Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Troy Barrett/Harris Drover, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry & Ilya Rozanov & Svetlana Vetrova

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Luca Haas, Svetlana Vetrova, Rose Landry, Troy Barrett, Hayden Pike, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Harris Drover, Kip Grady, Wyatt Hayes, Evan Dykstra, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Brandon Wiebe, Zane Boodram, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Irina Rozanova

Additional Tags:

Strangers to Lovers, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Firefighter Ilya Rozanov, Paramedic Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Shane Hollander Needs a Hug, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Like a really big hug, Workplace Sex, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, Friends with Benefits, Adult Content, Everyone Loves Shane Hollander

Language:

English

Collections:

Anonymous

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-08 Updated: 2026-08-28 Words: 104,087 Chapters: 9/11

smoke in the air (you’re filling my lungs)

Summary

“Worried about me, Hollander?”

A few months ago, Shane would’ve called him an asshole and left him in this dingy hospital room alone. A few months ago, Shane would’ve rolled his eyes and thrown back a line about wanting to ensure all his patients were looked after and how he had a responsibility, especially to members of his own firehouse. Hell, a few months ago, maybe Shane wouldn’t have even been here in the first place.

But today, after the scare he’s had and the hours he’s spent really coming to terms with… well, everything, Shane just nods tiredly.

“I was. I was terrified actually. I haven’t left this hospital since I rolled in doing chest compressions on you because we couldn’t get your sinus rhythm back and your heart stopped.”

***

OR: Ilya Rozanov is Firehouse 17's supposed asshole lieutenant and Shane Hollander is their newest paramedic.

Notes

I have consumed an insane amount of HR fanfic in the last few months, so I thought I'd give it a shot. This is my first fic ever on AO3 (I was an original Wattpad pioneer) and I have no idea how it works, but Reddit and Twitter have been very informative! Fuck AI, bring back doing real research to satisfy curious urges.

Disclaimer: I am not a firefighter or paramedic with the Boston Fire Department nor do I live in Boston nor am I even American. BUT I have seen every episode of Chicago Fire and The Pitt and I was pre-med for, like, 6 months at one point. Please practice suspension of belief if you notice any inaccuracies; I've done my best to research, but it's not easy and this is just for fun!

Please be nice. Or don't. I'm employed, so idrgaf <3

Chapter 1: Welcome to 17

Ambulance 81, Engine 24, Truck 12, Rescue 1, Battalion 3. Railroad incident. West 23rd and Lakeshore Ave.

The entire building practically shakes as people start running for the garage from all corners of the firehouse. Shane has enough time to shut his locker without locking it and follows everyone out to where their rigs are parked. 

The familiar energy of controlled rushing washes over him and he allows his brain to go into autopilot as he opens the driver’s side of his new ambulance. He’s glad he had the foresight to set up all the equipment in the back and adjust the seat to his own liking first thing when he arrived; god knows he’d be in a sour mood needing to take off in a new vehicle without knowing things are where he prefers them. He made sure not to completely reconfigure the rig given that his partner surely has his preferences too.

“Hey, you must be Shane Hollander,” a voice on his right says as soon as Shane is buckled in. 

Sirens are already blaring around him from the other trucks and he starts his own vehicle with practiced ease. The passenger door slams shut.

“Yes, I am. Hayden Pike?” 

“In the flesh. Great way to start your first shift here, huh?” 

Shane nods, waiting his turn. On his left, Engine 24 has pulled out to the driveway and Shane steps on his own gas to follow suit. He flicks the ambulance sirens on and looks both ways before turning right onto the street, sandwiched between Engine 24 and Rescue 1.

“What house are you coming from?” Hayden asks conversationally. 

