Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, Svetlana Vetrova, Grigori Rozanov, Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Carter Vaughn

Additional Tags:

Episode: s01e02 Olympians (Heated Rivalry), Ilya and Shane on the run, Ilya and Shane being hunted by Russian government, Homophobia, Social Media, Ilya and Shane are outed, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Family Angst, religious trauma, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ilya's father sucks, Scott Hunter gets around, Ilya has a bingo card, Svetlana is a BAMF

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of In this Together

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-17 Completed: 2026-07-10 Words: 71,877 Chapters: 6/6

Run Together

Summary

It took a moment for Ilya’s brain to catch up.

“My father knows about me and Shane?”

“The whole world knows about you and Shane! Did you not hear me?”

Or: Shane's phone is stolen in Sochi. They're outed and and have to go on the run together to get out of Russia before being caught by the Russian authorities.

Notes

This is another take on the boys being outed in Sochi. I have a bunch of other stories half written as part of the collection, so I will be posting this over the next few weeks, trying to make sure none of them contradict each other. The boys think they're alone against the world, but in the background, their friends and family are doing what they can to help.

Italics is used to represent internal thoughts, speech in another language that the POV character understands or just because the text deserved to be italicized. Glad to clear up that confusion.

Beta read by my lovely sister, but all errors are all mine. They're my precious. :)

I have updated all the times to 24 hour clock. I was being inconsistent and it was bothering me. MSK is Moscow Standard Time.

Thank you to FestiveFerret for the tool to make creating the text messages easier, and to CodenameCarrot and La_Temperanza’s workskins and guides.

Chapter 1: Friday, Feb 14, 2014

Chapter Notes

But when we run, we run together

When we’re apart, we fall apart

~Run Together, Mumford and Sons

Sochi, Russia, 02:53 MSK, 8°C

Shane’s cash on hand: $500 (USD) and ₽14,530 (RUB)

Shane stumbled down the hallway toward their room, JJ shuffling along just ahead him, bouncing off the doorframe with a thunk. “Esti de câlice de tabarnak d’osti de ciboire —”

Not overly loud, but certainly loud for 3am.

The TV static in his head kept buzzing. Buzz. Buzz. Shane tried to cover his ears, but his hands… His hands were disconnected from his body.

Go away, Hollander.

Team Canada had advanced to the semi finals that afternoon and the celebration had spilled out into the evening. Shane had let himself have one drink but only because the next game was in three days. Was that next week? 

He should be fucking elated over winning the game; it should be the only thing running through his body. And it was there, fucking happy-exhaustion from the win, and pride for his teammates and his country. But underneath that, in the part of him that was strangely drunker than he thought he should be after only one beer was a tight, coiled nausea that had been there for two days.

No, I did not answer your boring text.

More TV static.

Shane stripped off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor as he flopped on the bed. He itched to hang it up, itched so bad that the feeling crawled from the base of his skull all the way down to his shoulders, like there were tiny little ants crawling all over his body. He wanted to scratch them, peel off his skin, anything to get rid of them.  He needed to find a way to turn down the TV static in his head.

We are not anything. Now go.

He wanted the heavy feeling of Rozanov’s lips on neck, of his hands on his body, of his dick buried in his ass.  He wanted the feeling of Rozanov breathing into his mouth, anchoring him down, making him feel alive his own body.

Russia isn’t safe for folks like that.

They weren’t anything. This thing between them didn’t exist. It couldn’t exist. Rozanov had made that abundantly clear.

“Tabarnak, this fucking bed. Who the fuck fits in these fucking beds.” JJ’s words were punctuated by something smacking against the wall, followed by more swearing that got quieter as the bed squeaked in protest.

He should pick up his jacket.

He should get up and shower. Brush his teeth.

The bitter taste in the back of his throat made him want to vomit, but his body might as well have belonged to someone else.

Finally, Shane managed to throw his right arm out from under him, used it to pat around his pockets for his phone, but his jeans were too tight, and the pockets were empty anyway and his jacket too far away to go fetch his phone so he could plug it in. It took everything in him to shimmy out of his jeans and toss them on the floor as well as the static in his head increased in volume.

We are not anything.

Go away, Hollander.

Maybe he could just float away.

***

06:33 MSK

Ilya’s cash on hand: $235 (USD) and ₽5,780 (RUB)

Ilya ripped his hands out from under the thin blanket, slapping it around to his side, desperate to find and silence the awful ringing in his ears. No one who liked him would call this early. He finally found his phone and brought it up to his ear.

“What?”

“You need to get out! Get up! Get dressed!”

It took him a moment recognize Svetlana’s voice and another longer moment to process her words that were rushing out of the phone in Russian. He bolted up from his bed, sweat running down his back and immediately thought of his father.

“Is it my father? What happened?”

“Your father is fine. This is for you. The police were just here at the hotel. They knocked on your dad’s door then came to ours. They’re looking for you and Shane Hollander. His phone was stolen last night. They know about you two. Everything is online.”

It took a moment for Ilya’s brain to catch up.

“My father knows about me and Shane?”

“The whole world knows about you and Shane! Did you not hear me?”

Ilya’s body was already moving. He had started packing last night to go back to Moscow now that his Olympics were over, his luggage lying open under his bed. After the gala last night, he’d come back to the Olympic Village to escape his dad’s presence for one more precious night under the guise of packing.

He thew his luggage on the bed, shoving some of the essentials into his smaller backpack. Clothes, wallet, passport.  

He’d always known it could end like this. Maybe that’s what had drawn him to Sasha years ago. The risk was part of the thrill. It made him feel alive when nothing really mattered. His father's expectations didn’t matter. His father’s influence and authority didn't really matter. Part of him had always known that if he self destructed, the world wouldn’t be losing anything in him, but it would be entertaining to get revenge on his father.

He moved the call over to speaker phone as Svetlana kept talking. “Jane is Shane? It doesn’t matter. I heard our fathers talking. The police are monitoring your phone and bank account. You need to get Hollander and get away. Find a way to get out of Russia.”

The air left Ilya’s lungs and he sat down on the bed with his pants half done up. “Hollander is Canadian. He should be safe.”

“No Ilyushka. Something is going on. I don’t know what, but I think the government wants a distraction, and what better than an international incident. My father has been getting calls all morning. Believe me, they are looking for Hollander as well. The way things are playing out, I wouldn't be surprised if our government purposefully went out stealing athletes cell phones just so that they could find scandals to broadcast to the world.”

Fuck.

Ilya slipped his shoes on and stood, his legs feeling weak. He could self destruct. That was always part of the old plan, though it wasn’t something he had thought about in a while. Being in Boston, leading his team, this thing he had going on with Hollander, they had all been slowly making things better.

But now he had imploded Hollander’s life as well.

He turned and looked out the window. His room faced the road, and he could see a police cruiser pulling up. God they were fast. “Fuck, Sveta they’re already here. How am I supposed to contact Hollander?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to call my contacts? Maybe I can track down someone in his building?”

“No,” Ilya grabbed his bag and quickly exited his room. There was no time to explain anything more to her.  Not that she couldn’t do it, but she couldn’t do it as fast as him. “I will figure it out.”

He left his room and moved through the stairwell, then down a floor. Thankfully athletes were already moving about. He picked an open door on the opposite side of the hallway than his room where a young man was putting on some socks. Ilya placed a finger over his mouth, hoping he would keep his secret as he walked through his room and opened the window.

“What the fuck, man!”

So much for the secret. Ilya climbed out onto a fire escape as more English words were thrown at him, taking the stairs two or three at a time. When he landed on the ground floor, Ilya put his phone into airplane mode and turned it off, pulled up the hoodie of his black sweatshirt and joined a group of people walking toward the cafeteria as his heart hammered in his throat.

The police were nowhere to be seen.

The morning was a grey one again, but the group around him was excited, different languages filling the air. Maybe he’d been a bit premature in cutting off Sveta and turning down her help.  He really had no idea how he was going to get a message to Hollander. He couldn’t call; Hollander didn’t have his phone anymore. Ilya didn’t even have the number of any other MLH players here.

He peeled off from the group heading to the cafeteria, close to where the American and Canadian athletes were staying. He could break into the building and go door-to-door, but that would take too much time and attract attention, but he was running out of options.

Then he saw two familiar faces coming down the path: Scott Hunter and Carter Vaughn jogging and laughing. Ilya didn’t really believe in God anymore, or maybe he did and it was just complicated, but he offered up a thank you anyway as he took off toward them. He grabbed Vaughn’s arm and dragged him into the entrance of the closest building.

“What the fuck—” Vaughn yelled, pulling his arm back as he got his footing. The door slammed behind them and suddenly, Ilya found himself pushed up against the wall, a forearm hard against his throat. He had no air and Scott Hunter was glaring at him, two centimetres from his face.

Hunter’s eyes got big as recognition dawned. “Rozanov?”

Ilya stared at him, because he still couldn’t speak and it took the few brain cells Hunter still possessed a second to realize he was choking him. Hunter backed away and let the air flow again.

“Fuck,” Ilya said, when the coughing paused. “Do you need to get any closer to see my face? I can get you some fucking reading glasses.”

Hunter shoved him hard against the wall. “Have you seen the fucking news? Is it true? You and Shane?”

“How long has this been going on!”

Vaughn and Hunter’s voices overlapped in a jumbled mess of too much English and too little time. Ilya spat on the floor, his throat still burning. At least no one was within earshot, but if they kept this up, they could host a talk show. “Yes, I’ve seen the news. I don’t have time to answer your stupid questions. We are in Russia. Police have been to my father’s hotel, and they’ve been to my room here. They’re trying to arrest me. They’re also going to try and arrest Hollander too. I need your help.”

Hunter stood frozen, staring at him.

“Holy fuck,” Vaughn said under his breath, looking around as if finally realizing that they should all keep their fucking voices down. “Can’t you just tell them the truth? Or…maybe tell them it was a joke?”

Ilya shot him a withering glare. “It is the truth. And even if it weren’t, sometimes truth doesn’t matter. A joke is even worse, I think.”

Hunter was still staring at him with a blank face and Ilya felt his fear start to rise. Maybe he’d screwed up. He’d been pretty sure Hunter and Vaughn were safe. Vaughn had worn a rainbow t-shirt last year during the first Pride night. And while Hunter had never indicated his support, Ilya had also never heard him use a homophobic slur. Deep down, he knew that wasn’t enough. He knew that not being complicit in homophobic behaviour didn’t mean anything but he’d hoped…

Loud footsteps echoed in the hall and they all froze as a group of athletes with bags of equipment came shuffling toward the door. Without saying a word, Vaughn and Hunter huddled together, blocking Ilya from view and it was only once the door closed that Hunter grabbed Ilya’s arm.  “What can we do to help?”

Ilya released the breath he’d been holding. “We need to get out of here, away from Olympic Village. Get out of Russia. I need help finding Shane. He doesn’t have his phone…”

“I know where he is,” Vaughn replied. “We stopped by his room yesterday before the skating competition.”

“Please get him. He needs to get to the train station. The airport will have too much security. I can go ahead and buy tickets. We need to leave as soon as possible.”

Hunter grabbed his shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. “Go. We will get Shane and make sure he gets to the train station.

“Tell him to meet me by the ticket desk at the main entrance. Make sure he’s wearing dark clothes so he can hide. Nothing Team Canada.”

“We got it, man. Go,” Vaughn said giving Ilya’s arm a squeeze as well. “Stay safe.”

Though Ilya hadn’t known either of them very well, certainly not off the ice and nothing beyond a few chirps, their reactions loosened something inside him, even as he tried to ignore it. There was no time.

“Thank you.” Ilya’s voice was dry and cracked. Before giving them a chance to speak and before Ilya’s eyes could speak for him, he gave them a nod and slipped out the door.

If luck was on their side, if God didn’t hate him too much, maybe he could thank them properly when this was all over.

***

07:06 MSK

Shane was throwing back two extra strength Tylenol when he heard loud pounding at his door.  His head was throbbing. He had no fucking clue what he drank, but it couldn’t have just been the one beer. Unless Russian beer was stronger than the ones in North America. Maybe it was the new food. Maybe it was the black mold in the rooms. He felt like he had cotton balls in his head. Maybe it served him right for breaking his diet. He felt like fucking shit and desperately needed a shower.

 JJ was still sleeping, snoring loudly, hardly bothered at all by the noise. The banging got louder.

“What?” Shane replied, ripping the door open. Scott and Carter barged in, almost knocking him over.

“Have you heard the news?” Scott started as Carter made a beeline for the little dresser at the foot of Shane’s bed.

Shane rubbed his temples and took a deep breath to swallow his words. These guys were sort of his friends. It would be rude to swear at them and tell them to get the fuck out of his room.

“Quessé ça, tabarnak,” JJ said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Carter was slamming drawers and making enough noise to wake the dead. “What news?”

Scott grabbed Shane’s arm, bringing him toward the bed and making him sit. It was only when Shane finally looked up and saw Scott’s blue eyes, large and serious, that suddenly, cold fear bloomed in his chest. “Did sometime happen to my parents? What’s going on?”

“Your parents are fine, Shane. We don’t have a lot of time. Your phone was stolen last night.”

His shoulders sagged. That wasn’t so bad. He could live without his phone. It suddenly occurred to him how far away he was from home. If something had happened to his parents—

“I think you had tried to hide your relationship with Rozanov, but someone figured it out. Now it’s all over the news and online.”

Buzzing started to fill his ears. What did this have to do with his phone? He didn’t have anything strange in his phone other than his texts with—Rozanov.

“What?” His voice seemed to have trouble making sounds so he stood up closer to Scott, closer so he could make sure he heard him correctly.  

Scott’s voice didn’t waver. “Someone stole your phone. They went through it and posted your texts with Rozanov. It didn’t take long for people to figure out your relationship. It was on ESPN.”

Shane started shaking as the words slowly made sense in his head. This had to be a joke. But the panic in Scott’s blue eyes, looked real. The words he had spoken sounded real.  But they were so careful. Nobody knew what they did. It was a secret. “What relationship? We don’t have a relationship.”

Scott’s grip tightened and Shane could feel the imprint of his fingers in his arm, sharp and bordering on painful, keeping him from floating away. “Shane, it’s all out there. The sexting. The fact that you hooked up with him. I only saw a short article on my phone when I got up, but they managed to piece things together from what was on your phone.”

“My cell phone is in my jacket pocket,” Shane’s voice breaking as he pointed to his Team Canada fleece on the floor where he’d dropped it last night.

Scott grabbed it, quickly rummaging through the pockets, turning them inside out and still Shane didn’t believe him. Not until he grabbed the fleece himself and felt the empty pockets.

His world started to bottom out as he finally understood the words Scott had said. “Oh my God.”

“Shane! Stay with us. I need you to focus. We don’t have a lot of time.  We ran into Rozanov just now. He said the police are already after him and that you’re at risk too. He told us to tell you to meet him at the train station by the ticket agent. You need to get out of here.”

It was too much. Carter was throwing some of Shane’s clothing in his backpack and Scott was looking around, picking up things from his bedside table and passing them to Carter. The room had gotten dark around the edges, narrowed until all Shane could see was Scott in front of him at eye level. Even then Shane didn’t want to meet his eyes. Didn’t want to see the hate there. Didn’t want to see the disappointment.

There wasn’t enough air in the room and at the same time, it felt like it was crushing him under the pressure.

“Breathe, Shane.” Scott’s voice was underwater. “You need to get dressed. There’s already a cop in the village. Do you hear me?”

“Shane!” Now Carter and JJ were yelling too.

Shane’s eyes snapped to each of their faces, holding his breath as he braced himself for their accusations. Instead, Scott enveloped him into a tight hug. “You can do this. You’re ok. We got your back.”  

JJ handed him a pair of sweatpants when Scott pulled back, and the world slowly started to take shape. His friends didn’t hate him. Thank God, his friends didn’t hate him.

“Your passport and wallet are in the front pocket,” Carter said, handing him a shirt that he had in his hands.

Shane stared down at it in confusion.

 “And take this too, Rozanov said they’re tracking his.” Carter handed over his cell phone.

Scott patted his pockets and then shook his head.

Carter added money to Shane’s hands as well. “It’s not much. I only have 200 rubles on me, was going to grab some McDonalds for breakfast.”

“I have 500,” JJ added in French, adding to the pile of rubles in Shane’s hand.

Shane gave them a tight nod. He couldn’t have spoken right now if he wanted to. He didn’t understand why his friends were giving him money when he had plenty of his own. He didn’t understand why the police wanted to speak to him. Why was he holding all these things in his hands?

Scott grabbed his face and forced Shane to look at him. “You need to hurry and get dressed. The police are after you and Rozanov.”

Fucking brave for a dude to show up to a place like this. Russia is not safe for folks like that.

Not here, Hollander. Ilya’s voice echoed in his head.

It was like the world was in slow motion and suddenly jumped to twice the normal speed. Understanding dawned. Russia wasn’t safe for Ilya. A beat later he realized that Russia probably wasn’t safe for him either. He dropped everything down on the bed and quickly started to get changed, throwing on the clothes that his friends had given him.

When Shane was done, he stood to sort out the cellphone and money and Scott shrugged out of his Team USA jacket and put it over Shane’s shoulders. “Take this until you get to the train station. Once you’re away from Sochi you’ll have to get rid of it, but maybe it can help until then.”

“I packed your black sweater,” Carter said, handing him the backpack, and taking off his red Admirals hat and putting it on Shane’s head. “You remember how to get to the train station?”

Suddenly, it didn’t seem to matter if he knew what to do because his body did. He flung the backpack onto his shoulder as Scott pulled him into another tight hug. “We will go out first and go finish our jog. If you hear us making a commotion, it’s because we are making a distraction, so go the opposite direction. If they come here, Dagenais can tell them you went for a jog with us. Carter and I will hit up the US team and Dagenais can go see the Canadian one. If the police come around asking about you, we can have them spinning in circles. Not sure how much time it will buy you, but hopefully that’s enough.”

“Thank you,” Shane finally managed to force out, blinking rapidly to keep tears from falling as he met Scott’s eyes and then Carters. JJ didn’t meet his gaze. They knew he was gay. They knew he had been fucking Rozanov. They were still helping him.

He had to hurry.

***

08:02 MSK

Ilya’s cash on hand: $235 (USD) and ₽5,120 (RUB)

Ilya pulled his hood up tighter across his chin, scanning the crowd, looking carefully for familiar black hair and freckles. The crowd was thick this morning, with athletes leaving for Krasnaya Polyana or visitors coming to see the events over here. It was great for fitting in, but easy to miss someone.

Hey! U doing ok?

The text message was burned into his eyes, even as their last conversation in the arena was playing over and over again in his head. He’d been a dick. Now their relationship had blown up his life. Hollander probably wanted nothing to do with him. Probably fucking hated him.

The last whistle for the train blared overhead and Ilya’s heart sank. Two tickets sat in his pocket, but it was unlikely they’d make the train even if Hollander showed up right this second.

Ilya’s stomach had settled into a tense ball of fear but every second that ticked by the fear switched from worry over being caught, to imagining what would happen if he couldn’t find Shane. Maybe Hunter and Vaughn couldn’t find his room. Maybe the police had already found Shane before they got there. Maybe Hollander didn’t want to trust his safety to someone who kept pushing him away. Sweat broke out across his forehead. 

He could leave. If he ran, maybe he could still catch the train. He tried to will his legs to move but they refused. If there was any chance that Hollander got out of the Olympic Village, Ilya would not leave him to run through this country by himself.

Suddenly, Hollander was standing by the departure board just a few meters to his right. Ilya had almost missed him because he was wearing a Team USA jacket and a red hat that Ilya now recognized as Vaughn’s. Making his way through the crowd, Ilya reached for Shane’s arm the moment he was close enough. He quickly stepped in behind him and whispered in his ear. “About time. Let’s go.”

Dragging Hollander by the arm, Ilya pushed through the crowd. Maybe. Maybe if the stars aligned and they ran as fast as they could, they could still make the train. They popped through the gate and were almost at the last car when Ilya saw a uniform out of the corner of his vision. Pivoting, Ilya pulled Hollander close to him, circling so that their faces were hidden against each other and for a brief flash his heart soared at the proximity, happiness mixed with hope touched by unspeakable relief that he was ok. Then like two moons leaving orbit, they swung apart. He angled them back into the crowd just a two police officers came by, hopping into the last car of the train just as the doors closed.

“Fuck!” Ilya tucked them behind a pillar and surveyed the platform, Hollander tight against his side. Ilya couldn’t tell if it was Hollander’s heart beating against him, or if his heart was beating through his ears. There, just beside the exit was another officer, this one with a dog.

“I think we need to find a different way,” Hollander whispered.

Ilya threw him a glare. “Ah. That’s why I waited for you. To tell me the obvious.”

“Sorry.”

It was too easy to chirp at him. Ilya tightened his grip on Hollander’s sleeve and led them through a side exit, joining a large group of tourists heading back toward the village, peeling off before they crossed the street. Making a beeline for an idle taxi, Ilya dragged Hollander into the back seat with him.

“Cathedral of the Archangel Michael.” It was the name of the first landmark in Sochi proper that he remembered.

The taxi driver grunted in reply, paying them little attention, as he merged into traffic. For the first time since being woken up this morning, Ilya slumped back and let himself breathe.

You’re just like your mother, always causing trouble.

Why can’t you be more like your brother.

Hollander’s mouth was formed in a tight line, and Ilya could practically read the questions on his face. He gave Hollander a small shake of his head. He didn’t know how to answer them anyway. He had no idea where they were going after the church. It was likely the farthest he could convince the taxi driver to take them. Maybe they could board the train from downtown. If the driver didn’t drive them to the police station instead.

Beyond that, Ilya had no idea how they were going to get out of Russia, or what they were going to do after that.

Regardless, none of these questions were ones that he wanted the taxi driver to hear.

“Sochi is resort town,” Ilya started, falling back again to the few things he knew of the place, letting his accent thicken. Thankfully he had visited a few times with his family for tournaments when he was younger. Not that he had been terribly interested in sightseeing or learning about the area back then. “The Black Sea is to our left. Very nice weather. Lots of rain too. Many Russians come to the city during the summer to vacation. Has lots of clubs and a great nightlife. Also known for its tea.”

Ilya realized he was still holding Hollander’s sleeve. He quickly let go and scooted over to his side of the taxi, pointing out where the Black Sea could be seen through the trees.

Shane bit his lip but otherwise didn’t react. “Tea?”

“Da, Krasnodarsky Tea. I do not really know more. It’s just tea. Very boring.”

Shane made a show of looking out the window, pretending to be interested in the scenery.

Ilya caught the taxi driver’s eye in the rear-view mirror and forced himself to smirk and mutter under his breath in Russian, “Fucking American tourists.”

***

Cathedral of the Archangel Michael, Sochi, 08:45 MSK, 11°C

Shane’s cash on hand: $500 (USD) and ₽15,230 (RUB)

Ilya’s cash on hand: $235 (USD) and ₽4320 (RUB)

The white church in front of them was nice enough. Nothing overly grand but it had tall gold tip towers and arches decorating the entrances and the small buildings around it. There were tourists milling about, maybe waiting for the church to open for mass. Shane had no idea why Rozanov had brought them here.

The feeling of suffocation had subsided, leaving behind a knot of fear cold and hard in his stomach. He’d been replaying the look on Scott and Carter and JJ’s faces before he left, reanalyzing them for anything he might have missed. The thing he kept coming back to the fact that JJ hadn’t met his eyes.  JJ had helped him leave, so it meant he didn’t want him arrested by the Russian police, but it also didn’t mean JJ supported him. If one of his best friends was angry with him, then Shane wasn’t sure who he could count on.

It had taken everything inside of him not to ask Rozanov anything while they were in the cab. Where were they going? What would happen if they were caught? But then Rozanov had moved away, hardened his face against Shane’s gaze and the hollow feeling inside of him got worse.

“Where are we going?” Shane said finally, keeping his voice low. He needed something to do. Something to think about that wasn’t this ache inside of him. Rozanov was right there beside him but he felt a million miles away.

Rozanov didn’t answer, just looked around like they had all the time in the world before casually grabbing Shane’s sleeve again and leading him down a path lined with trees. Weaving around people, Rozanov steered them to a quieter area just on the other side of the parvis.  “You need to ditch that jacket. Taxi driver could have radioed police. Will take dogs 30 mins to come to sniff us out. We need to hurry.”

Guilt flooded Shane’s cheeks. Should he have thought of that? Was he slowing them down again? He vaguely remembered Carter saying something about packing a sweater maybe.  There was a small seating area up ahead, so Shane started making his way there. Maybe if he had made it to the train station earlier, they could have…still been arrested by the police? Maybe they could have taken a different train?

There was a family on the path in front of them; a dad walking with a younger boy who was lagging behind and a woman with an older son up ahead. Shane started to pass the dad when the boy who looked about 9 or 10, turned and glanced at them, and then broke out into a grin.

“Hey! Are you an Olympic athlete?” the boy said, pointing at Shane’s jacket.

Shane gave the boy a quick nod as he glanced around. No one else was paying them much attention. Rozanov pulled him along, keeping the pace fast to discourage anymore questions but the young boy didn’t seem to catch on.

“Are you a skier? Or a snowboarder? That’s so cool. What event are you in?”

At this point, the dad turned to look at them as well and the mom who had been walking ahead with the taller boy slowed down to look as well.

Shane gave Rozanov a quick shake of his head. It was better to just talk to the boy for a quick minute than to have him calling after them. This was, after all, the disguise he was going for.  “I’m on the hockey team. It is very cool. I’m very excited to be here. They don’t give us much time off, so my friend is just bringing me to see some cool things in the area.”

“Whoa! Hockey! I watch the MLH back home. I’m Jay! Who are you?”

Shane swallowed his name and then scrambled to come up with a different one as Rozanov continued to try and pull him along, keeping his face away from the family. “Sorry I’m in a bit of rush. Scott Hunter though. Nice to meet you.”

Shane gave the small boy a wave as he moved to catch up with Rozanov, just in time to see the older boy whip his head around and come to a dead stop in front of them. This boy looked like he was 14 or 15— tall, skinny and awkward, like he’d just shot up a few inches in the last few months and didn’t really know what to do with his arms.

“You’re not Scott Hunter!” the teenager said, pulling his headphones off and eyeing him up and down. Shane flinched. Maybe he should have picked someone else, someone less famous than the captain of the US team. Maybe someone who wasn’t six inches taller than him.

“Sorry, man. Look we have to go.”

Shane’s heart sank the moment he saw the recognition on the teenage boy’s face. “You’re Shane Hollander!”

Shane watched in slow motion as the teenager’s eyes panned to the left, landing on Rozanov. Then his eyes almost bugged out of his face. “Holy shit. You’re Ilya Rozanov!”

“Jeremy!” the mom jumped in, admonishing the boy.

Rozanov stood there frozen, glancing at the family around them. Shane took the opportunity to reclaim his sleeve and move closer to Jeremy. “Shh, sorry. Uh, Jeremy? Sorry. We are just in a bit of a rush.”

“Do you know what people are saying about you? It was on YouTube this morning.” To Shane’s relief, the teenage boy didn’t snarl or look at them with disgust. He honestly just looked surprised to see them.

“Yes, that’s why we need to move fast. It’s not safe here. Russia…Russia isn’t safe for this.”

Rozanov moved closer to his side, stiff and tense as the dad, the mom and the younger boy also approached.

“Are you guys, ok?” the dad asked.

Again, Shane couldn’t detect any hate on any of their faces, but he also didn’t want to attract a crowd. “We’re ok. We are just trying to get away. We need to get back to Canada and the US as quickly as possible.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

Shane was shaking his head when Rozanov interrupted. “Wait. Can we trade a jacket? We need to lose the one Hollander is wearing, but it’s too cold to go without one.”

Jeremy quickly wiggled out of his black Columbia jacket that looked too new. It had been hanging off him like someone had bought it in the middle of his growth spurt and wasn’t quite sure how much bigger to go. Shane took off the jacket and handed it to him as they switched. “That’s actually Scott Hunter’s jacket. Probably has his name stitched into it somewhere.”

Rozanov took the hat off Shane’s head and handed it to the younger boy. “For you. That’s Carter Vaughn’s hat.”

The boys looked very impressed and Shane hoped that was enough.

“Thank you,” Shane said, holding the boy’s jacket tight. “I’m sorry we have to run. I hope you understand.”

“I guess I can’t get a selfie,” Jeremy said with a sad smile as he backed away to give them room to leave.

“Sorry,” Shane shook his head. Photos would definitely attract a crowd. “Maybe when we get home, we can visit you to thank you—”

“Here.” The dad gave Shane a business card with his name and phone number; Oliver Campbell. “Call if you need anything. If there’s anything we can do to help, we are happy to. There’s been a lot more security here than a few years ago.”

Shane took the business card as the mom handed them a small plastic bag.

“It’s not much. Just a few sandwiches and some water that we had packed for the day. You look like you’re going to need to move fast.”

With tears starting to brim in his eyes, Shane gave them all a quick nod as Rozanov grabbed hold of his sleeve again and started pulling.

“Thank you,” Rozanov called out. “And please don’t post about seeing us on social media.”

The group started reassuring them that they wouldn’t as Rozanov was successful in prying them away toward the back end of the cathedral.

Within minutes, they were in another cab, heading in a different direction.

***

09:06 MSK

“Why you don’t put the jacket on?” Ilya asked as they sped through the city. Hollander hadn’t moved since he’d sat down in the cab, his face focused on the street outside the window.

Hollander clutched the jacket in his grip, rubbing his thumbs across the surface. “It’s not cold. I’m ok.”

Ilya knew that was a lie. Coming from a man who always wore layers, who always folded his clothes so carefully, who was meticulous about showering and washing, Ilya was sure Hollander would be carrying that jacket around until he froze to death.

It wasn’t especially cold at the moment, but the sky was threatening to break out in a shower. Ilya reached into his backpack and pulled out the dark rain shell he had, giving it to Shane. Then he wiggled out of his hoodie, took Jeremy’s jacket and slid it on instead. It was a little tight in the shoulders, but he could make do. At least it was insulated.

Shane finally looked at him, his face tense but composed. “What are you doing?”

“Putting the jacket on. I think it will fit me better than you. If you don’t mind wearing my sweater and jacket? It should be warm enough if you wear both together.”

Shane’s eyebrows quirked together and his mouth twisted into half a smile. “That makes no sense. If your jacket fits me, and this jacket fits you, then it should fit me too.”

“Psht, fine. Was trying to save your ego. But if you want to be like that, then it looks better on me. You don’t care how you look anyways, so wear my old one.”

Shane put on his hoodie though. 

***

Bus from Sochi to Stavropol, 12:05 MSK

Shane’s cash on hand: $500 (USD) and ₽15,230 (RUB)

Ilya’s cash on hand: ₽3440 (RUB)

Shane rested his head against the window of the bus taking them toward Stavropol, the drawstrings of Ilya’s hoodie dangling from his mouth. The whole morning felt surreal now that the adrenaline was gone. It was still a fucking horrifying situation; soon North America would be waking up to the news that not only were Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov into men, not only were the two biggest rivals in the MLH hooking up together, but that they were also wanted by the Russian police and causing an international incident in the middle of the Olympics.

What would his team say? They weren’t the most supportive…Coach would lose his shit…

Suddenly, he bolted upright. His parents would find out. They would know he lied. They would learn he was fucking Rozanov from a headline on their phone. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t hate him. But. But what if they did? What if his mom was disappointed? What if she was mad?

His chest felt heavy, like he was being crushed against the boards. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe he could have tried harder to find a girlfriend.

He’d always imagined his worst nightmare was people finding out about him and Rozanov. He’d never prepared for the possibility that it could be worse. Would the MLH kick them out? Even if they didn’t but Montreal and Boston benched them until their contracts were up, then it was basically the same thing. Was the game he played yesterday the last one he would ever play professionally? He hadn’t memorized how it felt skating on the ice at home. He’d taken it for granted.

Rozanov was two rows in front and to his left, also leaning his head against the window, the hood of the jacket up, hiding away his curls. He’d insisted they sit apart, saying it would be less likely to draw attention in a half-filled bus.

Shane brought the hood of Rozanov’s hoodie tighter around his head, sinking into the soft material and the faint smell of shampoo and cigarettes. He hated that smell. He took deeper breaths, trying to stop the thoughts that were circling in his head. They still hadn’t had the chance to talk. Their worlds were falling apart, and the silence was killing him. He wished he had paid more attention to the feel of Rozanov’s hands on his face the last time they had kissed.

Pain pulsed behind his eyes.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to hide them away, trying to find something for them to do when he felt the cell phone Carter had given him.

The fear in his chest slowly morphed into relief. He could text his mom, he could talk to her. He could explain…if she was willing to listen.

Relief morphed back to fear. What would he say to her?

Fuck.

There weren’t many buildings now that they were outside of town, mostly it was just trees and farms passing them by. Shane eyed the connection status on the phone, biting his lip until he saw the connection switch to 3G, then punched in his mom’s number before he could change his mind.

The messages sent, but the chat sat empty and Shane tried not to panic. It was 5 am at home and his mom had no reason to get up early today. But then again, maybe she was mad and didn’t want to reply.

Shane shut down the message app, his hands shaking.

The phone buzzed and Shane quickly opened it up, hope rapidly turning to disappointment when he realized Scott Hunter had sent him a message, not his mom.

Shane’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, trying to decide if it would help if his mom talked to Scott? It felt like a cop-out, but his eyes were burning and he already felt like a coward for blind siding them like this. Blinking back tears, Shane typed out his mom’s phone number and hit send.

He knew he should turn off the phone, knew it would be better because there wasn’t anything he could do about what people were saying online, but at the same time, he had to know. The phone showed most of its battery– Shane risked it and opened the internet browser, quickly googling their names.

HOLLANDER AND ROZANOV EXPOSED IN RUSSIA – IN SECRET RELATIONSHIP FOR YEARS

BIGGEST RIVARY OR BIGGEST SCAM? HOLLANDER AND ROZANOV LINKED TOGETHER

RUSSIAN POLICE SEARCHING FOR HOCKEY PLAYERS IN SAME SEX SECRET RELATIONSHIP

THEY HAD US ALL FOOLED! WAITING TO HEAR STATEMENTS FROM MLH

Most of the words slid past his eyes except for words like disappointed, lied to, fans shocked, hockey scandal, wanted for questioning, illegal. The comments underneath them were worse, at least the ones that were in English. So much shock. So much vitriol. Some small pockets of support. His finger found the power button, and he held it down as the trees raced by outside.

Shane closed his eyes and went back to his breathing. It felt like he was hurdling through the world, unable to stop, unable to catch his breath. They needed to escape, but there was nowhere to escape to. The bus felt too small, the seat in front of him was too close.

After a few minutes, Shane couldn’t take it anymore. He bolted up, picking up his backpack and went toward Rozanov, hesitating for a second beside the empty seat before dropping down next to him.

“What are you doing?” Rozanov said quietly under his breath.

Freaking out, Shane wanted to reply, but he was sure if he spoke, it would come out too loud and he might start to cry. He didn’t know why he came up here when it was obvious Rozanov wanted to keep space between them. Maybe Rozanov hated him too.

A small laugh bubbled up in his throat. They were always hiding. They’d been hiding for years, and even now that the world knew their secret, they still had to hide. The laughter kept climbing, shaking his shoulders as he tried to swallow it down. His chest burned as he struggled to breathe.

Rozanov grabbed his arm. “Shhh, shhh.”

Shane tried to focus on the quiet shushing, tried to slow down his breathing by counting to four as he breathed in, and then releasing it for another four. It was only when he felt Rozanov’s thumb on the back of his hand, gently rubbing it back and forth that he was able to quiet down the screaming in his head.

“You’re ok.”

Shane was pretty sure he wasn’t. He took a few more breaths before he was able to unclench his free hand and bring it up to his face to rub the wet from his eyes.

“You’re having another panic attack.”  

“I’m ok,” Shane replied, his voice still shakier than he would have liked, but the restless energy was slowly leaving his body. He kept his eyes down, concentrating on the warm pressure of Rozanov’s thumb, and the quiet timber of his voice until the words in his head were back at a normal speed.

They still couldn’t talk, but it felt like he would explode if he didn’t let some of his thoughts leave his head. He passed the cell phone to Rozanov. “This is Carter’s. He gave it to me before we left. He knew I didn’t have my phone anymore. I texted Scott and my mom. Scott says they’ve been questioning the teams. You should use this phone to contact your family, don’t use yours.”

Rozanov kept his voice low but at least he replied. “It’s ok. Svetlana told me this morning when she called that they could track my phone. That’s how I found out what had happened. I’ve turned it off. We shouldn’t use any cards either. Stick to the cash we have.”

Rozanov let go of Shane’s hand and pulled out his wallet, suddenly giving all the money to Shane. “You should hold it all. Make sure we don’t run out. I don’t have very much left. Not enough for two train tickets out but maybe doesn’t matter.  I think they will be monitoring the large stations.”

Shane looked at the money in his hands and remembered the rubles his friends had given him, no idea why everyone was always giving him money. “Where were you thinking we should go?”

Rozanov looked around then shook his head, scooting closer to the window.

Shane was left staring at the space between their legs. It was only a few centimeters, but Shane would swallow all his stupid questions if it meant Rozanov would come even one millimeter closer. Again, because he was stupid, he’d forgotten to appreciate what it felt like when he had it. Now his hand rested on the seat between them, cold in the spots where Rozanov had been holding it.

Shane closed his eyes and leaned his head back, immobile.

This is my fault.

I shouldn’t have let this happen.

I should have just found a girlfriend.

I shouldn’t have had that beer.

I should have been paying attention at the bar. How could I let someone steal my cell phone.

Maybe if I hadn’t had that beer, none of this would have happened.

He’d blown up their lives for the entire world to see because he’d indulged in a fucking beer. It would make sense if Rozanov never wanted anything to do with him again.

Praying Rozanov wouldn’t notice, Shane turned his hand until his fingers could skim the hem of Rozanov’s sleeve, sliding the tip of his fingers along it, careful not to touch any skin.

It didn’t really help, but it was the only thing he could do to keep from screaming.

***

14:05 MSK

Ilya noticed. Of course he noticed. Hollander’s thumb had touched his sleeve, tugging lightly on the fabric, so close to his hand but never touching it. It had taken every ounce of self-restraint not to turn his hand and take Shane’s fingers in his own and hold them tight. But the small amount of self preservation he had wouldn’t let him. He knew that maybe, if they were lucky and could get out of here, they might still be able to salvage their careers if they came out united that it was just a stupid hook up. They were just two young, stupid hockey players fucking around. A stupid mistake. Tension on the ice that had spilled over because they had more lust than common sense. Maybe Carter was right and they could just say it was a joke. He could find a way to take the blame.

He was a bad influence – a menace. They liked that word. If he was out of Russia, being labelled as gay or bi wouldn’t be the end of the world. His father would never forgive him, but if he could still play hockey, or maybe coach somewhere, if he could live in the US, then life would be ok. He could make sure that Hollander got to keep his career.

In the end though, it would only work if they kept their fucking distance from each other, even better if they never saw each other again.  But to do that, Ilya needed to stop indulging in whatever this was between them now. It already hurt too fucking much. He had realized that when Hollander had sent him that message the other day.

Hey! U doing ok?

He wanted to touch Hollander a little too much. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold him close, feel Hollander’s hair against his lips.  If he did though – if he kept going, it would be that much harder to stop.

Eventually he could hear Hollander’s breathing become slow and even. Risking a quick glance, Ilya saw that Shane had managed to drift off, his head leaning to the side, mouth hanging slightly open and it took everything inside him not to cradle Hollander’s head and bring it to rest on his shoulder.

Without disturbing Shane’s hand, Ilya reached for the cell phone Hollander had given him and powered it up.  Quickly scanning the notifications and messages, he saw the messages Hollander sent to Hunter and his mom.  He owed Hunter and Vaughn a debt that would be very difficult to repay.

His thumb hovered over the message that appeared to be from Hollander’s mother. She’d replied, the bold words screaming for attention. He just wasn’t sure she wanted to hear from him

Something gripped Ilya’s chest, and he let himself feel the cold knot of fear inside amidst the shame and guilt. They’d been lucky so far. That police man in the Olympic Village and the police on the train platform had been close. If Sveta was right, and there was no reason to think she wasn’t, the police were very interested in catching them. They had government resources and him and Shane had next to nothing. There was a very real threat of being caught. And if they caught them…Ilya didn’t want to think too much about that. Jail certainly. If they didn’t get killed at the side of a road somewhere in rural Russia, photos of their bodies distributed to media as a warning or a distraction from whatever the government was planning currently.  

Ilya wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Starting a new message, he punched in Svetlana’s number which was one of the few that he had memorized.

Ilya’s mouth twisted into half a smile at friend’s caution. She was always the smarter of the two of them. It probably wasn’t a good idea to be contacting her to begin with, but he had no idea who else to turn to.

