane tickets to anywhere she wants. Later, he would take his team out to dinner and buy them all the drinks they want. Later he would hug Brandon Weibe and make the NHL give him some sort of award. Later, he would even send Hayden some of that German chocolate he pretends not to love, and Jackie - well Jackie Pike can have whatever she wants.

Later.

For now, he lies in bed with his husband. His Shane. With Anya between them, neither of them having the energy to pretend she wouldn’t be sleeping on the bed. Ilya idly runs his hands over her fur, letting the rhythmic sounds of her breathing soothe him. His head rests on Shane’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

Ilya allows himself to close his eyes and take it in. His family. Safe. Here.

He drifts off like that, with Shane’s fingers running through his hair.

He doesn’t know how long he is asleep before he is sitting upright with a gasp, grabbing at his throat. Anya jumps, turning to face him, and Shane is awake instantly, reaching out to Ilya.

He can’t breathe. Oh god, he can’t breathe. It’s happening again.

He claws at his throat, at the bandages there. He thinks he rips one off, as a wave of sharp pain radiates down to his collarbone.

“Ilya, Ilya,” Shane is grabbing his hands, forcing them away from his throat, “Ilya, look at me. Look at me love.”

Wild eyes search for his husband in the dark. Shane’s keeps his hands in an ironclad grasp, only loosening them when Ilya’s eyes focus on his face. “It was just a dream,” Shane whispers. “Just a dream. You’re here with me. And Anya. We’re in our home and you’re safe. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

Ilya looks around, as if realizing for the first time where he was. He lays back on the pillows, leaving his hands in Shane’s.

He’s breathing harshly. “I thought,” he whispers. “Ya dumala, chto umru. Ya dumala, chto on ub'yet menya. A potom i tebya. I ya nichego ne smogu s etim podelat'.”

Shane seems to understand, pulling him into a tight embrace. “We’re okay,” he repeats, “I am here. I am with you. We are safe.” He rocks Ilya slightly, like he always rocks Shane after he has a stressful day. It helps, calms his nerves.

Ilya allows himself this small comfort.

Eventually, Shane pulls back. He looks at Ilya’s throat and shakes his head. “I need to change these bandages, you’re bleeding.”

Ilya groans. “Come on,” Shane says, standing, “let’s go to the bathroom.”

They stumble their way over Anya, who moved to the floor in the midst of all the chaos. Shane flicks on the bathroom light and Ilya looks at himself in the mirror. It’s the first time he’s truly seen himself since the incident.

He reaches a hand to his neck, to the bloody spots on the bandages that are half hanging from his throat. He pulls them back all the way, as Shane watches him from the doorway.

The scar is uglier than he expects. A jagged, deep line across his pale throat, held together by stitches, marring his once clear skin. There is bruising underneath the cut, making his entire neck look purple and bloody. Disgusting, Ilya thinks.

Like he could read his mind, Shane steps forward, putting a hand on Ilya’s cheek and gently turning his head to meet his husband’s eyes. “It will fade,” he says, “not all the way. But some. You’ll look cool. Even more handsome.”

Ilya lets out a huff, an almost laugh. “You will find me even more irresistible yes?”

“Oh absolutely,” Shane grins cheekily, pulling out the first aid kit the hospital gave him to address Ilya’s wounds.

Shane gently taps Ilya’s throat with gauze, soaking up the blood that leaked. “I don’t think you popped a stitch. Just irritated the skin around the wound. It already stopped bleeding.”

With care he usually reserves for the Pike kids, Shane cleans and redresses his wounds. Ilya thinks it isn’t so ugly, if his husband can caress his skin with such care.

Despite his lingering fear and the pain still radiating from his throat, Ilya can’t help but bring his hands to trace Shane’s freckles along his nose. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Shane blushed. Yes, Ilya thinks, there it is.

“Enough of that,” Shane clears his throat, “back to bed. You need sleep.”

Turning the bathroom light off and turning back toward their room, Shane grabs Ilya’s hand and tugs him along. He settles them in their bed, calling Anya back to her spot. Ilya puts his head back to Shane’s chest, reassuring himself that he was here, he was alive.

He fell back asleep to the sound of his husband’s heart and fingers in his hair.

Yes, he thought, they would be okay.

Chapter End Notes

Translation per Google:

YA lyublyu tebya vsegda (I love you always.)

YA dumala, chto umru. YA dumala, chto on ub'yet menya. A potom i tebya. I ya nichego ne smogu s etim podelat'. (I thought I was going to die. I thought he was going to kill me. Then you. And I wouldn’t be able to stop it.)