Shane looks over at his new partner. He’d done his due diligence and looked into Hayden Pike, or at least what he could get his hands on which wasn’t much. 29 years old, been with the BFD for about 6 years, no serious complaints or write-ups but a few minor misconducts, the kind every paramedic gets sooner or later working in a big city. Shane likes knowing who he’ll be spending his 24 hour shifts with and was relieved to find out Hayden’s last partner, Irene, was someone he knew. He’d worked a single (incredibly busy and hectic) shift with Irene Yu at the beginning of the year when he was still a floater; guess he’d been filling in for Hayden at the time. Shane had reached out to ask for her review of Hayden which made her laugh. “He’ll be good for you, Hollzy. He’s a fun guy, great at his job, no complaints from me.” Shane wanted to ask why Irene thought Hayden would be good for him but Irene’s newborn daughter had started crying and Shane let her go. All in all, Shane found no immediate red flags about his new partner. And he hoped it would stay that way, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous about working with Hayden. Shane’s never been the best around strangers. His first shift at every new house always wracked him with anxiety.

“I was at 22 over in Roxbury.”

Hayden whistled, “Damn, tough fucking area. How long did you last there?”

“4 months.”

Shane can feel Hayden turn to look at him, but he keeps his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel. “Wow. I had a buddy float over there for a month a few years ago and he told me he hardly got any sleep. Alarms always going off in the middle of the night for shit: shots fired, car accident, house fire, more shots fired. He swears he responded to more gang wars than anything else.”

“I got pretty good at identifying bullet calibers,” Shane replies with a slight shrug. 

Hayden laughs. “Yeah? My wife would freak out if she found out that’s what I was doing all day and night.”

“It wasn’t all bad. They had a good coffee machine.” 

Shane only realizes that was probably not the right thing to say when he glances over to find Hayden’s eyebrows raised like he can’t tell if Shane is joking or not. “I’m just kidding,” he says quickly with what he hopes is a teasing smile.

Hayden chuckles, “Well, I can promise you our coffee machine is shit. How’d you get swung over to us?”

“I saw the opening for a permanent PIC and applied. I didn’t like floating,” Shane answers honestly.

“Who does, amirite?”

Given the state of the department’s budget, it was hard for new recruits to get assigned to a house permanently. Shane did everything he could to bolster his own resume to make sure he was the best candidate once a spot did open up by completing as many extra training sessions as he could in between shifts. Not only is he incredibly confident in his own skillset and background, but he now has the certifications to prove it. The real gamechanger happened when he got lucky during a call while he was still with 22. He conducted a successful cricothyrotomy on a gunshot patient in the middle of the road and effectively kept him alive long enough to get to an operating room. The victim just so happened to be the deputy chief’s nephew; he practically promoted Shane to paramedic in charge (PIC) on the spot. 

“How long have you been with the BFD?”

“11 months.” And 16 days.

“Shit, man! That’s crazy you’re a PIC. I’m coming up on 6 years in this gig. I’d totally give a go at that promotion but I’m not a fan of the paperwork,” Hayden says good-naturedly. “I’m excited to see what you got, Hollander.”

Shane tries for a casual smile. “Hope I don’t disappoint.” He won’t. Not at this job. Maybe in other areas of life, but never on the job. 

Hayden carries the conversation with ease for the next few minutes while Shane dodges around traffic safely. He learns that the last floater Hayden worked with while Irene was on parental leave was a total asshat and lasted all of 2 shifts before Hayden gave him the boot. Shane notes how much Hayden seems to swear in between sentences and wonders if that’s a house thing. He didn’t exactly get the chance to meet anyone before diving right into his first call, so he has no idea what to expect with the other firefighters. Plus the one shift he’d worked with Irene had been on New Years Eve, so Shane recalls barely spending any time at the actual firehouse since they’d been in back to back calls the whole time.

At Firehouse 22, Shane’s partner, Melanie, was a spunky and loud-mouthed woman who took absolutely no shit from anyone. She absolutely terrified him the first time they met but she quickly became one of Shane’s closest confidants after an encounter with a patient who had cussed Shane out for being Asian and queer. To this day, Shane has no idea what about him gave off that vibe or if the victim was just hurling every slur in the book. Melanie ripped him a new one en route to the hospital and assured Shane afterwards that she would not tolerate that kind of behaviour towards anyone in the house if she was around to see it. He got the sense that Melanie knew him better than he thought, especially since he never corrected her or denied the queer claims (slipped his mind at the time). Shane was grateful for her camaraderie but he didn’t expect her to actually do anything if someone at the house let a line or two slip off-handedly; he knows what kind of culture firehouses breed and he’s not planning on being a trail blazer of any sorts. But over his 4 months at 22, Melanie did, in fact, continue to whip the other firefighters into shape. By the time Shane’s last shift rolled around, he realized he hadn’t heard a quip about cocksucking or jerking off in a while. If anything, he might’ve been the only one making those kinds of jokes by then. 