His mother had cried the whole time she was cutting his shoulder length hair short. Before that, Svetlana had teased him mercilessly, laughing that he had prettier hair than hers, but after that day, she never said anything about it again. Ever since then, he had made sure to keep it short, keep the curls manageable.

Ilya wondered how he was supposed to feel about that. There were parts of him that hated his father. As much as he tried to be a good son, it would never be enough. It would be nice not to have to try so fucking hard anymore.

It also meant that he was alone in this world. Alone except for Sveta, and maybe whatever the hell this was with Shane until Shane hated him too. Ilya leaned against Hollander and closed his eyes.

He had to just focus on the present and make sure they didn’t get caught. If they did, nothing would matter.

15:25 MSK

Armavir, Russia, 4°C

Combined cash on hand: $500 (USD) and ₽18,670 (RUB)

The door to the bus opened, depositing them on the side of the road along with another passenger, 118 km east of Stavropol. As the doors clanged shut, the metal creaking and engine misfiring, Shane shivered and looked around. It was at least a few degrees colder here, even though they weren’t more than a few hundred kilometers from where they’d started.

The older man who had gotten off with them started walking toward the town, so they followed. Rozanov hadn’t said anything for the rest of the ride, except tapping Shane’s shoulder when he’d dozed off, to indicate that they’d be getting off early. Just in case.

There was a gas station up ahead and it looked like a small smattering of houses down the road. Shane’s stomach grumbled. Aside from the sandwiches that nice lady had given them, which they’d scarfed down a few hours ago along with the water, they hadn’t had anything else. The road wasn’t terribly busy, but then behind them came the sound of large trucks rumbling along.

Shane caught Rozanov’s eyes as they realized they were military transport trucks.

“Calling in the military for us seems a bit excessive, doesn’t it?” Shane whispered.

Rozanov’s eyes were wide, but he gave Shane a curt not. “You would think. Follow me.”

Moving closer to the older man, they followed him into the gas station which was connected to a decent size convenience store.

“Keep your head down and don’t say anything except da.”

Shane followed Rozanov around the store as he grabbed a couple of sandwiches from the refrigerated section, holding one up that looked like tuna, so Shane gave him a quick nod. At this point he would probably agree to a salami sandwich, but he was glad he didn’t have to test that hypothesis. The shelves were full of a random assortment of canned fish and sauces next to cleaners and detergents. Shane grabbed two large bottles of water and put them on the counter as Rozanov deposited the sandwiches and grabbed two drinks of what looked like milk. Shane wasn’t sure why he had become the comptroller as he was trying to fish the money out from his wallet, and he almost missed Rozanov’s quick glance behind the counter and then his hesitation.  

Shane followed his eyes to the cigarettes, anger flaring. Of course, Rozanov wanted a cigarette on the run. They had limited funds and he was going to waste them on smokes. But then his brain processed the hesitation. Rozanov wanted them but also knew he was going to be angry and so stopped himself. The anger ebbed just as quickly as it had appeared. Rozanov had told him he was trying to quit. Shane had no idea what the consequences of nicotine withdrawal were, but he was pretty sure Rozanov didn’t need to deal with that now, on top of everything. He relaxed his face and gave him another nod, this one toward the back counter. “Da.”

Once they were back outside, Rozanov lit one of the cigarettes and started walking them toward the city proper. “Are you good to walk? We can cross the river and keep walking north toward Grigoropolisskaya. We can find a smaller town to sleep in. Maybe we can find someone to drive us toward Salsk.”

The rain that had been threatening all day finally started falling, muting the sounds of the city, and cutting Rozanov’s smoke break short. This city wasn’t large, looked like a typical small European town with low rise apartments lining the road as they walked toward the city center. They ate their sandwiches in silence, the few people that were out in the rain, paying them little attention.

Rozanov handed him one of the milk drinks. “Have you tried Kefir? Like yogurt.”

Shane shook his head, hesitating to take the drink. Rozanov shook the bottle at him, reminding Shane of their encounter in the hotel fitness room years ago. Shane took it and looked it over.

“If you do not like it, I will drink it,” Rozanov said. “But we will need to keep up our strength these next few days. Is a good drink, easy to find. Has some protein and nutrients.”

“You’re really selling it.”

“Yes, will make your dick bigger and is cure for hangover too.”

With a sigh, Shane opened the bottle and took a careful sip. Right away the tart and sour taste covered his tongue. “Ugh, It’s carbonated milk!”

Rozanov rolled his eyes. “Drink it. Is good for you.”

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Shane held it back out for him. “No, thank you.”

Rozanov took it from him with an amused expression on his face, drinking the rest with a loud smack of his lips followed by an excessively loud burp.

“You ok?” Rozanov asked a few minutes later when they were crossing a bridge.

A gust of wind suddenly ripped the napkin out of Shane’s hand and Shane stopped and watched it fly over the railing and down into the fast-moving river. The river water was brown from how fast it was moving, crashing against rocks near the bank. The napkin quickly got soaked and absorbed by the water and then washed away by the current.

“You should call your mother,” Rozanov said quietly, handing the cell phone back to him. “I was texting Sveta when you fell asleep on the bus. I saw she had replied to your texts. I told her we were ok, but that you would call her.”

Shane turned the phone around in his hands and then spared a glance back at the river and then at the rain falling on their heads. It seemed like everyone had talked with his mom except him. Everyone knew if she hated him or was disappointed or upset, except him.

“She loves you.”

Just hearing the words was enough to make tears collect in his eyes. Blinking rapidly, Shane hoped the rain would hide them as he gripped the phone, weighing it in his hands before putting it in his pocket. His mom. His dad. Hunter and Vaughn. Maybe JJ. Probably Hayden.  Maybe if his family still loved him and if some of his friends supported him that would enough. Maybe if his mom still wanted to be his manager, she could help them navigate the fallout of this as well. It was a lot of maybe’s, but maybe, they just had to get out of this country and things would be ok in the end.

“I’ll call her later, when it’s not raining,” Shane said, his voice cracking, but started walking again toward the other end of the bridge. Rozanov eventually followed and Shane hung back until they were walking side by side.

“How about you? Are you ok?” Shane asked.

Rozanov pointed that the sky. “Is raining and cold, but we are still free to enjoy the rain and the cold, so there’s that.”

Rozanov bumped his shoulder and gave him a small smile, so Shane bumped him back and said, “Could be worse, I guess.”

“Could be worse,” Rozanov agreed.

***

17:25 MSK

Prochnookopskaya, 9.7 km North of Armavir

Combined cash on hand: $500 (USD) and ₽18,160 (RUB)

Outside of Armavir, the sidewalk disappeared, giving way to open stretches of grassy countryside with sparse trees that clustered in patches. The rain had let up but now the sun was starting to hang low on the horizon.

“We should find some place to sleep while there’s still light,” Shane said as the water squished in his running shoes and he shivered. It was starting to get colder and now that their clothes were wet, they would lose heat fast. There was a scattering of small houses on the periphery of this town. "Do you think someone will mind if we borrow their shed?”

Rozanov led them away from the main road, toward a path that led down by the river. A small farmhouse looked like a good candidate, it had a well-worn barn to its left, but as they approached, a dog started barking.

“Maybe not, but dog will mind, I think,” Rozanov said as they changed direction and kept moving along the bank. “I think we need to sleep in the trees tonight.”

They found a clearing in a wooded area half a kilometer up the path. The sunlight was fading, so Shane dropped his backpack against a tree and started looking over the area for kindling. There wasn’t much that was dry, but at least the winter had deposited lots of leaves, twigs and branches on the ground. He cleared an area in the middle with his foot until it was just dirt, circled it with some rocks and then started to build his log cabin, placing two larger sticks on the ground in parallel and then two smaller sticks on the side, a layer above. He continued building the walls of the cabin with the sticks he’d managed to collect and then dropped some of the drier leaves and bark in the middle.

He stood up to look at his work when he caught Rozanov’s eyes on him, with a small smile. “Mr. Boy Scout.”

“Shut up,” Shane said without any heat. Things had been quiet between them these last two hours as they’d walked along the countryside. Shane felt wrung out and empty. “Give me your lighter. I’m not sure this is going to work, everything is so damp, but we should try and dry our shoes if we can.”

Rozanov took out a cigarette and lit it, handing the lighter over to Shane when he was done. Shane tried to ignite the kindling in a few spots; it would take, then extinguish, then he’d try somewhere else and it would take again.

“Give me, I’ll keep trying,” Rozanov said, taking the lighter back. “You know what wood to look for. Go find more if you can. Would be nice not to freeze to death tonight.”

Shane found a few more dead branches that had fallen on the ground. Nothing big that would last them the entire night, but it would do. When he returned, Rozanov had managed to get a small flame going in the center. Shane put any of the wet branches around the periphery in hopes they would dry and in a few minutes, they had a small fire going.

“How did you know how to do that?” Rozanov asked, sitting down with his back against a tree, holding his hands up to the fire.

Shane sat down beside him and started taking off his shoes and socks and rubbing his feet to get some circulation back. “Well, I mean…I’m Canadian. My dad took me camping pretty often. My mom didn’t like it much, but dad loved it. Was something fun to do during the off season. You should take your socks and shoes off too and dry them if we can.”

Rozanov did as he was told, taking off his shoes and socks and placing them by the fire, then wiggling his toes close to the flame. Shane held out two pairs of dry socks that he’d found in his bag, silently sending Carter another mental thank you. Rozanov took one pair, and Shane put on the second.

***

19:35 MSK

“Are you going to call your mom?”

The sun had fully set, leaving them in darkness except for the glow from the fire. Shane swallowed hard. He’d been avoiding even touching the cell phone in his pocket. Justifying it because it was raining and they were on the move, but he couldn’t put it off anymore.  He powered up the cell phone and punched in his mom’s number.

“Hi Mom,” he said, putting it on speaker phone when she picked up on the first ring. “I’m here with Rozanov.”

“Shane! Ilya! Thank God. You two, ok? Where are you?”

Shane gave the phone an odd look. When did Rozanov and his mom get on a first name basis? “We’re ok. We’re in um…”

“Prochnookopskaya. It’s a small village outside of Armavir,” Rozanov supplied.

His mom gave him a small laugh. “Proch-noo-kop-shaya – sorry I just want to write that down. Near Armavir. I know this has been a crazy day for you. I’m so sorry you’re both going through this. Know that me and your dad and your friends are working together to try and help.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“That goes for you too Ilya. I spoke with Svetlana, she’s lovely. She’s passing on any police intel she hears. We are trying to keep the policed focused on Sochi or the southern border.”

Shane’s heart dropped at the name – he assumed Svetlana was Sveta from Rozanov’s comment earlier.  This girl must be important to Rozanov if even his mother knew her name.

“Does everyone hate us?” Shane asked carefully, not asking the real question on his mind but it was close enough. Did his mom and dad hate him?

“No! Of course not, sweetie,” him mom answered right away. “Your dad and I love you. We will always love you. Nothing is ever going to change that. And you both have a good group of friends that are trying to help both of you. Things will be ok. None of the MLH teams have said anything, neither has the league but it doesn’t matter. Just get home and we will figure everything out together.”

He didn’t think he had the energy to cry again, but tears started spilling down his face.  It was too much and not enough all at the same time. It felt so good to hear her voice and he desperately wanted to believe that everything was going to be ok. “I love you too mom.”

“Oh Shane,” Yuna‘s voice cracked and then she coughed as if trying to clear her throat. “Listen, I want you to know that I spoke with the embassy in Moscow and an international lawyer.  Both said the same thing. The police will try and arrest you on the anti-propaganda laws. There’s not a lot of transparency if you are arrested, which means I don’t know if you’ll get a phone call or lawyer. While the lawyer was not encouraging you guys to evade the police, they also said it would be very bad if you were caught.  Do you guys have a plan?"

“I don’t know,” Shane replied, using his thumb to clear his eyes before looking at Rozanov. He had wanted an answer to that question all day. But Rozanov didn’t meet his eyes, fully focused on the fire.

“I’m not sure,” Rozanov finally responded. “We can try to cross the border in Ukraine or Latvia. There’s a lot of, what’s the word, chaos, in Ukraine. Latvia is better as it has large areas of border unguarded, but all main roads go through Moscow. Would be a lot of walking. Or we can try one of the check points. But maybe more Russian police watching those.”

 “Could we go to the Canadian embassy? The one in Moscow?” Shane asked, thinking of what his mom said.

Rozanov turned back to the fire and started warming up his hand, then added some more kindling to the small flame. “We could. I could get you to Moscow. Your embassy would help you.”

Shane processed the careful wording. “You don’t think they’d help you?”

“Why would the Canadian embassy help a Russian citizen in their own country?”

It seemed obvious, once Rozanov said it out loud. Shane had no idea what it meant to try to enter Lativia illegally, but there was no way he was leaving Rozanov here by himself. “Then we go to Latvia.”

“Shane,” his mom started. “I think you should consider going to the embassy. Are you really going to risk it? What if you get lost? What if the police find you? The embassy is the safest option. I can hire a Russian lawyer. They can figure out how to get you both back home.”

“How mom?” Shane already knew the answer now that he was thinking about it. No lawyer was going to be able to get a Russian citizen out of Russia, especially if they were wanted by the police. His mom was worried about him. He got that. But it was very clear. If they went to the embassy, Shane would be safe and Rozanov would be on his own, on the streets of Moscow. And there was no way he was going to allow that.

“I can bring you there,” Rozanov said quietly. “I then go north by myself. Your mother is right. Is the smarter option.”

Shane turned his gaze to Rozanov. Most of his face was in shadow, except his eyes. They were unguarded and shining; Shane didn’t think he’d ever seen Rozanov so open and defenseless.

“We are staying together. That’s non-negotiable,” Shane said, the matter-of-factly, knowing he could out-stubborn his mom in this. He wasn’t sure if he could out-stubborn the look on Rozanov’s face, but he could try.

Go away Hollander.

“And I don’t care if you don’t want this anymore,” Shane said, the words rushing out of his mouth because he wasn’t sure if he had the courage to get them all out otherwise. “I don’t care if you have a girlfriend. We are in this together. That’s the best chance we have. And if you try and run off without me, I will run after you. I will run around every city street, calling your name until I find you or get arrested. You’re stuck with me until we get home, whether you like it or not.”

Rozanov had lit another cigarette and was looking away, but the glow of the fire caught a tear rolling down his face. Shane wanted more than anything in the world to wipe it away.

“Ok,” Yuna said, frustration obvious in her voice. “Keep making your way north. Let me talk to Svetlana and the lawyers about other possible options. We will figure something out.”

Shane’s eyes never left Rozanov. “Thanks mom. We should go. We have no way of charging this phone, yet. I’ll text you when I can tomorrow.”

“Ok, take care of each other. Ilya, Shane. I mean it. Ilya, call me if you need anything as well.”

“Thank you Yuna,” Rozanov said his voice thick as Shane said his goodbyes.

Rozanov laid his head back against the tree and closed his eyes, so Shane settled closer to the fire, lying down in the dirt. There was half a meter of space between them because that seemed to be what Rozanov wanted but it felt like a chasm to Shane.

It was definitely colder now; any part of him that wasn’t facing the fire felt cold. In the distance, howls filled the air.

“Are there coyotes in Russia?” Shane asked quietly in case Rozanov was already sleeping.

But Rozanov replied right away. “No, that’s a jackal. Smaller than your coyotes. They will probably leave us alone.”

“Probably?”

Rozanov peaked an eye open and gave him a small smile. “Probably.”

Shane was going to settle down again when he saw Rozanov shiver. While his feet were close to the fire, the tree he was leaning up against wasn’t. He was probably even colder than Shane.

Fuck it, Shane thought and got up and moved next to Rozanov, plopping down next to him, close enough that their sides were up against each other.

“Hollander—” Rozanov started.

“For heat.”

Shane pushed up against his side, closing his eyes at the feel of Rozanov beside him, letting himself have this moment of peace. There was this awful feeling in his stomach that this was going to be the last time Rozanov permitted it and if Shane were smart, he’d start to prepare mentally.

Unfortunately, Shane knew he wasn’t very smart, especially when it came to people. Instead of giving him space, Shane pressed into Rozanov until he felt him stiffen, confirming his fears.

“You’ve changed your mind about us,” Shane said almost under his breath, but the words felt like they’d been shouted into the nighttime sky. “Is it because of Svetlana?”

“What? No, Svetlana is old childhood friend.” Ilya’s voice trailed off. “Sometimes we fuck, but…she is really my only friend. Her father is Sergie Vetrov, former Soviet goal tender. Now he is Minister. She’s the one who woke me up this morning and warned me about your stolen phone.”

There was something sad in Rozanov’s voice when he said that she was his only friend.

“And about us?” Shane forced the words out of his mouth. Because he had to know, even though he was terrified of knowing. At the same time, the sadness in Rozanov’s voice made his stomach clench and he had to know if he was making things better or worse by forcing himself into Rozanov’s space.

“We will only get one chance to save our careers, I think,” Rozanov responded, his voice like gravel, low and broken. “If we get out of this country, then you should think about what we do.”

“At the moment, that’s looking like a big if.”

“Maybe,” Rozanov said, but his body loosened and then Shane felt the small shift of Rozanov sinking against him. “But if we do, then we can claim it was just a stupid thing we did. It meant nothing. It was just sex. Maybe that will be enough for it to eventually go away. Maybe your life can go back to normal.”

Again, Shane didn’t miss the exclusion. His life could go back to normal. Rozanov’s would be permanently altered no matter what – he would never be able to go home again. There was some ugly truth in what Rozanov was saying. Maybe they could wash it away, but the cost would be this thing fledging between them. This small weight that Rozanov had leaned against him.

“Was it just a stupid thing we did?”

“Was just sex. It should not ruin your life.”

“It’s ruined yours though. Russia could cancel your passport. You will have to claim asylum. You’ll never be able to come back.”

“Was my choice.” Rozanov looked away, trying to hide his face. But the gravel in his voice had turned thicker.  Shane sat forward and leaned across him to catch his eyes but caught a glimpse of more tears in the faint moonlight.

Shane threw his leg over Rozanov’s so he was straddling him as he wrapped his arms around Ilya’s back, encircling him. “It was my choice too. Don’t get me wrong, the consequences fucking suck, but don’t push me away because you think it’s better for me. If you’re going to push me away, make it because you don’t want this anymore, because you’re bored, because you found someone else you would rather spend time with.  Because I don’t want to give this up, if you don’t want to.”

Rozanov’s arms tightened around him, resting his head on Shane’s chest as they rocked slowly together. “You will hate me for what this does to your life.”

“You might already hate me for what this has done to yours.”

The jackal howled in the distance seemingly agreeing with them both. Shane broke out into a laugh, and he felt Rozanov laughing against him as well.

“I want to figure this out with you, not give it up just because we think it will be easier. Because it probably won’t be easier to do this alone and then we will have given it up for nothing.” Shane pressed a kiss against Rozanov’s forehead and Rozanov leaned forward into it. There was still more to say, more for Shane to figure out, but Rozanov’s fingers came up to his face, tracing his thumb against Shane’s chin, and the words fluttered away.

Then Rozanov threaded his fingers into Shane’s hair, pulling his face to him for a kiss and like all their kisses, there was this surrender that seemed to happen when their lips met. Shane felt like he was tumbling into a free-fall, his heart hammering as Rozanov’s tongue slipped into his mouth.

This. This is what he wanted to feel whole, this is what he needed to feel grounded and alive. To feel Rozanov’s control break, to feel him give in to what he wanted. Shane felt the blood rushing to his face, felt his cock harden as he pushed up against Rozanov’s hard body. Because they were still alive. Because they were still here together. Because this thing between them wasn’t just sex and it wasn’t just in his head.

Rozanov’s hands slipped underneath his shirt and pressed against his back, making Shane arch into him. The cool air hit his skin in sharp contrast to the trail of fire from Rozanov’s fingers and the pressure from his hands.

“Fuck, I want you,” Rozanov whispered into his mouth. “It’s not very clean here though…”

Shane leaned back just enough so he could open up Rozanov’s pants. Normally he would have objected. He didn’t even shower last night, and he could feel the weight of the day’s sweat on him and last night’s chaos. But more than feeling clean, he needed to chase this feeling; this heat that Rozanov ignited in him that had been missing for months. Rozanov’s hands were burning away the hollowness that had been growing and petrifying him until there was nothing but cold and emptiness inside. Rozanov’s lips found the side of his neck, kissing and sucking and spilling filthy words as he worked up to Shane’s ear overwhelming him with sensations and turning off his brain. Shane gave in completely, hand wrapping around Rozanov’s cock, rubbing against him, desperate to make Rozanov feel the same.

“That’s it, just take me. Take what you want from me.” Ilya groaned as Shane rocked against him.

Shane nodded whispered his own demands, single words not sentences, demanding Ilya take him harder and use him as Ilya tightened his hands on his head, kissing him so hard, that half of Shane’s words were eaten instead of spoken out loud.

And maybe the fire wasn’t even necessary. It wasn’t just the heat of his cock in Shane’s hands, the weight of it thick and heavy. But it was also Rozanov’s hands grabbing his hair and pulling him tight, God maybe a bit too tight but the sharp pain made Shane even harder until it hurt more just to be constrained in his pants. He undid them enough to get his own dick out, hard and already leaking. Then Rozanov brought his arms around Shane, pulled him in tight until their cocks were up against each other, and then Rozanov’s hand was encircling them both and Shane felt like the fire was in his lungs.

Rozanov spit in his hand, then brought it back around their dicks. The saliva making them slide against each other, as Shane started grinding against him and it felt like it had been years since he’d felt anything like. “I’m not going to last long.”

“Good. I want you to fucking come for me,” Rozanov whispered in his ear. “Cover me in your come. Pomechay menya, blyat', metkoy, ya tvoya.”

And then Shane was coming because there was nothing in the world that could stop it. He was panting into Rozanov’s mouth, breathing in his air as he could feel Rozanov fucking call out his name as he came too and then what’s when Shane realized it was his actual name, not Hollander or some variation, but his real name and he was fucking marking Shane as his own, and then Shane couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out his mouth as well because his heart had apparently overridden what little brain power he had left and it was screaming out Ilya’s name as well. “Ilya.”

They lay against each other, panting, Ilya’s breath against his cheek as Shane twisted Ilya’s name through his mind, layering it into this thing between them. The hook ups. The sex. Ilya’s voice soft and demanding when they’re together and then cold and hard when he was pushing them apart.

Shane didn’t know how to reconcile the two, especially now, when it was just the two of them against the world. If Ilya pushed him away it would be so much harder than if Rozanov did it and he couldn’t get used to having this and then have it ripped away. It would kill him.

He sat back to give them some air, even as he felt Ilya holding onto him tighter.

“I can’t –” Shane tried to form the thoughts into words as he looked up and saw the panic starting to form in Ilya’s eyes and fuck if that wasn’t Shane’s own fear staring back at him.  And maybe that was what he needed to fuel his courage. “I can’t be on and off again. I can’t keep switching like that. I’m going to screw it up and it’s going to kill me in the process. But for the record, please know I really don’t want to stop. I just need to know if you want me to stay here beside you.”

“Stay,” Ilya whispered, using his shirt to wipe at the mess and then pulling Shane against him, wrapping his arms around him completely until Shane was resting his head in the crook of Ilya’s neck. “Shane.”

And maybe that was all that Shane needed to reprogram his brain, to settle the panic in his heart. Nothing was for certain; he got that. Certainly not in the situation they found themselves in. Not on the run from the fucking police, but he could deal with shit happening, that was nothing new. On the ice, the physical situation changed all the time. Shane could roll with those punches. He just didn’t think he could handle watching Ilya’s face harden against him again. He tightened his hands on Ilya’s sides, knowing he must be getting heavy but also, selfishly, not wanting to move an inch.

“Stay,” Ilya repeated again.

Jackals howled as the fire crackled and Shane melted against him, slowly saying Ilya’s name in his head, now that he was allowed to. As the events of the day settled, Shane remembered the earlier conversation with his mom and realized it wasn’t just a small reordering of his life going on. Their friends knew. His parents knew. Fuck the whole world knew. And as terrifying as it was, there was also something a bit freeing that he had never considered before.

Heck, his mom had called Ilya by his name before he had.  Shane let out a small laugh against Ilya’s chest.

“What’s funny?”

“Maybe I have been worried about the wrong thing. Maybe we just need to find a way out of here and then the rest will be ok.”

“You are just catching onto plan now? We have been on the run since this morning.”

“Fuck off,” Shane said with a laugh, shaking his head against Ilya’s chest. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Come here,” Ilya said, grabbing Shane tighter around his waist. Shane was pretty sure he couldn’t actually get any closer without crawling into Ilya’s clothes, so he settled his head against the side of Ilya’s neck.

Chapter End Notes

Esti de câlice de tabarnak d’osti de ciboire = Holy fucking shit
Tabarnak = Fuck
Pomechay menya, blyat', metkoy, ya tvoya = Fucking mark me, I'm yours.

Chapter 2: Saturday, Feb 15, 2014

Chapter Summary

“Get up!” he yelled at Shane, throwing him off his shoulder and hauling him up as he scrambled to his feet. There in the distance, he saw the distinctive form of people moving through the trees. Police.

Chapter Notes

Thank you for the comments and kudos! They make my day. Made my sister proofread this one too, in exchange I am reading her thesis proposal. It's all about balance I guess :D

1°C, 05:51 MSK

Sometime during the night, Shane must have slid down next to him because Ilya woke up with the left side of his body freezing. The other half was next to Shane, who was resting his head against Ilya’s shoulder, heavy and grounding. A cramp in his shoulder made movement difficult, but Ilya managed to wrap his arm around Shane, careful not to wake him and settled into his warmth, tucking his nose in Shane’s neck to get it out of the wind.

Be careful what you wish for, he thought ruefully. Memories from the last time they were together were always a chorus in his head, sometimes somewhere in the periphery, but always humming in his brain, even on days when he took a beautiful woman to bed. Shane’s mouth and the way he moaned, his hands and the way they couldn’t help but grab hold of him, his nails and the way they had claimed him. The last few months had been full of this overwhelming ache to have it again.

He’d forced himself to leave that night. Put his shoes and jacket on and walk down those damn stairs to the alleyway as if that was enough. As if the motions of leaving would make it true. But then he’d kissed Shane in the stairwell, and he knew he might physically leave, but part of him was staying right there. He had spent the whole cab back to his hotel wishing there was some universe that existed where he could have stayed curled up at Shane's side.

And now here he was.

His whole body ached. The fire had extinguished sometime during the night and they had both put their shoes back on and draped an extra sweater over themselves which was a blessing given the frost covering the grass around them.

Ilya turned his head and breathed in the smell of Shane’s hair. It was smoky but underneath that, it still smelled like him, like the citrusy shampoos he tended to prefer. Ilya could feel the grit on his teeth and the layers of dirt sitting on his body. Maybe he could move Shane so he could fish out his toothbrush, but he decided to settle back, pulling Shane closer instead.

This wasn’t part of the plan. He should have pushed Shane away last night, should have made him stay closer to the fire and further from him. This was going to kill him.

Then Ilya heard it again, the sharp barking that likely woke him up in the first place, but now it was closer. Too close. There was movement through the trees, startling loud against the quiet morning.

“Get up!” he yelled at Shane, throwing him off his shoulder and hauling him up as he scrambled to his feet. There in the distance, he saw the distinctive form of people moving through the trees. Police.

“What the—” Shane didn’t finish the sentence, but Ilya could see the rapid evolution of confusion to panic to understanding dawning on his face.

Grabbing the two backpacks sitting by the side, Ilya flung one over his shoulder as Shane grabbed the one from his hands. Then giving Shane a push, they took off running from the approaching group.

Their bodies knew what to do. Like a sprint on a break away, but with blinding fear fueling the adrenaline in their veins.

“Keep the river to your left!” Ilya huffed out as Shane hurdled over a fallen long and Ilya followed, barely one step behind.

Branches whacked them in the face and underbrush threatened to grab a hold of their legs. Shane’s pace was relentless, half a step ahead of him, pumping his arms and legs as Ilya matched him stride for stride. Trampling sounds were coming up fast behind them and Ilya didn’t waste time turning around to see if it was the police or their dogs. It didn’t matter. He just ran.

Up ahead was a clearing of trees. In the open it would be harder to hide, but there was no where else to go. Shane put on a burst of speed so Ilya matched him.

Finally, sparing a quick glance behind him before they crossed the tree line, Ilya’s heart soared as he saw they were creating distance.

Eyes back to the front, it took him a second too long to process that Shane had stopped at the clearing just one pace ahead. Fuck—he couldn’t stop!

“Shane!” Ilya shouted as they collided. Then he saw why the trees had cleared. The river that had been flowing hard with runoff from the rain on their left had curved in front of them, cutting across their path. Ilya collided with Shane and the force of the momentum hurdled them both into the freezing cold water.

***

Shane felt the air getting knocked out of him as he flew into the air, stomach dropping as his body twisted, searching for anything to grab on to.  He was flying until he hit the water, hard and flat, the impact slapping his body, pushing the air out of his lungs and stinging his skin like a thousand sharp knives.

Then he was being dragging under and it was just silence and pressure. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe.  He twisted around trying to find which way was up. His heart was hammering in his throat. He wanted to swallow, wanted to open his mouth to take in some air but if he did, everything would be over. He kept trying to find something to grab onto but there was nothing, he was just suspended in space.

This was it. This was how he was going to die.

Calm came over him as images of his parents and Ilya surrounded. There were so many good times. Also so many regrets. All the things him and Ilya didn’t get the chance to do; the words left unspoken, the feelings hinted at but never really revealed, the smiles he wouldn’t get the chance to see. There wasn’t a single regret of the things they had done though. They just needed more time.

Suddenly, a strong hand gripped his arm and hauled him up until he broke through the surface. Shane gulped in the air as soon as he could, hungry and desperate but the river still fought him, water going into his mouth and nose and carrying him along with everything the river had collected in its journey.

Rozanov was beside him, head briefly above the surface but it kept bobbing under as the water rushed around them.  Shane tried to touch the ground with his feet, but the current pushed him along and smashed him up against jutting rocks, water getting into his mouth when he cried out.

Pain bloomed in his shoulder. Shane twisted to try and grab a hold of Ilya, but the water pushed them along, separating them and hurdling them further downriver. Shane had always been a good swimmer, but the river was stronger. Faster. Angrier.

Ahead, Rozanov managed to grab onto a low hanging tree branch. Ilya extended his body as far as he could, splaying his fingers to try to grab a hold of Shane’s arm as Shane approached. With a burst of energy, Shane launched himself toward Ilya’s hand, grasping it tightly, but either his fingers were too cold, or too weak to hold on and he slid right out of Rozanov’s grasp.

“Shane!”

His heart started hammering again. The water wasn’t slowing down, and the currents and rocks were creating pockets of rapids that sprayed water in his eyes and tried to pull him under.  Somehow, he remembered the stupid safety briefings from when he’d gone kayaking with his father. Briefings they had never needed but had to listen to anyway. Don’t panic if you fall overboard, lay on your back, keep your feet up and in front of you and use your arms to steer at an angle to get toward the shore.

Shane flipped over onto his back, only to have a water wash over his face. Coughing, and wiping at his eyes, Shane managed to get into position. The river continued to barrel downstream until the next bend, when thankfully, the river widened and started to slow down. He could see the river in front of his feet, so he started to angle himself toward the shore. He threw his arms out, smacking them against some rocks by the shoreline, but managed to grab hold of a large boulder and anchor himself.  His fingers were screaming at him, numb against the cold, but they held tight.

It was shallow enough to touch. Using his arms and legs to get himself out of the current and into a calmer pocket, Shane braced himself with his left hand still on the rock, panting and coughing and cradling his right hand tight against his chest. When he could breathe, he wiped the water from his eyes, quickly scanning the area.

Ilya.

He could hardly see, his eyes still stinging from the water. He had no idea how far they’d gone or how close behind the police and dogs were. Even moving into the shallow water, he couldn’t see anyone. He tried to make his way to the shore when his foot slipped on a wet rock and he fell back into the water.

***

Ilya raced down the bank, pumping his legs as fast as he could, maneuvering over the rocks and uneven dirt, trying desperately to keep Shane in his field of view. He was shocked how fast the river was moving, which was maybe a blessing because it bought them some distance from the police but also there was no way Ilya could keep up. He had half a mind to jump back in the water and have it carry him along, but there was no control there. The winter run off and rain were too much for the river. If he jumped in, then they would both need to find a way out. Running along the shore was a bit easier – the grass was short, but there were loose rocks. He felt like an out-of-control beginner trying to bobsled. Too much unsustainable speed just waiting for one wrong move to send him careening over the edge.

He just had to get ahead of Shane.

The river twisted and Ilya jumped over a low-lying branch, just in time to see Shane take a big wave to the face.  Realization dawned on him, heavy and unforgiving - there was no way he could overtake Shane and get to a spot downriver. He couldn’t stop running, but he also couldn’t reach him.

He moved around some trees in time to see Shane grab hold of some rocks and haul himself into calmer water.

Shane was trying to get up and Ilya was still maybe fifty meters away when he saw Shane slip on some rocks and twist – twist the way they always taught them to twist when falling on the ice –-Shane lowered his body, turning so that his side hit the ground first but then he also hit his head against the rocks near the bank, and then his body went limp as he rolled face-first into the water.

Panic gripped his heart. Ilya put on a burst of speed he didn’t even know he had. Every muscle was screaming at him as he slid down beside Shane, hauling his face out of the water.

“No no no no no no” Ilya said like prayer, as if his words could force reality to bend to his will. Because he’d been here before, holding his mom’s head against his chest, begging her to wake up. It couldn’t happen again. He wasn’t going to let it. Shane was going to be alright; there was no world that existed in which he wouldn’t.

He was never letting Shane go again. Fuck the world that didn’t want them. Fuck his father. Fuck Russia. Fuck these stupid, overwhelming feelings too. He would be damned if he ever let Shane out of his sight again, he just needed to be ok.

Shane coughed, river water coming out of his mouth and nose. His eyes scrunched up tight and Ilya’s shoulders collapsed in relief, holding Shane tight against his chest.

“I’m ok,” Shane said, his voice strained and not very convincing.

Ilya realized he’d been almost crushing Shane’s face against his chest and relaxed just enough to let Shane sit up, see him squint against the rising sun. There was a bump on the side of Shane’s head the size of a small egg, and blood trailing down his cheek.  He looked terrible and beautiful.

With his heart hammering in his chest, Ilya used his fingers to gently feel around, pressing around his eye socket to make sure nothing was broken, running his fingers along Shane’s cheeks. His face was covered in scratches but the bump and cut were the main problems.

“Are you dizzy? Any nausea?” He was useless and terrified. He knew what questions to ask, but not what to do if Shane answered yes to any of them.

Shane coughed but gripped Ilya’s arm as he tried to reposition himself. They were still lying in the shallow water, rocks cutting into Ilya’s legs. “I’m ok.”

Ilya used his arms for support as Shane tried to get his feet underneath him, favouring his right arm. “I am not doctor, but I do not think you’re ok. You have big bump on your head.”

“I’m alright. We need to keep going. I’ll be fine.”

It seemed pointless to argue given their situation. Moving slowly as the wet rocks were treacherous, Ilya kept his arm around Shane until they were both standing, even as they started walking because he could feel Shane working to keep his balance, but also it was so fucking cold and their clothes were heavy and wet. Shane’s teeth started chattering. There was a road up ahead, and though that meant maybe the police could be patrolling it, it also meant that maybe they could find a ride away from here. Police or hypothermia. Was a terrible decision, but hypothermia was a given and police were just hypothetical.

Dripping as they stood huddled at the side of the road, Ilya decided he was going to flag down the first driver he saw, even if he had to jump in front of their car.  

***

“Are you going far? Fifty American if you can take us to Grigoropolisskaya at least,” Ilya asked through the open window, eyeing the middle-aged man who had stopped for them.

The man looked Ilya up and down, then flicked his eyes to Shane, then back to him. “What the fuck happened to you two?”

“Stupid drunk party, we ended up in the river. Our fucking friends left us because they didn’t want to get their car wet.”

The man nodded. “Don’t blame them. I’ll give you a ride for a 100.”

When Ilya nodded, the man got out of his car and went to the truck, coming back with two plastic bags for them to sit on as they got in the back seat. At least he cranked the heat, though Ilya figured it was more to keep the windows from fogging up rather than their comfort.

Shane discretely handed him his wallet.

“Fifty now, fifty when we get there.”

Ilya tucked the wallet into his pocket after handing the man one of the fifties. He didn’t want to guess how much money they had left, but it wasn’t a lot. But that was a problem for later.

The windows in the back started fogging up despite the heat blasting. Shane was still shivering; his hair plastered against his head, his face covered in dirt. Ilya resisted the urge to touch him. All he wanted to do was take Shane’s hand in his and bring him closer to keep him warm. Catching the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror, he got the impression the driver would throw them out of the car if he figured who they were.  Might still throw them out if they dirtied his car too much. Would certainly throw them out if he brought Shane into his arms.

Ilya leaned forward so that his back didn’t get the rest of the seat wet.

“Reports coming in setting the price tag of the Sochi games to be over 40 billion. This is on record to be the most expensive games, despite an average showing from Russian athletes. This morning, Aleksandr Tretyakov secured the gold in skeleton, bringing the medal count to twelve…” The radio droned on in the background.

Ilya couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so cold. He was used to ice rinks and snow, and God knows the winters in Moscow had been a lot colder than they were in Boston, but maybe living in America was making him soft. Not that he wanted to believe anything his father ever said. He shivered and rubbed his hands together for some warmth.

“In other news, Ukrainian President Viktor Yanukovych agreed to release two hundred protestors if Yulia Tymoshenko agreed to vacate all government buildings. Sources do not believe Tymoshenko will negotiate…”

“You ok?” Shane asked under his breath, putting a hand on Ilya’s leg. It was only then that Ilya noticed he had been bouncing it up and down.

The driver sighed loudly, whether from the English or them talking and interrupting the radio. The morning was grey and cloudy, just like yesterday, except the early morning frost on the grass outside wasn’t melting and some spots looked distinctly like snow. They were soaking wet. If the driver decided to leave them somewhere, they were fucked. If he happened to be a nationalist, then English was too dangerous.

“This is your friend fault,” Ilya spoke in Russian to Shane. “Fucking Scott Hunter. He’s a grumpy old man. It’s because he hasn’t had sex in years, isn’t it?”

The driver smirked at him in the mirror.

“Da,” Shane replied, getting the hint and remembering what Ilya had told him yesterday at the convenience store. Shane’s color was looking better as the heat in the car slowly took away the chill.

They needed to get cleaned up. They needed to keep going. He tried to focus on that and not on the scratch that cut across Shane’s face, disturbing his freckles.

***

Grigoropolisskaya

0°C, 07:54 MSK

Combined cash on hand: $400 (USD) and ₽18,160 (RUB)

The man dropped them off at a nameless gas station, a little less wet than when they had been picked up, but not by much. The cold wind quickly penetrated their damp clothes, removing any heat they’d recovered.

The gas station was decently new, it had two rows of pumps and a small store attached, but there was nothing else around. Ilya weighed their options. They couldn’t stay out in the cold for very long. He needed to find a hotel that would take cash, and preferably one that didn’t require IDs. They also needed to put more distance between themselves and the police. It seemed obvious that they would try and head into this town. From what he remembered, it was the largest town north of Armavir.

There were a couple of cars sitting at the pumps, unattended as their drivers were inside paying for gas. Shane was looking at the store longingly, and Ilya’s stomach grumbled. They couldn’t risk going into the store now. If there weren’t cameras outside the station, there definitely would be inside. Shane was rubbing his arms to stay warm and with the purple bruise starting to form near his hairline and the bump on his head getting bigger, Ilya decided to go for it. Shane would be angry, but...one problem at a time.

Grabbing Shane’s sleeve, he pulled Shane along as they made their way to an unoccupied, old grey Lada.

“Get in,” he said with quick, sure movements, as he opened the driver side door and dropped in. He could see Shane protesting, looking around to see if police would jump out of the bushes, even as he was scrambling around to the passenger side.

Thankfully the keys were in the ignition.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Shane yelled as he opened the door.

“Get in and close the door. We need to go quick.”

Shane did as he was told, and the moment the passenger side door closed, Ilya threw it into reverse, backed out of the lane and then pulled out of the gas station. If they were very lucky, they would be gone before the driver even realized their car was stolen.

“What the fuck, Ilya!” Shane repeated, putting his seatbelt on.

“We can make amends later. This was the only way to get us some space from the police.”

“Why didn’t we just find another driver?”

Ilya gestured at the empty countryside around them. A lone car came along in the opposite direction, but otherwise there was no one else around. “You’re right. Maybe if we were lucky, we could find someone driving back to Sochi.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

Silence settled as Ilya turned up the heat to defog the windows.