He hopes the folks at 17 are decent. He wouldn’t say his coworkers at 22 were saints in any way but at least he had Melanie to stand up for him when needed. Here, he’s back to being on his own.

“Oh, you’ll like Chief Wiebe. He’s such a fuckin’ softie even though he acts like a touch guy all the time. Just wait until someone brings any kind of dessert around; you’ll see what a kid on Christmas day looks like on a grown man.”

Shane nods. He’s heard great things about Chief Wiebe. “What about the other firefighters? I haven’t met anyone but you yet.”

Hayden leans back into his seat and kicks his left foot up onto the dash to tighten his laces. Shane bites his tongue and just mentally makes a note to wipe it down when they return. 

“They’re all pretty great. It’s an awesome house, honestly. Engine’s on the young side, but Dykstra’s got a handle on the kids; Dykstra’s the captain by the way. They’ll probably try to prank you for being the newbie, so don’t walk through any doors or open any jars.”

Shane laughs a beat too late at the joke. He’s familiar with the pranks and hazing firefighters like to do to new recruits. His last two houses had both given up on pranking him when they realized it wasn’t as funny if Shane didn’t understand what was so hysterical about a whoopy cushion or glitter bomb.

“Hunter’s been here the longest, I think. Great guy, solid fucking truck captain. He doesn’t talk much but he can chef up a mean chili for any playoff games we have the pleasure of working during.”

“Scott Hunter, right? I read about the elevator rescue he did a few years ago.”

Hayden scoffs. “That’s the one. Don’t tell him that though, it’ll go to his head.”

“And what about Rescue 1? I’ve never worked with one of the rescue teams before.” There are only 2 in the Boston area and Shane was honestly stoked to find that 17 housed one of them.

“Ugh, yeah, those guys. They act like they’re royalty. Major pains in the ass.”

Shane turns to Hayden in surprise. “Really?”

Hayden’s face breaks into a sly smile. “I’m being sarcastic, sort of. Bood’s the captain, he’s great. Solid fucking firefighter. I think he’s been around for as long as Hunter has. Troy’s relatively new, joined last year. He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much either, and he also never gets drinks with us after shift. The Engine kids think he has a secret girlfriend he’s not telling us about.”

Shane nods and mentally files all this information for later when it might be useful. 

“Marly’s a bit of a dumbass. Smart guy on a rescue but I swear he knows nothing outside of firefighting. I caught him trying to make ramen in the microwave without water once. Should’ve just let him set the whole kitchen on fire and explain it to Wiebe after. But he’s a nice guy when he wants to be, I guess.”

A firefighter who almost set a kitchen on fire. Right.

“And then there’s Roz,” Hayden says while sighing dramatically. Shane turns again for a quick second to see if he’s supposed to know what that sigh means. “Now, Roz is a grade A asshole. The first shift he had with us, he stole my bed and my snacks. I swear if he wasn’t such a decent lieutenant and firefighter, I don’t think I could put up with him.”

“So, you don’t like him?” Shane clarifies.

“I mean, I tolerate him. He can be an ass, is all I’m saying. Rose keeps trying to convince me he’s nicer than he lets on but I’m calling her bluff and obvious bias towards him.”

“Rose?”

“Rose Landry. Engine lieutenant. She’s fucking awesome, you’ll like her. No idea what she saw in Roz that one time over Easter.”

Shane blinks. “I don’t follow.”

Hayden laughs. “You’ll hear about it all eventually, gossip spreads fast through these walls.” Shane gets the sense that Hayden’s the only one running the rumour mill.

Before Shane can ask a follow-up question, they’re pulling up to the site of the crash.

And it’s horrific. 

Shane puts the ambulance in park and just stares at the scene in front of them.

A passenger train has derailed and there are at least 4 carts from where Shane can see that are on fire. 

“Holy shit,” Hayden whispers beside him.

Inhale for 5, hold for 7, exhale for 5. 

Move.

“Grab everything off the rig. We need to set up triage.”

“Copy that.”

***

“Pike!” Hayden’s radio crackles.

Shane watches Hayden rip open a new gauze pack with his teeth and pack a gushing leg wound while using his free hand to maneuver the radio.

“Go ahead, what do you need?”

“Need medic here. Woman in labour,” the voice responds. Shane has no idea which of the firefighters it is, but he detects a slight accent.

“Fuck, I’m tied up here,” Hayden says out loud without relaying it into the radio.

Shane stands up from the man he’s just black tagged and gestures to Hayden. “I got it. Deliveries are easy.” 

Hayden’s face is strained with sweat, blood, and stress but his eyebrows raise amidst it all to shoot him an impressed nod. “Copy that. Hey Roz, Hollander’s on his way. Where are you?”

“North side of 3rd train. Hurry up, Hollander.”

Shane wastes no time in grabbing a spare med bag from one of the other paramedic teams that are supporting triage. He makes sure he has his helmet and picks up an oxygen tank outside the triage tent where firefighters have been going back and forth to refill. Checking that the tank is full, he starts towards the wreckage. 

Working in Boston at different emergency rooms and then as a paramedic out in the field, Shane’s seen his fair share of disasters. One of his strengths is his ability to block out the details and focus solely on the objective: save as many people as possible. When he gets closer to the train, he doesn’t let the panicked screaming or crying phase him; all he takes in are patients and victims he will eventually see and help. It makes him a better paramedic and it helps keep him calm amidst the chaos. His parents always worried that Shane’s neurotic tendencies and distaste for major changes would make it difficult to succeed in this line of work where adaptability and flexibility are critical. He’s never been able to articulate to them how his brain seems to be the quietest when he’s in the most anarchic situations. Everyday life might not make sense to Shane, but disasters and medical patients? He can move through and decode with ease.

He stops in front of the third car. “I need to get to the north side of the train,” he tells the firefighter at the front of the hoseline that’s aimed at the train (which Shane notes is still half on fire). The firefighter nods and Shane catches the name HAAS printed on the back of his jacket.

“We’ll clear you a path, but you gotta move fast,” he yells over the gushing water.

Shane nods and quickly pulls his mask on. He waits for Haas to cue him in where the hose has cleared an entryway and climbs onto the train. 

Despite being a firefighter-paramedic, Shane never particularly enjoyed the first part of that title. The amount of gear he has to wear on a regular call is overstimulating enough, but with a mask and heavy oxygen tank, plus the situations he finds himself in when needing such equipment, it’s all a sensory nightmare. But he braves the heat and moves through the car with precision and speed. Haas’ path leads him right to a door on the other end and he carefully hops off the train to land on the opposite side.

He claws off his mask, face twitching from the horrible sensation of being compressed and borderline asphyxiated even for just a minute, and reshoulders his med bag. He spots the situation immediately and takes off towards the lady lying in the dirt with a firefighter kneeled at her feet.

“You Hollander?” A rough voice asks.

“Shane Hollander. Paramedic in charge. Move aside.” He all but nudges the man away and quickly sheds the rest of his unnecessary equipment to start assessing the victim.

“She was awake a minute ago, but I pulled her out of the train unconscious. Must have hit her head earlier.”

Shane ignores the man for a few more seconds in favour of listening to her lungs and checking her vitals. She’s sweating like crazy despite being in a t-shirt during early Spring in Boston and Shane really doesn’t like how weak her carotid is. She’s exhibiting all signs of needing intubation soon, so he pulls out what’s needed in preparation. He also doesn’t miss the lump on her left temple.

“Lungs are clear. Pupils are dilated and unreactive. I need to check if she’s crowning,” Shane says out loud.

“I already did when she was screaming. Did not see any crowning,” the firefighter answers. 

Shane takes off his own jacket to cover her legs. 

“You don’t believe me?” The other man scoffs like he can’t believe a paramedic would be questioning his professional observation. 