He tried not to think about it, tried not to dwell on Shane’s angry form beside him, on the cold that was deep inside his body, or the fact that police could appear up at any moment in the rearview mirror. Instead, he looked at the dash and at the tank that was only about a quarter full and realized the small flaw in his plan. The owner had been prepaying for the gas.

Now the choice was speed or distance. Another fucking winless decision.

Shane’s teeth chattered, so he switched the hot air to the front vents, but as soon as he did that, the windows started fogging up again.

If there was a hell on earth, it was here, in the middle of nowhere Russia.

Speed or distance. Freezing to death or seeing where he was driving.

He’s too weak. You baby him too much. His father’s voice echoed in his head. But he could handle the cold. He wasn’t weak. It was Shane who was hurting and he’d promised Yuna he would keep him safe.

A sign up ahead indicated left for Kropotkin. The driver had probably reported their car stolen by now, maybe the police could tell from cameras that it was them? Would the police start with the closest town? Ilya didn’t want to find out, even though they probably had enough gas in the tank to get there.

Speed or distance. Cold or possible collision. City with police or stranded in the countryside with no police. The choices kept piling up.

Fuck it, Ilya thought, driving straight. Salsk was where they should go. If it meant not doing a kilometer over 80 so they could get the best fuel millage, then so be it. If they saw another gas station, then he could decide whether it was worth the risk to stop.

Beside him, Shane’s anger still simmered. He could see it from the thin set of Shane’s lips and the sharp movements he made as he looked around the car, feeling under the seat, opening up the glove box and rifling inside.

“What are you looking for?”

The only answer he got was a glare before Shane turned back to the pile of papers, sorting some into his lap and others on the floor. The air was already heavy from the heat of the defroster and the moisture from their clothes. Now the silence layered on like one too many sweaters, pressing in on him until sweat started running down his back and he had to lower the temperature.

Ilya was used to his father’s silence. Knew that if his dad wasn’t talking, it was a prelude to a much larger blow up in the future. He knew from experience, that it was always better to provoke his father quickly rather than let the silence linger, diffuse it instead of letting his anger build up until it exploded.

“You are angry.”

That made Shane stop what he was looking for in the glove box and turn to him. “You stole a fucking car!”

“Yes. Heat does not break your bones.”

“What?”

Ilya shrugged and wondered if it did not translate well. His mom had said it all the time when he had spent too long on the ice after practice and she wanted to go home.

Shane was back to rifling through the glove box.

“Is this the car ownership?” Shane asked holding a booklet up to his eyes, his voice low and serious.  

Ilya glanced at the road, making sure it was still empty before turning his gaze back to Shane and looking over the paper he was holding. “Yes.”

“What’s the name?”

“Konstantin Popov. Why?”

Shane had found a pen and notebook and started writing in it, so Ilya looked back at the road and listened to the pen scratching. Eventually it stopped and out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Shane looking out the window.

“I want to make sure we thank him when we get home. We need to thank everyone who has helped us.”

“I think Konstantin would have preferred not helping us.”

Shane finally looked at him and the glare wasn’t quite as heated as before. “True. But if we get out of here, maybe he won’t hate us as much if we buy him a new car. A really nice new car. And give him some money to make up for this.”

“Now it’s your turn to be optimistic.”

“Maybe.”

Shane had apparently said what he needed to say because he sank back into the seat looser than before but holding the list of names securely in his hand. Ilya could only image how they would track down Konstantin if they ever made it out of Russia. They’d probably need Svetlana’s help to do it. And maybe her father’s police connections as well.

“Are you thinking Rolls Royce or Lamborghini?”

That made Shane look at him again, seeming to forget his anger. “I was thinking more a Jeep? Something reliable and good in the snow?”

“Ah, so you’re thankful, but only a shitty car amount?”

“Fuck off, you’re the one that stole his car.”

“No, you’re right. Is a shitty car with only quarter tank of gas. Maybe we get him shitty American car?”

Shane turned to the window, watching the scenery go by so Ilya turned on the radio. The road ahead was straight and flat, a grouping of trees was coming up, but otherwise there was nothing of interest. He was going mind-numbingly slow to preserve fuel and if Shane wasn’t going to entertain him, then this would have to do. A contemporary pop station started playing, static tickling the edges. Ilya kept moving the dial until he found a station coming in clear.

“Unrest continues in Kiev with more protests planned in Maidan, demanding President Yanukovych step down amidst accusations of corruption. President Putin has said negotiations have reopened…”

Svetlana was right again, Ilya thought to himself ruefully. Who knew what the motherland had planned for Ukraine while the world watched Sochi. They were going to have to figure out soon where they wanted to cross. Maybe Latvia was the better place, but then that meant going through Moscow...

“Still no official reply from Ilya Rozanov or Shane Hollander.” Their names caught his attention, and he turned up the volume.  “Team Canada has indicated that Hollander is still on the starting line up for the semi-final match on Monday, but sources have said he was not practicing with the team yesterday. The MLH released a statement late last night saying that they are working to contact both players.”

“They say you are still playing in game Monday,” Ilya translated. “And that the MLH wants to talk to us.”

Shane snorted turning back to face him. “I’ll bet they do. I should call my mom maybe she knows–Fuck! The phone!”

Ilya’s heart dropped as he remembered the phone Vaughn had given them which was probably destroyed now after their swim in the river.

Shane quickly started rifling through his bag, swearing under his breath. “Shit. Everything inside my bag is soaking wet.”

He opened the phone and started wiping it, but water dripped out of the charging port when Shane lifted it up.

“I think we aren’t supposed to turn it on if it has gotten wet. I think we are supposed to put it in a bag of rice.”

Shane looked at him with wide eyes, so Ilya mimicked his expression because he had no idea what Shane wanted him to do. Even he knew rice was not going to help. The phone had been deep sea diving in river water.

“Maybe we could go buy some?” Shane said it like it was obvious.

“All the rice in China isn’t going to help.”

“We have to try!”

“There’s enough water in there to make rice pudding.”

“Ilya.”

Ilya thew his hands up. Maybe Shane didn’t have a concussion, but he was still Shane; stubborn and slow to change his mind once he’d latched on to something. Ilya shot him a glare and saw Shane crossing his arms on his chest. Of course he was serious.  “Fine. You want me to find nice rice farm; I will find nice rice farm. Maybe I can ask the cows up ahead. Maybe they have Saki too?”

“There must be a store somewhere. We could get some food. And a bag of rice.”

“And then carry around a two-kilo bag of rice?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Anything other than that is a better idea.”

Shane sat there in silence, turning the phone around in his hands and Ilya felt a pang of guilt. Losing the phone sucked, it was their only way of contacting Shane’s family and their friends. He was almost positive that the rice wouldn’t work, but if it meant giving Shane some hope, he could at least try.

“Fine. If I see store at side of road selling rice, I will stop.”

“Thank you.”

“Maybe cows know where to find some.”

Shane tried to look angry, but the corners of his mouth turned up. “You’re such an asshole.”

At least Shane wasn’t really angry anymore. Ilya could handle being an asshole if that’s all it took.

***

Kommunar

09:43 MSK

Maybe the most surprising thing so far was the fact that Ilya was actually a very careful and cautious driver. Shane had always assumed that with his collection of fancy sports car, he’d drive insanely fast, but he’d hardly gone above 80 since they’d left.

He did tap the steering wheel, bounce his knee, and crack his knuckles constantly, but the speed stayed consistent.

They pulled up to a small gas station, the kind not affiliated with any of the big oil companies, that had only one pump and a young man in coveralls working. Ilya rolled down the window as the young man approached.

“Zapolnit'?”

“Net, vsego tysyacha rubley,” Ilya replied and the man nodded and went to start pumping the gas.

“Want me to drive?” Shane asked as Ilya rested his head against the back of the seat. Ilya looked terrible. His blue eyes were hollow with dark circles.  There were scratches all over his face and his hair was a mass of tangled curls.

“No, I’m good.”

Shane wanted to argue but he also didn’t have the energy. Every muscle in his body was sore; his right arm was killing him and now his calves were cramping.  Not to mention his head ached. Forget bag skates, being chased by police through the bush and then falling into a river was way worse. He opened the car door and got out for a minute to stretch.

He caught the young man’s gaze as he pumped their gas and gave him a short nod. The man smiled at him, and Shane noticed his dark blonde hair and blue eyes. He was good looking, maybe only a few years younger than him.

“Where are you from?” the young man asked in decent English. Shane quickly looked around in a panic, not understanding how he’d given himself away until he realized that Ilya’s car window was open.

“America,” he said, trying to keep it short.

“Do you want to join the points program?” the man asked, releasing the handle on the pump as it reached 1000 rubles.

“Um, no. Thank you. Won’t be here long enough to collect many points.”  

“Would be a favor to me? I need to get five new memberships a day, and there’s not going to be much traffic today. Doesn’t matter if you never use it.”

He walked over and handed Shane a clipboard with a small form on it and a pen tied to the metal clip.

“Just name and number is good. Don’t need address.”

Shane stared at the form in his hands, at the Cyrillic letters on it and considered just handing it back. It didn’t matter if he didn’t do a favor for some gas station attendant. He certainly didn’t need to sign up for a reward program for some nameless gas station in the middle of Russia.  Glancing quickly at the form, he realized he could probably figure out where the name and phone number went, even if he couldn’t read the words and suddenly that seemed like the easier and quicker option.

SCOTT HUNTER, he wrote in big box letters in the first box. In the second one, he put his phone number because it didn’t really matter. He was never going to use that number again and he certainly wasn’t going to put his mom’s number down and that was the only other one he had memorized.

The man gave him a smile when he handed him back the clipboard and gave him a receipt for the gas.

“What are you doing?” Ilya asked as they pulled out of the gas station. “Why did you fill out that form?”

“I didn’t, I used Scott Hunter’s name. It just seemed like it was easier to fill it in than to keep saying no.”

“Promise me you won’t go car shopping by yourself; they would eat you alive,” Ilya said, shaking his head. Shane was about to argue that it was ridiculous, he could totally go car shopping by himself, when all of a sudden, Ilya stepped on the gas and the car accelerated way past the slow and steady pace they’d been doing for the last hour.

Shane grabbed the handle above his window as he was pushed back into his seat. “What the hell?”

Ilya gave him a wide smile. “You know the saying, drive like you stole it?”

***

Salsk

0°C, 12:25 MSK

Combined cash on hand: $400 (USD) and ₽17,160 (RUB)

By the time they reached Salsk, Shane had gone back to his previous belief that Ilya was a lunatic behind the wheel and he had been right in the first place. Even if the police had seen them, they probably wouldn’t have been able to catch them without a ten-car blockade. This time, Shane had been the one bouncing his legs and gripping the door, despite the fact that his wrist was throbbing. He could move it, so nothing was broken, but he wouldn’t be doing any slapshots today.

He stared at the white, official-like government buildings on the right, and typical smattering of statues and gardens on the left.  Cyrillic letters on all the shop stores. The stolen car they were in. No slapshots today, indeed.

“I can take you to a hotel and then go leave the car somewhere. Pick up some food on my way back?” Ilya broke the silence that had landed on them for the last half hour.

“Why wouldn’t I go with you?”

Ilya gestured to the side of Shane’s head. “You should ice that. And shower.”

A shower did sound heavenly. As did the ability to rest for a few minutes and regroup. But looking at Ilya, Shane didn’t want to leave him alone. Despite the terror, it had also been exhilarating watching Ilya drive through the countryside. It had been the lightest he’d seen Ilya in days.

“You need to shower too. And your face is covered in scratches. We should stay together.”

“Ok.”

Salsk was larger than the last few towns they’d stopped in, which hopefully meant they had more options. Driving down what looked like a main road, they kept their eyes open for stores or a small hotel, eventually finding a small guesthouse that looked promising. They ditched the car in an industrial complex a few kilometers away that was shut down for the weekend. With luck, no one would find the car until Monday, and they would be far away by then.

The owner of the guesthouse didn’t ask too many questions when they asked for a room, was happy to get paid in cash, and took the name Ilya gave her without asking for ID. Shane didn’t know Russian, but the name Scott Hunter was easy enough to make out.

The owner even offered them lunch, which wasn’t much, some soup and bread, but it was warm and filling. It was the best thing Shane had ever tasted in the world, even if he normally didn’t like potatoes in his soup.

“Ask for some rice,” Shane asked under his breath after he had finished his bowl. They were seated at a small table just outside of the kitchen, with windows overlooking a small backyard covered in snow. “For the phone.”

Ilya spoke to the owner in Russian, they went back and forth a few times, but for some reason, Shane was pretty sure there was no asking for any rice. Sure enough, the owner showed them to the computer she had by the front desk, leaving them alone after she’d logged them in.

“Can you get a message to your mom?” Ilya asked, pulling out the chair and gesturing for Shane to sit. Shane swallowed down the retort on his tongue at being ignored. Ilya was probably right about rice not helping.

Shane logged into Hotmail and noticed the dual keyboard with Cyrillic and Latin letters.

Hi Mom,

We are ok. Sorry, can’t call. We think the phone is broken. It got wet this morning. We are trying to dry it out, but don’t panic if we can’t call. We are in Salsk. Are staying here for a bit to dry off. Will send you the plan later.

Let me know what the MLH is saying? We heard on the news that they are trying to talk to us.

Love you,

Shane

With the browser still open, he did a quick google search of their names to see if anything new had come up. His heart almost stopped in his chest when he saw hits from Twitter that people had found him.

“What the fuck?” he said, as he clicked on the links, trying to make sense of it.

“What’s going on?” Ilya had been going through some brochures by the front desk but came to look over Shane’s shoulders.

Shane followed one of the tags on the first post, saw the pictures and replies of other people, mostly athletes but then others as well.

“#FoundShaneHollander is trending on Twitter. But they’re talking about rocks.”

Ilya scooted Shane over, sliding into the plastic chair with him, but there was no room and Shane gave up the seat and let him take it. It was too hard to describe, better to let Rozanov see for himself.

“There’s a rock with your face painted on it. It even has freckles,” Ilya said.

“I know. I also saw a #FoundIlyaRozanov tag. Any idea what’s going on?”

Ilya searched a bit more, then let out a small laugh. “I think your friends are trying to hide real mentions of our location. Hunter retweeted the original one from a figure skater. So did Vaughn. Then your mother. People are making rocks with our faces on them and hiding them around the world for other people to find.”

Something warm started to dissolve in Shane’s chest as he leaned on Ilya’s shoulder, looking at the tweets. It was nice knowing that despite the shock of finding out their secret, they had a group of people who were actively trying to help them.

This looseness carried them to their room where they pulled out the clothes to survey the damage. Everything in Shane’s backpack was soaked. Somehow the bottom of Ilya’s had managed to stay dry meaning Ilya’s phone was likely ok, they just couldn’t use it. Meanwhile, Carter’s phone was definitely wet. It made a sloshing sound when he held it up to his ear and shook it, which unfortunately, meant that Ilya was right. Not even a 10kg bag if rice was likely to help.

They washed their clothes in the bathtub and hung them to dry – not that they really had much which was good because the room wasn’t that big. They only had a few pair of socks between them, some underwear, a few t-shirts, and an extra pair of joggers each.  They had left Shane’s black sweater by the fire this morning, but once things dried, Shane figured they’d still be ok with what they had.

Shane placed their shoes by the radiator. The radiator itself was hot, but there wasn’t much air movement in the room. It was doubtful the clothes would dry fast, let alone the shoes.

When all the tasks were taken care of, Shane finally allowed himself the relief of a shower. He adjusted the water until it was as hot as he could tolerate, hot enough to try and loosen some of the tension in his back, enough to help soothe the pain of sleeping outdoors last night and enough to wash off the dirt and mud that had become encrusted on his skin and hair from their swim in the river this morning.

Ilya came into the bathroom just as Shane was about to step into the shower.

“What are you doing?”

“Joining you.” Ilya’s shirt hit the floor.

“I need to get clean,” Shane said, wishing Ilya would give him a few minutes. The itch under his fingers had been building for days, and it was to the point that Shane couldn’t control it anymore. He should have showered two nights ago when he came back from the bar. Maybe it would have reset his brain and he would have realized his phone was missing. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, but maybe they would have known about it earlier. He should have showered when he woke up but he didn’t and then it was too late. Then their lives had exploded and nothing was right anymore.

He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the grittiness on his scalp.

“Yes exactly.”

“Ilya.”

But Ilya didn’t get the hint, or maybe he did, and he didn’t care because his pants joined the clothes on the floor and then he was squeezing by Shane to get in first.

“Shane.”

Fuck that. Shane followed him in.

“Fuck you, I really wanted to wash—” but Ilya was quickly spinning them around so the hot water could land on Shane’s back and Ilya was stepping into his space, running his lips along Shane’s jaw, the stubble on Ilya’s face rubbing on Shane. The only time Rozanov ever had a beard was during playoffs and they had never hooked up then, so this was new. It was hotter than Shane had thought it would be, but maybe because Shane could never really grow one himself.

Before Shane could get over his annoyance and fully lean into the proximity, Ilya stepped back and the sudden space was even more annoying. Despite his complaints about Ilya joining him in the shower, now it was Shane who was following him, pinning him up against the shower wall, his cheek finding the side of Ilya’s face so he could nuzzle against him, reveling in the friction and burn of his short beard.

 “I thought you wanted to get clean,” Ilya said into his ear, seeming to understand Shane’s newest fascination with his stubble and nuzzling against Shane’s jaw as he brought his ear lobe into his mouth.

Shane shuddered.

“Turn around milaya. I will get you clean. Then I will rub my beard on your inner thighs and make them raw as I suck you off.”

Shane did as he was told, feeling Ilya’s hands skate across his back, full of soap, first getting him clean, then rubbing the ache in his muscles. From his back to his arms, to his legs, down to his ass, Ilya left nothing untouched. Then he turned Shane around and started over, from his neck to his shoulders, to his chest and stomach. Shane was already hard and aching, but Ilya was almost clinical in how he cleaned Shane’s cock and continued down his legs.

“Ilya…” Shane trailed off, helpless to stop himself as he followed when Ilya stepped back to lather himself up. “It’s not fair. I can clean you.”

“I don’t need us to be fair always,” Ilya said, guiding Shane back under the water to rinse off. “I want us to be right. I want to do this because you need it, not because I want you to do it to me. Is not something I want to keep score on.”

Ilya then shampooed Shane’s hair, his fingers gentle as they rubbed his scalp, careful around the bump on his head and Shane sighed in relief as the water and soap and Ilya’s fingers made him feel human again. When he was done, Shane turned back around and switched places with Ilya, so he was the one under the water and dropped to his knees because if this was about doing what was right, then this was right.

He took Ilya’s half-hard cock in his mouth, licked and sucked as he felt it harden, heard Ilya’s groans and then Ilya’s hands were back in his hair but harder this time, pulling Shane’s hair just enough to make Shane’s own erection throb against his stomach.

“Fuck Hollander, stop or I’m going to come.”

Shane relaxed his throat so that Ilya’s cock could slide in deeper, using his hands to cup Ilya’s balls and grab the base of his cock. He hummed his encouragement as Ilya started to fuck his mouth harder.

“Fuuuuck,” Ilya said, coming hard down Shane’s throat.

After he rode out his orgasm, Ilya dragged Shane up to his feet, sucking his mouth and pinning him against the shower wall with a hand on his throat. All Shane could feel was blissful pressure everywhere; Ilya’s tongue in his mouth, Ilya’s hand keeping him secure against the wall, tight against his throat so it was almost difficult to breathe, his other hand grabbing Shane’s cock, jerking him off.

Shane fucking loved the feeling of Ilya’s strength against him, loved that it didn’t take much to hold his breath, to finish cutting off his air so all he could feel was the pressure building in his balls, Ilya dragging the orgasm out of him like a priest exorcising a demon.

They lay panting against each other, as the water beat against them.

***

17:00 MSK

After more soup and bread, Shane checked his email again. A smile bloomed when he saw that his mom had replied. It had been easy to forget that they weren’t alone in this mess, especially with everything that had happened today.

Shane,

Thanks for the update! Svetlana has a man not too far away, he can come and help you. Let me know where you are and he will meet you. Will take him 4 hours to get there from Krasnodar, then we can figure this out.

Don’t worry about the MLH – I’ll take care of it. Have a meeting with them later today.

Lots of love,

Mom & Dad

Shane shook Ilya’s shoulder with excitement. The owner was within earshot, so Shane quickly moved out of the way so Ilya could sit down and read it himself. Shane gave him the nod to reply; he didn’t know the name of the place they were staying at.

Yuna – it is Ilya. That’s great news. We are at the Don Guest House in Salsk, on outskirts of city following 60K-2

Mom – love you too! Hopefully we can talk soon.

They went back to their room, Shane bouncing on his heels. For some reason, Ilya didn’t seem as excited, but then they were both exhausted.

Shane dropped down on one of the single beds, the cheap floral bedspread smelling vaguely of mothballs. Shane was surprised to find that though it made his skin itch, his brain had accepted a certain level of static ever since this started yesterday morning. It was like this constant itch he couldn’t ever quite reach, keeping him always tense. So, the tension remained as he lay down along with the hope that soon things would be better. He watched Ilya repack his backpack with the clothes that had managed to dry; slow and methodical.

“We have at least four hours to wait,” Shane said with a smile, moving closer to Ilya and dragging him to sit on the bed. Ilya humored him, sitting down so that he was facing Shane, running his fingers over Shane’s cheek.

Ilya looked at him, his eyes large and so very blue. His pale face highlighted a set of three scratches from his right eye down to his cheek. He looked worried, not ecstatic about their pending rescue.

Shane traced Ilya’s hand with his fingertips. He was not trying to be overly sexual but instead wanted to memorize the fact that this moment in time existed. He didn’t want to miss any more chances to commit important moments to his memory.

“Hey,” Shane said when Ilya looked away. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy someone is coming to help us?”

“Of course,” Ilya said. “The longer we are out here on our own, the more chances our luck will fail.”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing. I am just selfish. I want you to be safe. I want you to get home. But I think you will not look at me like that when we are out of this country, and I will miss that.”

“I…” the words were there on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them down, his heart hammering in his chest. He would screw everything up if he let his stupid mouth continue. Instead, he sat up so he could put his arms around Ilya. “I don’t think you’re selfish at all. You put up with my boring ass.”

“Your ass is the one piece that is not boring at all,” Ilya said, brushing his thumb along Shane’s jaw. “Your mouth is very nice too…when it is not talking.”

Shane rolled his eyes, but it was mostly for show. The smile was returning to Ilya’s face and that’s all Shane wanted. He sucked Ilya’s thumb into his mouth and watched Ilya’s defenses crumble.

“Stop, or I will make sure we make this bedsheet very dirty.”

“It’s a pretty ugly bedsheet though,” Shane said, reluctantly letting Ilya’s thumb fall from his mouth. Not that he wasn’t sated, but he couldn’t have what he really wanted. He wanted Ilya inside of him again. And more than that, he wanted Ilya inside him in a place where they were safe, where they could be loud, where they could laugh, where they could shout. He wanted them to take their time, to draw out each other’s orgasms until it was the only thing they existed for. Until they were begging for a break instead of begging for a few minutes together.

Ilya seemed to understand because he adjusted his erection but didn’t push for anything more and went easily when Shane pulled him down next to him. They could barely fit on the bed.  Shane moved over to the edge, turning fully on his side so Ilya could curl up behind him and when he did, he could feel Ilya’s erection against his ass. They both groaned at the contact.

“I want you,” Ilya whispered, his voice thick and low. “I want to fuck you again. I want to watch you take me in. I want to come inside of you. Not here, but someday. I will show you I’m clean and then I want to fill you up with my come until you can’t take anymore and it spills out of you.”

“Fuck.” Shane pushed back with his ass against Ilya’s cock, suddenly not caring at all about the bedsheet they really shouldn’t dirty or the sounds they shouldn’t make. He needed more contact, he needed Ilya to touch his ass, he needed something because or else he was going to explode.

Ilya pulled Shane’s pants down, rubbed his clothed cock against Shane’s bare ass until Shane was babbling, words were leaving his mouth that he had no control over, words that sounded a lot like begging and then Shane felt Ilya’s bare cock against his ass and he started shaking from want.

“Trust me?” Ilya begged.

Shane nodded. “Yes, please. Yes. I trust you.”

Ilya’s cock started rubbing over Shane’s hole, he could feel its weight, he could feel its heat teasing him, sliding over his hole but not sliding inside. He heard Ilya spit, felt the slickness spread between his ass cheeks and then Ilya’s cock was back sliding across his hole and Shane pushed back desperate for more, never wanting to be penetrated more in his entire life.

“Please, fuck, oh my god, Ilya, please.”

“Do you want me, Hollander?”  

“Fuck yes.”

Ilya’s finger came up to his lips and Ilya’s voice was in his ear. “Suck my finger. Make it wet.”

Shane eagerly took Ilya’s finger in his mouth, sucking it, licking it, wishing it was Ilya’s cock because he could make Ilya’s cock wet enough to fuck him.

Then Ilya was swearing, getting harder just from Shane sucking his finger and for a moment Shane wondered if Ilya would really be able to control himself enough not to push inside. But a moment later, Ilya removed his finger and brought it down to Shane’s ass. Moved his cock so it could slide between Shane’s thighs, could rub against his balls as his finger slowly entered and that was all Shane needed. Just the breach, just Ilya’s finger finally inside him and he was coming and then he realized Ilya was coming too as the spot between his legs got warm and wet and Ilya was swearing into his ear.

"Fuck, that was hot," Shane said as they lay panting on the now ruined bed sheet, intertwined together.

Ilya nuzzled the back of his neck, kissing him softly.

“I know you think I’m going to hate you when this is over,” Shane whispered into the quiet. “When we are safe and at home, but I’m not. I can’t go back to pretending that this doesn’t matter to me. I…this matters to me. A lot. That’s not going to change.”

Ilya wrapped an arm around him and pulled him even closer. “This matters a lot to me too.”

***

21:30 MSK

“Should we go down and check if the owner is around to log us into the computer?” They had tried forty minutes ago, wanting to check if his mom had emailed them back but the computer was off and no one was around.

Ilya was pacing from the door to the window that gave them a view of the front of the house. He’d been checking the window every few minutes since they’d been unable to use the computer. He hadn’t been able to sit down for over an hour. Ilya stopped and went to the door. “I can go check, I’ll come get you if she’s around.”

Shane waited idly in the room, going over his backpack and making sure it was closed. They’d finished packing before trying to check their email, so there wasn’t anything left to do. Their shoes were still wet, of course. But aside from waving them around in the hopes that the wind would dry them faster, there wasn’t much to do about that either.

Ilya was back in a few minutes, face dark. “She’s not there. I think she’s gone to bed.”

“I’m sure he’s going to be here any minute.”

Twenty minutes passed and still nothing. Ilya resumed his pacing and Shane tried to keep from fidgeting. Ilya was already on edge, and he didn’t want to make it worse. At the same time, he was going a little insane as well. “Can we talk about the plan in case he doesn’t show up?”

Ilya stopped at the window, crossing his arms as he stared outside and kept his back to Shane. “I don’t have a plan,” he said eventually.

“Can we talk about that, then? Yesterday you said we could cross over in Ukraine or Latvia. Let’s pick something. At least then we have something to move forward to.”

Minutes passed in silence. Shane was about to repeat himself, maybe Ilya hadn’t heard him, when Ilya sighed and turned away from the window. He picked up the brochures he had taken from the front desk and came and sat beside Shane, unfolding one that had a partial map inside.

“I think we should try and cross to the Ukraine. It is closest and busiest. There is risk because of political unrest, but until something happens, there are many crossing sites not guarded. Other option would be crossing in Latvia, but then we need to go through Moscow which is far and risky as well.”

Shane looked at the map. It was all in Cyrillic, but Ilya pointed at a possible route. “Here. We can take train from downtown tomorrow morning into Rostov-on-Don. From there, maybe a bus to Donetsk or Luhansk.”

Ilya shifted away, moving his hand into his lap, but this time Shane maybe understood. Ilya wasn’t pulling away because he didn’t want Shane. At the same time, there was also something else going on, something hiding behind Ilya’s fear that Shane would hate him once they were back in their own world.

“Ilya, talk to me. What’s wrong.”

Ilya went and got Shane’s wallet and emptied it out on the bed. “We only have 400 American dollars and 12,010 rubles. I do not know if that will be enough.”

“We will figure this out together,” Shane replied, shifting closer so he could take Ilya’s hand in his. “You may not know this about me, but I do like to come up with a good plan.”

Relief flooded him when Ilya gave him a small laugh. At least Shane could do that.

“No. Really? You? The man who needed two years to plan so we could have sex? I bet the designer you hired for your pillows was part of the plan, wasn’t it?”

God, all his throw pillows. He wondered what Ilya would say if he knew Shane had made the designer give him three color schemes before he’d approved the final one. Or the fact that he had picked the sea foam palette because the colors had reminded him of Ilya’s eyes. “Maybe. I can make a mean Gantt Chart.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“It’s probably for the best.” Shane dragged Ilya back to him, putting his head in the crook of his neck. “If Sveta’s friend doesn’t show up, we will go to the train station tomorrow morning. Either way, we move forward together.”

Ilya sank his weight into Shane. Shane had to admit he always felt better having a plan in place, even if it was a risky plan full of possible landmines. Hiking in northern Russia in the middle of February or crossing over to Ukraine in the middle of a possible war.