Shane elects to ignore him again as he quickly but carefully pulls her pants off. They’re wet to the touch and when he takes a peek underneath, his suspicions are confirmed. 

“She’s crowning now. Her water just broke. She needs to deliver.”

“Fuck. What do you need?” At the very least, Shane appreciates that the firefighter seems to not be butthurt about being doubted and then corrected.

“Come here. Move her legs and get ready to catch.” Shane swaps places with him and helps bend her legs until they’re at an optimal enough angle on the man’s shoulders. 

Shane busies himself by placing AED pads onto her chest and then starts pulling things from his bag. “1 mg of epi going in.” He pushes it into her arm and then rubs his knuckles against her chest to wake her up. “You catch her name?”

“No. She was yelling about someone else. I don’t think it was English.”

Great.

“Hey, can you open your eyes? Ma’am, can you hear me?” The woman does not respond to any pain stimuli and Shane is about to push another round of epi when the AED machine starts beeping with a flatline.

“Fuck, we lost her. Start compressions.” 

The firefighter drops her legs and immediately moves to her side to start CPR while Shane pushes another dose. “Second round of epi.” The monitor displaying her oxygen stats drops rapidly and he frowns at how the situation is deteriorating. He gets flat on his stomach behind the woman’s head to intubate and bag her in record time. There’s not a doubt in his mind that he’s successful, but he double checks with his stethoscope anyways to confirm air is filling her lungs. “Oxygen’s coming up.”

“Nice,” the firefighter mutters as he continues compressions at a good pace. Shane doesn’t even let the compliment register in his head. 

He desperately waits for the machine to detect V-fib or V-tach or anything shockable, but it remains flat with only peaks every time a compression is made. 

“Hold compressions.” The machine measures nothing. “Fuck, resume compressions.” The man continues and Shane goes back to bagging. 

“I’m pushing one more round of epi.” He holds out the bag to the firefighter who smoothly switches to one arm compressions while squeezing with the other hand. Shane doesn’t let his brain process how impressive that is. “3rd round of epi.” He pushes it in and takes over bagging again. 

Nothing changes. Shane wracks his brain for what else he can do, but the woman’s condition is getting more futile by the second and he knows it.

“No shock?” The firefighter grunts, his sweat dripping onto her clothes with every compression.

Shane resists the itch to chew on his nail and shakes his head. He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of one hand and lets the bag-mask-valve loose with the other. “She’s asystole. Shocking won’t help. Fuck!” He can’t help the frustrated outburst at losing a patient. It never gets easier and he hates how his years of experience tell him, with confidence, exactly when it’s too late for a patient.

“Do I keep going?” The man asks, sounding very much like he would continue for hours if needed.

Shane looks down at his watch and then the monitor, which is still flatlined, and then at the unmoving pale woman with a tube down her throat. 

“No. Stop compressions. She’s been down for 12 minutes.”

The firefighter sits back on his heels, chest heaving from exertion. “What about the baby?”

Shane nods and shakes himself back into action. “Baby sounds healthy. But we need to deliver now,” he says after checking for a heartbeat.

“Can she make it to med?”

He shakes his head. “Definitely not. Baby needs to come out right now.”

Shane cuts open the woman’s shirt. He stares at her protruding belly and like a movie on 5x speed, his brain flips through a million scenarios and steps before landing on the course of action with the best outcome. 

“What is the plan?” The man asks, hovering right in front of him.

Shane looks up at him for the first time since he got here and his brain momentarily short circuits. There aren’t many instances in Shane’s life, much less during Shane’s career, where he’s been frozen and he’s immediately annoyed with himself for having such a reaction. It logically makes no sense, but then again, nothing about what he sees in front of him makes much sense when his brain finally catches up.

This must be Roz. Hayden’s arch nemesis. The bed and snack stealer. Rose Landry’s special man. A decent lieutenant and firefighter. All these thoughts he’d filed for later come rushing to the forefront, but the only thing Shane can focus on are his eyes. They’re green until he blinks and then Shane thinks the light must be playing tricks on him because they transform into light blue. Usually, Shane hates eye contact and settles on the person’s nose or eyebrows instead. But for some reason he finds himself unable to look anywhere but the man’s eyes. There’s ash and sweat smeared across his entire face and yet, his eyes are as clear as day.