Speaking of possible landmines, Shane thought as he held Ilya closer. He was pretty sure Russia had never signed the treaty to stop using them which was maybe a worry he should keep to himself.

~~~

11:35 MSK

Ilya turned on the TV, mostly for some link to the outside world. Habit made him tune to the sports channel, the US teams were quiet these past weeks outside of the Olympics but there was always some recap or something. Unfortunately, if he was trying to escape their mess, he had turned to the wrong channel. He recognized the voice before he understood what he was seeing.

“I am ashamed of how easily he forgets Russian customs and falls into the latest American fads. Always looking for the easy way out. Always forgetting that he should be grateful.”

His father was full screen centered on the TV with a microphone in his cold face, detached, like he was complaining about a shirt that didn’t fit. Somehow that made it feel even worse.

“He had so many opportunities. Maybe that is the problem. He never learned to work for anything. I do not know if America still wants him after this, but he is no son of mine anymore.”

He knew this was coming. Sveta had warned him. He was still surprised how much it hurt to hear the actual words coming from his father’s mouth.

“Is that your father?” Shane asked from where he was lying on the bed. Ilya had thought he was sleeping. Maybe hoped he had been sleeping. He wasn’t sure he wanted to illustrate all his faults to Shane. Shane has these pink-colored glasses on for him. Maybe rose-colored? Ilya couldn’t remember. Either way, he wasn’t in a hurry to shatter Shane’s world view. At the same time, Ilya was sure he would find out the truth soon enough.

“My father is disowning me. Says I am no longer a son of his.”

“Ilya.”

“It’s fine. Means I do not have to take care of him any longer. I wish he say these things because he is sick, but that was actually very clear for him.”

Shane sat up on the bed. “What’s wrong with him?”

Ilya changed the channel for something to do. Garden show. Regular news. Game show. More news. Ilya settled on some documentary about whales. “Dementia, though he doesn’t believe the doctors just yet. But is getting worse.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Shane reached over and grabbed his arm, dragging him back toward the bed. Ilya sat down next to him.

“What about your mom? Will she be there for you?”

Ilya shook his head and felt the tears start to prickle against his eyes. He refused to cry about this. His father wasn’t worth crying over, even if that was all he had. “She’s dead.”

A pair of warm arms wrapped around him, engulfing him. He let himself relax into Shane’s warmth. Maybe his father wasn’t all he had. At least for now. He would take that. He let Shane rock him for a few minutes, let it melt the cold inside of him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why do you keep apologizing? None of this is your fault.”

Shane’s mouth twisted into a half-smile. “I want to say that I’m sorry your family isn’t here for you. It’s an expression of sympathy.”

“You apologized to that dresser in the corner when you bumped into it earlier. Was that an expression of sympathy for your shoulder or the dresser?”

“Fuck off, Rozanov,” Shane said with a laugh, before it dissolved from his face. “What should I say then to tell you that I’m sorry you’re carrying this?”

“You can just say that. That is good enough.”

The arms got tighter around him. Arms that had trained hard and were strong and precise. Arms that carried the Metros and the Canadian Olympic hockey team…and now Ilya. Arms that attached to hands that could make magic happen with a stick and a puck, hands that were fast and had fingers that could make bruises on his skin. Holding him so tight, Ilya thought that maybe they could keep him from floating away. Even if it was only for today. Even though Shane said this thing between them was important, Ilya was pretty sure that one day Shane would realize he didn’t need this burden and would turn his back on him as well.

Because that was the pattern of his life.

“When did she die?” Shane asked instead because he was determined to flay Ilya alive with his questions.

“I was twelve.” He still remembered coming home and finding her on the bed, arm hanging off the bed at an awkward angle. He should have left it at that, Shane was still processing, he could see it on his face, but words seemed to tumble out of his mouth of their own volition, maybe because he didn’t want Shane to have to ask. Maybe it was easier to preemptively answer, so Shane knew exactly what he was dealing with. “I found her. She had accidentally swallowed a whole bottle of pills.”

“I’m so sorry Ilya.” The words skirted over his ear. “You don’t deserve any of this, you know?”

Deserve. What did he deserve? The word broke the small control he had left and the tears started to flow, leaving tracks down his face and he was mad that he was crying yet again. He was lazy and stupid. His father said so all the time. Maybe he was right. Maybe if he had been a little smarter, a little stronger, a little better, his mother would still be alive. Maybe he could have convinced her to leave his father. Maybe they could have gone back to Penza, to her family and lived there. Maybe he could still have played hockey and eventually taken her to the US with him.

Shane’s spidery fingers found his face, his hand wrapping around Ilya’s face to hold his left cheek. “We are going to do this together, you know?”

“You should leave me here. I think they’d be happy if they found me and would leave you alone. You could still have great career. Your parents would be proud of you.”

“Look at me,” Shane twisted him, pulled him until Ilya turned and faced him, both of them squished into the tiny, impossible space. “I think you’re amazing. And I know I’m a poor substitute for your family, but I think you’re so smart. More importantly you’re good and kind. Hockey is what you do, and you’re amazing at it, but good and kind is who you are.”

Shane cupped his face, kissed Ilya’s on his temple, and used both hands to frame Ilya’s face, pinning him to this reality that he had never really let himself consider. The reality of Shane’s dark brown eyes not looking away from him. Of seeing him more thoroughly than anyone else ever had.

“I know it’s not much, but you’re welcome to my family. My mom is already worried about you. She’s probably already spearheading a whole operation with your agent to make sure you will be ok after this. It sounds like it took her all of one day to get used to this thing between us, now you won’t be able to get rid of her.”

Ilya let out a small laugh that turned into a hiccup. There was something terrifying about believing what Shane was saying. “Just wait another day. Probably you will change your mind about this thing between us and then she will go back to cursing my name.”

“Can I take the odds that I won’t? Those are fixed in my favor.”

Words were starting to burn on Ilya’s tongue, hot and urgent, begging to be released even as terror gripped Ilya’s heart. He used his teeth to bite down to keep the words from tumbling out. Shane’s eyes were bright from his own tears, tears that didn’t make any sense because Shane could have anyone, but for some reason, Shane was looking at him like he was amazing and precious. Ilya twisted and wrapped his arms tight around Shane, tucked his head into the crook of Shane’s neck maybe so he wouldn’t have to look at the intensity in Shane’s eyes but also because more than anything in the world, he wanted to protect him and this fragile thread between them.

Shane scooted over and brough Ilya down with him, their arms wrapped around each other as they lay on an impossibly small bed. It meant they had to stay intertwined or Ilya was going to roll off the edge but for once, they were lying on a bed and there was no tension driving them to take it further. They adjusted so they weren’t lying on their arms, Ilya bringing his arm up so he could fit it under Shane’s neck and Shane bringing his arm up between them so he could rest his fingertips on the side of Ilya’s face.

Chapter End Notes

Google translate so please pardon any mistakes in Russian.

Zapolnit'? = Fill up?
Net, vsego tysyacha rubley = No, just a thousand rubles
milaya = darling

Chapter 3: Sunday, Feb 16, 2014

Chapter Notes

Thank you again for all the kudos and comments! Once again beta'ed by my lovely sister, who has agreed to delete all my search history if anything ever happens. Though I must be on a list somewhere by this point. I promise, I don't actually want to enter (or exit) Russia illegally.

03:15 MSK

Combined cash on hand: $400 (USD) and ₽12,010 (RUB)

Ilya woke up, the creaking of the house breaking the silence of the night. They had fallen asleep on Shane’s bed, tangled together, Ilya spooning Shane, tight up against his body. Shane’s arm dangled off the edge, likely completely numb.

Ilya lay his head back down on the shared pillow, holding his breath as he listened to the silence, praying that it really was just the ghosts of the house and not a raid in the middle of the night. A pipe groaned, but otherwise, the houses stayed silent. Maybe it was Sveta’s friend? He slowly untangled himself from Shane and went to the window to have a look.

The road was empty.

He shivered, cold air coming from the window as a thin layer of snow covered the streets. Shane was sleeping peacefully. He eyed the other bed and decided he really should go to sleep there—why risk waking Shane when there was hardly room for one of them? But instead of getting into the empty bed, Ilya slid back into position behind Shane, sliding an arm underneath his head. Shane smelled clean and warm as Ilya brought his lips up to the back of Shane’s neck and let his heartbeat settle down.

What the fuck were they even doing, he wondered, watching the rise and fall of Shane’s shoulders. Was there really any way that this thing between them wouldn’t eviscerate them both?

The words from earlier still sat heavy on his tongue, like it was inevitable that they would be said. They were terrifying. Irrevocable.  At the same time Ilya felt whispering them right now into the world, just to give them a place to exist.

Ya tebya lyublyu.

For all his experiences with women and men, Ilya never once thought he’d fall in love with any of them. Yes, he loved Sveta, but it was different. Never all consuming. For years he’d thought maybe he was broken, or maybe unworthy of it all. That he was not fated for love or deserving enough.

Ilya closed his eyes and settled back down, inhaling the warm, comforting scent of Shane. The morning would be difficult. They’d have to go back out into the world and deal with its harsh reality. But for now, for just this one quiet moment, Ilya could have this.

***

 -7°C, 05:01 MSK

Ilya lay restlessly on the bed until he couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t want to wake Shane, but his body couldn’t stay still any longer.  Sliding out of bed, he went to sit by the window. Maybe Sveta’s man would finally show up, but it was looking less and less likely. He stared at the mostly empty road, sometimes praying to no one in particular, sometimes talking to his mom. Last night had unearthed too many memories that were now determined to replay in his head.

He tried to pack them back into the corners of his mind but then his father’s voice would echo in his head, stirring them up again. Ungrateful. That word was Father’s favorite word. He liked to throw it around to everyone, even his mother.

Disrespectful. Lazy. More words that his father loved. Ilya had heard those probably more than he’d heard his father call him by name. It was not a big loss to leave this country and never come back. As long as his mama’s spirit followed him, that was all he needed of this place.

Eventually, the first ray of sun started to lighten the sky. Sveta would not have told them that someone was coming unless she was absolutely sure they were. That meant something must have happened. This man knew their location, and something had compromised him. That meant something could compromise them as well.

He walked over to Shane, shaking his shoulder to wake him up. They had waited long enough.

They left before the owner even got to her desk, unlocking the door and slipping quietly outside. At least he had thought to ask her the location of the closest bus terminal last night at dinner. It was over five kilometers away which would take them about an hour to walk. If they were lucky, they could catch the first train or bus leaving the station going somewhere in the right direction.

“I knew our shoes wouldn’t have time to dry,” Shane said as they started walking. The street was empty and the air was cold and crisp.

“You ok to walk?”

Shane gave him a nod and then bumped his shoulder. “Maybe we could get some rice for our shoes?”

Ilya made of show of rolling his eyes, but he let himself settle next to Shane, matching his pace and letting their arms touch. “You really like rice that much?”

“I am half Asian. I’m pretty sure I get kicked out of the club if I don’t.”

Their luck held because when they got to the station, there was a bus heading to Rostov-On-Don, two and half hours away. Ilya happily paid the 3000 rubles for two tickets.

The whispering started almost as soon as they got on the bus. In retrospect, Ilya should have insisted they sit apart and pretend not to know each other. But Shane had asked that they sit together and Ilya wasn’t able to refuse.

At first, he told himself that he was imagining it, just whispers and cut off phrases.

“Is that…”

“You don’t think…”

It only got worse after the bus left the station. People walking back and forth in the small aisle trying to get a better look at their faces, the whispering got louder. Ilya pulled the hood of the jacket down across his face as far as it would go. Shane had a knit hat on but it wasn’t Shane’s face they were trying to see, at first.

“How do you know? Are you a fan?”

“How can I be a fan? That’s disgusting.”

“…bunch of faggots.”

“I think they recognize us,” Shane said under his breath, after the same person walked by them again.

Ilya heart was hammering in his chest. They were maybe thirty minutes outside of Salsk. The first stop at Tselina was coming up, but if someone called the police, that’s where they would meet them.

“…will call the police. Maybe there will be a reward.”

Ilya bolted upright, the decision, terrible as it was, was made. He pulled Shane’s sleeve up, indicating to follow him as they made their way up to the front to where the bus driver was sitting.

“I need you to let us off right now,” Ilya said reaching into Shane’s pocket for his wallet.

“I can’t let you off here,” the driver replied, gesturing at the open field. “There’s nothing here.”

“I don’t care,” Ilya said, waving the bills in front of his face. “I will give you three hundred American dollars, but you need to let us off right here. Take it, or I will cause such a mess, you will have to pull over anyway.”

The bus driver swore at them but took his foot off the gas and slowly pulled the bus off to the side of the road. Ilya flicked the money at the driver’s face and he swore at them again, opening the door. “Fucking faggots. Go, get the fuck off my bus.”

Ilya didn’t wait for anything more. He pushed Shane out in front of him, down the few steps of the bus and onto the side of the road, before the bus quickly closed the door and started up again.

There truly was nothing around. Just farms and a smattering of trees separating the fields.

“We need to move away from the road,” Ilya said, leading the way toward the other side of the field. “The people on the bus were going to call the police. We may just have to find a place to hide.”

“Forget hiding,” Shane said, also looking around. “There’s nowhere to hide.”

Ilya started to throw his hands up, frustration gnawing at his skull when he felt Shane’s hand on his arm, tugging him to the right. Ilya followed Shane’s line of sight, trying to figure out what he saw. There, off to the right, past the field in front of them was a small fence with an old soviet-era moped leaning against it.

“Do you know how to drive one of those?” Shane asked.

Ilya was running toward it before he could answer, stopping only long enough to grab Shane’s sleeve and drag him along. Of course he knew how to drive a moped, even one as old as this one. The real question though was would it even work, and if it did, would the owner come back to collect it soon. There was no one around now. Maybe a farmer had come to get a tractor left by the side of the field, and would be back for his moped at the end of the day? That seemed too much to hope for. Not that Ilya had any clue what a farmer would be doing in freezing temperatures.

Maybe the moped would be dead and that’s why it was there?

Wind whipped around them as they approached the fence. The moped was just lying against it. Ilya looked it over, unscrewing the fuel tank, to look inside. There wasn’t much fuel, but maybe enough.

Sliding his right leg over, Ilya centered the bike between his legs, testing its balance. This moped had a kick start. It had been some time, but it wasn’t dissimilar to the one Alexei had had ten years ago. He turned the fuel valve on and primed the carburetor. With his right leg on the kick starter lever, he pushed down until he felt resistance and then pushed down with all his body weight. The engine gave a small rumble but didn’t catch.

He turned the choke on and then tried again, this time, the small engine sputtered to life. There were no helmets, and it was going to be damn cold riding it, but it was better than walking a hundred kilometers.

“Get on,” he yelled at Shane.

Shane did as he was told, saying something about helmets maybe or safe driving. It didn’t matter, Ilya couldn’t hear him. He just shot Shane a grin over his shoulder as Shane settled on the bike, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s waist.

With their combined weight, the moped topped out at speeds of 40 km/hr, which was just as well because it was fucking freezing without any gloves. Shane was stiff as a board behind him, making turns awkward. Ilya turned off the main highway, looking for smaller roads heading west.

“You have to relax into the turn,” he shouted. “Don’t fight it.”

Shane responded by tightening his grip around Ilya’s waist. “It’s scary!”

Ilya laughed. If they got out of this alive, he was going to have to take Shane on a real bike, with real gear, of course, but show him what a Ducati could do. “You are such a scared zayats. You can skate faster than we are going! And I am faster than you.”

“Shut up. We wear helmets on the ice. Also, you’re definitely not faster than me.”

“You will be okay,” Ilya said, the wind swallowing half his words. “Just hold onto me and you will be fine.”

 Shane responded by holding on so tight, Ilya could hardly breathe.

*** 

Egorlykskaya

-5°C, 10:35 MSK

Combined cash on hand: $100 (USD) and ₽8,540 (RUB)

Shane helped push the moped into some bushes by a closed garage, taking a moment to lift the seat to see if there were any papers to show who it belonged to. There was nothing this time. Shane dug around in his backpack and found his messy list scribbled on the back of a gum package that he had found.

Scott Hunter

Carter Vaughn

JJ Dagenais

Oliver and Jeremy Campbell

Konstantin Popov

He added the license plate on the back of the moped. Maybe one day he could figure out who it belonged to:

1822 AA

This town was sparsely populated. A few residential streets, a small grocery store, some construction. They bought some bread and cheese at the store, Shane making Ilya buy two bananas which seemed like the easiest way to at least get some fruit or vegetables, but Ilya compromised by also buying two chocolate bars.

“It is forty kilometres to Zernograd.  Are you ok to walk?” Ilya asked as they left the grocery store. He had been chatting with cashier who at least had looked friendlier than the people on the bus this morning.

“I can walk,” Shane said, following him to the sidewalk and toward the west end of the town. “But will that be fast enough? I assume people on the bus called the police?”

Ilya shrugged. “Maybe. Is Sunday morning and they are still sleeping. Who knows. I got directions on walking there. We can follow the train tracks. Is a bit longer than following the road, but probably safer. From Zernograd, we can try another bus to Rostov-on-Don.”

2km NW of Egorlykskaya

-4°C, 11:01 MSK

Combined cash on hand: $100 (USD) and ₽7600 (RUB)

It turned out forty kilometres was a fucking long way to walk, even for two MLH players who were in fantastic shape. At an average speed of 5 km per hour, it would take them all day…

“Do you like girls?”

Shane’s foot missed the ground, and he stumbled, quickly catching his balance again, but it was too late. Ilya’s eyes were bright with laughter.

“What?” Shane said, feeling his cheeks heat up as his brain caught up to his ears and he stopped trying to count kilometers. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Ilya, walking easily beside him, just gave a shrug. “Good. It’s good you know before we head back and all the reporters ask you. Some people don’t, so you never know.”

Shane’s feet stopped working. Of course, he knew reporters were going to ask. Everyone knew now. If they could get out of Russia, then there was a different kind of mess waiting for them at home.

He tried to imagine a press scrum at the airport when they landed. Or a proper press conference that his mom would set up. With everyone staring at him as he was asked that very question. His first reaction was of course he did. Every guy liked girls to some extent, he was sure. Girls were fine.

“Do you think I am gay?” Shane asked, running to catch up to Ilya who had kept walking while Shane’s brain short-circuited.

Ilya’s eyebrow rose so far up his forehead it became hidden in his hood. “Are you asking me because you want to know what other people think, or are you asking me because you don’t know what you think?”

“Ahh…I don’t know. How do I know if I only like men, or if I just haven’t met a woman I like yet?”

Shane hadn’t meant to be this honest, but thankfully Ilya didn’t seem upset at the line of questioning, mostly just curious and it got Shane wondering too. None of his previous times with women had disgusted him, they just hadn’t always worked out well. And disgust was a strong word. They were nice, he had just been a bit indifferent to the proceedings.

“We play Smash or Pass then,” Ilya replied. “You know how to play? We go through list of celebrities, and you say if you would smash them – you know, sleep with, or if you would pass. Assume you aren’t married or tied down to anyone. Is just for fun.”

“You think I might be secretly married?” Shane stared at him like he had grown a third arm. “What kind of—”

“Selena Gomez?”

Shane pursed his lips. He knew she was a singer. Or maybe an actress. But he couldn’t really recall what she looked like. He gave Ilya a little shrug. “What do I say if I can’t picture her?”

“Jesus Christ, Shane,” Ilya laughed. “Well if you don’t know her, I assume you’re not going to sleep with her? Then it’s a pass.”

“I don’t know, maybe I might! Maybe she’s so beautiful I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”

“Ok, fine, we skip. What about Taylor Swift? You must know her.”

“Oh, that’s easy. Pass,” Shane said, waving his hand in a passing motion. “I don’t like her music.”

“Who cares if you like her music? I’m asking if you find her attractive.”

“And I said no, I don’t. Because I don’t like her music.”

They were on a small dirt road, running parallel to the train tracks. There was no one else around, maybe because it was especially cold when the wind picked up. Maybe because it was a Sunday morning. Maybe it was because they were in the middle of nowhere.

“Fine,” Ilya said. “What about Justin Bieber? He’s Canadian too, no?”

“I don’t like his music either.”

Ilya let out a very loud sigh. “Ok. No musicians for you. So, do you like me because I play hockey?”

“I like you because I like how you play hockey,” Shane said with half a smile because even if he didn’t understand the purpose of this game, it was funny watching Ilya face go through the range of emotions from frustrated to pleased. The word like hung in the air, and for a second Shane wondered if he’d gone too far. He’d hinted at it the first night by the campfire. He had as much as spelled it out last night. For all the things they’d talked about, they’d never bothered to define exactly what was between them.

Which brough an uncomfortable thought into his head. “What about you? I’m mean to all 3. Would you pass or smash?”

“I would have slept with any of them. I like women and men. And they’re all hot, so. Why not?”

Ilya’s statement twisted something inside of him. Maybe a bit of jealousy, though Shane knew Ilya slept with lots of other people. It just hurt to think the same reasoning applied to him.

“Why not,” Shane repeated, trying to understand the words. Trying to re-orient his world because he hadn’t meant it to get off axis. He had no idea how to reconcile the casualness in Ilya’s statements with the connection he thought they had. “Is – Is that why you slept with me?”

“I don’t know,” Ilya replied, reaching out and grabbing Shane’s sleeve. “Maybe at first? Here was this sexy guy staring at my cock in the shower.”

“Fuck you.”

Ilya intertwined their fingers together. “If it means anything, I’ve never waited two years to fuck someone. I’ve also almost never gone back for more.”

“Maybe you just really like the sex we have?”

“I love the sex we have,” Ilya corrected right away. “But that’s not all of it.”

Ilya stopped and turned Shane so that they were facing each other. “I like your freckles.”

“Really? I’ve always hated them.” Shane brought his hand up to cover his cheek, but Ilya used his other hand to stop him.

“Don’t hide, please.”

“Sorry.”

Ilya laughed softly. “I also like the silly number of times you apologize.”

“Sorry.” The word slipped out before he could stop it and then he laughed because what else was there to do.

“I like less your strange obsession with rice…”

“Ilya.”

“But I like the way you don’t let me give up.”

Shane cupped Ilya’s face, his heart beating. The words were on the tip of his tongue and maybe it was just easier if he stopping being such a coward all the time.

“I like you,” Shane said, simply. “All of you. I like how easily you take charge, how you can keep a calm head while my brain is spiraling out of control. I like how much you care about people. I like how you take care of me.”

Shane spared a quick glance around. The countryside was deserted, but even if it wasn’t, the idea of kissing Ilya in front of people was becoming less and less terrifying. Well, kissing Ilya outside of Russia anyway.

But the area was deserted and Ilya was looking at him like he was the most precious person on earth, so Shane leaned forward and kissed him, open mouthed and with his fingers in Ilya’s hair. Not for sex, not for anything other than just because this beautiful man looked like he wanted to be kissed.

***

5km NW of Egorlykskaya

-4°C, gusts up to 28 km/hr, 11:35 MSK

“Ok, what about Rose Landry. She’s an actress. You know her?”

Shane nodded, shivering against the cold. Their fingers were still intertwined, so Shane slipped their hands into his pocket. The wind had picked up, making it feel even colder. “Sort of. I mean, I’ve seen a few of her movies. It’s just hard to know what she really looks like without all the weird make up. And maybe she would be stuck up?”

“Shane.”

“This game is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

“What about David Beckham? I trust you know who he is?”

“Of course,” Shane said, admitting at least to himself that he did find Beckham sexy, even if it was in an older-but-distinguished kind of way. Not that he watched soccer very often, but he did watch the occasional clip of Beckham. “Smash, I guess.”

“Rhonda Rousey? First woman UFC?”

“Nope, can’t picture her.”

Ilya sighed. Loudly. “Serena Williams?”

“I know her!”

“Halleluiah, he knows a woman. Well?”

Shane rocked his shoulders side to side, trying to decide. Of course, he knew who Serena Williams was. She was amazing. She was also objectively beautiful, and he would love to meet her one day. The question burning in Ilya’s face though was would he have any interest in flirting with her at all, if he did? He had no idea. If he didn’t think about it too much, he could say yes. But if he actually thought about it, envisioned standing next to her, being introduced to her, maybe having a drink with her. Would he actually try and flirt with her?

“You look like you’re struggling.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yes.”

“And amazing at tennis.”

“Also yes.”

“Maybe I could ask her for her number?”

“Are you asking me or you?”

Shane felt rooted to the spot in his head. Even though it was an imaginary scenario. He thought he could theoretically ask her out. Assuming she wanted anything to do with him.  He tried to imagine forming the words, asking if she’d be interested in dinner on the weekend? But even his imaginary self started backing away, making an excuse to find the washroom. He sighed in defeat. “Probably not.”

“I am not a professional, but I think there’s a good chance you might be gay.”

The metallic taste of blood coated his tongue, and he realized he had bitten his lip, worrying it as he considered the idea as well.  A terrible gust picked up and pierced right through the jacket and sweater Ilya had given him two days ago that still smelled faintly like him. Shane shivered and pulled Ilya closer to his side.

“I think you’re right,” Shane said eventually. “I guess that’s a good thing to know.”

“You know it doesn’t matter if you are or not? I tease you with what reporter would ask, but fuck them, you know? There’s no right or wrong answer. You can believe you are gay now and maybe one day you find woman attractive, and then say you are bi, or pan or whatever. It doesn’t make what you say today wrong.”

Shane nodded. “Isn’t it odd that I wouldn’t know this about myself?”

Ilya shrugged. “If we were born knowing everything, that would be odd. I have not yet decided if I like Kholodets or not. It is a jelly made of boiled meat. I am pretty sure I hate it, but it reminds me of holidays with my mother. So I think I should like it. I want to like it but every time I try, I vomit. Is very complicated.”

“No offense, but that doesn’t sound very appetizing.”

“It really isn’t. I shall avoid showing to you during our tour of rural Russia. Now Selyodka is very tasty. Is small silver pickled fish. Highly recommend.”

“Ew, no thank you. That doesn’t sound appetizing either.”

“Ah what do you know. You didn’t even know if you were gay or not.”

“Ilya!”

***

8km NW of Egorlykskaya

-3°C, 12:10 MSK

“Do you believe in God?” Ilya asked after a train had rattled by them on the tracks. A small, Russian orthodox church had come up on their left, more the size of a small chapel, newer beige bricks with a wrought iron fence around it. A gold dome sat on top of a small tower and on top of the tower was a gold orthodox cross like the one Ilya wore around his neck.

Shane shook his head. “Not really. Wasn’t an important part of our lives as a family. I think my mom’s family were Buddhist, but they kept that to themselves.  My dad’s were some flavor of Christian, but it only ever came out at Christmas and Easter. What about you? I know you wear your cross.”

Ilya was quiet for a bit, studying the church as it came closer. “Was my mother’s.”

Shane tried to imagine what he could be thinking, tried to imagine what it would be like if his parent’s had brought him up centering religion. How would he have felt growing up with all those extra rules and expectations? It made his stomach clench. “Do you want to go inside?”

A complicated expression flitted over Ilya’s face. “I do not think I would be welcome there.”

At first Shane didn’t understand what he meant. Ilya just gave him a look, as if it was obvious, and when Shane still didn’t get it, Ilya pointed at the two of them. “The reason we are running in the first place?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Now he remembered that catholic churches didn’t condone homosexuality and it sounded like the Russian Orthodox church felt the same way. Well, if the church wanted to tear them down for the choices they’d made, then they could fucking get in line behind everyone else.

“Fuck them then.” Shane mimicked Ilya’s words from earlier because his first instinct was to protect. There was nothing about Ilya’s expression that he liked. A beat later, Shane realized that probably sounded dismissive of Ilya’s beliefs and fuck, he hadn’t meant to do that either. “I mean the church, that’s just men, right? Not God. I mean, do you think it’d be God not welcoming you inside?”

“I don’t know.”

They approached the church and Ilya got even quieter until he finally spoke so quietly, Shane had trouble hearing.

“They did not even give my mother a funeral service. Suicide is considered a terrible sin.”

The anger which had started to dissolve, returned even stronger in the pit of Shane’s stomach. “That’s awful, Ilya.”

“Yes. But the priest took pity on her and allowed her to be buried within the cemetery fence. She’s buried in Penza with the rest of her family’s graves.”

Shane wasn’t sure how redeeming that was.

There was something vulnerable about Ilya that had been growing over the last few days. He looked more tired than Shane had ever seen him. He knew Ilya had all the same worries he had about being outed, worry about what it would mean for their careers, what it would mean if they were captured by the Russian police, but it was so much worse for Ilya. Shane had been worried about his family’s reaction, but they had rallied behind them. They same couldn’t be said of Ilya’s family. And while Shane had a country to go home to, Ilya had to leave his behind, likely to never return.

 “You won’t be able to visit her grave anymore, will you?”

“No, probably not. But as you said, fuck them. Maybe it is just the foolish thinking of men who think they can know the will of God.”

Shane didn’t know what possessed him to turn around, but he pivoted on his heel and went straight for the little church.

“Shane, what—”

Shane didn’t wait to hear what Ilya had to say. He had no plan, no idea of what he was going to do when he got inside, but that didn’t stop him.

The door opened up to a large room with clean white walls and a pale blue ceiling. Immediately the incense flooded Shane’s nose. The walls were covered with religious paintings, some with candle holders in front, but the front of the church was the most impressive. The front wall was covered with several rows of large paintings, each with thick gold frames.

A man dressed in black with a large wooden cross hanging from his neck, cleared his throat and pointed at his Shane’s head, then made a motion for Shane to remove his toque.

Shane quickly took it off and gave him a nod. “Sorry,” the word was out of his mouth before he even thought about it. He gave the priest a sheepish smile while feeling the tension between his shoulders get tighter.

The priest gave him a nod.  He looked like he was in his forties with a round face, and a receding hairline. What was left of his hair seemed to have migrated to his beard. Mostly Shane studied his face to see if he was welcome here or not.

The priest waved his hand toward the inside in invitation.

“Chto privelo vas syuda segodnya?” the priest asked as Shane followed him inside. This church was quite different than the few Christian churches he’d been inside. It had a wide-open space in the middle of the room instead of pews.  Ilya entered the church and unlike Shane, he didn’t have to be told to take the hood off his head. Ilya then crossed himself before stepping further inside. At least Shane didn’t have to worry about disturbing anyone, they were the only people inside.

“Can we pray?” Shane asked holding his hands up together, hoping the gesture translated. “My friend might not be able to come back here for a long time. I was hoping he could say goodbye to his mom.”

Ilya translated for the priest who then nodded and waved at them to follow. The priest led them to a small metal table at the side. There was a cross in the center, and it was surrounded by candle holders, some which already had candles burning in them.

The priest said a few words to Ilya in Russian and Ilya replied, not really meeting his gaze.

“Please,” the priest said to both of them with a thick Russian accent. “Sorry for loss of your mother. May her memory be eternal.”

Then the priest moved away, giving them some privacy. Ilya put some money in the box next to the table, took a fresh candle from the holder and lit it, placing it in one of the candle holders. He then clasped his hands in front of him and closed his eyes.

Not sure what to do, Shane copied him. His grandmother had once tried to teach him how to pray when he was little, but he’d asked too many questions and she’d eventually given up. He remembered it was supposed to be a conversation between you and God. Not that Shane wanted to talk to him directly. But he imagined what it would be like to talk to Ilya’s mom instead.

Hi Mrs Rozanova, he thought, tacking on an ‘a’ at the end of Ilya’s last name, remembering at the last second that that was the Russian custom.

My name is Shane. I’m here with Ilya because I wanted him to be able to say goodbye to you before he had to leave. I don’t think he will be able to come back, and I know it will make him really sad to be further away from you. He misses you so much.

I’m sorry. It’s my fault he has to leave. I should have been more careful.

I…I love him. I love him so much.

I don’t know if you would be happy or not that I love him. I don’t know if he will be happy to know that either. I’ve made his life infinitely more complicated. If I hadn’t loved him, then this problem would never have happened.

And for that I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry I love him. He’s an amazing person. I think you’d be proud of that. I hope you can see how great he is, from wherever you are.

I promise I will take care of him. I got him into this mess, I will make sure he gets to safety. And if he wants me, I promise I will always love him. I will try and make him happy. I hope that’s ok with you.

I also hope it’s ok if my family loves him too. My mom can never replace you, but I know she will help look after him too.

When Ilya was done, he crossed himself again, his eyes wet and face strained. He gestured his head to the door and Shane nodded.

When they stepped outside, the cold brisk air made the world suddenly feel lighter. They started walking back down the road in silence, but surprisingly, it wasn’t oppressive. Shane closed the gap between them and reached for Ilya’s fingers. They closed around his hand, strong and firm, and Shane put their joined hands back in his pocket.

“Thank you,” Ilya said, his voice low and broken.

Shane squeezed his hand and hoped he had done more good than harm.

***

15km NW of Egorlykskaya

-2°C, 13:20 MSK

They had kept some water bottles and filled them up at the guest house yesterday and luckily for them, they found a small store in the last town they passed which had granola bars. They were dry und tasteless, but better than nothing.

Shane could hardly get half of it down his mouth.

“Would you rather get eaten by a bear or mauled by a lion?” Ilya asked, chowing down on his own granola bar like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“What? Neither!” Shane almost choked as he stopped and looked around in case both a bear and a lion were barreling down on them. “What the fuck? Are there actually lions here?”

Ilya’s started to laugh. “Shane. Is a game where you have to chose between two things that are not real. There are no lions in Russia.”

The piece of granola kept trying to kill him as he coughed to dislodge it from his throat. Ilya tried to help by whacking him on the back, but it didn’t help so much as knock him forward and almost make him spill his water.

“Fuck, Ilya. Not funny,” he managed to spit out between coughs.

“Is a little bit funny. Are you ok? Need more help?”

Shane put up his hands to defend himself from Ilya’s help, but Ilya backed off with a grin. Shane took a sip of water which worked to remove the granola and sooth his throat.

“Ok, so which one do you prefer? Bear death or lion death?” Ilya said when they resumed walking.

“Neither! This is a terrible question.”

“Ok. Would you rather eat cow tongue or sheep brain?”

Shane stopped and just looked at Ilya as he kept walking until he stopped and turned around.

“Neither! What kind of fucking game is this?”

“They are supposed to be terrible options! I’m trying to find way to pass the time as we walk through another open field. Fine, you ask question.”

Shane resumed walking, wracking his brain to think of a tough choice for Ilya to make. “Would you rather drink Tequila or a Rum?”

“I can see why you do not like this game. Seriously? That’s the hardest question you could think of? Easy. Tequila.”

Shane was happy to let this game drop, most of the last few days had been a real-life game of making awful choices, but Ilya had other ideas. “Easy one for you now. Would you rather lose a game against me—”

“Nope,” Shane answered right away.

“Let me finish! How about, would you rather win a game against me, but I get to fuck you while you wear my jersey. Or if you lose, I wear your jersey while we fuck.”

“Fuck you Rozanov…” Shane said, laughing despite himself. “I see we are fucking either way.”

“Da. I’m not an idiot.”

“Win. I’d still rather win.”

***

Kliuev, 25km NW of Egorlykskaya

-2°C, 15:30 MSK

“This is fucking terrible,” Shane said, staring out at the grey landscape. He wasn’t sure the sun even existed in Russia. There were wide open fields as far as he could see. Some random scattering of trees. The clouds hung low in the sky and even the gusts of icy wind weren’t able to push them away. The most exciting thing of the last hour was when they saw a fox on the treeline. “We’ve been walking for five hours.”

“If we see any car coming by, we can try and hitchhike.”

They tried flagging down the next two cars with no luck. But the third, an old, blue car that Shane didn’t recognize stopped for them. He let Ilya do the talking, saw him slip a couple hundred Rubles to the driver before giving him a nod to get inside the car.

Shane had never been so grateful to get inside a car smelling like cigarettes.

***

Zernograd , 41km NW of Egorlykskaya

-3°C, 16:20 MSK

Combined cash on hand: $100 (USD) and ₽7500 (RUB)

Shane and Ilya stood in the parking lot of Pyaterochka, a chain of convenience stores that Shane was starting to recognize. This one seemed more grocery store than the one he had been in yesterday – or maybe it was the day before? Shane was losing track of the days.

They were about to go inside and grab some food when a low rumbling caught their attention. Shane turned and saw a convoy of military trucks travelling past, six and eight wheelers. They pulled into the parking lot and Ilya dragged Shane off to the side behind some parked cars.

They watched as five trucks pulled in, and maybe a dozen or so soldiers got out to go into the convenience store, laughing and joking with each other.

“They look younger than us,” Shane said under his breath.

As they stood around waiting by silent agreement for the soldiers to leave before going in, two tanks rolled into the parking lot. The turret swung around and then a hatch opened, letting another two soldiers get out to join their comrades in the store.

Ilya sunk a sharp elbow into his sternum, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” Shane asked, as if he had any clue why Ilya looked so happy.

Ilya looked at the tank, then back to Shane, and then poked him in the sternum again. “Maybe we upgrade our ride?”

Ilya moved in the direction of the tank and Shane could only thank the years of training he had for reflexes fast enough to grab Ilya’s arm to stop him. “What the fuck? Are you insane?”

“What? We already stole a car and a bike. Now we get something new.”

“We do not have a bingo card that we are trying to complete!”

“You are so boring, Hollander.”

Shane managed to drag Ilya back further away from the military vehicles and leaned against the wall of the building. Ilya was still looking at him like he wasn’t done trying to convince him to steal a tank. “Do you even have any idea how to drive a tank?”

Ilya waved the questions away like it was irrelevant, despite the fact that though Shane didn’t know anything about tanks, he had once clicked a few too many recommended links in YouTube and realized they didn’t drive like a normal car. There were levers and buttons and pedals and shit.

“Does Russia have mandatory military service?”

“Da. I had it deferred because I was drafted to MLH.”

“Deferred? As in you’re supposed to do it later?”

Ilya shrugged. “Supposedly, though most athletes who are good enough find ways out of it. I suppose never coming back here will be the way I avoid it.”

Shane tried to imagine Ilya, with his hair cut short, marching in formation with other recruits. Maybe stealing a tank just to see if he could drive it. There was no way Ilya wouldn’t find a way to be court-martialed. “I think you should thank your unintended good luck with that.”

“What? I would be a good tank driver. I drive tank many times on PlayStation. Is very realistic.”

“We are not stealing a tank from the Russian army.”

“Fine,” Ilya shrugged. “But is not because I couldn’t drive one.”

***

Rostov-on-Don

-1°C, 20:26 MSK

Combined cash on hand: $100 (USD) ₽5270 (RUB)

Ilya’s eyes were heavy as he watched the city lights go past. Rostov-on-Don was the largest city they’d been in over the last few days, even larger than Sochi. Tall buildings dotted the landscape with opulent churches and ornate government buildings. Like most contradictions in Russia, they were unapologetically close to low rise apartment buildings and run down kommunalkas or Soviet-era apartment blocks. Those in power had an abundance of it, and those that didn’t…well, there was no shortage of them and that probably made this city a better choice to hide in. Zernograd and been too clean, too affluent. Here they were just two more nameless faces in a sea of people.

When they got to the train station, it was full of people shuffling about, trying to make the last busses of the day. Ilya grabbed Shane’s sleeve as they made their way past the turnstiles and out of the station, slipping a finger inside the hem to secure Shane to him as best he could.  It would probably get to the point where he frayed his own sleeves before he could hold Shane’s hand in public. This afternoon had been nice, but no one had seen them holding hands except for the birds.

Unlike the parts of the city they’d seen coming in, this was not the best area of town. Exhaustion seemed to hang on everything; the people, the buildings. Road construction went up one full side of the bus station. It had stalled amidst the rain and cold, and mud ran down the street carving veins in the dirt. Sand and gravel were piled up in places, ready for when construction started again, if it ever would. That’s just the way things worked. There was a car stuck in a ditch where the dirt had eroded, and overhead wires hung like ugly Christmas lights around poles and exposed pipes.

Not much had changed in the last twelve years. The last time he’d set foot in this city for a tournament, his father and brother had even joined him and mama. It was supposed to be a family trip. They were going to stay at a fancy hotel with a waterpark. They were supposed to see the sights. He’s been so excited. But something had happened. His father had gotten so mad – Ilya didn’t remember why anymore. Only that his mother had closed herself in the bathroom all evening, crying. They never went to the waterpark. It had probably been his fault.

“Can we get a coffee or something?” Shane asked, shivering next to him as the wind picked up. The air was frigid and with the humidity, it pierced through their jackets.

Ilya nodded.

Maybe a coffee would take the edge off his headache that had been building all day.

The Don River that ran along the southern part of the city blessed the air with the smell of rotting fish and garbage. Ilya desperately missed his warm, quiet apartment, with its beautiful shower, and his very expensive expresso machine.

He wondered what Shane would look like, splayed out on his soft bed. Warm and relaxed, his face not covered in scratches and bruises. He imagined fucking him slow and hard until they lost their fucking minds, then falling asleep tangled up on a bed big enough for them to splay out like starfish if they wanted. Safe. Secure. Together.

Instead, they found a walking path through the construction, toward the main street just up ahead, Ilya still leading Shane along by the sleeve of his coat. The street was busy despite the late hour. The coffee shop was closed but the convenience store up ahead invited them in with its garish lights painting the street green.

“Oh, thank God. There’s no smell in here,” Shane said as they entered the store.

Ilya had to agree – the staleness of the store air was blessedly odorless compared to outside. The store was busy with people buying snacks and cigarettes, and they lucked out because there was even a late-night in-store café. Which still wasn’t as great as his expresso maker, but it was a step up from the day-old coffee Ilya had been expecting to find sitting in a warming pot.

Pirzhki sat in the display case in front of them as they waited in line, and Ilya’s stomach grumbling at the sight of the stale pastries. They didn’t look very good, but he was so hungry. A Big Mac would be so much better. Could they even afford a Big Mac? Ilya tossed this idea around in his head, but even just thinking about it made his mouth water. This city was probably big enough to have a McDonalds and he would be willing to give up a lot for a Double Big Mac. Maybe even an apple pie, too.

“Coffee with milk?” Ilya asked when there was only one person ahead.

“Oat milk if they have it, please. Otherwise, it’s fine.”

Ilya didn’t even bother to ask the woman behind the counter for the oat milk. If there was a McDonald’s it would be near the train station or downtown. They hadn’t seen one yet walking away from the station, but if they followed the stench of the river, that would bring them to the city center. It was a terrible idea, but it would give them something to do while he scouted out the city for a slum or a cellar where they could sleep. Kill two hares with one shot, as they say.

Someone jostled him from behind as the cashier was giving him his change, his chirik dropping on the floor.

“Ow,” Shane cried out as Ilya reached down to grab the coin, making him look up to see a woman grabbing onto Shane’s arm. Shane had turned and knocked something to the ground, and because Ilya was already bent over, he saw a hypodermic needle fall between people’s feet.

His head snapped up.

Heat immediately flooded his face as he zeroed in on the woman trying to pull Shane toward the door.

Instantly, Ilya grabbed Shane’s other arm and lunged forward to grab a fistful of the woman’s dark hair. He could barely see straight from the fear and anger surging through him. The woman let go of Shane’s arm so she could grab her own hair to prevent it from being torn from her head. Ilya pushed her head back with a force that sent her flying into people and then sprawling to the floor. Without wasting a second, he jerked Shane toward the back of the store, looking desperately for another exit.

Shane tried to keep up, but he was already dragging his feet.

“Fuck. What happened? What’s wrong with me?”

“It’s ok, Shane. Hold on,” Ilya said, spotting a side exit off in the corner. “Can you walk? We need to hurry.”

“Thinkso.”

The cold air hit them full force as they pushed their way outside. Ilya scanned the sidewalk for the woman, or more importantly, her partner. They wouldn’t have sent just one person. At the end of the alley that went back to the main road, Ilya could see a white van parked on the road. Beside it, a large man was standing by the door, looking around. He caught Ilya’s eyes and his whole face changed in recognition. Ilya quickly reversed course, dragging Shane along as best as he could further into the alley, hoping to God that there was another exit at the other end.

“Stop!”

Behind him, Ilya heard the side door slam and assumed the woman had gotten up and followed them. It was dark and hard to see, and it wasn’t until Ilya was cornered against a wall that he realized there was no other exit.

He turned to face their attackers. The woman was small, maybe a bit older than them, obviously well-trained judging by how she moved. The man was younger, looked like he was more muscle than brains; spending his time cracking his knuckles, trying to look tough. Ilya tucked Shane behind him. If Shane hadn’t been drugged, he would have been much more optimistic about their chances, though he wasn’t sure Shane had ever thrown a punch, his air punches at Scott Hunter earlier this season, not withstanding. But Shane was leaning against him with most of his weight and Ilya was sure if he stepped aside to fight, Shane would fall to the floor.

“Rozanov,” the woman said, rubbing her head, then pulled out a knife. “You can’t win this fight. Not with your lover behind you high on ketamine. Come with us now and no one will get hurt.”

“Fuck you,” Ilya spat out.

“So much static, fuck!” Shane decided to step forward, out from behind Ilya with his hands tight up against his temples before Ilya could stop him. He stumbled forward like he’d done a whole bottle of tequila shots, holding and shaking his head like he wanted to rip it off.

“Shane!” Ilya tried to grab him. Shane was lurching, barely able to pick up his feet but moving forward toward the woman, and toward the knife she was holding.

“Stop!” The woman called out, but Shane didn’t know Russian and probably didn’t even know where he was at the moment.

“Let me grab him,” Ilya shouted as Shane started yelling too, louder but his words weren’t making any sense.

Ilya reached forward to grab him but Shane staggered forward, tripping over his feet, flying toward the woman. She dropped the knife as she put her hands up to catch him, but Shane’s hands shot out, grabbing her biceps and pulling her hands down as he head-butted her directly in her face.

“Blyat!” the woman screamed in pain. Her partner jumped forward in alarm, but Ilya didn’t hesitate as soon as he saw the opening.

As the woman crumpled to the ground, blood spurting from her nose, Ilya pushed Shane aside and came at the man with his right hook, putting all his weight behind it and connecting directly with the side of his chin. The man’s head whipped to the side, accelerating his brain inside his head until it crashed into his skull, making him collapse on the floor.

“Fuckin, eh!” Shane said, eyes a little too bright.

“Can you run?”

“Fuck, yeah. Let’s go.”

Ilya quickly realized that Shane could not, in fact run. He may have been playing up the effects of the drugs back there to get close to the woman, but now he was tripping over his own feet, bumping into Ilya and then a garbage can, bouncing between them like a pinball, as they ran toward the main road. And it was getting worse.

They turned right and joined a group of college students that were heading to a bar. All the while, Ilya kept scanning behind them for their attackers to reappear.

“I’mok,” Shane mumbled in his ear as Ilya threw Shane’s arm over his shoulder so he could wrap his arm around Shane’s back.

“I do not think ok means what you think it means.” Ilya maneuvered them past some storefronts and into another back alley. With all the stalled construction, he was hoping he could find a spot to hide in. Eventually, just past a series of apartment complexes, Ilya found a half-demolished building tucked away behind some fencing that had seen better days.

“Shane, I need you to tuck your head down, you need to go through that hole there while I hold up this section of fence.”

Shane tried, but the moment he bent down, he fell over and it took Ilya several minutes to maneuver them both through the hole and into the building. Large sections of the building were missing, letting in some light from the streetlights so they could see. Ilya dragged Shane over to the back corner to at least give them some cover. There was a small section of wall that looked relatively stable that could also provide some shelter from the wind. Ilya slowly lowered Shane down against it as he looked around to make sure no one had followed them.

So much for McDonalds.

The sidewalk outside the building was quiet. Sirens wailed in the distance, but for the moment, they appeared to be safe. Ilya desperately wanted them to be safe. He needed one fucking moment to breathe.

He leaned against the wall and took stock of the situation, trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking. They were ok for now, that was good. Shane was drugged out of his mind, that was bad. They were still hungry but that was tolerable.

Fuck. Where did they go wrong?

They must have been followed from the train station.

His heart was still hammering in his ears as he tried to clear his head. Should he bring Shane to the hospital? He was pretty sure ketamine wasn’t lethal. There were easier ways to kill them if they only wanted to parade around their dead bodies. It was a crapshoot; risk Shane overdosing, or risk being captured at the hospital.

Ilya slid down the wall, holding his head in his hands, screaming inside his head. I don’t know what to fucking do!

Wah-wah, you whiny faggot. This time it was Alexei answering him. All you do is fucking complain. We are the ones who should be complaining. We gave up everything so you could be this big fucking hotshot. Now we have nothing!

I worked for it, Ilya wanted to say. I did everything I could to get better, to be better. You took everything I ever earned, and it was never enough.

Ilyushenka, Ilya heard his mother now, felt her warmness next to him. Maybe she had heard his prayers earlier today. Please don’t fight with your brother. Focus on what you need to do.

But I don’t know what I need to do, mama. Everything is wrong. I can’t fix it all.

My zaychik, I know you love to go outside and play, but please wear your hat. It’s cold outside. Heat doesn’t break your bones, you know.

Ilya wanted to sink into her arms, hold her close, cry in her arms for just a moment, but the image faded away as he opened his eyes and there was just darkness and cold again.

His breath formed a white mist in the air as he exhaled and his body started shivering – a bone-deep shaking throughout his entire body. Every muscle in his arms and back and legs, seemed to be twitching; contracting almost painfully before releasing again.

They were going to fucking die in this abandoned building and it was going to be his fault if he didn’t fucking get it together. It was probably close to freezing, and they were going to have to spend the night outside. He’d watched Shane make a fire; he could make one as well.

Ilya rubbed his face and got up. It was dark, but he could make out some garbage lying around, old newspapers, and carboard. There weren’t any sticks though and the paper would burn too fast, so Ilya went back to the broken sections of wall, looking for anything else he could burn. Most of the walls were concrete, but he did find some wooden studs that had splintered around a doorframe. He also spied an old, tattered tarp in the corner.

Ilya gathered what he could and brought it close to where he’d deposited Shane.

There was no log cabin, or whatever Shane had called it. The most he could do was try and put a piece of the wood in the center of the paper and hope it caught. His lighter flickered three times before it finally produced flame and slowly, Ilya got a small fire flickering in the dark. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the one Shane had made the other night, it wouldn’t last very long, but that was as good as it was going to get.

Ilya finally sat down beside Shane, bringing Shane’s head to rest on his shoulder as he tucked the tarp around them as best as he could. He could only pray that the pitiful fire and their body heat would help keep them warm.

“Illllyaaaa,” Shane drawled as he nuzzled Ilya’s shoulder.

Ilya brushed the hair out of Shane’s eyes as he ran a finger over his face, careful over the lump he still had from their fall into the river. “Moy lyubimiy. I don’t know what to do with you. Are you going to be ok?”   

“You never not know what to do with me,” Shane whispered back, though his words ran together so Ilya couldn’t even be sure that was exactly what he said. He gave Ilya a smile and then kissed him on the cheek. “I think… I think that lady drugged me.”

Ilya almost laughed. You think?”

Shane’s face was open, his eyes shining in the dim light.  Shane seemed to have an amazing ability to push back the monsters that lived in his head. 

“That wasn’t very nice of her.”

“No, but that headbutt you gave her in return evened things out. Did you hit her with the injured side of your head?”

Shane shrugged, then rubbed one corner of his forehead and then the other. When he got to the injured side, he groaned. “Bad side.”

Sure enough the bump on the side of Shane’s head felt hot.

“There’s static in my head, again.”

“Again?” Ilya moved Shane’s head to his lap, running his hand through Shane’s hair.

“The night my phone was stolen. I had one beer, but I felt like this. Like there was a TV in my head, buzzing like it does when it can’t find a channel.”

Ilya bit his lip, trying not to scream at the world and this fucking country. He actually hated it here. They had drugged Shane to get his phone. His own country had purposefully targeted people to use their pain to further its own causes. Because Russian leaders cared more about their own power than they did about the people they were supposed to be representing. The people they were supposed to be protecting. This wreck of a building was a perfect example.

His father was right in that respect. There was a problem with leadership. But it had little to do with hockey players on the ice.

Ilya would not miss this place.

“It made me so sad,” Shane said, and Ilya looked down in concern. Shane had closed his eyes and was just lying there, his arms hanging loosely on the ground. Ilya gathered Shane’s arms in and rubbed them, to try and warm him up. “I know we didn’t mean for this to happen. It was supposed to be simple. But it’s changed for me. This isn’t…You know, I…”

“Why were you sad?” Ilya asked quickly, interrupting him. There was something so raw in Shane’s face that Ilya was scared Shane would say what was on the tip of his own tongue. But he couldn’t stand to hear it right now. Not like this. Not with Shane out of his mind. Not if he didn’t get to keep it.

“All I could think about was our conversation in the arena. The fact that you didn’t want me. You wanted me to go away.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your text.” Ilya looked out in the darkness, at the broken walls around them.

Shane’s breathing slowed as he finally fell asleep.

Ya tebya lyublyu, he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to taint the words with the mess that was inside his head. He remembered so vividly he’s father’s mouth twisted in disappoint as he yelled at Ilya about duty and shame. Then Shane’s text arriving like a beacon in the dark, telling him someone cared how he was doing. The fear that had shot through him when he saw it. Scared it would make him weak when he needed all his defenses to survive his father’s onslaught.

How are you not ashamed?

That was disgraceful. You had potential, and you squandered it.

Russia trusted you and you failed! You can’t do anything properly.

He had rejected Shane’s proverbial outstretched hand, and for what? So they could still end up here. So he could still be the son his father didn’t want? He’d risked pushing away the one good thing in his life for a father who didn’t even love him.

He gathered Shane tighter, cradling him against his body. Never again.

Chapter End Notes

Translations:
Ya tebya lyublyu - I love you (but I think we all know this by heart)
Chto privelo vas syuda segodnya - What bring you hear today?
chirik - 10 Ruble coin
zaychik - little rabbit

Chapter 4: Monday, Feb 17, 2014

Chapter Summary

The morning after Shane was almost kidnapped brings new hardships. But they're closer than ever to the border. They just need some money and a bit of luck...

Chapter Notes

Thank you so much for all the kudo and comments. They really mean the world to me. Once again thank you to my sister who read this over and provided sage advice on how to actually light a cigarette and stuff like that.

Last chapter will be a few weeks. I need to deconflict the other stories that will be coming in this series, but it's coming! Home stretch!

Finally, I may have taken some fictional liberties with things like the politics, and the immigration stuff. Tried my best. When I didn't know, I made things up. :)

0°C, 05:13 MSK

He was at the supermarket with his mother, pushing the cart along so she could find the things on her list. They spent so long trying to decide which fruit to get. Eventually mama put the winter apples in the cart, even though Ilya hated them. Even though he begged for the strawberries he saw on the shelf.

~

“Mama, please please! Can we buy some chocolate. Just a small piece. I will share with Alexei!”

“Please, Ilyushenka. Be quiet. Don’t fuss.”

~

They were back at the old house. His father slammed his fist against the wall. His mother was crying and Alexei was hiding under the table.

“You whore! Where did the money go? I embarrass myself at the bank, having to explain why there’s not enough to pay the bills.”

“I’m sorry. I just bought some milk.”

His father was grabbing mama by the hair and shaking her until she fell to the floor. Ilya wanted so badly to run to her, but he couldn’t move. It’s like he was frozen to the ground.

~

They were in father’s new house. It was quiet and empty except for Alexei’s yelling. Alexei punched his fist against the wall. “Come on you faggot, give me some money. Dad spent all his money on your stupid hockey, and there’s nothing left for me. This is your fault!”

This time, Alexei’s fist slammed into Ilya’s face. He lay on the floor, tears welling up in his eyes even as he forced himself not to sob. Looking up at the walls, he noticed that this house didn’t have any of mama’s paintings up. Just ugly beige paint.

Blood fell from his nose onto the chipped marble tile.

He had nothing. His stipend from the Hockey Federation was long gone.

Alexei leaned down and grabbed his shirt around his chest, shaking him back and forth. Ilya didn’t even try and defend himself. Mama was gone. A new woman had packed up her paintings and moved them into this ugly beige house.

“She did this because of you, you know! If you had earned more money, mama wouldn’t have left! How do you live with yourself.” Alexei was crying as he pushed Ilya away.

Ilya stayed on the floor, his face throbbing as he listened to the front door slam and asked himself that same question.

***

0°C, 06:15 MSK

Ilya woke up shivering, his whole body convulsing as remnants of the dreams clung to him like a spiderweb, slowly seeping poison into his veins. He wanted to vomit, wanted to expel everything that had burrowed inside of him over the years that told him again and again that it was his fault, that everything would have been better if he’d never entered this world.

He tilted his head up to see more of the skyline through the broken wall on his left. His neck protested in pain from being twisted all night. Small wisps of daylight were taking the night from black to dark blue.

The tarp had managed to keep in some of their body heat, Shane still sleeping soundly on his lap. He could be thankful for that.

Part of him wondered if his father was right and it was his fault. Father had once been a powerful man in favor with a powerful regime. Then Ilya had been born, and the USSR had fallen. And while he knew logically that those two events were unrelated, it meant that his family had gone from enjoying lavish meals to scraping together barely enough food and he was just another mouth to feed.

You whore! Where did the money go?

And if it wasn’t Ilya’s fault, then it was mama’s fault and that was even worse.  

He’d learned how to count and find deals at the market so the money would last a little longer. Sometimes it wouldn’t matter. A loaf of bread that cost 10 rubles one week would be 100 rubles the next. Ilya had learned that there were things that could be cut and father wouldn’t notice. He also learned that he could charm people for a few favors. If neither of those two things worked, he learned what he could steal if that’s what it took to keep the peace. He was a child. He looked innocent. He learned to use whatever talents were given to him.

When he got into one of the last state-sponsored hockey programs because Alexei was already in it, he threw himself into it with everything he had.   

And now…now that he had money, he refused to count anymore. Just thinking about it made his skin crawl. He didn’t want to think about what he could save, or what he could spend. Svetlana made him get an accountant last year and every once in a while, the man would call him if he spent too much (he got a call after buying his gorgeous orange Porshe), but that was the extent of what Ilya would tolerate.

Now everything was coming back. It didn’t matter how much money he had, it would always come back to not having enough.

They were almost captured last night; Shane was almost taken from him because they lacked the funds to get home as fast as possible. If he could cash in his orange Porshe, he’d do so in a second. Instead, his money was tied up in vanity and foolishness. If he hadn’t gone out drinking after the gala to wash away the feel of Sasha’s eyes on his skin, he’d have almost another 3000 rubles. Somehow, he’d managed to waste 20,000 rubles in the last week, on things he didn’t even remember.

Now, there probably had only 5000 rubles…

Trying not to wake Shane, Ilya started patting his pockets for Shane’s wallet, desperate to count whatever was left. He found the 200 rubles banknote in the inside pocket of the jacket. He’d put it in there two days ago in case he needed money but didn’t want to take the whole wallet out of his pocket. Then he found the 10 ruble coin the woman had given him as change last night. He went through his jacket pockets again, confusion, then panic starting to flood his veins as he felt nothing.

No…

He risked slowly checking Shane’s pockets to see if he’d taken the wallet, but they were empty as well.

His hands started shaking. He’d taken the wallet out to pay for the coffee last night; the coin had dropped on the floor and then Shane had been attacked. Either the wallet was on the counter, or it had fallen to the floor sometime during the attack. Either way, it was gone.

His vision narrowed. His heart started hammering in his chest.

They only had 210 rubles.

0°C, 07:19 MSK

Shane felt his world shift, felt his head moving as he slowly opened his eyes.

Twilight was casting the broken walls around him in a blue and golden hue, and he could make out Ilya getting up beside him. An old, smelly tarp that was half-wrapped around his body, fell to the floor, inviting a rush of freezing cold air against him.

Ilya bent down to help him sit up, his arms tight around him, which was good because as soon as he was vertical, he felt like he was going to fall over. His head was throbbing like someone had swung at it with a crowbar.

“Fuck.”

“You were drugged last night,” Ilya said, eyes raking over Shane’s face. “How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts.”

Shane only remembered bits and pieces. He remembered the convenience store. He remembered some woman in an alleyway with a knife, but he had no memory of how they got here. He looked around the half-demolished building and the grey sky that was peaking out between the broken bits of wall.

Rozanov didn’t look any better than he felt. There were dark circles under his eyes and his face was pale. Maybe he was injured? Shane leaned back and tried to look him over, tilting his head side to side, then running a hand over Ilya’s chest. “There was a woman with a knife—are you ok? What the hell happened?”

“I am okay,” Ilya said, his voice was flat and quiet. He captured Shane’s hands in his to keep them against his chest. That if anything else, raised more alarm bells in Shane’s head.

Ilya trailed fingers across Shane’s cheek. “Russian agents found us at convenience store. Woman injected you with ketamine. I think they were trying to kidnap you. She had knife and you headbutted her. You were lucky she dropped knife instead of stabbing you with it when you fell on her.”

Shane rubbed his head on the spot where he’d fallen on the rocks two days ago. It was swollen and hot to the touch and hurt like a motherfucker. At least that explained why. Shane tried to take his hand out to let them resume their reconnaissance of Ilya’s body, but Ilya held them tight.

“But you’re ok?” Shane asked again.

“I am fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Ilya stood up and took a step back. “Fuck, Shane. What do you want me to say? You were almost kidnapped and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it.  You can’t throw a punch for shit, but if you hadn’t hit her with your head...”

There it was again. That idea that Ilya wasn’t enough. That this was somehow his fault. Shane had been seeing this look over and over again on Ilya’s face for the last four days. It was getting progressively worse, and he had no idea how to fix it. “You said there were agents? There was more than just this woman?”

Ilya nodded. “Da. She had a partner. Stupid shit-for-brains man. We got lucky.”

“Well unless I did some flying headbutt that took both of them out at the same time, I think you did something. And then you somehow dragged my sorry ass here and kept us safe all night…you saved me. Again. Thank you.”

Ilya dropped his hands and shook his head. “You hit your head. Maybe you have concussion. Fucking why are you thanking me? This is my fault.”

“Fuck off,” Shane said with a small smile. “We are not hashing through this again. This is not your fault. I don’t even really think this is my fault either. We didn’t do anything wrong. We didn’t hurt anyone.”

“No, but I knew it was not safe here—”

“Ilya.”

“You should rest,” Ilya said, dusting himself off and stepping further away even though that was the opposite of what Shane wanted. “I will try and find us something to eat.”

Shane tried to follow him, tried to get his legs underneath him, but the moment he tried to put pressure on his legs, he fell back down to the ground, making Ilya lean forward to catch him.

Shane desperately didn’t want to stay here alone, but he didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t just that Ilya thought it was his fault. Something bigger was going on. Maybe Shane had said too much last night? Maybe this was Ilya’s way of creating space because Shane had fucked up and pushed for too much? “Did I do something wrong?”

Again asking a different question than the one he really wanted to; did I say something wrong?

“Of course not. I will go get you something warm to drink.”

Shane wanted to scream. “You’re getting something for yourself too, right? You must be just as cold—”

“Sure.”

That didn’t sound convincing, even to Shane, but he had no idea what else to say. “You have my wallet?”

“I will be back in a bit. Stay here and rest.”

Shane watched him leave, a knot in the pit of his stomach telling him something was very wrong.

 1°C, 08:18 MSK

Combined cash on hand: ₽210 (RUB)

The storm cloud hung overhead, heavy and wet with rain, arming the frigid air with daggers that pierced through Ilya’s jacket after he cleared the hole in the fence. The rancid smell of fish was even stronger this morning. He could hardly breathe and when he could, it constricted his throat as if his body was trying to protect itself from the putrid air.

Being good at hockey was never the balm for his problems at home. If anything, it often made things worse. It was always his fault they couldn’t buy something they needed. It was his fault Alexei couldn’t have new running shoes. Alexei made sure to tell him so. It was his fault his mom didn’t buy cream for her coffee anymore, but Ilya only knew that because he paid attention to things.

How are you not ashamed?

I am ashamed, father.

This is all your fault baby brother - you fucking faggot.

Ilya had to stop and lean against a rusted doorway because it was too hard to breathe.

It was his fault again that they had nothing.

Forget bus tickets to get to the border.

Forget money to bribe the border police.

Forget food.

Forget a doctor.

The constriction in his chest tightened as he slid down the wall, his hands going up to the necklace he always wore.

Mama I…I can’t. I’m sorry.

~~~

08:26 MSK

Fuck it.

Shane found a way to get his legs underneath him, found a way to stand up so he could follow Ilya because his head was screaming at him that something was wrong. The Ilya he knew was larger than life, he was an asshole, he was full of fucking energy not that specter of a man that looked like he was folding in on himself.

The only other time he had seen anything remotely like that was on the Las Vegas rooftop, the night of the MLH awards.

Not everything is about you, Hollander.

I go home in three days.

Now Shane knew that home was complicated. Home was something Ilya was trying to escape from, even if he never really could. It was in his DNA. Shane couldn’t even begin to imagine how that felt.

The world was spinning.

Fuck his stupid legs. Fuck his stupid head that wouldn’t stop pounding. He had taken care of his body; he had trained religiously. Now he needed it to fucking step up and perform because this was when it really mattered.

Anger and sheer will power moved his legs forward. His feet stumbled on loose rocks as he lurched out of the building and made his way under the fence, toward the main road.

He was too slow. Ilya would be long gone. He screamed at his fucking body to move faster.

Maybe it was a testament to the fact that something was really fucking wrong because Shane managed to catch sight of Ilya as he turned right out the alleyway. Ilya who always moved so fluidly and with purpose was shuffling his feet, head looking down.

It looked like it was going to rain any minute and Shane wondered if the sun even existed in Russia. Fuck. They couldn’t afford to get wet in this cold again.

Even though Ilya was walking slower, Shane still couldn’t catch up. Every step felt like the world was tilting on its axis. He dragged his hand along the brick of the building on his right, using it as support so he didn’t faceplant on the sidewalk, all the while keeping Ilya in view.

Shane wanted to yell, wanted to scream at Ilya to stop but that would attract attention. The sidewalk and roads were busier this morning. People bustling about on their way to work or school. Ilya hadn’t even put his hood up, and though his hair was messy, Shane knew someone was bound to recognize him.

Nothing about the streets or the buildings looked familiar and he wondered how far they had walked last night, Ilya having to drag him along. The cold air helped to clear his head though, and as he used his muscles, they started to loosen, making it easier to walk. After about fifteen minutes, Shane was starting to close the distance as he recognized the café close to the train station.

Just before the café, Ilya turned into a store that Shane hadn’t paid any attention to last night. It reminded Shane of just a typical smoke shop one saw downtown. The sign was in Russian, so that didn’t help. And the large window in the front was barred with furniture on the inside, blocking the view.

Shane had no idea what that store was, but there was nothing logical about the cold, hard, visceral feeling that took hold in his stomach, telling him to go in. He knew he couldn’t let Ilya be in there alone, that whatever demons he’d been fighting were in that store and Shane would be damned if he let Ilya face them by himself.

The door chimed as he entered. Shane didn’t know what he expected to see, but it wasn’t a brightly lit room and a clean entrance. A security guard stood by the door and looked him up and down but didn’t say anything.

At first, Shane thought it was a bank. Ilya was standing by a counter, speaking to someone behind a protective screen. There was someone at the second counter being helped as well, and it made sense. Ilya was worried about money. Shane started to move forward, wanted to tell Ilya not to, that the police would be able to trace them if he accessed his accounts, that they would find another way—

Then Ilya took off his gold chain and pooled it in his hands before reaching to deposit it into the little tray on the counter, and suddenly everything made sense all at once.

We only have so much money. I do not know if it will be enough.

Everything coalesced and Shane moved solely on instinct rather than planned out thoughts. Dropping his body low, he used his legs to drive his body forward and launched himself at Ilya.  Hockey was what is body was made for and it wasn’t fucking disappointing him now as he checked Ilya’s shoulder hard, making him stumble to the right, the gold chain flying to the ground.

“Chto za nakhuy?” Ilya shouted, spinning around to face Shane as he stumbled.

The man behind the counter was standing up and yelling, and the next thing Shane knew, the security guard was pinning him to the ground, alarms blaring all around. In retrospect, Shane realized they probably thought they were being robbed.

Shane lifted his hands, as much as he could. The security guard had a choke hold on him and he could feel his oxygen rapidly depleting.

Ilya was yelling now. “It’s ok! Prostite. Pozhaluysta, otpustite yego! He’s with me! On so mnoy. On ne khotel etogo delat'. It’s ok.”

“YA vyzyvayu polits iyu,” the security guard shouted back.

“No, please don’t call police,” Ilya said, arguing with the security guard. “Net, pozhaluysta. My uydem. We will leave.”

The next thing Shane knew was that Ilya was hauling him up, and the security guard was looking at them sternly. Ilya bent to retrieve his gold chain off the floor, before grabbing Shane by the shoulder and pulling him out of the store.

“What the fuck?” Ilya shouted, dropping his hand as soon as they exited the pawn shop.

“I should be saying that to you,” Shane shouted right back as best he could, his voice cracking from the effort as he pointed at the chain in Ilya’s hands. He wanted to scream but all he could do was cough. Adrenaline was still coursing through his body, making him shake, until he could finally get the words out of his mouth. “You’re not fucking pawning your mother’s chain!”

The alarm stopped blaring, but they still both looked around to see if the police were coming to check things out.  

“We need to go,” Shane said, his shoulders still heaving.

Ilya shot him a glare, then turned on his heels and strode off down the street.  

“What the fuck were you doing?” Shane yelled, calling after him as he stumbling trying to follow. His body had gotten him to Ilya, had stopped the fucking insanity of Ilya trying to pawn his mother’s necklace, but he was paying for it now. His legs felt like lead, and he couldn’t fucking keep up.

Ilya ignored him and kept walking, turning down a street where there were a series of low-rise apartment buildings, dropping out of Shane’s view until Shane managed to catch up, managed to will his body to keep going until he could grab Ilya’s arm and force him to turn around.

“Stop ignoring me. What the fuck was that about back there?”

“What do you think it was about? Fuck. We don’t have any fucking money to get out of this country. I lost your wallet last night. We have two hundred rubles, that’s it. And in case you didn’t notice, agents tried to kidnap you and they were almost successful. If they had one more person, they would have had us. Then what? Not to mention the fucking tanks! Russia is about to fucking invade someone, probably Ukraine, and when that happens, the borders will close immediately, and we will be fucked.”

As if in agreement, a military jeep drove down the road, turning left onto the larger street they had just left. Ilya pointed his hand at it as it as it drove away. “See?”

“I know!” Shane said, because he wasn’t fucking stupid but also because they hadn’t come all this way just to have Ilya decide to fucking go it alone. “I can see the fucking convoys. But why wouldn’t you just fucking talk to me? Why wouldn’t you tell me what you were going to fucking do? Maybe I can come up with another way—”

“What other way? There’s no other fucking way! We have nothing else of value. It’s not like in the US where I can go sell a kidney if I wanted to.”

“You’re not fucking selling a kidney either!” Shane yelled, his voice shrill. He had to turn away or he was going to strangle him. What could fucking possess Ilya to try and sell something so precious to him. He counted to three before turning back, forcing his voice to be calmer. “What is with you? We are going to find a way out.”

“And if we can’t?”

“Then you better start teaching me some Russian.”

Ilya’s mouth closed into a tight line and his eyes became glossy. They were at an impasse. They didn’t have the money to move forward and certainly couldn’t go back the way they came.

“I’ll come up with a plan,” Shane said quietly.

Ilya stayed silent, his eyes never leaving Shane’s face. There was still desperation there, still the harsh reality of their situation, but Shane really wanted to see some hope. Unfortunately, his mind stayed blank because he had no fucking clue what they could do.

“We could try asking people for money?”

That was the wrong thing to say.  “Who the fuck are we going to ask? Everyone will think you’re American and no one will give a shit. No one gives a shit about Russians who are homeless. They are invisible. We will be invisible.”

Shane threw his hands up, mostly frustrated at himself and the fucking situation. He needed Ilya working with him. He needed to diffuse the tension, not make it worse.

“Don’t make me tell your mom on you,” the words were out of Shane’s mouth before he even understood what he was saying. At least they successfully stopped Ilya in his tracks.

“What?”

Shane swallowed hard, but there was no going back on it now. Ilya looked stuck somewhere between dumbfounded and incredulous but that was better than that awful hollowness he’d been carrying around before. Shane found a spot against a boarded-up door and looked around. An old lady on the other side of the street gave him an odd look, but Shane was pretty sure they were safe from her.

He was about to bend his head to pray like he did yesterday, but then he remembered all the candles in the church. Were candles a requirement? Maybe it was better to be safe than sorry. He opened his palms and wiggled his fingers at Ilya. “Give me one of your cigarettes.”

Ilya just stood there staring at him. “Are you okay?”

“Cigarette please. And your lighter.”

Ilya handed over both, one eyebrow arched to sky but otherwise he kept his mouth shut. Shane actually had no fucking clue how to light a cigarette, but he’d seen it on TV and watched Ilya do it a few times, so he tried to mimic the actions. He stuck the coloured end in his mouth and flicked the lighter until he got a flame going. After that, he inhaled deeply and started coughing so violently he thought he was going to die.

“This is terrible,” Shane said when he could sputter out the words. “What the fuck!”

“When you are lighting it, you put the smoke in your mouth first. Not directly into your lungs like that.”

Shane narrowed his eyes at Ilya and then continued to cough. It was a few minutes before he was able to focus on the task at hand. Thankfully, at least, the cigarette seemed to have caught because the tip was glowing and really that was all he needed. There wasn’t anywhere to put the lit cigarette, so he opted to hold it at the tip of his fingers after putting his hands together in the praying position. He bent his head.

Fuck. What was I supposed to say now?

“Are you trying to pray or summon a demon. Because I am not sure.”

Shane ignored him and closed his eyes.

“Dear Mrs Rozanova,” Shane started.

“Irina.”

Taking a deep breath, Shane started over. “Dear Irina, Sorry, I know we chatted yesterday, and I promised I would look out for your son. This is harder than I thought, because he thinks this stupid thing is his fault and won’t let me help. He goes off half-cocked—”

“No half, I have full cock,” Ilya interrupted.

“I am talking to your mother,” Shane hissed. “Sorry. As I was saying, he’s not letting me help. Maybe it’s me? Maybe he thinks I’m not smart enough to help? Maybe he doesn’t trust me enough? I’m sorry I couldn’t be more so that he would actually talk to me like an equal.”

“Shane.”

“I’m sorry I got him into this mess. I’ll do the best I can to make sure he gets to safety, even if he thinks I’m stupid.”

“Shane!” This time Ilya grabbed onto Shane’s wrist, plucked the cigarette out from between his hands before taking a whiff of it and grabbing Shane’s hand.

“Stop please. I am sorry. I am sorry mama!” Ilya shouted that last bit up into the sky. Ilya tugged Shane to him, bringing him up against his body in half a hug, keeping just enough space so he could take another drag from the cigarette before flicking it away and then enveloping Shane fully.

“I am sorry I didn’t talk to you,” Ilya replied quietly, mostly into the collar of Shane’s jacket. “I did not keep it from you because I think you’re stupid. Sometimes it is just hard to ignore my father’s voice in my head, telling me everything is my fault.”

“This is not your fault, Ilya. Not losing the wallet, not us being on the run from the Russian police.” Shane hugged him tightly, the feel of Ilya’s body grounding him. “Sometimes bad shit just happens. And if it does, I want to be next to you, helping to deal with it. You don’t have to do this alone, thinking if it only hurts you then that’s ok. Just don’t. We can figure something else out, ok?”

Ilya’s kissed his head and tightened his arms around him. “Okay.”

As the tension slowly receding from Ilya’s body, Shane reached over into Ilya’s pocket, pulled out the gold chain and moved out of Ilya’s arms so he could fasten it at the back of his neck. When he was done, he moved back in front of Ilya and took his hand.

“Why don’t we walk and try and come up with a plan?

As they started walking, this time away from the main street, Ilya seemed to loosen up even more. “We don’t have time for a CAN’T chart or whatever you called them.”

Shane gave him a smile. “You mean GANTT chart?”

“Whatever.”

“Maybe I can sell my body?”

“You just yelled at me for trying to sell a kidney,” Ilya said, rubbing his face. “You want to become a prostitute? You?”

Shane’s grin probably gave away that he was kidding, but it was so nice to banter back and forth again. “I mean, maybe.”

“No. Then I will book you completely. Do you take Visa or Mastercard?”

“Ilya, that defeats the purpose which is to get some cash.”

It was hard to tell if Ilya’s side-eye was in humor, so Shane just let it drop as he weighed different options like a checklist in his head. Getting a job was impossible. Selling things was also not an option. That only left the last option which he wasn’t very fond of, but it was better than what Ilya had come up with. “I guess we need new master plan.”

“You have idea?”

Shane nodded. “Maybe. We just need to find a pub…”

That made Ilya stop and look at him. “Is breakfast time. Who do you think drinks vodka now?”

Another military convey rolled past, this one made up of four jeeps and two eight-wheelers that rattled on along the construction filled road.

“Bet there will be some private looking to do something stupid before they go invade the Ukraine. How much money do we have, again?”

“210 Rubles.”

“Ok, Let’s go find where they’re staging the troops. Then we have to find a restaurant nearby that will work.”

***

12:56 MSK
Combined cash on hand: ₽210(RUB)

They made their way toward the Southern Military District Headquarters located not too far from the Don River. From there, it was easy enough to find the kind of pub Shane was looking for: busy and dark.

Ilya had been subdued most of the morning, nursing another cigarette, mostly because they lacked the funds to have a coffee. Shane was so hungry he would even happily eat a burger, with French fries. And gravy. With cheese on top. Fuck he’d kill for a nice poutine.

He forced himself to stop thinking of food as his stomach grumbled in pain and instead focused on planning, making a mental list of people they would have to call once they crossed the border, how they were going to deal with Ilya’s immigration status, what they would say to their teams. Then in more mundane areas, he thought of the ways that he could get a new cell phone, though it would probably have to wait until he got home. He was also going to need to replace his driver’s license and his credit cards. Maybe a few loyalty cards. Thankfully he’d emptied his wallet of most things before coming here. At least he still had his passport.

As they walked around the city, it was getting harder to deny something big was going on. They found the District Headquarters, because there were so many military vehicles driving in and around that they could follow. They saw several transport trucks filled with soldiers arrive at the compound, a few trucks towing artillery guns with long barrels, and lots of Russian jeeps and cars with tinted windows going in and out of the gate.

Finally, a series of unmarked vans pulled up, and a platoon of soldiers got out. They went into the compound only long enough to drop off their rucksacks before they were dismissed and then broke off in groups to various restaurants in the area. Shane figured this was as good an opportunity they were going to get and pulled Ilya in the direction of the pub they had scouted out before, taking the back street instead, hoping that some of the soldiers would end up where they were going.

They made good time but even then, by the time they got there the pub was busy. The red walls and dark wood furniture made it feel like it was late in the day, purposefully pulling people away from the outside world and encouraging them to stay and eat and drink a little bit longer. A billiard table was off to the side, already occupied by another bunch of soldiers. Shane went up to the bar, Ilya following a few steps behind as they scouted the room. As luck would have it, a group of soldiers entered a minute or two after them and also went to sit around at the bar, ordering beers and laughing with each other. 

So far things were mostly going to plan, if this spur of the moment, disaster-in-the-making idea of his could possibly be called a plan. What Shane wasn’t expecting was when the bartender switched the channel on the TV by the bar and put on the semi-final match between Canada and Sweden.

Shane froze in space as he watched the players flying across the ice. It was still first period; 1-0 for Sweden. Sweden had the puck and was racing toward the Canadian net and Shane’s heart twisted as he saw JJ angling toward the forward, trying to push him toward the boards and suddenly there was this agony inside his chest.

He should have been there. So much had been fucking stolen from them because of this.

“So what is the plan, Mr Project Manager?” Ilya asked under his breath, pulling him back into the present. Shane pulled his attention away from the TV, his teeth clenched tight. He had to use this anger inside of him, that was all there was to it. There were no more second thoughts, no more reservations about the plan. Rules were only fair if everyone followed them, but someone had decided that the ends justified the means and it was only fair that Shane used the same moral compass to judge his own actions as well.

“Follow my lead.”

Shane eyed the group. He didn’t know Russian military uniforms, but most of the soldiers in this group had plain uniforms – just dull olive fatigues with little to no badges. There was one man with three stripes that seemed to be a little too aware and then another one with only two stripes that seemed more interested in drinking beer than anything else. Shane figured that Three-Stripes was in charge and perhaps Two-stripes was his second in command. Shane waved at the bartender.

“One of those,” he said, pointing to one of the beer taps, within earshot of the group of soldiers. A few of the solders turned to look at him and it was hard not to worry. They’d been trying to hide for so long, it was weird to call attention to himself now.  But if they did recognize him, well that was a good distraction as well. This was definitely not the best plan, but they were going for good enough today.

The bartender scowled at him but brought over a beer. “100 Rubles.”

Shane’s heart shuddered in his chest as he dropped half their remaining money on the bar, then before he could change his mind, he turned and brought his beer up toward the soldiers in a toast, scanning their area as quickly as he could, then gestured toward the TV. “Go Canada!”

The two-striped soldier grinned, elbowing his friends to turn around and raise a glass and called out, “Za pobedu!!”

Shane turned back to Ilya who was staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “What are you doing?”

“You want to help me stretch the zone?”

That got Ilya’s attention. He gave Shane a quick nod followed by small grin. “Do we finally get to play on the same team?”

“If you think you can keep up.”

Shane turned to Two-Stripes and asked what he’d missed so far and the rest of the soldiers seemed to go back to their chatting under the watchful and slightly distrustful eyes of Three-Stripes, but then Canada scored, tying up the game and Shane had every excuse to toast loudly again.

***

Ilya didn’t understand what Shane’s plan was fully, but he recognized a mark when he saw one; the junior sergeant, the one with only two-stripes on his epaulets. He was a relatively young kid, dark hair, and open face. A little too energetic. The sergeant in the corner was really the one to watch though. He was trying to look relaxed, but his eyes never stop scanning. Sveta had taught him a thing or two about the military men that tried to hit on her. Unless they were an officer, they were usually only somewhat trained conscripts and usually the sergeants were the worst in terms of thinking they had authority but were really nothing more than glorified secretaries. It didn’t mean they were harmless though.

Ilya cracked his knuckles. If there was anything he could do well, it was to create a bit of chaos to take care of the sergeant.

“That was a bullshit call!” Shane yelled as the ref called high sticking on McKinney from Winnipeg. “He let number 14 do that to Muller, but now they’re calling it? That’s bullshit!”

Ilya slid out of his stool, pretending to be watching the game while giving the sergeant a full glimpse of his face.

“Why you not at game?” Two stripes asked Shane as they finished off their second beer.

Shane threw his hands at the screen. “I tried! I had tickets and everything. I came to visit my friend, but my fucking flight got delayed, and then I got on the wrong train. It’s been a fucking shit show!”

“I told you, Sweden was the better team,” Ilya chimed in. “Canada is weak this year. Hollander has a terrible back hand.”

Shane glared at him. “You’re just jealous Russia lost to fucking Latvia.”

That got the soldiers attention as they all had an opinion on the Russian team. This was the dangerous part. It was a fine line between leading someone to an answer versus putting up a neon sign. But, if they had seen the game, maybe they had also seen a close up of Ilya, they just need a bit of context.

“Cheap blow,” Ilya said, standing up. “They should have pulled Vadilevich and put in backup goalie.”

One of the privates downed his beer and jumped into the conversation as well, standing between him and Shane. “I saw that fucking pass that Rozanov missed. Was fucking shameful!”

Ilya could have kissed him. The private wasn’t the initial mark, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. Ilya stepped up into his space, making the private take a step back and closer to Shane. “You’re as blind as Vadilevich. Rozanov had Lācis on his ass and no cover.”

The private pushed up against Shane, and in the dim light of the pub, Ilya couldn’t see everything, but he saw Shane’s elbow moving, saw his hand slipping into the private’s pocket so Ilya pointed a finger at the private’s chest because the best way to steal a puck was to have someone else as a distraction. “Rozanov was a fucking godsend for that team.”

“You’re fucking blind. He missed that pass. Latvia turned it around and scored. I know what I saw.”

“Do you?” Ilya said with a laugh.

Shane patted the private on the shoulder. “Guys! Who gives a fuck? Latvia got destroyed by Finland. If the US wins against Finland tomorrow, then Canada and the US will fight for gold.”

“Ha! If they can get passed Sweden,” Ilya said as Sweden scored again. He caught Shane’s eye and gave him a quick wink before turning toward the bathroom sign. “I have to piss, I’ll be back.”

He didn’t miss the fact that the sergeant in the corner moved off his chair and started following him to the bathroom.

***

14:10 MSK

Shane watched as Three-Stripes followed Ilya toward the bathroom. That made his life easier. It also meant they had to hurry. He turned back to the bar, stepping around Two-Stripes so he was positioned between him and the small satchel Two-Stripes had laid on the stool next to him. The wallet already in his pocket was just gravy.

He gestured to the bartender for another beer, turning to Two-Stripes. “Another? My treat.”

“Thank you! Where you from?”

If anything, Shane had learned his lesson. He was not Scott Hunter and therefore not from New York, no sir. The problem was that he was drawing a blank on possible lies he could tell, but it probably didn’t matter anyway.

“Ottawa,” he said finally, because that was all he could think of. “It’s near Toronto, Canada. You?”

“St Petersburg.”

When Shane was about ten, his parents had taken him to see Alain Choquette performing in Montreal and he had been amazed at the magical tricks and the way he seemed to make the impossible happen with a deck of cards. From there, Shane had insisted on learning how to do magic tricks, spending the whole summer with a deck of cards in his hands. Then he’d gotten on the internet and realized that misdirection was actually the largest factor in whether or not the trick would be successful and went down another rabbit hole that consumed him for another year.

After that, he got bored with the deck of cards but figured out that learning how to direct an opposing players attention away from what he wanted to do, made it easier to steal the puck and opened up a whole new range of possible moves.

When the bartender returned with another beer, Shane gave him the last of their money and handed the beer over to his new, temporary friend.

“Cheers!” Shane said, putting his hand around Two-Stripe’s shoulders and toasting him with what was left in his own glass. Two-Stripes lifted his glass in response and they cheered and drank.

Just then Canada scored and Shane had his opportunity.

“Fucking yeah!” Shane yelled, jumping up and down, jostling Two-Stripes as he cheered, making sure to hit his arm, sloshing the beer from his full mug over the lip and across the front of his uniform.

“Blyat!” Two-Stripes cried out.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Shane reached over the bar to grab the towel, rubbing it across the Two-Stripe’s chest, then gave him the towel. “Let me get another one!”

This time, as Shane went back to the bar, he turned in the other direction, lifting the satchel up as Two-Stripes was focused on cleaning the mess, tucked it under his jacket as he turned toward the bar to grab a handful of napkins.

Turning back to Two-Stripes, he started using the napkins to dab his shirt, even rubbing his shoulders at an imaginary spot of beer. “Sorry, man. I’m such a fucking klutz. Let me go get some water!”

“Net. Ne nado! Is ok,” Two-Stripes tried to say, but Shane was already heading toward the bathroom. Puck was stripped, now he just had to grab his teammate and get the fuck out of Dodge.

***

14:12 MSK

Ilya was just finishing his piss when he heard the door open to his left, the sergeant’s reflection easily visible in the mirror. Ilya trucked himself back into his pants, then went to the sink to wash his hands, his eyes never leaving the mirror. The sergeant’s eyes never left his either.

“You want autograph?” Ilya asked as he tossed the paper towel into the garbage.

The sergeant’s lips curled up in a sneer. “Fuck you, you faggot.”

“Ah, you came in here for a fuck. I’m kind of busy this afternoon, sorry.”

That got the desired effect. The sergeant moved away from the door, practically spitting at Ilya. “Fuck you!”

Ilya rolled his eyes at him. Not that he had ever doubted Sveta’s opinion of the enlisted men that she sometimes met when visiting her father, but she might have been a bit kind in her assessment. “So what is your plan then? Take me in by yourself, or call police?”

The sergeant started circling him. Ilya had certainly faced off bigger men than him, though happy to have Ryan Price do it for him these past five months. Ilya calmly moved so that the sergeant always stayed in front. “I call my boys in and we beat the shit out of you, how about that?”

“Who? The men in unmarked uniforms out there? I’m sure they’re better than the regular conscripts but is it your money paying them or someone else’s? I think you’re here as a show, not because you have any real power.”

The sergeant started sputtering. “I’ll call the fucking police on you.”

“Hmm,” Ilya cocked his head to the side as if considering it. “Maybe is better plan but it assumes you can hold me here to wait for them. Is that it? No better ideas?”

The sergeant lurched forward, swinging for Ilya’s head. Ilya easily sidestepped and pushed the sergeant’s arms out of the way. The sergeant lunged again, and Ilya repeated the actions. Ilya thought he might even go for it a third time when the bathroom door opened and Shane poked his head inside.

“You ok?” Shane asked, stepping inside.

“Yes, the idiot sergeant here is a terrible planner. Maybe you should show him that chart you like, so he learns to make better plans?”

“A GANTT chart?”

“Yes, that’s it.” Ilya eyed the sergeant who, judging by his rapid eye movements, was deciding that he did not really like the new odds.

Shane played into it with his calm and matter of fact explanation. “It’s just a chart that helps with execution and managing multiple priorities. Not really good for strategy planning.”

“Ah,” Ilya turned back to the sergeant and gave him a shrug. “Sorry.”

The sergeant’s eyes got wider as Ilya stepped closer, before he darted and tried to go around Shane, but Shane blocked him with his body, giving Ilya enough time to grab the sergeant by the collar and haul him backwards towards the toilets. The sergeant stumbled trying to get away but that was all Ilya needed. Ilya grabbed the sergeant’s collar and smashed his head on the side of the urinal.

The sergeant fell to the ground in a heap.

Ilya gave Shane a nod. “Took you long enough. Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Shane quickly bent down, ran his hands along the outside of the sergeant’s pockets, quickly emptying them of their contents. “Waste not, want not. Ok, done.”

Opening the door slowly, Ilya quickly looked down the hall, saw it was clear then gestured for Shane to follow.

***

15:05 MSK

4°C

They lay panting up against the wall. The dirty alleyway smelled like piss and something worse, but they were safe for the moment. They had wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and the pub because sooner or later the sergeant was going to wake up, or someone was going to find him. So, they zig-zagged through the city center, cutting through a park, and three different residential areas.

Now Shane sat down in a doorway on a small ledge, catching his breath.

“And you got mad at me for stealing a car,” Ilya asked after their breathing had slowed down. “You are petty criminal yourself.”

Shane wanted to laugh. It was a relief watching Ilya give him that smirk that he knew so well. His face was still pale, but he hadn’t eaten anything all day and they had just run at least 2 or 3 kilometres. Hopefully, they got enough from their little heist to get them out of Russia and maybe a nice meal as well.

“Well, you have to help me see if there’s any identifying documents in here, so I can add them to my list.” Shane started emptying out his pockets, dumping the two wallets on the ground, and then opening the satchel. Inside were some folded up documents, so he took those out as well, shaking the bag upside down to make sure he got everything.

Ilya sat down on the ground beside him, picking up one of the wallets. “You were pretty good with that first wallet. Where did you learn to do that?”

Shane gave him a small shrug. “When I was young, my parents took me to see a magic show in Quebec. I kinda obsessed about learning magic for a few years. Got pretty got with slight of hand techniques. Turns out that faking people is useful in hockey as well. What about you?”

Ilya just shook his head. “Nothing. Just learned how to spot pickpockets in Moscow. Couldn’t afford to get robbed. Was useful skill to get candy bar sometimes too.”

Shane bit his lip. It was yet another juxtaposition of how very different their childhoods had been.

“Well go on, how much money did you steal?” Ilya asked.

Shane picked up the second wallet and started going through it. “Looks like over 10,000 rubles are in this one. And an ID. What’s this guys name?”

He handed the ID over to Ilya, then fished out his tattered looking list from his backpack. “Nicolai Yozhov. This one was that first wallet you got.”

Shane wrote that down. He also added Svetlana to his list when he realized he’d forgotten her. She had warned Ilya and tried to send someone to help them, even if it hadn’t worked out.

“What about the wallet you’re holding?”

Ilya pulled out over 13,000 rubles. “The sergeant was Dimitri Markov. Not sure he deserves a thank you. He would have turned us in.”

“I put a star next to his name. We can decide later.”

Ilya started looking through the papers that were sitting on the ground from the satchel.

“I didn’t see a wallet in the bag, just those papers. Not sure if there’s anything interesting in there. But adding it up, I think we have 23,560 rubles,” Shane said, putting all the money together and deciding to put it into Nickolai’s wallet. “Not bad. I think that’s more than what we started off with.”

Ilya was quiet as he started reading through all the papers, sorting them and putting different ones together.

“You should write Aleksandr Shamov down on your list,” Ilya said finally.

“Why? What’s in the documents?”

“Junior Sergeant Shamov is allergic to bees.”