Hayden didn’t warn him about Roz’s eyes. 

Or, in other totally inappropriate words for the situation they’re currently in, Roz is very hot.

“Hollander.” His deep and accented voice cuts right through Shane’s haze and he blinks twice.

“C-section,” Shane manages to cough out.

Roz’s sparkling eyes widen until Shane can see their entire iris. “Can you do that?”

Already digging around his bag to avoid looking at the man for any longer, Shane nods. “I have and I can. I’m not exactly confident on the rules of whether or not I’m allowed to do it here, but it’s the baby’s best chance.”

He pulls out a scalpel and sterilizes the woman’s belly. “I don’t want you to be liable if it comes down to it. You can go,” Shane says in a measured tone and flits his eyes up to Roz. Logic tells him that there’s no way he won’t catch some heat for doing this procedure without a specialized medical team or clearance from someone, but regulations be damned when a baby’s life is on the line.

Roz stares hard at Shane for half a beat and then scoffs. “Stupid American rules. Tell me what you need.”

The relief Shane feels is embarrassing, so he channels that into the absolute clusterfuck this is all about to become. “Get ready with the blanket, clamps, and pediatric suction.”

Roz nods and does as he’s told. “You have done this before?”

Shane measures where he’ll need to make the incision and positions the scalpel right below the abdomen. It’s like his eyes turn into a pseudo-ultrasound machine and he knows exactly what he must do. “A few times in the ER. Never like this though,” he admits.

Roz hums and keeps his mouth shut as Shane makes contact with her stomach. He can tell the man has questions, so it’s a blessing he can read the room; ironic because Shane is notoriously terrible at doing so. 

He cuts into the skin tissue with a steady hand. Objectively, a cesarean is a relatively simple procedure and one that he’d been allowed to participate in during his first rotation as a newbie med student. But that had been in a hospital where all the equipment and resources one could need for lifesaving are within arms reach. When it’s happening in the middle of a dirt field next to a burning train, the procedure becomes much more complicated.

“Going through the uterus now,” Shane says as he cuts past the peritoneum.

“Holy shit,” Roz mutters under his breath. So much for plausible deniability. 

“Almost there.” Shane’s blade easily makes it down to the last layer.

What’s left of the amniotic sac becomes visible and Shane’s heart rate increases ever so slightly once he lays eyes on the curled up baby. “I got it.” He disregards his scalpel on the ground and adjusts his position over the woman.

Residual amniotic fluid and blood is released all over the belly and Shane confidently digs his hands in to extract the tiny baby. “Clamp the cord,” Shane tells Roz when he has the baby suspended a few inches from the mother. Roz clamps the umbilical cord and cuts in between them. 

“She’s not crying,” Roz points out immediately.

Shane nods and starts patting the baby (who he hadn’t even noticed was a girl). “C’mon. C’mon, baby girl,” he repeats. When that doesn’t work, he grabs the suction from Roz and clears an airway to aid her a little more. And when that doesn’t work, Shane lays her down on the blanket and starts flicking the soles of her feet. 

Both Shane and Roz are suspended in silence as they desperately try to get her to make a sound. Roz keeps suctioning while Shane listens to her heartbeat and tries every tactile stimulation he can recall from training. The longer she remains unmoving, the heavier the air around them begins to feel. Losing a patient is one thing, but losing a baby? A newborn? That will stay with you.

Shane is just slightly stressed when he looks at Roz. “I can hear a strong heartbeat. I don’t know why–”

A high pitched wail cuts Shane off and the baby in his arms suddenly comes alive with the energy of 100 angry baby bulls.

The invisible strings holding both him and Roz upright are instantly snipped and they both visibly deflate with relief.

Roz exclaims something that must be Russian and lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Fuck, Hollander, you did it.”

Shane wraps her up and bounces her in his arms carefully. “Sh sh, you’re okay. You’re okay, little one.” He presses her to his chest (which is beating so loud, he’s worried it’ll hurt her little ears) and continues whispering sweet nothings while she cries. Despite hating loud noises and feeling overstimulated, Shane’s never been so glad to have a baby screaming his ears.