Shane stopped as he was about to write his name down and raised his eyebrow instead. “Well, that’s an unfortunate occupational hazard.”

Ilya snorted. “Yes. Also, his handwriting is atrocious. But these papers detail radio frequencies, call signs and more importantly pass codes. Other papers have co-ordinates that link to points of entry.”

That sounded more interesting. Not completely relevant to their situation but being caught in the middle of a war probably wouldn’t help. “Places we should avoid?”

“Probably. We talked about Russia invading Ukraine, but I do not actually think it is joke, and I do not think they’re going to invade Ukraine from here,” Ilya said, putting the papers down as he thought about it. “Victor Yanukovych is president of Ukraine, but he is a Russian puppet. There are protests happening in Kyiv—I heard this on the radio the day before. I wouldn’t be surprised if Yanukovych loses support. This would be very bad for Russia. From this document, it sounds like they plan to raid eastern Ukraine, starting in Luhansk and Donetsk using the 3^rd, 10^th and 45^th Special Forces Guard and airborne units. From there, attack Kharkiv when the 15^th Motor Rifle Brigade joins them. Then Kyiv. Even if they don’t make it all the way there, they will have regained most of eastern Ukraine.”

“Holy fuck. There’s really going to be an invasion?”

“It appears so.”

That certainly explained all the tanks and trucks. And guns. “Do you think Ukraine is prepared for war?”

Ilya shrugged. “As I said, country is in chaos, especially Kyiv. The Russian playbook is always to use chaos and distraction to hide offensive measures. Which is why we find ourselves in this mess, I think.”

Shane put his pen and paper down, turning this information over in his head. He was right before; this didn’t really help them. Sure, being caught in a war would be bad, but… then another thought occurred to him. This information didn’t help them, but maybe it would help the Ukrainian government. And if they had something someone else wanted, maybe they could barter.  “What if we give this information to the Ukrainian embassy in exchange for passage out of here?”

Ilya also thought about it for a minute. “Is not a bad idea. This city should be big enough to have a consulate. Diplomats can travel without search. They could drive us across the border… If we can get there before fighting breaks out and they close the embassy…”

“We could go home.”

Ilya nodded. “Da. We could go home.”

Shane allowed himself to envision what that could mean. There secret was out – they had to deal with all the repercussions but beyond that, they could be seen together. They could openly be with one another. Ilya could spend summers at his cottage. They could take their time figuring this thing out together.

“As soon as we cross the border, you should turn on your phone. Hopefully it still has some power. We should call my mom, make sure she is working with your agent and an immigration lawyer to get things sorted. I—I wonder if they’ll let us play right away? If not, that’s ok. I want you to consider coming up to my place for a bit. Or I could come visit you in Boston. I’d like to spend time with you some place warm. Some place we can relax. Not sitting on the ground in a dirty alleyway…”

“You sure you want to stand beside me in public instead of trying to distance yourself from this?”

“Ilya.”

“No, I need to know. Please think about it. Is it really what you want?”

Shane looked at Ilya, at the way his curls were a little wild, at the long, dark blonde stubble that decorated his chin and upper lip, at his blue eyes that always seemed to reach inside of him and know his very soul. At the lost expression on his face, and the slight tremble of Ilya’s lip. At the way that it seemed really important that Shane not back away from. Shane ran his thumb across Ilya’s lip and chin, forcing Ilya to look at him, and not hide away. “So much. So much it scares me.”

Shane pulled Ilya into his arms, wrapping him tightly so that Ilya was pressed firmly against him, his head in the crook of Shane’s neck and then Ilya was whispering things in Russian to him and so Shane held him tighter.

“I want us to be together,” Shane said in reply, imaging that what Ilya was saying was something along the same lines, but it didn’t matter. Because Shane had to speak his truth, because he needed to say these things as much as Ilya needed to hear them because he never wanted to live through another moment like this morning in the pawnshop. He’d been biting his tongue for days now. “I don’t know if you want to hear this, but I have to say it, because I don’t think I can keep on pretending that don’t l –”

“I love you,” Ilya said quietly, sucking all the air out of Shane’s lungs with its simplicity and truth.

And then it was like Shane was falling because he was grabbing Ilya’s face, holding onto him like he was drowning because this, this was at the truth of his core, and if this could be true then nothing else really mattered in the world.

Fear started to creep into Ilya’s eyes and Shane could see him start to pull back but Shane was going to have none of that, because this is what had been killing him and it looked like killing Ilya too. “God I love you too. So much.”

Ilya collapsed against him and Shane wrapped his arms even tighter around his back because this, this was home.

16:36 MSK

After that, the walk to the Ukrainian consulate was more of a shuffle, with Shane desperate to touch Ilya, with this unbearable desire to hold his hand, but they couldn’t, not walking through a Russian town. So they walked with barely their arms touching, occasionally bumping into each other, exchanging looks that kept reassuring themselves that this was actually real. If this plan worked, then they could be a lot closer to leaving Russia that they had thought even a few hours ago.

The Ukrainian consulate was a small, light-yellow building in the city center that looked like it was attached to a larger, gated compound with more buildings inside. There were a handful of people waiting outside and the blue and yellow Ukrainian flag flew just over the main doorway. Shane wondered if they were waiting in line, or if they could go directly in. He’d never set foot inside a consulate or embassy of any country and didn’t know quite what to expect.

“Maybe it’s best if you lead the way?” he asked Ilya, but for some reason, Ilya seemed rooted to the spot. “Ilya?”

Ilya’s eyes snapped to him. “Ah. Maybe it’s best if you lead? Canadian is more likely to get interview than Russian, I think.”

That made sense. Shane gave him a small nod and then looped his fingers into Ilya’s sleeve with a smile. Finally, he could be the one dragging Ilya around “Sure.”

The building used to be a residence, and so the front door opened into what probably used to be a living room but had been turned into a lobby, with metal detectors and a small x-ray machine just past the door. Shane handed his backpack to the security officer as he went through security, Ilya following close behind.

Finally they made their way up to the receptionist behind a counter. “Chym ya mozhu vam dopomohty?”

“Ugh, do you speak English?” Shane asked sheepishly. “Sorry.”

The woman didn’t look terribly put out but she answered in accented English. “Yes. What Can I help you with?”

“We don’t know who to go see. I have some sensitive information that I’d like to pass along. Is there an embassy official we could speak to?”

“What is this concerning?”

Shane looked over his shoulder and around the lobby. There were two other people waiting in chairs in the center of the room, and a man helping a small family at the counter on the other side. Then there was the security guard by the entrance. “Ah, so, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a lot of military activity around this city. We accidentally found some documents on attack plans, radio frequencies, that sort of thing. We thought the Ukrainian government would like to know.”

“You can give the documents to me and I can pass them along.”

“Ah, yes, I could do that, but we were hoping the Ukrainian government could help us as well. In exchange for the information. We need help leaving Russia.”

The woman’s brow furrowed and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not sure we can help you. You would be better off visiting a US consulate…”

“I’m Canadian.”

“Ok, then visit the Canadian embassy in Moscow—”

Shane gritted his teeth. He knew what they were saying was insane, but he hadn’t expected it to be so difficult. He’d been hoping they could at least explain everything in private instead of to a bored receptionist in the middle of a lobby. “They’re going to march toward Luhansk in two days. Three units of special forces are going to arrive first, followed by others. We have their communication frequencies and codes. Now if you have all the information, that’s fine, we won’t waste your time, anymore.”

Shane grabbed Ilya’s sleeve again and turned to walk out. His heart was hammering, praying the receptionist wouldn’t call his bluff. He had no idea where else they could go, but maybe if he created a sense of urgency…

“Wait,” the receptionist said, still eyeing them skeptically, but at least she stood up. “Have a seat. I will see if someone is available to speak with you.”

Shane turned back to her and gave her a small nod. “Thank you.”

***

17:45 MSK

The bored receptionist brought them into a room in the back before signing off for the day.

“Someone will be here soon,” she said, not very convincingly since it had already been over an hour since she went in search of someone to talk to them. Before Shane could ask any more questions, she was off, closing the door behind her.

The room looked like a typical interview room that was usually shown in cop shows; cold grey linoleum on the floor, grey walls, large mirror in the center, which Shane accepted was very likely a one-way mirror.

“I mean, at least it’s warm in here,” Shane said as he took one of the chairs in the room and wondered if it was possible that the Ukrainian government would hand them over to the Russian police in a gesture of goodwill? He hadn’t considered that before.

He was about to ask Ilya, but Ilya had started pacing. The room was already not very big, so Shane decided to swallow down his anxiety and not add to the tension already in the room and instead reached for Ilya’s hand and brought him closer.

“Is this ok here?” he asked, gesturing at their hands. Fuck he hated having to ask now. Maybe it wasn’t going to be so difficult adjusting to be out when they were back home, because all Shane wanted to do was touch him already. Ilya pulled up the chair and sat down next to him, gripping Shane’s hand tighter.

“It is better than in Russia. But also I think it doesn’t matter. They will know soon enough why we want to leave.”

“Good,” Shane said and noticed that Ilya’s tension had dropped a bit as well. “Because I’m not letting go anytime soon. So, everyone better get used to it.”

***

19:44 MSK

 “What’s the first thing you want when we get back?” Shane asked when the quiet was starting to make him want to pace as well.

“Big Macs. Many of them,” Ilya said immediately, as if he’d been thinking about it for a while. “And one of those sandwiches made of pancakes and sausages. And a chocolate milkshake.”

Shane’s stomach grumbled in response, making them both laugh. In retrospect, they should have used their new money to buy more than just some sandwiches which they found on the way.

“What about you? You must be dreaming of something other than approved diet,” Ilya said, resting his head on Shane’s shoulder.

Shane snorted. He hadn’t eaten at McDonald’s in years and was pretty sure if he did, he would vomit immediately. That being said…it might be worth it. “Nothing wrong with some salmon and kale salad, but a burger does sound really good. Also, I’d kill for an expresso. We should have stopped for some coffee. My head is killing me.”

Da,” Ilya agreed then lifted his head, looking at him. “A few coffees and cigarettes would be good. But also, maybe your head is sore from drugs last night. You should see doctor as soon as you can.”

Last night felt like a lifetime ago but Shane had to agree. Then a thought occurred to him. “I’m going to fail my next drug test, aren’t I?”

“Probably. You tried flying a few times last night. Complained of TV static in your head, then tried singing Eye of the Tiger, I believe. Was not good, so hard to be sure.”

“You’re lying. I did not sing.”

Ilya gave him a small smile. “Mr Rocky Balboa.”

“Fuck,” Shane said admitting defeat, though in reality, it was probably the last thing he needed to worry about in terms of getting back into the game. And if that was the case, a burger wasn’t going to kill him. In fact, it would be kind of liberating to walk into a local McDonald’s, holding Ilya’s hand. The real question was which of those things would shock people more.

***

21:56 MSK

The door finally opened and a man came in.  He looked mid-thirties, with a slim build and his dark hair in a short crew cut. Ilya dropped Shane’s hand but didn’t move away. The man didn’t seem to care much either way.

“Good evening. Sorry for the wait, it’s been a crazy day. I’m Mark Yurchenko. Olena said you had some things you wanted to talk about? About some possible tactical intel you wanted to share?”

Shane stared at him hard. His English was perfect. His posture screamed military. This was not the type of man he was expecting to see here in a Ukrainian embassy in Russia. And he was too hungry and tired to bother trying to play nice. “Are you American? Are you CIA?”

“No, I’m Ukrainian-Canadian.”

“So, CSIS?” Shane looked at him again. No, that wasn’t right. That wouldn’t explain the military haircut.

Mark put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “Does it matter?”

“Maybe not CSIS. Maybe military intelligence,” Shane said, mostly to himself. “And, no. It doesn’t really matter. It’s just I like to know who I’m talking to, it helps give me context. As you said, it’s been a hell of a day, but for us, that day started 4 days ago. It’s just interesting that Canada has an intelligence officer working at the Ukrainian consulate in Russia.”

“And you’re a hockey player,” Mark said, raising an eyebrow. “Because it’s also interesting to me how a Canadian and Russian hockey player got tangled up in this mess.”

“You know who we are?”

Mark gave Shane a tight-lipped smile. “I would be a pretty terrible intelligence officer if I didn’t, especially considering you’ve made all the major news outlets. So tell me, how do two hockey players from North America end up being hunted by the Russian police and then get access to military intel that they want to give the Ukrainian forces?”

When it was said that way, Shane had to admit it all sounded a little but surreal. “Do you think we are spies?”

“Is fair question,” Ilya said, finally speaking up. “I have a friend whose father is Minister Sergei Vetrov. She hears things. She suggested that the government was targeting athletes at the Olympics. An international incident would be a good distraction, no?”

“Maybe. But that still seems a little coincidental. There are 3000 athletes competing at Sochi. But they target you two,” Mark said, pointing at Ilya and Shane. “What is more interesting is the fact that you said your friend’s father is Minister of Internal Affairs. That’s a new twist. Maybe international incident isn’t for distracting outside players, but rather internal ones?”

Shane’s head was spinning as he tried to understand what Mark was insinuating. “But it was my phone they stolen. How would they have known I had anything incriminating about Ilya on it?”

“Someone must have seen you at the skating competition,” Ilya said quietly. “They may not have known we had a relationship, but it was enough to put a target on your back.”

Shane waved his hands in confusion. “Ok wait. So, you thought we were spies but now you don’t. Instead, you think someone knew Ilya had ties to the minister and was hoping to distract the Minister from something, so they stole my phone and outed us to do that? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t explain how you ended up with military intel. Unless the minister gave it to you?” Mark asked.

“What? No! I stole it from some sergeant when I was trying to steal his wallet so we could buy some fucking food!  Fuck.”

Mark nodded and picked his pen back up making some notes. “Now we are getting somewhere. Do you have the name of the sergeant you stole it from?”

Ilya handed over the IDs that he still had in his pocket, and Mark wrote down more information and Shane was starting to get the impression that maybe Mark was CSIS after all and they were being played.

“You can just ask us what you want. We aren’t spies,” Shane said to Mark before turning to Ilya. “Do you have any ties to Svetlana’s father?”

Ilya shook his head. “No, I have met him a handful of times. He is friends with my father, but as you know from the news, my father doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“We are just two hockey players, as you said. I stole some wallets and bag from a group of soldiers today so we could have enough money to eat, we saw this information in the bag, and thought if it was useful to you, maybe we could help each other. That’s all.”

Mark nodded. “Ok. Why don’t you show me what you have and I will see what kind of deal I can get you. I can’t promise anything, but let’s start with that.”

Ilya started laying out the documents that were from the satchel, translating them at a high level as they went along. Mark’s expression didn’t change, but he kept scribbling his notes, occasionally asking a follow up question about the documents to see if they contained specific information.

“There’s nothing in there about agents in Kyiv?” Mark asked when Ilya was done.

“No. Only military operational information.”

Mark tapped his pen on the desk. “I’m going to be honest with you. We know some of this already. What we really need are attack timings. Cipher codes. Those things would make a real difference. Without them, it will be difficult to justify partnering with you both. I can probably bring Shane across – given he’s Canadian it would be a gesture of goodwill, but—”

“I’m not leaving without Ilya,” Shane said immediately, because that was a no-brainer. They hadn’t come all this way to be separated now. And because he was tired and hungry, and his head hurt like a son of a bitch, he couldn’t keep all the anger out of his voice. “If you can’t get us across the border, then we will take all this info and keep heading north until we find a place we can cross by ourselves. We have enough money now. We can bribe who ever needs to be bribed. And then when I get home, maybe the Prime Minister or some high-level government official might want to meet me. They do that sometimes. I know I’m just a hockey player, but as you said, we’ve been in the news, and I’m pretty sure the Prime Minster is a Metro’s fans. I doubt it will mean anything, but when they ask me who has helped us on our way home, I’ll make sure I don’t include you. Maybe the TV and news outlets might also want to know that. I remember hearing a while ago that Ukraine wanted to be friends with NATO. But what the hell do I know. I’m only a hockey player.”

Mark’s expression stayed neutral though he did arch an eyebrow as Shane paused to catch his breath.

Shane was going to keep going when Ilya stood up and put a hand on Shane’s shoulder, so he could speak instead. “Maybe we could get some information that you want, I do not know. I can talk to my friend Svetlana and see if she can help. Will that be enough to get us out of Russia?”

Mark gave them a nod. “I could swing that. Why don’t you give your friend a call?”

Ilya sat back down and accepted Mark’s cell phone when he handed it over, then punched in some numbers and put it on speaker phone.

“Da,” Svetlana answered on the first ring.

“Svetulya, love. It’s Ilya. I am calling you from the Ukrainian consulate in Rostov, and you’re on speaker. Can you talk?”

“Ilyushka, thank fucking Christ. Are you ok?”

Shane didn’t know how he felt about hearing Svetlana’s voice for the first time. She spoke English with much less of an accent than Ilya, but he quickly got a sense of their shared history just from the way they talked to each other.

“As good as can be. Listen, I need some intel. Was wondering if you would be able to help us dig it up. I know you have contacts. But wanted to make sure it was ok to talk.”

Svetlana snorted. “You’re at the consulate on Pereulok Khalturinskiy?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. We can talk then.”

***

22:26 MSK

Ilya was pacing the room again, a thousand worries running through his head as they waited for Svetlana, when she entered with a flurry of curly hair and wild arms that encircled Ilya as she launched herself at him and enveloped him in a hug.

“You fucking asshole!” she said into Ilya’s ear before grabbing his face and bringing him in for a full kiss on the mouth before pulling away and smacking his shoulders and then hugged him again as she continued her diatribe. “I thought you were fucking dead! I knew the police were looking for you just outside of Salsk, I searched everywhere. Tselina , Egorlykskaya, then I back tracked and went to Proletarsk.”

Ilya rocked her side to side, holding her tight, and taking in her familiar scent that always reminded him of vanilla. She felt solid and real and it was jarring how dreamlike the last few days felt in comparison.

Mark cleared his throat and Ilya eventually let her step back enough so they could maybe find a solution to all this. There would be time later for more hugs, though maybe no more kissing. He shot Shane a look, hoping to get ahead of any kind of jealous outburst, but Shane’s eyes looked a little shellshocked. They were wide open, taking in the full phenomenon that was Svetlana.

Svetlana took a deep breath, patted down her hair even though it did nothing to contain her curls, and turned to Shane, who extended his hand to shake. Svetlana bypassed his hand, rested her hands on his biceps and instead kissed him three times on cheeks; left-right-left.

“Mr Hollander, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Uh, Shane is fine. Please.”

Ilya almost laughed because Svetlana looked like she was going to eat him for dinner. She probably would have except Mark cleared his throat again, before gesturing to a chair. “Please, Ms Vetrova. Why don’t you have a seat so we can chat.”

Ilya watched as Svetlana’s smile dropped and she took in the man across from her.

“Your English is very good,” Mark said.

Svetlana arched her eyebrow and cocked her head as she slid into the chair. “So is yours. So why don’t we cut the bullshit. What did you want to talk about?”

Ilya remained standing and handed her the papers that were still on the table. “Shane and I got these papers from some soldiers from the Southern Military District headquarters. They have lots of details about an imminent attack on Luhansk and Donetsk. Radio frequencies, call signs. We hoped it would be enough to get us passage into Ukraine, but this man says it is not enough. He is looking for attack timings.”

Mark nodded. “Yes, ideally. Or cipher keys. Or knowing what the triggers will be. Or how they plan to get past Ukrainian defenses? I assume there are agents inside the Ukrainian government.”

“Look at your president,” Svetlana said, waving her hand in the air like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s the inside agent. Yanukovych will lick Putin’s boots before this week is over.”

“The president’s power is limited and becoming more limited with each day,” Mark countered. “We will be cleaning up this mess long after he is gone.”

“Just so that I am perfectly clear, you want me to betray my father, potentially compromise him if the data I were to give you is ever traced back to him, in order to bring my friends across the border?” Svetlana asked calmly, meeting Mark’s gaze.

Mark didn’t answer directly. “It is my job to protect Ukrainian interests.”

Svetlana opened her large purse and pulled out a file folder and rested it on the table. “I understand. And know that it is my intention to protect mine and my friends’ interests. To be honest, my father is not a good man. I visit him because he is family, and it is good to keep a close eye on him to protect my mother and her family in the US. So understand that my loyalty isn’t to him, but rather I’ve learned a long time ago that in negotiations, it’s best not to put myself in a position where I am the only one with something to lose should the agreement fail.”

Svetlana opened the file folder and took out a picture and placed it on the table. At first Shane didn’t know what he was looking at, but then he gasped when he recognized the priest from that small church they had stopped at yesterday.

“Father Andrij Dzyuba,” Svetlana said, sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs. “He’s doing well. He sends his regards. If you want to know attack timings or cipher keys, might I suggest you talk to him? He’s been recruiting agents for the Ukrainian government for at least the last eighteen years. I know he has a double agent in the Kremlin as we speak.”

Mark had gone very still, his face not showing any emotion, but his eyes were completely on Svetlana. He hardly even glanced at the photo on the desk.

Svetlana uncrossed her legs and sat forward, tapping the documents that Ilya had laid out on the table. “Take their deal. Use this intel to corroborate what you get from Father Andrij’s network and make sure that Shane and Ilya get to Canada. Ilya can help translate Russian signals for you, if you want. Shane can be your goodwill case. If you don’t, then I will expose Father Andrij and his entire network will be compromised.”

Ilya stared at his friend for a second before realizing that his mouth was hanging open. “Sveta, what have you been into?”

Sveta shook her head. “We have lots to catch up on, but later, darling. Let’s get you both out of here first.”

***

23:01 MSK

Mark excused himself to go meet with whoever he needed to get authorization to take Svetlana’s deal, or maybe propose a new one, but Shane didn’t think so. Mark had hardly spoken after Svetlana had laid out her information and though he had kept his face blank, his lips had been clenched a little too tight to be unbothered by what she had said.  

As soon as they were by themselves, Svetlana had wrapped herself around Ilya again, speaking rapidly in Russian and Shane knew better than to intrude. It was obvious that they were close friends, but Ilya quickly reached out to grab Shane’s hand and bring him into the circle as well.

“English Svetulya, please. Shane is already jealous of you.”

“I’m not,” Shane started to say, but then Svetlana was hugging him as well.

“Sorry, sorry! I am just so happy to finally catch up with you two. Everyone has been so worried. So much has happened, I don’t even know where to begin. But if this bastard can’t make the deal, I have a plane I can charter but is riskier. This plan is easier. But you have to go to Canada, ok Ilyushka? Not the US. Russia has cancelled your passport, and your work visa was tied to it. Yuna has been working with an immigration lawyer to process a refugee claim, but you will need to land in Canada because you visited there first back in 2008.”

“Is that going to impact the fact that he plays for Boston?” Shane asked.

“Yes, but we are working on that as well. It is a very long story. Take this,” Svetlana handed Ilya a cell phone. “It is a burner phone. Once we know if they will take you, then call Yuna and let her know the plan.”

“Will you come with us?” Ilya asked.

Svetlana shook her head. “I can’t. There are still a few things I need to take care of. But I am safe, if I’m not travelling with you. They would not dare arrest me and face my father’s wrath without having the two of you to offer in return. Do you need more money? Take these two credit cards as well. I opened them up for you.”

She handed over two credit cards as well to Ilya.   

“What happened to that man that was supposed to meet us in Salsk?” Shane asked.

“Misha was arrested. Long story. I came as soon as I could,” Svetlana said, shaking her head, then quickly bringing her finger up to Ilya’s lips as he opened them to ask another question. “Shh. I promise, we will talk later. The walls have ears here. Let’s not give them any more than we have to.”

***

23:36 MSK

Mark entered to room again, this time wearing a jacket and carrying a backpack as well as an attaché case. Looking at them all, he nodded. “We have a deal. Turn over all the documents, and we leave immediately. You will travel with one of the platoons heading to Kharkiv. Mr Rozanov, if you will be so kind as to provide some translation services for our signals unit, that would be greatly appreciated. It will take us three days to get to Kharkiv.”

“Of course,” Ilya replied.

Then turning to Svetlana, he said, “I trust you will not expose Father Andrij for at least as long as Hollander and Rozanov are travelling with us?”

“You are correct,” Svetlana answered. “I will not expose him at all, but this way you don’t have to trust me. Three days will give you time to hide him and destroy all his connections tying him to his network.”

“Good. Then we are set.” Mark looked at Shane and Ilya. “Grab your stuff, and let’s go.”

Ilya couldn’t stop the grin that broke through his face. “Really?”

“Really,” Mark said, a bit kinder than he had been before. “Let’s get going. Latest intel is that the army has started setting up check points on the E58 toward Mariupol, so we will take the M-4 north and cross over at Gukovo. Border and customs agents won’t give us a hard time, but I can’t say the same for the army. I’d like to get ahead of them if we can.”

Ilya turned to look at Shane and saw hope reflected in his eyes as well.

“Go you fools!” Sveta said, pushing them towards their jackets that they had hung up on the back of the chairs. “Go and be safe and in love. I will come to Ottawa to see you both as soon as I’m done here.”

Chapter End Notes

Russian from Google translate - please excuse any errors.

Chto za nakhuy? = What the fuck?
Prostite. Pozhaluysta, otpustite yego! = I'm sorry. Please let him go!
On so mnoy. On ne khotel etogo delat'. = He's with me. He didn't want to do this.
YA vyzyvayu polits iyu = I'm calling the police
Net, pozhaluysta. My uydem. = No, please. We'll leave.
Za pobedu!! = For the victory!! (toast)
Blyat = Fuck

Ukrainian also from Google Translate
Chym ya mozhu vam dopomohty? = How can I help you?

Chapter 5: Tuesday, Feb 18, 2014

Chapter Summary

Shane and Ilya finally try and cross the border and leave Russia.

Chapter Notes

First off a huge thank you to everyone who has been on this journey with me. Thank you for all the comments and kudos and everyone who has enjoyed this story. Sorry for the delay in getting this to you, but you get Ch 5 and the epilogue all at once.

A big thank you to my sister for reading this over. The tank and the kitten and for her. And a big thanks to broadview_press and t_henni for help with Murph.

I have gone back and corrected all the times to 24 hour time. I was being inconsistent and it was bothering me.

MSK = Moscow Standard Time
EST = Eastern Standard Time.

Rostov-on-Don, 00:04 MSK

Shane followed Mark through the darkened hallway, Ilya walking by his side, lighter and happier than Shane had seen him in months. Shane was still processing everything that had happened in the last few hours. They were almost safe—at least they had a way across the border and out of Russia now. He’d met Svetlana – she’d been exactly as intimidating that he thought she would be. They also had options—they had a cell phone again and more than enough money, so they didn’t have to sleep on the floor or worry about where the next meal was going to come from. Things were infinitely better than they had been this morning. Which is why Shane couldn’t explain why his chest was starting to feel constricted.

Shane took off his outer jacket as they made their way deeper into the building. The front part of the consulate had been renovated; parts of the old residential building were still visible in decorative wall mouldings, and oddly located fireplaces, but Shane quickly realized that it was interconnected with surrounding buildings as well. Together, the complex was a maze of hallways and offices, some doors wide open, others secured with biometric locks. Towers of computers were visible through doorways, humming and blinking.

Most of the offices were dark given the time of night, but there were still a number of people working. People in military uniform as well as civilians going in and out of rooms full of computers and electronics. If this was what a seemingly small Ukrainian consulate held, then Shane could just imagine what an intelligence complex run by the Russian government was like.

It was a little humbling.

As they were passing by a server room, Shane wondered what the chances were that someone in this building had looked over the information stolen from his phone. Did they have copies of their text messages on their servers? Then he remembered that Mark had known who they were. Did that mean Mark read the text messages as well?

Shane swallowed hard. Mark had probably seen a picture of Ilya’s dick. He’s also probably read Ilya’s messages about wanting his asshole. He wasn’t stupid—he knew that anyone on the internet could have seen all these things; it’s just that it hadn’t been top of mind these last few days.

Wait. Did that mean there were reports written about his asshole?

Were there people in the world who now knew more about his sex life than they did about his hockey career?

A wave of nausea twisted his stomach as his heart started hammering in his chest.

He could just imagine the headlines they hadn’t seen yet.

Ilya’s stomach grumbled so loudly that Mark turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Hungry?”

“Starving,” Ilya said, catching Shane’s glance and raising his eyebrow, which was when Shane realized he’d been breathing hard. He tried relaxing his forehead, tried deliberately counting his inhales and exhales to try and relax. It was stupid to be freaking out now. He had already come to peace with the fact that the public knew he was gay before he did, what difference did a bit of knowledge about their anatomy make?

Mark led them into a small kitchenette. As he leaned into the refrigerator to poke around, Ilya put his hands on Shane’s neck and started rubbing his shoulders. Shane closed his eyes and let Ilya’s fingers dig deep into his muscles.

They were ok. Things were going to be ok. They had each other. Fuck anyone who had a problem with that.

“Sorry we don’t have time for a hot meal, we can eat when we hook up with the Kholodnyi Yar in Dovzhansk,” Mark said, turning back to hand them two paper bags. Shane opened his eyes and immediately took a step back from Ilya before he could stop himself. A flash of hurt crossed Ilya’s face as he let his hands drop down to his side. Shane tried to take it back, tried to reach for Ilya, but Ilya had already turned away from him, picking up the bags of food.

“I can carry my bag,” Shane said as Ilya ignored him and they made their way down a stairwell and into the garage.

The cold air of the garage helped a little, but Shane still felt like he was struggling to breathe. For all that their travel through the Russian countryside had sucked, Shane missed the openness of it. Now it felt like the walls were too tight around him and the feeling only got worse when Mark showed them to a white utility van in the corner and opened the back.

It was obvious the van was used for security or surveillance activities; it screamed cloak and daggers. There was a generator in the back corner of the van, next to a desk holding a computer and several monitors. Folding chairs were attached to hooks on the wall and shelves on the other side were full of wires, cables and what looked like radio antenna. It looked like a reporter’s wet dream.

“You guys can just sit in the back and eat for now. It’s about 90 minutes to the border. When we get close or if we run into a checkpoint, you both need to climb in here,” Mark said, pointing to a latch on the floor.

Because of course, there was a secret compartment. Shane’s throat got tighter as Mark showed them how the handle came up off the floor, opening up a small space underneath. It was maybe only a foot and a half deep – it would be snug. Coffin-like.

Mark continued showing them how to open it from the inside as the buzzing in Shane’s head increased. “The escape latch is here, but if you have to go in, be prepared to stay in there until I let you out. The last thing I need is for you to pop your head up as I’m talking to some over-eager private at a roadblock.”

“Sorry,” Shane said, unable to help himself. “But if something happens to you, how long is a reasonable amount of time to wait before we should open the hatch?”

“Nothing is going to happen to me. You should stay in there until I open it.”

Shane tried to smile. Tried to be accommodating but it was like a twitch he couldn’t control anymore. “That—that wasn’t what I asked.”

To his credit, Mark didn’t look upset at the questions, just curious. Mark turned and took one of the spools of wire off the shelf, fed the loose end under the seat to the front of the truck. He measured out an arm’s length of wire before cutting it with a pair of wire cutters. He then rooted around in the one of the bins and handed a switch and a 9-volt battery to Shane. “Come.”

They went around to the front of the van and Mark picked up the wire he had fed under the seat. Using the wire cutters, he stripped the end of the large wire until two smaller wires were exposed, stripped each of them and then connected them to the switch. Going around to the back of the truck, Mark scooted past Ilya who was already looking through the bags of food until he could reach the wires under the chair. He passed them through a small air vent that went into the secret compartment, then opened the hatch so he could pull them through, before connecting the other end of the wires to the battery and an LED light. “I will flick the switch every five to ten minutes after you get in. As long as the light keeps changing between off and on, I’m fine, and you are safe to stay in there. Ok?”

Shane nodded, the pressure in his chest receding back to a more manageable level. “I can’t believe you just wired an alarm system for us.”

Mark handed him a flashlight and gestured to get in the van. “I’m about to smuggle you out of the country. I think it’s best if we both trust each other a bit, don’t you?”

“Yeah but…” Shane let his sentence hang unfinished, staring that the flashlight in his hands, wondering why he expected Mark to do less.

Mark raised his eyebrow. “Would you rather I call you names and spit in your face? Is that what you expect people to do?”

Shane took a step back. “No. That’s dumb, why would I…”

Mark stayed quiet, seeming to wait for him to finish his sentence, but suddenly Shane didn’t want to. So instead, he got in the van. Ilya was already sitting cross-crossed on the floor, an empty sandwich wrapper at his feet and a half-eaten apply in his hands, so Shane hopped in and closed the door behind them, encasing the back of the van in darkness.

***

00:32 MSK

The flashlight cast odd shadows around the back and across the spread of food Ilya had laid out. There were more wrapped sandwiches, dense bread, and packages of raisins and peanuts. Shane eyed the food without much eagerness, his brain still trying to figure out what Mark wanted.

Outside the front window, the city was just as busy as it had been the night before.

Ilya handed him a sandwich and Shane forced himself to take a bite. The dark rye bread had some kind of spread on the inside that was salty and garlicy, but the texture and flavor combination were odd. It was like creamy bacon, and even though logically he knew he was hungry, he pushed it aside. If he didn’t see another sandwich for years, it would already be too soon.

Beside him, Ilya was probably on his second one.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a very bad liar.”

Shane signed and sat back, leaning against a crate. He was so fucking tired. His head was hurting and his stomach wanted to expel the tiny bite of food he’d managed to take. He certainly didn’t want to dump any of this on Ilya’s plate.  

Ilya offered him the pack of peanuts which Shane also reluctantly took.

The city lights faded away to the darkness of the countryside and the lonely illumination of their own headlights.

“You’re thinking very loudly.” Ilya rested his hand on Shane’s knee that had been bouncing against the floor. “You are scared of going home?”

“No,” Shane said with a frown. Ilya’s eyes were wide, catching the light from the flashlight. Shane reached over and turned it off, telling himself he didn’t want to forget in case they had to quickly jump into the hiding spot, but now the darkness was almost complete.  “That’s insane. That’s what we’ve been trying to do for days.”

 Ilya’s voice was soft. “Yes. But you can still be scared of having to deal with everyone’s questions and comments.”

“I’m not,” Shane said. “At least people won’t be trying to arrest us or kidnap us or fuck, I don’t know, stab us with a knife.”

Ilya threaded their fingers together. “Da. But in a way, that is easier to deal with, no? Those people are enemies. Easy to hate. Easy not give a shit what they think.”

Shane looked down into the shadows, barely able to see their interlocked hands. He gripped Ilya’s hand tighter. There was no way he was going to be ashamed of what they had. It didn’t matter what people thought. He knew that. They did nothing wrong. They were amazing hockey players. Who gave a shit if they liked sucking each other’s dicks. “It will be fine.”

Ilya was quiet for a minute before he shrugged.

“I can handle it,” Shane said when Ilya remained silent. It was too dark now to see his expression, but Shane could feel the disappointment coming off of him and it felt like the walls were closing in again.

Shane knew what it was like to be picked on. He’d withstood bullies before, or even kids who said cruel things without really intending to mean. He’d learned what masks to wear, what things to say to be liked Now he had even more protection. His fame, his money – he could keep assholes away from them. There was nothing to be scared about.

***

00:48 MSK

Ilya knew fear when he saw it. On the ice, he knew how to trigger it. And when he did, it meant his opponent was overwhelmed and he had an opening he could exploit. Fear made people slow. Seeing it off the ice was different. Off the ice, fear meant fists and screams. Or tears.

Shane’s eyes were wide, watching the road get eaten up in front of them; his knees bouncing for the last ten minutes.  

Seeing Shane scared made his own fear ball up inside him, like it had 5 days ago. It was like nothing had changed, even though they knew they loved each other. They were still hurdling down train tracks that lead to an inevitable future where Shane walked away from him because he couldn’t handle the shame of them being together.

“Do you want to call your mom?” Ilya held the cell phone out that Svetlana had given him, hoping that maybe that would help. At least Shane had a family who loved him.

Shane took the phone like he had taken the mostly uneaten sandwich in his lap and the unopened package of peanuts, staring at it until his mouth figured out what it wanted to say. “Can we wait until we cross the border?”

“We can do whatever you want. She is your mother,” Ilya said, trying not to snap.  

He was obviously not successful because Shane sat up a little straighter. “Do you want to talk to her? I didn’t think of that. We can call her now if you want.”

Ilya shook his head. What a fucking mess. Like he was going to have his heart ripped out twice when Shane walked away. First and most brutally by him, but then he would have to suffer the loss of another family he never quite had. “No, you are right. We should wait until we have good news. Will be soon anyway.”

00:55 MSK

“What does Svetlana do?”

Ilya opened his eyes and lifted his head. He’d been resting his head on his arms, leaning them against his bent knees, trying not to think too much. Trying not to let the pain he knew was coming settle prematurely in his bones. “She was selling luxury cars, but last time I saw her she mentioned she was interviewing for a new job.  Why?”

“Nothing, I don’t know. I tried to close my eyes, but I can’t seem to relax. Just trying to figure out how all these pieces are connected. Her father is high up in the Russian government?”

Ilya nodded. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark, he could see the tension had started to drop from Shane’s face, leaving only exhaustion. More than anything, he wanted to reach out to Shane. Not only to offer him what little comfort he could, but also to reassure himself that at least Shane hadn’t left him yet. Swallowing, he extended his hand, bracing for Shane to swat it away, but Shane scooted closer and rested his head against Ilya’s shoulder.

He sagged in relief. “Yes. He was always well connected. Used his fame to start his political career. Is not unusual for famous athletes. Sveta’s grandfather on her mother’s side is part owner of the New York Admirals. That is how her parents met, I think.”

That got Shane’s attention because he sat upright. “What! Really?”

“Really. She knows more about hockey than both of us put together.”

“Then why is she selling cars?”

Ilya wrapped his arm around Shane’s shoulder and convinced him to lean against him again. “She has always been independent. I think she did not want to rely on her grandfather’s influence. You should get to know her when we get back.”

Ilya felt Shane nod into his shoulder, so he buried his nose in Shane’s hair and tried not to think any further ahead than necessary.

***

01:20 MSK

“We are about ten minutes from the border. You guys should get in,” Mark called out from the front of the van, pulling Shane from a half-sleep. His eyes felt full of sand, he was so fucking tired. He felt around on the ground until felt the latch, as Ilya picked up his jacket they’d been using as a blanket.

“You want?”

Shane shook his head. He had a feeling his nerves were going to keep him plenty warm.

He slid the door open, as Ilya tucked the jacket and garbage into one of the backpacks and then moved them under the desk. Taking a deep breath, Shane slid feet first into the tight space and tried not to panic. This was it. He was fully awake now. His heart was hammering and his body was vibrating from adrenaline.

 Ilya slid in next to him, closing the door as he did so. The latch clicked shut, encasing them completely in darkness.

“You guys ok in there? Just knock once for yes, or twice for no.” Mark’s voice was muffled and sounded far away.

“You ok? Ilya repeated, whispering in his ear but his voice carried easily in the small space.

Shane adjust himself, tried to use his feet to push himself up a bit but he could hardly bend his knees. There was just nowhere to go. The space wasn’t deep enough to turn on their side; the only thing they could do was lie on their backs.  

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

Ilya knocked once against the top of their hideaway then Shane felt Ilya fingers intertwine with his.

“Ok, knock if the light turns on.”

A second later, a small white LED light turned on near their heads. Ilya knocked once again.

“I will flick it three times when we are approaching the border and you need to be quiet,” Mark said, again sounding far away. It was probably a good thing that the storage area dampened sound, but that made Shane worry about how much oxygen had, and if they were going to run out instead.

Shane tried not to move. It was so much worse when he tried but couldn’t, maybe it would be better if he convinced his body he was just in his bed, having a nap. Unfortunately, the shocks in the van left much to be desired, and every pothole or rock they drove over jabbed into his spine.

“You keep saying you are fine, but you are breathing so fast, I think you will pass out,” Ilya said barely above a whisper, running his thumb across the back of Shane’s hand.

Shane closed his eyes tried to slow his breathing. He could do this, fuck.  He meditated all the time. He could fucking do it now without moving his body. “I’m fine, Ilya,” he let out but the shake in his voice betrayed him.

“So ‘fine’ is proof of life. If you are dead, you say nothing. This is terrible scale. Like logarifm.”

“What?”

“Like a ten-point scale. 10, you are happiest, 9, very very happy, 4 mostly happy. Then 2 you are ok and 1 you are the worst bad in the world. Shitty scale. Did you not study math?”

A small laugh escaped Shane as he tried to remember the last math lesson he ever had. To say it hadn’t been a priority was an understatement. “I’m fine, Ilya. I’m just... I hate this small space and today’s been a lot. It feels like there’s not enough air in here and I am terrified that we are going to get caught. But we are not actively dying so I guess that means we’re fine.”