“She’s okay. Vitals are strong, lungs are… stronger,” Shane reports with an exhausted but grateful smile.

Roz is looking at him with a dazzling grin and wipes at his face which only makes the sweat and ash worse, but Shane still finds himself positively entranced. 

“That was… fuck,” Roz exhales and runs both hands through his blonde hair. “Good shit, Hollander.”

“You too. Thanks for the assist.”

The two of them stare at each other for another unnecessary beat while Shane continues coddling the baby on autopilot. 

Just two men that can’t pull their gazes away from each other. Kneeling in a field. Over a dead woman with her belly cut open. While a newborn screams bloody murder. Next to a train on fire. Totally normal. Not at all uncomfortable or chilling in Shane’s bones.

Roz is the first to break. He moves for his radio, “Chief, I got a newborn coming out. Need a path.”

“Copy that, Roz. Haas, update.”

“Lieutenant, fire’s out in the third car, but don’t wait around. Something in the fourth car is still sparking like crazy,” Haas replies over the radio. “We’re holding it back.”

“Copy that, Haasy. Hollander and I are coming out,” Roz reports back. It must be the adrenaline that causes Shane to shudder a little at the sound of Roz’s accent saying his name again. No other reason.

Shane stands up steadily with the baby still cradled in his arms and watches Roz shove everything he can back into the med kit. The lack of organization and consideration physically pains him, but he knows he can’t expect Roz to pack it back up like a well-formed Tetris block. He does frown when Roz squeezes the bag between his knees to yank the zipper halfway shut, a few loose IV tubes still hanging out. 

“Come here,” Roz orders him. 

The way Shane immediately obeys him will have to be unpacked later.

“Tight enough?” Roz secures the baby to Shane’s chest with a few elastic straps from his utility belt, hands working fast but gently.

Shane nods and checks to make sure she has enough space to breathe against his body. Roz then picks up Shane’s jacket and helps him into it, even buckling it up and placing his helmet on his head. “Thanks,” Shane mutters. His hand goes to his chest to hold the baby even though the straps are tight enough so that she shouldn’t be moving much. The motion gives him something to do other than ogle openly at his fellow coworker. 

“Follow me.”

Shane does as told (again) and trails after Roz who picks up his own tools, the med bag, and Shane’s discarded oxygen tank. They march towards the train which Shane is thankful is mostly no longer on fire. He’d hate to have to put his mask and oxygen tank back on. Now, he doesn’t have to worry about accidentally smothering the baby in the heat. 

Right as he’s about to try and climb onto the train somehow, he feels a pair of hands grab onto his waist. “Up you go,” Roz says with a grunt. 

Before Shane can even process anything, he’s airborne. “What are–oh–jeez–oh my god,” he stammers and quickly grabs onto one of the railings to secure his footing.

“You good?” Roz asks from below him, hands firmly on Shane’s ass to keep him steady.

Shane pulls himself onto the train and turns around to stare down at Roz. Roz, who just lifted Shane off the ground by a good three feet without even the slightest signs of struggle. And Shane’s not a small guy by any means either. With his full firefighting suit and boots on, he’d estimate weighing over 200 lbs. 

Like a fucking feather. 

Is this what being swept off your feet feels like in real life? That’s one expression Shane never expected to experience, much less on his first shift during a call. 

Roz hauls himself and all their things on board and barely gives Shane another look before gesturing into the train. Shane has no choice but to follow while trying not to induce a myocardial infarction for how fast his heart is beating. He hadn’t even been this worked up when he was cutting into that woman’s belly. 

Shane makes sure he has one hand on the baby the whole time they’re stepping through the burnt car. He’s still glad to hear intermittent crying coming from inside his jacket; it gives him something else to focus on instead of the little blond curls peaking out from Roz’s helmet ahead of him.

At the other end, where Shane can see the rest of their crew working the scene again, Roz hops off the train first. 

“Jump,” he orders, turning around to face Shane again.

“Uh.” This time, he hesitates.