Ilya gripped his hand even tighter. “We will be fine. This Mark looks very competent. I am sure he can do James Bond move to kill anyone that tries to stop us at the border. That is the hard part. After we cross, then we go to Canada together.”

That helped a little. Mark did have the kind of countenance that let Shane believe he could kill someone with his bare hands. Actually, he looked like the kind of person that always had a gun and or a knife on him, so that if he did have to kill someone, he didn’t have to get his hands dirty.

“If you want, I can jerk you off, but you have to stay very still and very quiet.”

As if to prove he could, Ilya moved his hand down to Shane’s very soft cock. Shane quickly grabbed it and brough their hands back up to his stomach. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Ilya laughed quietly. “Ok, ok. Maybe I tell you about all the things I’d like to do with you when we get to your home. Many have to do with my mouth and your asshole. And my tongue. I bet it fits inside of you nice and you’d be so hot and tight—”

“Ilya,” Shane said though his voice was shaky. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Distracting you.” Ilya’s hand started to travel back down to his cock and Shane quickly grabbed it and stuck it under his back.

“We are not doing this here.”

“But it’s been daaaayyssss,” Ilya whispered.

Shane bit his lip and realized part of him was turned on at the thought of doing something like this, even if he wasn’t turned on by the actual circumstances. “When we get home, I will lock us in a closet and we can do this all over again, but with safe words and privacy and maybe a nice long shower before and after, but we cannot do this now.”

“Fine,” Ilya said sliding his hand out from underneath Shane and patting around until it found Shane’s once again. “But then why do we need safe word if it is already safe?”

“Shut up.” A small laugh escaped him and Shane realized that maybe Ilya’s distractions were working. At least until he wondered how much of that Mark had heard and how close they were to the border now. He gripped Ilya’s hand a little tighter and his brain started going over the alphabetized list of all the possible things that could go wrong.

Unfortunately, his brain settled on the thing it had been gnawing on all night, as if the cramped space gave him courage to finally say the words out loud.

“You’re not afraid of what people will say, when we get home? That they’ve seen our text messages and know everything about us?”

“Not really, no.”

“How are you so brave?”

Ilya was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think I am. I just don’t give a shit about what most people think. Can I ask you – why are you so afraid of it? Why do you not want to be seen?”

Ilya’s words were so quiet, like he was scared of saying them. “What do you mean? I’m not afraid of being seen. People see me all the time when I play. I’ve done a ton of interviews.”

Ilya sighed. “Why did you hire designer to put all those pillows on your bed? Do you like having so many pillows that you can’t rest on your bed when you’re bored?”

“I—” Shane stopped, not understanding what Ilya was getting at. “I just wanted to make sure it looked like it was supposed to.”

“You curate your image the same way. Like a museum. So careful how you think everyone should see you.”

“Is that a bad thing?” The words were barely audible even to himself. All he could picture was a mummy encased in glass with a small sign next to it that said: 500 BC, mummified remains of Egyptian boy.  Was that him?

Ilya brought Shane’s hand on top of his chest.  “You don’t owe the public anything about you. And you don’t owe them perfect version of yourself either. You don’t owe them someone who doesn’t make them uncomfortable. You don’t owe them a hero or a villain. But you owe yourself the peace of being able to move in the world. And for those who love you, your family, your friends. Me. We would love the gift of seeing your true self.”

The light flickered three times before turning off, leaving them in darkness and Shane was left with Ilya’s words sitting in the darkness between them, slowly pressing down on him. Feeling like maybe they would crush him.

“Shh, you’re ok Shane. You’re ok,” Ilya’s words were so quiet it was like they were inside Shane’s brain.

The tires hummed quietly on the road as Shane tried to imagine what it would be like to move through the world like Ilya did. And while his parents had always said that he should speak up for himself, that he should advocate for what he wanted, there were always lots of signs that in fact, he should just conform to what people were expecting. All his sponsors were expecting a professional, normal, half-Asian hockey-player at the top of his game. Rolex wanted a representative that made people with money want to buy their watches.

Historically, people with enough money to buy Rolexes didn’t go around broadcasting that they were gay.

Sure, he could walk away from any sponsor that didn’t like this about him. It was just his mother then that he would disappoint. She’d gone through all that trouble…

Shane felt Ilya move beside him, interrupting the loop going on in his head. Ilya’s jacket fell open. Then Ilya was pressing Shane’s hand right over his heart.

The voices in his head started to calm. There was just the rhythmic beating of Ilya’s heart, and it was like a steady beacon in a storm guiding him to safety. Ilya resumed his gentle caresses on the back of Shane’s hand. Shane almost thought he could fall asleep like this until the van slowed down and came to a stop.

Shane heard the muffled sound of voices. Then silence. Then more speaking. Then silence again.

Ilya’s heart kept beating.

The van slowly started moving, rocking as it went over large bumps.

Even Ilya must have been scared because his heart started beating faster and his hand gripped Shane’s tighter.

Scenarios started to play in his head. Was it like the Canadian-US border crossing where they would pull you aside for further questioning? What would happen if they were caught? Ilya had never really gone into much detail about what would happen. Would they be put before a judge and fined or jailed and then paraded around like warning? Would they use them as hostages to keep Canada from helping Ukraine? Would they just be killed and tossed somewhere as a warning to the world to ignore the invasion all together?

The van started moving again, smooth pavement that turned into gravel or dirt. Maybe they were being moved to a secondary location.

Maybe Mark had sold them out.

Maybe Mark was also going to be arrested.

“Shhhh,” Ilya’s voice was so quiet, it could hardly be heard over the crunch of the tires. “Shhh.”

Shane gripped Ilya’s chest with all five fingers. This was it. This was what he needed to remember. Regardless of what happened, regardless of what came next, he had to remember this moment now for the rest of his life. They were still safe. They were still alive. Ilya’s heart was beathing under his fingers. He could feel the muscles on Ilya’s chest. Ilya was alive and strong and loved him. And God Shane loved him back. They had found each other despite the different countries they were born in, despite the rivalry the MLH concocted, despite all the people that thought they shouldn’t be together.

He could live in this moment forever and be happy.

***

01:32 MSK

The van stopped. Shane held his breath. He could tell that even Ilya was nervous because his hand became a vice grip intertwined with his.

The back door of the van opened, then Shane heard the latch above his head moving, and he held his breath, hoping that there wouldn’t be a gun in his face when the hatch opened up.

“I love you,” Ilya whispered.

Shane didn’t even have time to reply before light was in his eye, and cold air was blasting from outside. Shane leaned up on his elbow and saw a face silhouetted against the moonlight.

Mark was crouched over in the back of the van, a half smile playing on his face. “Laskavo prosymo v Ukrayinu. Welcome to Ukraine. Come on, get out of there.”

Shane lay there in shock as Mark’s words reverberated in his ears, frozen until Ilya scrambled out of the space, and then felt Ilya’s hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him out as well.

“Really?” Shane said, using his arms to lift and swing himself out and then jumping out of the van. They were parked at the side of the road, snow covering the grass but the sky was clear for once, allowing the half moon to illuminate the empty road.

Mark pulled out his cell phone and showed him the message from his cell phone provider, welcoming him to Ukraine. “Really.”

They fucking did it!

Ilya lunged at Mark, bringing Shane along with him as they tackled Mark into the snow in a whirl of laughter and hoots and maybe it was just because Mark let them, or maybe they had actually caught him off guard, but even Mark laughed as Ilya kissed him on the cheek before doing the same to Shane and then burying his face in Shane’s chest.  Shane hugged Ilya so tightly they could have been in the same body. They rolled on the snow and onto the gravel on the road, Ilya kissing his cheeks, his neck, his lips, really anything that was in reach of his mouth.

Eventually Ilya rolled off of Shane, lying on his back on the road and screamed into the nighttime sky. “Salva Ukraini!”

In a rare moment, with all of them still half on the road, half in the snow-covered grass, Shane saw a lighter side of Mark as well as he yelled back, “Heroiam slava.”

For the first time in days, Shane could see a sky full of stars.

“Ok, you two,” Mark said, eventually getting up and dusting himself off. Ilya had finally exhausted his exuberance, or maybe the cold had finally calmed him down. “Let’s get going before you get run over by some idiot driving around in the middle of the night. It’s still another half hour to the camp. And I’d like to get some sleep before the sun comes back up.”

Shane shivered, got up, holding a hand out for Ilya. It was hard to contain the euphoria for the moment, especially after the last five days. Ilya’s face was practically glowing, his mouth in a relaxed, easy smile that suddenly became the most precious thing in the entire world.

Mark seemed to understand because he was studiously examining his cell phone as Ilya got up, grabbed Shane’s face and brought him in for another kiss, this one all tongue and hands, and arms that were strong and firm around him, then kissing him and pushing back until Shane’s legs hit the back of the van and then were scrambling into the back with Ilya crawling next to him like a lion on the hunt.

Once they were inside, Mark closed the van doors, encasing them in darkness which Ilya took as an opportunity to thread his fingers in Shane’s hair and press into him even more. Shane let it continue until he heard the driver’s side door open and then he gently pushed Ilya back. “Ok, ok. I don’t think Mark wants to watch the porn movie you seem to want to create.”

Ilya laughed, his breath cold against Shane’s cheek. “Oh, I don’t know. Am pretty sure he is a spy. I’m sure he’s seen and heard worse. Right Mark?”

“I would be a lousy spy if I confirmed or denied anything,” Mark replied from the front.

Shane laughed but did manage to scoot out from under Ilya enough that he could keep him at bay. Even if he would give anything to let Ilya continue. He caught Ilya’s gaze and then suddenly they were both laughing, tangled up against each other, but laughing until Shane could feel tears running down his face.

***

01:53 MSK

“I should call my mom,” Shane said finally, lifting his head up from Ilya’s chest. He’d pushed it off long enough, and he wanted to talk to her before the arrived at the camp.

Ilya stuck out his tongue and blew him a raspberry.

“Real mature.”  When he had untangled himself sufficiently, he punched in the right numbers into the cell phone Svetlana had given them and put it on speaker.

“Shane!” his mom answered right away. “Shane, are you guys ok?”

The worry in her voice sent a pang of guilt though him. Here they had been celebrating, but his mom was worried. “Hey mom, yes we are good. I’m here with Ilya and uh, Mark from the embassy. You’re on speaker.”

“Where are you? Sveta told us that she had given you this phone, we were waiting for you to call.”

“I know, I’m sorry. We wanted to wait until we had some good news.”

“Good news? Are they taking you to the border?”

“Nope!” Shane said, letting it hang there for only a second before continuing. “We are already across. We are in Ukraine now, heading um, somewhere.”

“Oh thank god! We were all worried sick.”

“Hi Yuna, we are ok. We are near Dovzhansk,” Ilya supplied. “I tried to tell Shane to call you an hour ago, but he is very stubborn.”

Shane smacked Ilya on the shoulder.

“Ow, and now he is hitting me. Mama Hollander, when I tell you the things I’ve had to put up with.”

Yuna was laughing along with them and then suddenly he could hear his dad on the phone as well. “Boys, we are so glad you’re safe. Your friends have been doing everything they can to help out. I’m texting the group now to tell them you’re safe.”

“This is fantastic news,” Yuna said, back on the phone.

“Who is dad texting?”

“Ah, just the group Scott Hunter started. It’s mostly your friends, though I added Farah in there too. Everyone’s been really worried about you.”

“Is the US still playing? I forget what day it is,” Ilya asked, taking the phone from him.

“Yes, they play their semi-final match against Finland tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Ilya said, clearing his throat. “Maybe pass message to Hunter to avoid police. They may think he stole car. Also, there is also small rumor that he hasn’t had sex in years. Am very sorry. Both were unavoidable.”

“That was you! That makes more sense,” Yuna said. “I mean about the stolen car, not the rumor you started. That we didn’t know about. Do you know anything about a gas station attendant who thinks Scott has very pretty eyes?”

“See? I knew attendant was up to no good,” Ilya’s said whipping his face around to glare at him. Shane felt a flush cross his cheeks and looked away. “Shane is drawn to forms like fly to honey. Tell Scott is terrible loyalty program and not to bother collecting points. Also, I’m sure man has small dick.”

“Ilya.”

“What? I’m just saying. Now that you are out, everyone will want you. People will give you form and you will hand over your phone number and bank account—"

“Mom,” Shane said, taking back the phone so he could bring it closer to him. “What did Sveta mean by saying Ilya has to land in Canada? What’s been going on?”

There was a sigh from the other end of the phone. “I didn’t really want to get into it now because It’s been a bit complicated. And I’m just so happy you guys are safe.”

“Is ok, Yuna. You should tell us. If you don’t, Shane will be worried about it anyway.”

“Hey!”

Yuna was quiet for a minute. In the background they could hear David talking to someone.

“Ilya,” Yuna started. “Your agent is dropping you. They’ve basically refused to be involved in any discussions with the league these last few days. In fact, they just filed a notice with the Players’ Association to drop you.”

“I am not surprised,” Ilya said, the jubilation a bit more muted in his voice now. “He is Russian. If he continued to represent me, he would be fined or arrested when he returned to Russia and I believe he has family here.”

Yuna gave a quiet hum of acknowledgement.

“I hope this is ok. I’ve had Farah, Shane’s agent, trying to work out some things on your behalf.  She can’t legally handle any offers for you until she gets your permission, but I wanted you to know you have options.”

Ilya didn’t hesitate before answering. “Do I have to sign something before Farah can continue?”

“Probably. I’ll ask Farah to send you a termination notice for your old agent and a new contract to your email. If you can use the cell phone to access it, you will be able to sign them electronically. Then Farah can work on getting your options firmed up.”

“They will be Canadian teams though?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. It’s not that Boston doesn’t want you. They do. They’ve actually been the best group to work with in this whole thing. But your refugee claim needs to be in Canada, and while the MLH can work on getting you a visa to travel to the US, your home address needs to be in Canada.”

“Ok.” Ilya threaded his fingers in Shane’s and gave them a squeeze.

When the conversation hit a lull, Shane finally asked the question that was on his mind. “Mom, you said the Raiders were being the best. What happened with the Metros? Are they ok with this?”

Yuna sighed again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry. They’re fine. I think? They were giving me the run around at first, hinting that you would have to be benched until there was a full inquiry, or some bullshit like that. But oddly enough, one of the owners of the Admirals got involved – Leon Wilson. Even flew in for the meeting we had over the weekend with the Bouchard. When Leon came in, he asked to speak to Bouchard and Desjardins. They met in private and after that he flew home. When I came back in, the Metros people didn’t say anything more. Just that they would support you and were hoping for your safe return.”

Shane looked at Ilya. “Was that Svetlana’s grandfather?”

Ilya nodded.

Yuna continued. “Yes, Sveta told me that he would help as much as he could. I had no idea your friend was so well connect, Ilya.”

“Is one of her many talents,” Ilya replied with a small smile.

Then Shane asked the real question on his mind. “How is the public handling this? I haven’t had a chance to really look at the internet…”

“Please don’t,” Yuna said right away. What’s important right now is that you guys get home safe and sound.”

“What does that mean, mom?”

“Just…things were ok the first day. Yes there was shock and outrage, but there was also a lot of support. Online and offline. We actually thought this whole thing would fade away pretty quickly.”

“But?”

“It was so odd. Saturday morning, it was like the tides had changed. There were so many posts, yelling outrage and homophobia. We couldn’t figure out what had changed. Then this guy reached out to Hayden; a smart kid, from Ottawa. He’s pretty social media savvy. He’s actually been really helpful tracking the posts and helping me manage all the social platforms. He had this theory that a lot of the negative posts were bots coming from Russia. He called it a troll-farm?  I don’t know. He also helped us come up with some strategies to mitigate the negativity. We are still working through it.”

“Holy shit,” Shane said, his voice low.

“Please don’t worry about it,” Yuna said. “We are working on it. You’re friends—they’re doing everything they can, and some things they shouldn’t. But we will fix this for you. You guys just focus on getting home.”

“Ok, mom,” Shane said, because there really wasn’t anything else to say. He looked back out the window, but it was even darker here in the Ukrainian countryside. On one hand he was touched that his friends were helping, that complete strangers were reaching out to help, and on the other hand, the cold knot of fear was back in the pit of his stomach. Their texts painted the picture in black and white. There really wasn’t a lot of spinning that could happen. Shane glanced at Ilya but Ilya was looking down at his hands and wouldn’t meet his eyes so Shane just gripped their hands tighter. “We should go. Send those documents to Ilya’s email so at least Farah can keep working on things.”

Ilya finally glanced up and nodded. “Yes. Thank you. I appreciate the work you and Farah have been doing for me.”

They hung up. Ilya was back to looking down at the floor and something tugged awfully inside Shane’s chest. He pulled Ilya toward him until his head was resting on Shane’s chest and Shane could wrap his arms tightly around him.

“I can’t believe you told my mom on me,” Shane whispered, trying for a joke. Anything to help lift Ilya’s mood back to where it had been just ten minutes ago.

Ilya just shook his head. “Oh, you can’t. But you can tell on me to my dead mother?”

Shane huffed out a small laugh and hugged Ilya tighter.

***

Nizhnyaya Kovalevka, Ukraine

-7°C, 2:12 MSK

Mark parked the van at the edge of what looked like a military base camp. Ilya squinted out the front window as he tried to make out the surroundings in the dark. Some light was coming from the bonfire burning in the middle of the camp where a couple of soldiers were warming their hands, but there were also a few portable lights placed around the perimeter.

Three large, modular tents were set up on the far end, and a series of smaller tents were placed in rows, in the middle. A soldier with a rifle slung across their body, came up to Mark and they started speaking rapidly in Ukrainian. Ilya could only understand maybe half.

He kissed the top of Shane’s head, making him lift it up to look around. Ilya was scared he was getting dangerously addicted to the feeling of Shane’s head against his chest. “Moy lyubimyy, I think we are here.”

They followed Mark out of the van, the cold air quickly rushing into his unzipped jacket. Ilya send a silent thank you to the kid they had met back in Sochi. The jacket he’d given up to help them had been a godsend.

“Come on,” Mark said, turning on the flashlight that he had rescued from the back of the van, leading them to one of the smaller tents at the edge of camp. Inside were five cots, one of which was already occupied by a soldier snoring away. A lantern in the center cast a warm glow and also seemed to be the source of heat. The other soldier Mark had been talking to before returned briefly holding a stack of clothes.

“Here are some clean combats and towels. If you want to shower and change, I suggest doing so now. There is a mobile washroom trailer at the north end of the camp which unfortunately we are leaving behind tomorrow morning. So, I recommend using it while you can. There’s some soap here as well that you can use.”

Shane took the pile from Mark before Ilya could grab it, thanked him and then bounded for the tent flap leaving Ilya to catch up.

It felt significantly colder now. Shane shivered and Ilya remembered that his jacket was still in the backpack. “Do you want my jacket?”

Shane shook his head. “No, it’s actually kind of nice. After all these days out in the open, being in the back of the truck was suffocating. I am looking forward to a shower though.”

The shower trailer was nice. Warm. Better than anything they’d had since Salsk. Shane headed to one of the stalls, looking at Ilya under hooded eyes, almost as if begging Ilya to follow.

Ilya smiled, but instead of following, he shooed Shane into the stall by himself. “Get changed, I need to feel human again.”

Shane twisted his lip but eventually gave in and started to take off his clothes. Ilya stripped off his shirt. He had spied a razor in the pile Mark had put together for them and wanted to put it to good use. There wasn’t any shaving cream so he took extra time to lathered up the soap and slapped it over his small beard. His father had always hated when he didn’t shave. Said it made him look sloppy. And while he was now free from his father’s expectations, it would be a long while before his father’s voice faded inside his head.

But for now, he wanted to feel more like himself. Put this experience behind them. This was their chance. He had cleared the right side of his face when he looked in the mirror and saw Shane standing there, the towel hanging loosely around his hips.

“If you like beard, you will now have to wait until playoffs,” Ilya said, wiggling his eyebrows at him. This was safer. Back to normal. “Hopefully I sign with a good team, otherwise you might be waiting a while.”

Ilya watched Shane’s throat bob as he swallowed down whatever he was going to say.

Ilya finished shaving, tapped the razor against the side of the sink then rinsed his face, his eyes never leaving Shane’s gaze in the mirror. “You’re thinking loudly again, Shane.”

“I’m not sure I am ready for things to go back the way they were,” Shane said. “We’re just starting to figure this out. What if you get traded to Vancouver?”

Ilya turned around, leaning against the sink as he eyed Shane up and down. Funny how they were so opposite in this thinking. Ilya wanted to go back to the way things were right now. Better to rip the band-aid off then let things linger. “Then I learn to be boring and take up yoga.”

“When would we see each other?”

Ilya sighed and brought Shane into his arms. Fuck, he was so screwed. He actually had no idea if he would be able to go back to the way things were. “We will figure it out. You are stressing for nothing until we know where I will be.”

Just as Shane was settling against his chest, Ilya finally found his strength. He had to do this. He knew when reality smacked Shane in the face in the very near future, Shane would push him away. He had to protect himself now before Shane carved an indent in his chest that he would never be able to heal from. There was the very real possibility that it was going to break him regardless.

He pushed Shane back toward the showers. Sex. Sex was safe. “We will fall asleep standing. You were waiting for me to shower?”

“Fuck you,” Shane said with a smile.

“It’s ok, you know I clean you better. Maybe I do it with my tongue.”

He turned the water on as hot as it would go, but it was lukewarm at best. He could see Shane’s brain working, see how he glanced at the door, at the worry on his face that someone would interrupt them.  At the same time, he also saw the exhaustion on his face and the desire in his eyes. Ilya pushed him up against the wall and brought his lips down onto Shane’s.

And just like all their kisses, once he started, he couldn’t stop. It was worse than any drug he’d ever tried. Shane’s lips were soft and warm, and so fucking inviting. He had to taste them, suck the bottom one into his mouth because it was the softest. Then he could feel Shane’s tongue in his mouth, and he lost his fucking mind. Shane almost always waited for Ilya to start, waited until Ilya touched his tongue with his and then Shane would melt against him like his legs were water, but now Shane was doing it to him. It wasn’t fucking fair. Ilya broke the kiss just so he could breathe and regain some modicum of control.

He worked his way down Shane’s collar bone, down to his nipple which he took into his mouth. He could do this. He could memorize every inch of Shane’s body so that when Shane walked away he could live in his head forever. He dropped to his knees, nuzzling Shane’s half-hard cock. And even though the water pressure was worse than a kinked water hose, it was still easily one of the top ten showers of his life. Ilya took Shane’s cock in his mouth, felt him harden against his tongue, felt Shane buck up against him and thrust down his throat so Ilya grabbed Shane’s ass and pushed him further into his mouth. He wanted Shane to take, wanted him to lose all his fucking control so he would stop thinking so loudly. He wanted Shane consumed by this like he was, like it was eating his fucking soul.

“Fuck!” Shane called out as he came down Ilya’s throat. Ilya swallowed every drop, sucked everything he could out of Shane because fuck if he knew if this was going to be the last time. If it was, he had to take every damn thing he could.

When he was done, Shane dropped down to his knees in front of him, grabbing Ilya by the neck to bring their mouths together. Shane’s tongue was in his mouth again, warm and demanding and he was reaching for Ilya’s dick like it was a lifeline. Ilya could barely keep himself from falling over. He widened his knees to give himself more balance and it also gave Shane room to reach lower and cup his balls. Shane wrapped his hands around Ilya’s dick, jerking him off hard and demanding and then there was nothing Ilya could do to stop the release of tension that jerked through his body.

They lay there, half crouched on the floor, panting against each other. Shane rested his forehead against Ilya’s chin. They were fucking alive. They’d escaped Russia. Maybe that was all that mattered.

“Ilya,” Shane said between breaths.

Ilya brough Shane’s mouth back toward his. Kissed him like that’s what Shane had been asking for.

When they had regained most of their senses, Ilya slowly stood up and offered Shane his hand. “Come on. Let’s brush our teeth and get to bed. The world is going to wake up soon, whether we want it to or not.”

05:45 MSK

Ilya peeled an eyelid open, not willingly, but rather because a large man was shaking his shoulder and bellowing in English. At least Ilya thought it was English; if that English was put through a blender and then weaponized. “Rattle up, b’ys!”

Ilya slowly untangled his hand from Shane who was in the cot next to him and was also starting to wake. He threw a quick glance at their human alarm clock to see if they were going to get flack for holding hands, but the man didn’t seem to care.  He just stood up, lifted his green military hat to scratch his balding head as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing, but then decided it didn’t matter because he squished it back down on his head and gave them a big toothy grin. “Time to get at ’er and get sum coffee down ya troats.”

Beside him, Shane was stirring, propping himself up on an elbow, looking as tired as Ilya felt. The flap of their tent opened again as Mark joined them, looking fresh and well-rested, also in Ukrainian combat fatigues, absent any ranks or unit badges.

“Blyat,” Ilya said, under his breath, slowly getting his feet on the ground so he could get up. Figures that the first chance they had to sleep out of Russia they had to get up before the sun with a military wake up.  

“Morning, boys. This is Sergeant Dan Murphy, but most people just call him Murph. He’s from the 1^st Newfoundland Regiment embedded here with the 93rd Mechanized Brigade, also known as the Kholodnyi Yar,” Mark said by way of introduction. “He speaks English and will be travelling with us so he can be your guide in case you need to find something and I’m not around.”

Sergeant Murphy smiled his big grin again. “Bet ye’re famished. We can head te de mess tent an’ grab a feed.”

Ilya stared at him trying to make out what the hell he had just said. “Are you sure he speaks English?”

Murph seemed to find that hilarious because he let out a large belly laugh that seemed to echo around the camp. He slapped Ilya hard on the shoulder and winked at him. “C’mon!”

“Newfoundland is a province on the east coast of Canada,” Shane said unhelpfully as they got up.

The mess tent turned out to be the heavy-duty modular tents they’d seen last night. There were a series of white folding tables and folding chairs inside that were already half occupied by military personnel. A couple of privates dished out portions of porridge, scrambled eggs and sausages which Ilya happily took a plate of. In the corner were large thermoses of hot water and packages of powdered coffee and creamer. It wasn’t Starbucks, but fuck Ilya had never been so happy to see coffee before in his life. Even Shane took a plate of the porridge and a black coffee.

“We have an hour and a half drive to our rendezvous point east of Luhansk. The 3rd Special Forces Regiment, which is what we are a part of, is setting up a base there. We will travel with the 1^st Detachment. That means we are leaving in 60 minutes. Rozanov, if you don’t mind, you will travel with Murph, he’ll be the rearguard of the first Shishiga, that’s the larger truck. We can get you hooked up with some radios and you can help us scan through some of the radio calls we’ve intercepted yesterday and today. Most of the soldiers here understand Russian well enough, but as a native speaker, maybe you can help us identify anything odd we may have missed.”

Ilya nodded, already halfway through his eggs.

“Hollander you’ll be in the Uazik with me. Since neither of you have any military training, we are trying to spread you out so there’s still sufficient coverage in each vehicle.”

“I guess you don’t need any French translations?” Shane said.

Mark gave him a tight smile. “French I can handle. Sergeant Dubois is riding with us. He’s on secondment from the French army. Can fly the hell out of the interceptor and reconnaissance drones.”

Shane looked around at the soldiers in the mess hall. “It sounds like there’s a ‘but’ in there.”

“But, Jenna Davies will also be riding in our vehicle,” Mark said as he finished off his breakfast. “She’s from the Associated Press. You have media training, don’t you?”

Ilya watched the colour drain from Shane’s face. A fucking reporter was going to be sitting beside Shane? Ilya could already see the stress and anxiety playing on Shane’s face.

Fuck.

07:00 MSK

-8°C

The air was extra crisp this morning.

“Why did you put Ilya with Murph?” Shane asked, catching up to Mark as they left the mess tent. Ilya left quickly to followed Murph to his truck, and Shane was trying not to be rattled by the fact that Ilya was travelling in a different vehicle. They’d been together since the start of this mess. If the last few days had made anything obvious it was that things were always better when they were together. “He’s not going to understand a thing he says.”

Mark tossed a look over his shoulder but kept walking to the supply tent. “I think they’ll be fine. They have the same energy.”

“Are you just looking for work for him to do? It sounds like most of the soldiers here understand Russian.”

“I’m not making work for anyone,” Mark said plainly, taking a rifle from the supply guy, pointing it down and away before removing the magazine and inspecting the chamber. “There’s more than enough real work to go around. In case you couldn’t tell, we aren’t exactly fully staffed.”

Shane got that just by looking at the random badges and uniforms all around. Not to mention the cacophony of different languages being spoken around the camp.

“And my job is to babysit the reporter? Do you expect me to distract her with the shit we’ve been through? Because I can’t. I—”

“I don’t expect you to tell her anything you don’t want to. Talk to her about hockey. Talk to her about Canada. I just don’t have time for chit-chat, that’s all.”

Mark finished checking over his rifle, reconnected the magazine and then put two more magazines into his pocket. He grabbed a dark green vest and handed it to Shane before taking another one for himself.  “Put this on underneath your jacket.”

Shane looked down and realized he was holding a bullet-proof vest. Suddenly the air felt a lot colder.

***

The Shishiga ended up being a GAZ-66, Soviet truck with its cargo hold converted into a small electronics surveillance station. Ilya wrinkled his nose as he stepped inside – it smelled like a musty, wet canvas tarp which wasn’t far off from the truth. Murph showed him to his station at the back; a folding chair in front of a computer with a headset.

“Right, b'y. You can start with this pile o' here. Just press de button to load next un. Jot down anythin’ interestin’, and if you gets through the lot of 'em, you can start goin' over these ‘scripts. Do ya gets the heaves while drivin’?”

Ilya stared at Murph waiting for some if it to make sense, but apparently Murph was waiting for him to answer because they both just stood there staring at each other. Ilya understood the part about the recordings and how to switch between the tapes. He saw the piles of papers and understood that as well. As for that last part…

“Fucking hell,” Ilya replied in Russian. Then he gave Murph a shrug and decided he would just figure it out.

Turns out that Murph was asking him if he needed anti-nausea medication, which Ilya figured out twenty minutes after they started down the gravel road, when he felt like he was going to vomit up his insides. The solider next to him saw his discomfort though and offered up some pills which sounded like something for his stomach, which was good enough.  It was easier for the Ukrainians to understand Russian than for him to understand Ukrainian, though he could usually at least understand the topic of conversation.

Murph moved Ilya to the tailgate where he’s been sitting and sat him down on the floor.

It was another gray morning. Like every other morning in this godforsaken journey, it looked like it was going to rain at any moment. Fuck, Ilya was pissed with himself. He had driven enough cars and bikes and done crazy shit, and never once gotten car sick. Now that he had something important to do, his body was being a fucking freak.

The medicine eventually settled his stomach, and he was able to go back to his station and slide on his headset. The screen in front of him showed the time and date of the recording. He figured he would start by transcribing what he heard.

Sunday, February 16, 1023: “Fog is arriving at Semyon Anna One. More fog will arrive at 1430.”

Sunday, February 16, 1123: “Full allotment of fog has arrived at Semyon Olga One. Hail successfully arrived with the fog.”

Sunday, February 16, 1422: “Rain starting at Pavel Fyodor One. Low pressure detected. Chance of storm under ten percent.”

Ilya tapped his fingers on the desk and wondered why the hell he was listening to intercepted weather reports. No Russian ever cared this much about the weather. He stopped and went back to the first recording. Semyon Olga One. While he had never been conscripted, but he had always wanted to get his pilot’s license. He had learned the phonetic alphabet before he was fourteen. SO-1 was some kind of location. And what kind of fog arrived in allotments? Then he remembered something he had read briefly in the papers they’d acquired from the junior sergeant yesterday. They had talked about delivering hail to Semyon Nikolai-Three. Maybe wherever the unit yesterday was supposed to be going, was close to the one that was getting two units of fog. Whatever that meant. Were they transporting weapons?

He jotted down his notes and kept going.

Sunday, February 16, 1515: “Rain started at Pavel Fyodor Three.”

~~~

Shane held on as tight as he could to the center panel of the Uazik, which turned out to be a soviet-era army jeep. It had a canvas top covering the metal frame which didn’t do a very good job of keeping out the cold. A Ukrainian corporal was driving; Mark sat in the passenger seat and Shane was in the middle back seat sandwiched between the French sergeant, who had a rifle at the ready as he scanned outside his window and the reporter.

Shane was pretty sure one or all of them were going to bounce right out the windows.

“There’s no seatbelts back here,” he said as the jeep hit a pothole in the ground, making Shane bounce up and smash right into the reporter.

“Sorry,” Shane said to her, not meeting her eyes. He had been trying to avoid talking to her as much as possible, but he felt obliged to say something given that he kept ending up in her lap.

“All good,” she said, holding onto the frame of the window as they bounced around again. “I’m Jenna by the way. Figured I should introduce myself if we are going to get to know each other biblically with the way the corporal drives.”

“Shane.”

Jenna nodded. She looked to be in her late twenties, early thirties. Her long brown hair was sticking out of her toque. She was dressed for the weather with a large dark green parka. Overtop her jacket, she had a vest with PRESS marked across the chest. “I know. You’re Shane Hollander. I’m a big fan.”

Shane gave her a tight grin, as the knot started to coil in his stomach. “I don’t really want to give a statement,” he said. “I can give you my mom’s phone number if you want. She’s handling the media.”

“I…” They hit another bump and turned to the right and Shane smashed into the sergeant and Jenna smashed into him.

“Merde!”

“Sorry!” Shane said to the sergeant. “Désolé”

They resettled themselves, and then Jenna continued. “I was going to say, I understand. Yours isn’t the story I’m chasing. Just making conversation.”

Shane nodded. “Sorry, I just assumed. I’m a little nervous about what’s waiting for us at home. Are you here to report on the invasion?”

The dirt road they were on seemed to level off, only for them to hit a patch of ice. The corporal slammed the clutch as they started skidding, keeping them on the road through sheer willpower before re-engaging the transmission.  “I’ve been following the rising tension between Russia and Ukraine for the last five years. Been in Kyiv these last four months, reporting on the Euromaidan protests. Don’t blame you for being weary of the media. Things have been odd.”

Surprisingly, Shane found himself listening. He’d never really cared much for politics before. Maybe it was different now that he was smack in the middle of it. “What’s been odd?”

“I’m not sure how much you know. Basically, the protests started because President Yanukovych decided not to sign the EU trade deal in favor of closer ties with Russia. I’ve been focusing on human-interest stories, interviewing the protesters and trying to understand the complicated relationship between Ukraine and Russia. Not really very exciting, and as I’m sure you can imagine, my stories never really get a lot of attention. Mostly they are just trotted around when a politician wants to start showing support for Ukrainian interests. But in the last month, the amount of online vitriol I’ve received is insane. First in terms of volume – I’ve never had so many people engaging with my articles before. Everyone from Ukrainians claiming that leaving Russia was the biggest mistake they ever made, to saying that the protests were actually arranged and run by Europeans. I had Americans in my comments asking me why so much time was being spent covering these protests when more important things were going on. And on and on. Then there were the death threats, the emails to my boss. Fuck, they even doxxed my ex-husband. Every time I log onto Twitter, I have to spend an hour blocking people and combing through my comments to clean them up.”

“Holy fuck,” Shane said, finally taking his hand off the ceiling as they turned onto a paved road. “My mom said she was surprised how quickly the internet opinions shifted away from supporting us. I know that’s nothing compared to what you’ve been through. But I get it. It’s crazy how things on social media can escalate so quickly.”

Jenna nodded, following Shane’s lead and unclenched her hand from the window frame. “I think most of it is manufactured. I have some friends who are good at tracking internet IPs and stuff like that. I think most of the comments are coming from Russian troll farms. That’s why I left Kyiv and came here. There are rumors of pro-Russian support in Luhansk and Donetsk. I want to see if it’s real.”

“And if it’s not?”

Jenna gave Shane a small smile. “Then I want to tell these peoples’ stories. The real ones. Because that’s what matters.”

***

09:03 MSK

Ilya stared at his stack of notes about fog and rain and hail and rubbed his forehead trying to figure it all out. The problem was he didn’t know where the grid started. He looked around the back of the truck. There were three other people at stations like his, wearing headsets and listening to messages. Murph was hanging off the back of the truck, his rifle sitting in his arms as he looked around.

Maybe he was going about this the wrong way.

The information they had stolen had said that the 3rd, 10th and 45th Special Forces Guard were going to march into Luhansk tomorrow. Ilya flicked through his notes and tried to highlight ones having to do with February 19th.

Tuesday, February 18, 03:24: “Rain and fog bringing in expected low pressure zone at Semyon Olga One, expect hail to follow tomorrow.”

Things were happening at Semyon Olga One. Then Ilya went back and pulled any other messages he could find relating to that location.

Monday, February 17, 15:11: “Low pressure zone forecasted tomorrow at Semyon Olga One.”

Sunday, February 16, 1123: “Full allotment of fog has arrived at Semyon Olga One. Hail successfully arrived with the fog.”

Suddenly, Murph stood up and swore, running to the wall separating the back of the truck from the cab and pounded on it violently. “Get down b’ys! We got incomin’ bogies.”

The truck pulled off to the side as two other soldiers jumped up from their stations and grabbed their rifles, while Murph yelled and waved at Ilya to go into the corner with the other radio operator and duck down. The truck came to a halt and the soldiers raced outside, shots firing all around.

***

The only warning Shane got was when the French sergeant started swearing. The next minute, drones were flying overhead, and the driver started zigzagging on the road to try and lose them.

“Duck down low!” Mark yelled as he pulled out his rifle, looking through the scope as the jeep bumped around. Shane tucked his head down, felt Jenna doing the same beside him as fear ran through his body.  Mark yelled something in Ukrainian and then the sergeant was yelling something in French. Shane risked turning his head to the side in time to see drones zooming by the window. A loud bang from the jeep behind them made Shane jump, but then the sergeant was cheering.

“Got one, you piece of shit! There are three more behind.”

The driver pulled off to the side of the road.

“Get out and take shelter behind the jeep!” Mark yelled.

Shane and Jenna scrambled out and ducked behind the door. The air above them was a swarm of drones and bullets.  Shane risked looking out from behind the jeep to look for Ilya’s truck.

“Putain de merde!” the sergeant said. He had his side door open and was hiding behind the other side while firing off a few shots as one of the drones looped to his side. He missed but then got it as it circled back around.

The other jeeps had stopped on either side of the road and soldiers were getting out and sweeping the skies with their rifles. A soldier was running into the center of the road, carrying a piece of equipment. He quickly set up what looked like small dome on a tripod as the soldiers around him provided cover.  It took a few minutes to set up, but once it was done, he ran back to his jeep, and a buzzing sound started. After that, the soldiers started firing and taking the drones down in rapid succession.

Mark stepped away from the jeep and took out the last drone, shooting it with his rifle. It exploded like a small firecracker and cheering erupted.

“What the fuck was that?” Shane asked when his heartbeat slowed down a little and Mark returned to the jeep.

“Plausible deniability,” Mark said. “War doesn’t have to be fought with soldiers now. They can send this shit across the border to us, and we can’t prove it was a Russian attack.”

Jenna was shaking her head as they climbed back into the jeep. “This was happening north with the 41^st too.  This was nothing for Russia. There are thousands of drones crossing the border everyday.”

“It’s the new version of a war of attrition.”

Shane cranked his neck to look out the window, trying to see if Ilya’s truck was ok, but the trucks moved slower and were at the back of the convoy. “Is everyone ok?”

Mark got on the radio and Shane listened to the chatter he couldn’t understand before Mark nodded. “Yes, everyone’s good, no damage sustained. Let’s go.”

The driver seemed to understand the command because he popped the clutch and made them lurch ahead.

***

09:41 MSK

-5°C, Lyse

They arrived at the camp 25km southeast of Luhansk, with the special operations detachment arriving first; the jeeps sliding to a halt along the edge of an open clearing. The trees around the clearing were thicker here than the countryside they had travelled along in Russia. Mark quickly jumped out and went to talk to people, leaving Shane sitting awkwardly in the jeep, wondering what he should do. The driver and Sergeant Dubois started lifting equipment out of the back of the jeep, so he cast a quick glance at Jenna and she nodded, joining him in picking up the boxes. The driver pointed to an area where supplies were being piled up, so Shane brought them over there.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand what people were saying. It was nice just being part of a team, trying to get the work done. As soon as the large trucks arrived, Mark and a few officers went into the back of the one.

“Come on, let’s help with the tents, they’re going to be a while” Jenna said, dragging Shane toward the group of people at the side of the clearing assembling aluminum poles.

“You and Rozanov have been through a lot,” Jenna said as they connected the horizonal beams to the arch frames. “Do you guys have support from friends and family?”

Shane looked up from the frame lock he’d been struggling with. “Yeah, I think so. My family is supportive anyway – Ilya’s mom is dead. His father wants nothing to do with him. I think we have some friends that are helping us.”

“You’re still nervous though?

Shane nodded, thinking back to last night. “Ilya thinks I’m afraid to be seen.”

500 BC, mummified remains of Egyptian boy. 

“I don’t blame you. People in the spotlight are used to presenting a persona of themselves. It’s easier to give the media a consistent image to work with. Helps with branding.”

Shane nodded again, the weight of the last five years of brand deals and media interviews and post game press scrums settling on his chest.

“I think that’s a lot of bullshit though,” Jenna said, taking the lock from Shane’s hand, opening it and feeding the strut through. “You’re a person, not a can of soda.”

You owe yourself the peace of being able to move in the world.

Together with a few other soldiers, they lifted the frames up, then slid the canvas overtop.

“I meant what I said,” Jenna continued as they started tying the canvas to the frame. “I’m not looking for your story. But that being said, if you ever do want to tell it, I’d be happy to help.”

Shane allowed himself to picture what that would look like. What it would be like to stand in front of the press as who he was rather than who they wanted him to be. It made his heart race. “What if they hate me for it?”

Jenna stopped and gave him a sympathetic look, then reached out to him and rubbed his arm. “What if they don’t? There’s always going to be trolls. People who get off on tearing other people down. If they can’t tear you down because of who you love, then they will tear you down for another stupid reasons. But what if your courage is what helps kids realize they can do this too?”

Shane stopped trying to feed a strap though the grommet. No more pretending. No more hiding. It seemed – nice.

Five modular tents later, Shane now knew how to assemble and connect ‘mod tents’. He’d also learned how to refuel propane stoves and lanterns and how to hook up a generator for the signals station.

He approached Jenna who had taken a seat by the firepit where someone had hung a pot overtop of the fire, warming some water. There were boxes scattered around, acting like impromptu seats. Shane sat down and warmed his hands. Ilya, Mark and the other officers still hadn’t exited the truck, and Shane was starting to feel restless. “If I do want to tell you our story, would you write it?”

“Of course,” Jenna said, passing him a mug so he could fill it with whatever he wanted.

Shane decided on a package of black powered coffee without much enthusiasm.

A few minutes later, Ilya and Murph joined them at the fire, squinting at the sky.

“There you are,” Shane said, watching Ilya rub his temples. They’d been in that truck for over an hour. “You ok?”

“Yes,” Ilya replied, stretching his back and his arms. “Was getting into it by the end. Listened to lots of weather reports. The Russian army is as boring as you are.”

Shane smiled. “Hey!”

Ilya sat down next to him, bumping him with his arm and tilted his head. “I was busy. Was interesting to try and use my brain for something other than hitting a puck. What did you do?”

Shane gestured at the small encamped that had built up rather quickly. “I helped set up camp. I watched other people shoot at drones back there. That was fucking insane. Did you guys stop as well?”

Ilya nodded. “Flying robots rained down from the sky. I do not understand half of what Murph says, but he is very good with his rifle. Someone promised there would be coffee here?”

Shane handed Ilya a mug, and then Murph jumped up, determined to show Ilya how to make a Field Mocha. It involved hot chocolate powder mix, a package of instant coffee, a package of sugar and the coffee whitener. “Just mix with water and give’r.”

“My favorite is the Creamsicle drink,” Jenna added. “You add one of the orange drink mixes with a package of creamer or vanilla pudding.”

They mostly sounded rather gross to Shane, but maybe a package of sugar would have made his coffee a bit more enjoyable. A couple of more soldiers joined them, a tall skinny one sat down on overturned bucket and the other, larger, dark-haired soldier brought over another box to use as a chair.

Jenna moved over to one of them, pulled out a pen and paper and started talking in Ukrainian.

Shane turned to Murph and Ilya. “Those drones… what can they do? Are they just sending back pictures?”

“Yes b’y,” Murph answered. “They send back recon. How many trucks we got. Where we sittin’. That’d be bad enough ‘cept sometimes they blow up too. And they send’em by the dozen.”

Shane swallowed hard and reached for Ilya’s hand. Leaving Russia was supposed to be the hard part. The longer they were here, the more obvious it was that they’d traded one mess for another. Suddenly, Shane really wanted to go home. Wanted to take Jenna up on her offer, wanted to tell everyone to fuck off and let him be and climb into bed with Ilya and sleep for a week.

The two soldiers talking to Jenna started yelling in broken English, then the tall one stood up and pointed at Shane. “You know what makes it worse? Having to use what little we have to babysit fucking faggot hockey players.”

Shane dropped Ilya’s hand and stood up, blood leaving his face. “What?”

The tall man came up to Shane and poked him on the chest, spitting as he yelled. “Why the fuck are you here? Go back to fucking America.”

Shane held his hands up. “First, I’m from Canada. Second, we are literally trying to get home—”

The man poked Shane in the chest, and Ilya lunged forward, slamming into the tall solder, and tackling him to the ground. He got off a short right hook before Murph and Shane managed to pull him off, the larger soldier holding back his friend as Jenna jumped in between them, pushing the tall soldier back to his side of the firepit, yelling at him in Ukrainian.

“Easy b’y!” Murph said, pushing Ilya away from the group.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane said turning to face him. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Oh, this is my fault?” Ilya asked, his eye wide and jaw set.

“I can take care of myself.”

“He was insulting both of us.”

“I was trying to deescalate things. He was just angry and frustrated—”

“I am also angry and frustrated,” Ilyas said rolling his eyes and dropping his arms to his side. “Forget it. I kept letting myself forget. I know exactly how you take care of yourself.”

With that Ilya spun around and stalked toward the tents, leaving Shane staring at him in confusion.

***

11:02 MSK

Ilya made his way back to the truck, kicking a rock in his path to try and let out some of his anger. Fuck. He knew he had overreacted. What did it matter what two fucking nobodies thought in the middle of nowhere.

Shane had probably been right trying to calm things down. Even with the money they had now, they were in the middle of the Ukrainian countryside, getting attacked by drones. How the fuck were they supposed to get to an airport?

He heard the crunch of Shane’s shoes on the snow-covered grass and turned around.

“Ilya, what the fuck?”

He kept walking. It didn’t matter. Nothing fucking mattered. Maybe he’d overreacted, but Shane was going to keep doing this. That’s just the way things were. Eventually being together was going to be more trouble that it was worth and then Shane was going to walk away. “Go away, Hollander.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

Ilya ignored him and kept walking. They’d been so close to figuring out the pattern of the weather reports, he could go back to doing that. At least he was useful there.  

***

Shane found a quiet spot behind the jeeps. The snow was a little deeper here where the clearing was giving way to some trees. Shane found a log and sat down, wrapping his arms around himself, rubbing his arms for warmth.

He’d fucked things up again.

“There you are,” Jenna said coming up beside him and leaning against the jeep. “You doing ok?”

“No,” Shane replied. “Ilya won’t talk to me and I have no idea how to make things better. I’m not even sure I know what I did. I was just trying to smooth things over.”

Jenna’s forehead wrinkled. “Why did you feel like you had to smooth things over? Shevchenko was the one that came after you.”

“I’m a guest here.”

“You were invited.”

“Sort of. Sveta pretty much blackmailed Mark into making him take us.”

Jenna snorted and sat down on the hood of the vehicle. “Mark would not be doing this unless he wanted to. And you guys have been helping. More so than Shevchenko who wasted the last forty minutes setting up a trash pit. You are not a burden.”

Shane looked down at the snow and tried to ignore the pressure behind his eyes.

Go away Hollander.

He took a deep breath. If he didn’t find his fucking voice, he was going to lose Ilya, if he hadn’t already. He was going to be damned if he’d let this thing go without a fight. He looked up and caught Jenna’s gaze.

“People are going to think that our relationship will affect the way we play, but it couldn’t possibly.”

“What do you mean?”

Shane gave her a small smile. “This thing between us started before our rookie season. Everything we’ve done these last three and a half years came after.”

Shane almost laughed at how poorly Jenna was able to hide her surprise, even though she was obviously trying to. She laughed and shook her head. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok. I think we’re going to get a lot of that.”

Jenna slid off the truck and came to crouch down in front of him so that they were at eye level. “Do you want me to get my notebook?”

Shane studied her face. She didn’t need to be here. She wasn’t going to win a Pulitzer with the stories she was covering, and yet she took the time to listen to everyone. That was really the most he could hope for: someone to listen and try to understand.

He gave her a nod and hoped his heart wouldn’t hammer out of his chest.

***

13:00 MSK

Stanychno-Luhans'ke

Ilya stared out the window of the jeep as Murph pulled into the community center. Shane was sitting awkwardly beside him. The reporter had avoided Ilya’s attempts to get her to sit in the middle and so he’d had to endure thirty minutes of Shane’s leg pressed against his, and Shane glancing at him with eyes so big and pleading Ilya was pretty sure he was going to give in any second. And if he did, then he might as well just launch himself out of the jeep because it was going to destroy him.

He glanced down at his hands instead. They were smudged with ink and grease. That was good. It would be best if he just kept himself busy. They were pretty sure that Semyon Olga One was here in this town. Fog had arrived, whatever that was, and hail was set to arrive tomorrow. They were here to see if they could gather any clues to what those could be.

Murph parked the jeep. Ilya barely waited for the clutch to be disengaged before he was out the door, though he didn’t miss the hurt look that Shane threw his way.

“Acorn said there’s a scheduled town hall here. Was scheduled last week after a petition was brought forward to hold a referendum on separation from Ukraine,” Mark said as they made their way through the busy parking lot and toward the door.

Inside, a crowd of forty or so had gathered in the meeting room and the town hall was already underway. Not wanting to draw any more attention to themselves, Mark started leading them toward to the back of the room. Ilya needed to put some space between him and Shane and used the excuse that he wanted to hear so he chose a spot on the side, closer to the front.  

Ilya could understand bits and pieces of what they were saying. It was hard to follow the man in the blue suit, who Ilya assumed was the town councillor. But he kept getting interrupted by people in the audience, some of whom spoke Russian. This close to the border, it made sense that the languages were blurred.

Something something…military is coming in.

Something something…no curfew, but stay inside.

A man in dark clothes got up and started arguing with the councillor. Ilya scanned the crowd. There were more than a few people wearing plain fatigues, similar to the ones the soldiers had been wearing at the bar in Rostov.

The man standing up started yelling in Russian. “This is more federalist bullshit. The President is trying to protect us, and you call in the military to keep us from protesting as well! But you have no right to stop us! This is our home. I have family in Shakhty. Why do we have to live in different countries?”

The crowd turned to look at Mark, Murph, Shane and Jenna in the back and started booing.  The energy shift in the crowd made the hair on the back of Ilya’s neck stick up.

What if that man was Russian? Was that why there were all those Russian soldiers in plain uniforms? Was that what the fog was? Was the plan to plant Russian soldiers in the crowd and start to stir things up?

Ilya stepped forward. If they wanted to get stirred up, he’d be happy to oblige.

“Is this your home though? Show us your ID. I think you’re a fucking Russian mole,” Ilya called out.

“Fuck you!” the man shouted back, but Ilya caught the slight hesitation. He had chirped enough people to know when something was hitting a little to close to home.

“Don’t let Russian infiltrators write the history here,” he said to the crowd before gesturing at the two local police officers and pointed at that man. “Check his ID. He is an imposter from Russia, here illegally.”

The two police officers looked confused, wondering if they should really follow Ilya’s order, but unfortunately, that was all it took. A few of the other suspected soldiers started shouting about government control and being an American puppet and then people were standing and starting to get agitated. Murph gestured for them to go back to the jeep, but the crowd had gotten up beside him, blocking his path.

So, Ilya went forward instead – straight forward—his eyes locked onto the man who had stood up and started this. If the police weren’t going to check his ID, then he would.

The man saw Ilya approaching and turned in the other direction to run away. So Ilya pushed his way forward, shoving people out of the way so he could get to his target.

“You better fucking run,” he called out. The room was in chaos. Everyone was out of their seats, trying to either get out of the way, or go after Mark and the rest of the group.  Ilya avoided getting grabbed by one of the unmarked soldiers only to have two more coming up the other side of him.

One tried to swing for Ilya’s head. He ducked but took a hook into the side of his ribs. He staggered, pain shooting through his lungs.

“Leave him, let’s get the musicians out of here,” one of the men said.

“Deploying the hail in forty-five seconds.”

“Let’s go!”

Suddenly the arms that were holding him up were gone. Ilya leaned against one of the empty chairs, trying to catch his breath, processing what he’d heard.

The hail was coming. And he was willing to bet that they didn’t really want to be here when it arrived

He straightened out as best he could, pushing aside chairs so he could get outside. He needed to tell Mark. He had to warn Shane.

13:16 MSK

Ilya got out the front door and all he could hear was high-pitched buzzing. He turned his head in the direction it was coming from and there, above the tree line on the other side of the community center, the sky was black. It looked like a swarm of crows.

Drones.

Hundreds of them.

People were panicking and racing in all directions, running between cars that were trying to drive off. Cars were honking and people were swearing. All Ilya could hear was the buzzing of the drones getting closer. No one needed these many drones to take pictures.

The first wave of drones started diving into cars trying to exit the parking lot, smashing into them with a bang strong enough to pop the lids off the trunks of cars, or burst tires, or smash windshields.

Murph had parked at the edge of the parking lot, but the canvas top of the jeep wasn’t going to protect anyone. Instead, Murph was standing on the driver’s side, wedged between the door and the frame, rifle aiming at the sky, shooting down drone after drone. Mark was shooting from behind the jeep and as Ilya got closer, he could see Shane and Jenna crouched low by his legs.

Ilya raced up to them and reached into the back window of the jeep where another rifle was sitting. He grabbed it, pulled the magazine out to make sure there were bullets in there, then snapped it back into place. He pulled the charging handle back to load a bullet into the chamber, removed the safety and settled the butt of the rifle into the groove between his chest and shoulder.

His father had taken him to the gun range when he was fourteen. He’d been intent on teaching Alexei, but Ilya had gotten a lesson as an afterthought. Since moving to the US, he’d gone to the range a handful times with Marleau. The first recoil still surprised him.

The second was better. The third shot actually hit a drone.

Mark motioned for him to focus on the area between 2 and 5 o’clock. He settled into position, switched the rifle to automatic and started firing.

“The second detachment will be here in 10 mikes!” the reporter called out. “We just have to hang in a little bit longer.”

People were still running around, covering their heads as they ran, trying to protect themselves from the drones or falling debris. That’s when Ilya saw the mom, struggling to run while holding two small kids. One was barely a toddler, the other was an older girl, maybe five or six. Old enough to walk. Not old enough to run through this shit.

Ilya looked up from the sight of the rifle. “Get down. Find cover.”

He felt a hand on his back.

“Hold your fire,” Shane said. Before Ilya could shout at him not to, Shane was running, sprinting across the parking lot to help the woman. Barely breaking stride when he reached her, he took the little girl into his arms, then quickly steered the woman with the baby toward the cover of a large truck. When he was tucked behind the truck, Shane poked his head out, caught Ilya’s eyes and gave him a thumbs up.

There was nothing fucking thumbs up about this whole situation. But Ilya took that to mean he could keep shooting and so he did. He emptied his whole fucking magazine with his heart hammering in his throat. He missed more than he hit, but he had the pleasure of seeing at least half a dozen drones explode into small balls of flame.

He barely had time to look at the jeep and wonder if there were more magazines in the back when Mark was calling his name and tossing one to him. He tossed the empty one aside, slide the new one, and kept going.

Then he saw a group of drones flying right toward the truck that Shane and the family was hiding behind.

***

Shane hugged the little girl tight against his chest. The noise was overwhelming. He’d fired a .22 when he did a bit of hunting with his dad, that wasn’t so bad. But this reminded him of when the Metros had taken him to a gun range in North Carolina. They thought it would be funny to get him to try a .44 Magnum without any warning. His whole body had felt the reverberations. He’d fired off one shot and that had been enough. He could still feel the vibrations in his teeth when he thought about it.

This was worse.

The noise was unrelenting; the bullets flying, the drones exploding, the people screaming. The smell of sulphur and burning electrical was like a layer of syrup coating everything. Behind him, the woman was crying, her baby screaming in her arms.

Shane knew better than to try and peak from his cover to make sure Ilya was ok. He had to trust that the rain of bullets around them was coming from him.

Suddenly there another swarm of drones coming their way, the high-pitched buzzing of their propellors punctuated by the renewed ferocity of gunfire. He looked around but there was nowhere to go. He tried opening the car door, but it was locked.

“Get down!” he screamed, trying to force the little girl to get under the truck, but her arms were like vice grips around his neck. Shane gestured for the woman to lie down as he did so, curling up on his side so that the little girl was half under the truck and the other side of her was protected by his body. He saw the woman scrambling back, trying to tuck herself and her baby under the back.

Shane tucked his head down against the little girl as a high-pitched humming, got louder and louder until for a micro-second everything was quiet. Then boom.

The shockwave reverberated through his body, followed immediately by the sound of crashing metal and unbearable heat. He smelled the smoke before he looked up and saw the flames.

They had to move. They had to risk it. He scrambled up, hands and arms pushing off the ground covered in glass and debris. The girl was still hanging on, which was a blessing now because it freed his hands to help the woman get up as well. As soon as she had her feet underneath her, Shane was moving them away from the community center, running as low as he could until he got to another section of the parking lot that still had vehicles intact and crouched down low between them. He lay panting there trying to catch his breath, trying to see anything but his eyes were stinging. They had to get back to their jeep.

***

Ilya was never so happy to see a convoy of army trucks arrive. The 2^nd detachment was here. The trucks quickly pulled up wherever there was space. There were still lots of people running around, taking cover between the parked cars. Instantly soldiers were out taking up posts to fire at the drones while others started setting up equipment that looked like radar: boxes and domes on tripods that didn’t look like they were doing anything until the drones started falling from the sky.

Ilya pulled away from the rifle to get a better look and saw that the number of drones had been reduced to just a few. He dropped his rifle to the floor and yelled at Mark. “I’m going to him.”

Ilya took off at a speed even he didn’t know he had, sprinting the thirty meters toward the truck, jumping over debris until he got between the cars where Shane and the family were hiding.

Shane looked up at him, his face covered in scratches and dirt, but he was alive. Ilya fell to his knees and smashed against Shane, smashed against the little girl burying her face in Shane’s neck until he engulfed them both, gripping Shane with every inch of his arms and fingers.

“Fuck,” Shane said, crying into Ilya’s neck.

The noise of gunfire was dying down, being replaced by ringing in his ears. Then Jenna was beside them, helping the woman with the baby up off the ground and then the little girl was scrambling out of Shane’s arms and back to her mother. With his hands free, Shane wrapped them around Ilya like they were a lifeline.

Even Mark and Murph eventually came over, Murph joining their hug for a few seconds before slapping them both on the shoulders, and Mark was looking everyone over to make sure they were ok.

“Don’t ever fucking walk away from me again,” Shane said, his mouth still buried in the crook of Ilya’s neck. “Because I swear I’m not going to let you go. I’ll fucking get your name tattooed on my forehead if you want. I already talked to Jenna. She’ll write our story if that’s ok with you. I told her everything. She’ll fucking do it, if you give it your ok. Just don’t think that I don’t love you. And if my jersey ends up in a fuckin museum one day, it will be next to yours, I fucking promise.”

Ilya started laughing and crying. “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, but I love you, Shane. I love you so much.”

Shane pulled back only long enough so he could crash their mouths together, kissing Ilya like he need the air from his lungs to survive.

“You boys are so cute,” Jenna said, waiting for them to pull back so she could hug both of them together. “Sorry didn’t mean to intrude. I’m just so glad everyone’s ok.”

Shane wrapped one arm around her as well and Ilya couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “You kissed me in front of the press.”

Shane laughed. “You ok if she writes up our story?”

“If it will stop you from getting tattoo on your face, absolutely. I don’t want anything to hide a single freckle.” Ilya rested his head against Shane’s forehead then hugged the reporter a little closer as well. “Be kind to us, please. Or fuck off.”

Jenna smiled and gave them both a kiss on the cheek. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

***

16:35 MSK

0°C

The 2^nd detachment helped them clear the cars from the parking lot, taking over the community center as an impromptu base of operations. They had come with three armoured personnel carriers, five jeeps and two T-64 tanks.  The afternoon had been a mixture of celebrations—someone was blasting music from a car stereo, there was a first aid station set up to deal with any injuries for the soldiers or the civilians that had gotten caught up in the fighting.  

Ilya watched as Shane got the cuts on his hands cleaned and bandaged, some of the glass from the broken windshields getting in deep. It was nothing that would cause long term injury, but Ilya still kissed the bandages when it was done.

Mark pulled him aside as Shane went to check on the woman and her kids that he had helped.

“Nice job today.  And not just with the rifle. I also mean with the work you did putting together the different patterns and then identifying those imposters today.  A squad from the 2^nd managed to capture two of them as they were trying to get out. They’re talking to them now. Turns out they are Russian, not conscripts though—paid contractors. Between the intel they’re giving up and your work I think we have a pretty good understanding of the Russian playbook.  Go into a town, start spreading pro-Russian sentiment. Come in with some drones to scare everyone if needed. Force a referendum.”

“Reclaim Ukraine for Mother Russia?” Ilya offered up.

Mark shrugged. “I guess that’s their plan. Now we are going to need to detangle the network of these contractors. Any chance you want to keep working with us to solve that puzzle?”

Ilya shook his head. “Is tempting, but this is fucking insane. I think I need to get Shane home and back to our own tiny lives.”

“Fair,” Mark said with a laugh, handing him a small card. “Go be MLH superstars. If you change your mind though, here’s my number. Maybe we can be of future help to each other.”

Ilya turned the card over in his hands and then looked out around the parking lot. A sudden thought occurred to him making a smile cross his face. “You know, there is one thing you can help me with.”

***

“Jenna, help!” Shane called out as the woman with the baby and the girl that he had helped in the parking lot kept trying to hand him a kitten. The woman would hand it to him, all squirming and furry and he would hand it back. Then she would hand it back to him. And so on.

This time, the kitten had dug its nails into Shane’s sleeve and wasn’t letting go.

Jenna joined them, looked him up and down and laughed. “Aw, you have a kitten now.”

“No. That’s what I need your help with. Tell her I can’t take it. She needs to take it back.”

Jenna rolled her eyes and turned to talk to the woman. There were very spirited back and forths which resulted in the woman enveloping Shane in a huge hug then kissing his cheeks multiple times. At no point did she take back the kitten.

“Well?” Shane asked as Jenna shook her hand.

The woman started to walk away and Shane tried chasing after her. “Nononono, here you forgot your cat!”

Jenna patted him on the back. “Sorry Shane. You’re a cat owner now. The good news is cats are supposed to bring good luck to soldiers.”

“Ok, but I’m not a soldier. Also, not a cat person, so ow!”

The kitten had crawled its way up Shane’s chest and was now burrowing itself under his unzipped jacket. He looked at Jenna in panic, but she just laughed.

“How the hell am I supposed to bring this to Canada?”

Just at that moment, one of the tanks came into the parking lot and blasted its horn, making Shane jump and making the kitten dig in even further, clawing into his chest. The tank stopped just a few meters in front of him and the hatch opened. Ilya poked his head out of from the hatch as Mark and Murph also came to join them.

“Lord tunderin jeezuz b'y,” Murph yelled when he noticed Ilya in the tank. “Who gave ya the keys?”

Ilya got out, turning back to thank the soldier that was in there with him and then came over to Shane with a huge smile on his face.

“See?” he told Shane. “I told you I could drive a tank.”

“Listen,” Mark said interrupting them. “I know we had talked about taking you guys to Kharkiv, but I think we have a simpler solution. Civilian air traffic has been diverted from Luhansk, but I just got word that there’s a Canadian C-130 planned to fly overhead in a few hours as part of Open Skies. They’ll land at Luhank International Airport and pick you guys up. I don’t have the full itinerary, but the person I was talking to suggested it could bring you to Germany and then from there, you can take another flight to Canada. I think that’s probably the safest and easiest option for you two.”

“We’re really going home?” Shane asked.

“Unless you want to stay,” Mark said, raising his eyebrow in a question.

Shane shook his head. “No thanks. I mean you’re all lovely but –ow!”

The kitten picked that moment to start kneading his chest with claws. Shane opened his jacket to try and detach it from his skin when Ilya spotted the kitten and lost his mind.

“You have cat!”

“No, it’s not mine.”

“It’s on your chest.”

“It’s just temporarily hiding.”

“The woman who Shane rescued gave it to him,” Jenna said unhelpfully. She even had the nerve to smile at him as Ilya peeled the cat and its claws out of Shane’s clothing and cradled it in his arms. “This is perfect. I got to shoot at Russian drones. I drove tank. We have kitten and now are going home. I love you all.”

“We can’t bring it home! Animals need paperwork and vaccines and –”

“A name. You are absolutely correct. We must name it. And I have the perfect name.”

Shane looked at him, trying really hard to show outrange. “No.”

Ilya replied looking equally gleeful. “Yes.”

Jenna looked them both back and forth. “Well? What’s the name?”

They both looked at each other, Shane sighing in defeat and Ilya smiling in victory as they said in unison, “Scott Hunter.”

Chapter End Notes

Google translations:
logarifm - Logarithm
Laskavo prosymo v Ukrayinu - Welcome to Ukraine
Salva Ukraini - Glory to Ukraine
Heroiam slava - Glory to the heroes
Merde - Shit
Désolé - Sorry
Putain de merde - Fucking hell

Chapter 6: Epilogue

Chapter Summary

Shane and Ilya land in Canada.

Chapter Notes

Thank you again to everyone for all the support. You guys have made this an incredible experience.

For those that want more - I am working on more stories in the series, specifically looking at what Yuna and what their friends have been up to, and why Svetlana couldn't come home with them. If you're interested, feel free to subscribe to the series.

Thursday, Feb 20, 2014

Trenton, Ontario, Canada, 16:45 EST, -12°C (Feels like -18°C)

Shane slung his backpack over his shoulder and exited the office, his throat dry and scratchy. He’d spent the last hour going over his statement with people from Global Affairs, the military and someone who Shane was pretty sure was also CSIS. They must have gone over every question and every variation of every question at least three times.

Everything still felt a little surreal.

But there was a Canadian flag hanging from the rafters of the hangar. He’d never been particularly patriotic, never went out of his way to make a big deal about his Canadian citizenship, but now that he’d been to hell and back, he couldn’t help but feel grateful that he lived somewhere safe.  An orange Griffon helicopter was parked to the side of the hangar, the blue and white roundel on its tail with a red maple leaf in the center. There were soldiers walking around with red and white flags on their shoulders. No one seemed to care about the scandal they were involved in. The most that had happened was a young private came and asked him for his autograph when they first landed, three hours ago.

The corporal who had been escorting him showed him to a waiting area, which was just a few chairs, an ugly green sofa and a coffee machine that was percolating fresh coffee. Shane helped himself to a cup, and added half a bag of sugar, and settled on the sofa, basking in the quiet.

Finally, Ilya came out of another office, giving him a tired smile.

“Everything ok?” Ilya asked.

Shane went to him and took his hand. “I should be asking you that.”

“Yes,” Ilya showed him the stack of documents in his hand. “Refugee claim is in progress. I have paperwork, and hearing in two days. Answered a million questions. But I think is ok.”

“Mr Hollander,” the corporal interrupted them. “Sorry. But I believe your mom and dad are here. Do you want to go to the main building and see them?”

Shane and Ilya quickly put on the new jackets they had purchased in Germany. The ones they’d been wearing for the last week were safely stored in their backpacks, dirty, and smelling of campfire, but they didn’t want to throw them away. Not yet. Maybe never. Maybe they’d keep them forever to remind themselves of everything that had happened.

It was freezing cold outside. The sun was sitting low on the horizon, turning the sky hues of blue, purple and orange as a Hercules transport plane started up its engines on the tarmac.

Just before entering the building, Shane felt Ilya tugging at his sleeve. He caught his eye and quickly took Ilya’s hand properly in his.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ilya said quietly.

Shane smiled and gripped Ilya’s hand even tighter. “Yes. I do.”

They walked in with their hands together and it lasted until his mom looked up and saw them. Then she was racing toward them, Shane barely had time drop his backpack before his mom was wrapping him tightly in her arms.  

“Shane!”

Then his dad was joining in. Shane quickly looked around and saw Ilya standing off to the side, a small smile on his face. Shane took a step back from his parents and reached for Ilya’s hand, bringing him into the circle and then his parents were both throwing their arms wider to include Ilya as well.

“God I’m so happy to see you both,” his mom said, taking a small step back to look them both over. She brushed the hair out of Ilya’s face and then took Shane’s chin and moved his head side to side, inspecting it for injuries.

“We’re ok mom.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe it. Come on, let’s get you boys home.”

“Your kitten is waiting by the front,” the corporal explained as they quickly walked to the main terminal. Turned out that since she was a kitten under three months old, she didn’t need proof of vaccination. Ilya had basically forced him to find a vet in Germany that would give them the required note to document her age and health assessment and she was now coming home with them. It also turned out that the kitten was a girl. Ilya still insisted on keeping Scott Hunter as her full legal name but conceded that they could call her Thumper for short. It suited her well enough.

Kingston, Ontario, Canada, 17:50, -12°C (Feels like -20°C)

“Do you guys want to come with us to Ottawa for the night? We can bring you to Montreal tomorrow or the next day?” his mom called out from the front as his dad was driving.

Shane caught Ilya’s gaze and immediately knew Ilya agreed with him. “Can we please go to Montreal? Sorry I know it’s an hour further, I just really want to go home. Then I can grab my car, and we can come back to Ottawa to sort things out tomorrow.”

“Ok,” his mom replied. “But we have a meeting with Farah tomorrow at lunch. I think she’s got some good news.”

Shane swallowed hard. This was the problem with coming home. Now everything was going to change. “Do we know which team Ilya is going to?”

“It looks like Ottawa, if you’re ok with that Ilya? I know the Centaurs aren’t very good, at the moment, but you will be in the same city as us, and it’s close to Montreal. It seemed like the best possible solution.”

“Is perfect,” Ilya said, wrapping his arm around Shane, and Shane collapsed against him in relief. Ottawa-Montreal was probably the best outcome they could have in terms of distance.

“Can I ask favor please? Can we stop at McDonald’s?” Ilya asked. “They gave us boxed lunches on flight from Frankfurt, but I need 5000 more calories at least after this week.”

David gave him a thumbs up sign and reprogramed the GPS. “Shane, what do you want to eat?”

Shane’s stomach grumbled embarrassingly loud and suddenly he also wanted to eat McDonald’s. There was a good chance he was going to throw up when he did, but it was worth the risk. “Yeah. I think a burger sounds like a great idea.”

“Shut up! Ilya, what have you done with our son?” David shouted back, laughing.

Montreal, Quebec, Canada, 21:26 EST, -15°C (Feels like -22°C)

Ilya held the backpacks as Shane unlocked the door to his apartment, happy to give his hands something to do. Shane’s parents had volunteered to take Thumper for the night to let them get settled, then decided to drive back to Ottawa right away after giving them each another bone crushing hug. It was exactly what they needed, and it was also terrifying.

Ilya followed Shane inside the dark apartment and took off his shoes as Shane went to the thermostat and brought the temperature up to a more comfortable setting. The heat kicked in, filling the air with a stale, smoky smell.  

They stood there for a moment, in the privacy of Shane’s apartment just looking at each other. Shane looked happy. And grounded. He’d been worried Shane would feel disconnected but instead, it’s him that’s lost. He didn’t think it would bother him so much, but he really had nothing at this moment. No family worth speaking of, no home he could go back to, not even his apartment in Boston until they settled his status. The only clothes he had were the ones on his back and the few in his backpack and joint custody of a small war-zone kitten.

“I hope you do not mind having house guest these next few days. I could always find hotel room—”

Shane crossed the space between them and placed a finger in Ilya’s lips. “Please. I’m glad you’re here. I was scared you were going to have to move across the country and I would hardly ever see you. I was worried everything would change when we got home. As hard as it was running through Russia, at least we were together. Now we still can be.”

“Together?”

“Together, Shane replied. “Here. At your place in Ottawa. At the cottage I’m having built. Doesn’t matter to me where, as long as we are both there.”

Shane went over to his kitchen drawer, rooted around for something and then came back, putting a key into Ilya’s hand. “Key to my apartment. That way you can come and go as you want.”

Ilya pulled Shane into a hug. “I’d like to come and go in you right now.”

Shane laughed and smacked him away. “We shower first. Separately, otherwise we don’t really get clean. Then I want you all to myself. In a proper bed.”

***

The shower was still going in the ensuite bathroom when Ilya walked into the bedroom, a towel wrapped low on his hips. He wasn’t going to lie, it felt amazing to be clean and freshly shaven. Not to mention warm and with a full stomach. Shane’s bed looked like a piece of heaven, even with its 5 million pillows.

Something warm settled in his heart as he remembered the key sitting in his backpack. His key now. They still had to face the world tomorrow, but maybe, maybe, it would be ok.

Ilya looked around and found the switch to the fireplace and used the glow of the fire to replace the harsh overhead light. Then he went to the drawer that he had seen Shane pull the condoms and lube out of and put those on the nightstand. He could sleep. God he could sleep for a week, especially if Shane was curled up next to him, but he also desperately wanted to fuck him as well. Then sleep for a week. With more fucking.

He went to the kitchen to grab some glasses of water, added them to the nightstands and then threw off the towel and flopped on the bed, offering himself up to whatever Shane wanted to do to him. If he ever got out of the shower.

The water finally turned off, and Shane came out of the bathroom, still drying off, with his skin red and damp, his gaze falling up and down Ilya’s body that was starfished across his bed. Ilya tucked his hands behind his head and let Shane look.

Shane looked like he wanted to eat him alive. 

“I taste even better than I look,” Ilya said. Shane’s eyes snapped to his face, and that was all it took to draw Shane to him like a moth to the flame.

Shane dropped the towel he’d been holding to the floor and knelt down at the foot of the bed, crawling up Ilya’s legs, his lips dragging across Ilya’s skin like he was worth tasting. Like his skin was worth memorizing. Shane made it to his thighs before looking up, his eyes heavy and dark and fuck Ilya wanted to kiss him, wanted to flip them over and bury himself in Shane until they actually occupied one body.

He forced himself to stay still as Shane swung a leg over and straddled Ilya’s lap, their cocks dangerously close together but not actually touching. Shane must have seen the hunger in his face, must have known how dangerously close Ilya was to deciding to speed this along because he put his hands on Ilya’s biceps to pin him down, his face directly overtop of him now.

Ilya could die like this. That would be ok.

“Fuck,” Shane whispered, then dropped down to kiss him, collapsed against Ilya so that their chests were sandwiched together, hearts hammering against each other as Shane’s lips took him apart. Shane’s tongue was in his mouth, licking, touching, taking whatever it wanted so Ilya moved his hands to Shane’s ass to do the same. Shane paused only long enough to grab some lube into his hands and rub it over and into his hole before they were kissing again. Then Shane was penetrating Ilya’s mouth with his tongue and Ilya was sliding the tip of his finger inside Shane like they were fucking each other, and Ilya had never been so close to fucking coming untouched himself.

It was a small mercy when Shane finally leaned back, smacked Ilya’s hand away to finished prepping himself. Ilya got the condom on and then Shane was sliding himself down onto Ilya’s dick, moaning and swearing as Ilya filled him up.

This. This is what they got to keep now if they wanted. This is what they could finally fucking have. Ilya put his hands on Shane’s hips to guide him, but Shane knew what he was chasing. Knew it like he was starving for it, and Ilya let him ride and set the pace until they were both coming, both shouting because they couldn’t keep it in anymore and it felt so fucking good to let their names be heard coming out of each other’s mouths.

***

Friday, February 21, 2014

Montreal, Quebec, Canada, 07:45, -20°C

Ilya woke up first; a phone was ringing somewhere in the background. Shane mumbled something against Ilya’s shoulder, something about making the noise stop, so Ilya slipped from the bed to search for the offending cell phone and found the burner phone Svetlana had given them back at the consulate.

“Hello,” Ilya said.

“Good morning, Ilya,” Ilya recognized Yuna’s voice. “Sorry, did I wake you? Shane’s usually up by this time.”

“Ah, yes. We have much sleep to catch up on. I can go wake him up though,” Ilya said, padding back toward the bedroom.

“You probably should. We have that meeting with Farah at noon, and it’s a two-hour drive here. I guess you didn’t see the paper, this morning?”

“No, is it something bad?”

“No…” Yuna said, then paused. “Not if you guys agreed to it. I guess I just wanted to make sure you were ok with it.”

Ilya shook Shane awake. “Hey Shane, you mom is on the phone.” He passed the phone to him and went to dig out his own phone. It was at 20% but that was enough battery to search out their names on the internet.

There were hundreds of hits, but Ilya quickly found the news article that had just been published and walked back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed, the tension that had risen when Yuna had first mentioned a news article started to dissipate.

Shane had actually told the reporter their story.

There was an image of the two of them in Ukraine, after the drone attack at the community center. They were both kneeling behind a car. Shane’s face was covered in scratches and tucked into Ilya’s neck. The little girl in Shane’s arms was shielded by Shane’s body, so no one could see her face. The two of them looked lost in their own world, holding each other like that was all that mattered.

EXCLUSIVE: MLH SUPERSTARS SHANE HOLLANDER AND ILYA ROZANOV SHOW THE PRICE OF THE DATA LEAK

LUHANSK, Ukraine (Jenna Davies) –In the early morning of February 14, Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander realized that their private messages had been leaked on the internet. Since that time, they have been on the move trying to stay ahead of Russian authorities intent on arresting them, or worse, under Russia’s archaic anti-LGBTQ law. They slept on the streets, ate what they could and tried not to succumb to hypothermia. On February 17, two agents drugged Hollander and tried to kidnap them. They barely got away and eventually found their way to the Ukrainian embassy in Rostov-On-Don.

All the while, the Olympic Committee did little to help the stranded athletes, and as of today, the MLH has still not released a statement of support. Instead, Hollander and Rozanov had to rely on the help of their friends and family and strangers they met along the way. Eventually they made their way to Ukraine and despite being in the middle of their own problems and the public interest in their story, they put that aside to help out 93rd Mechanized Brigade.

On Tuesday, February 18, city councilors organized a town hall in a community center in Stanychno-Luhans'ke, just outside Luhansk to address concerns over local protests. Rozanov discovered that Russian soldiers had infiltrated the civilian population in order to stir up pro-Russian support. Russia launched a drone attack to prevent capture of their operatives. Despite not having formal military training, Rozanov grabbed an AK-47 to help defend the civilians trying to leave the area and Hollander dove into action to help a young mother and her children, carrying six-year-old Nadiya to safety.

“My children and I would have died if he hadn’t helped,” Nadiya’s mother said after the fighting was over. “I owe them everything.”

The irony is Hollander’s phone may very well have been stolen in order to distract the world from Russia's military actions against Ukraine. Two Russian paramilitary soldiers captured after the townhall have confirmed Russia’s plans to encourage pro-Russian uprisings in towns close to the border in order to seize power and declare independent territories.

Online, the public seems to be more interested in trading gossip and slurs about two of the best players in the MLH instead of understanding the truth.

“We love each other. I don’t know why that’s such a big deal. We’re just two hockey players that were put into the spotlight together. Everyone seems to think we had this big rivalry. But Rozanov just pushed me to work harder, to be even better. But we never hated each other. In fact, we respected the hell out of each other,” Hollander said.

When asked about their relationship and if it would interfere with their game, Hollander spoke about the years they had been together. “Ilya and I met before we were drafted. Which means there was never a time when we played professional hockey, that Ilya and I were not in some form of a relationship. So, no, I don’t expect things to change with how we play. The only thing that will change is how people will treat us.”   

The Commissioner declined to comment for this story, when asked what the MLH would do to ensure inclusivity in the sport. The MLH has never had active, openly queer hockey players and several players only agreed to be interviewed on condition of anonymity.

“They deserve to love who they want to love,” a five-year veteran said.

“They’re two of the best players in the league,” a first-year rookie said. “I have looked up to them for the last three years and I am so excited whenever I get the chance to play against them on the ice. Their relationship isn’t going to change that.”

The Boston Raiders were the only team to respond to the request for comments, saying that they support both players, and look forward to their return.

When asked about what he wanted the public to know, Rozanov had a simple message. “Be kind to us. Or f*ck off.”

Cont’d here.

Ilya put his phone down and crawled over to Shane who had finished the call with his mother. He nuzzled Shane’s neck, something warm settling in his heart. Maybe they could really do this. They were out. They were home. And Shane had told everyone that they loved each other. “You really told that reporter our story.”

“I told you I did. We should get going. We have a long drive ahead.”

Ilya settled in more against Shane’s side, letting his lips travel to Shane’s ear. “Or we could stay here. We have done enough running for now, don’t you think?”

“But Farah—”

Ilya kissed him until Shane forgot what words he was going to say and dragged the blanket overtop of them. They could call. They could be late. The important thing is they had gotten home. Everything else would be ok.