“I’ll catch you, Hollander,” Roz assures, holding his hands out like Shane is a child afraid to jump into the water.

“I’m good,” Shane says. He can just climb down himself.

Roz rolls his eyes and even flicks his hands repeatedly: the universal sign for come on. “Faster to jump. Baby needs hospital, yes?” 

Jesus. Well, he can’t argue with that logic.

Before his brain can caution him against it, Shane presses his left hand to where the baby is tucked and leans off the platform into Roz’s arms. Roz catches him easily while protecting the baby from being jostled too much. 

“Good job,” he mutters the praise into Shane’s ear and sets both of them down on the ground again. 

Shane’s never been more flustered in his life and he avoids eye contact like his future depends on it. He focuses his gaze on a mole on Roz’s cheek instead and only relaxes his shoulders a fraction when Roz takes a step back and Shane can no longer smell his lavender shampoo.

Of course, Roz smells like lavender.

Thankfully, the sun is out and Shane’s been sweating all morning. Otherwise, he’s sure Roz would notice the obvious blush creeping up Shane’s neck and spreading to his face.

“Pike, start your ambulance. Baby needs to go to med now,” Roz barks into his radio. 

“What happened to the mother?” Pike asks.

Shane sighs and grabs his own radio. “Didn’t make it.”

“Fuck. I don’t even want to ask. Ambo’s waiting.”

Roz casts him one more glance, blue-green eyes narrowing slightly as if to see Shane better even though he’s standing right in front of him. It looks like Roz is about to say something, but thinks better of it. Instead, he nods his head once at Shane before taking off in the opposite direction to where plumes of black smoke are still billowing from part of the train. 

The back of his jacket reads ROZANOV. Definitely Russian.

If not for the mass casualty event he’s standing in the middle of and the newborn strapped to his chest requiring immediate medical attention, Shane might’ve stayed planted just to watch Roz’s back some more. But he doesn’t because he’s a great paramedic and not at all interested in the supposed asshole of his new firehouse.

He starts jogging back towards where all their ambulances are parked while trying to shake crystal eyes out of his mind.

***

Shane is being hauled into the main den with Hayden’s arm casually slung over his shoulder. The two of them have just returned from the hospital where they’d made five separate runs between the train wreck. On their way out of the last one, HQ radioed to inform them their relief had arrived and that they were cleared to head back to the firehouse. Of course, Shane and Hayden double checked with Chief Wiebe and the firefighters on site to ensure they couldn’t be of more help, but they’d all been working for over 4 hours by then and it was about time back-up arrived. 

The first thing Shane wanted to do when they pulled back into the garage was change his clothes. Showering wasn’t always a luxury they could afford; his worst fear was getting caught mid-shampoo as the alarms blared. But swapping for fresh clothes and washing his face with the Japanese cleanser his mom liked to send him? This he could do. He needed to. 

Unfortunately, Hayden didn’t seem to mind that they’d been marinating in their sweaty clothes all morning because he was manhandling Shane inside the moment their boots hit home ground. Meet the guys! No better time than right after a crazy fucking call! Shane can actually think of many better times to meet a slew of new people, but he bites his tongue and lets Hayden play his wingman. Better now than never.

He can hear the bustling of bodies as they round the corner and into the kitchen/dining area.

“What’s for lunch?” Hayden asks.

Scott Hunter is standing behind the industrial stove with a red apron tied around his waist. Stand back, Grandpa is grilling is printed on the front with a smattering of hotdog and hamburger embroidery patches. Shane’s not sure if he’s supposed to laugh.

“Help yourself. Chicken fried rice is ready and Bood’s working on the roast beef,” Hunter says, gesturing to the counter in front of him with his spatula.

Another man pokes his head out from below the stove where the oven must be and flashes them a million watt smile. “It’s all done.” The man, who Shane assumes is Bood, is also wearing an odd apron: dark blue with Flippin’ Awesome Dad stitched across the chest in hot pink. Just to be safe, Shane decides not to react to this one either.

“Best chefs in the house. They can make anything, swear to god,” Hayden tells Shane and then hands him a plate.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, heard about your save with the baby. Really impressive, man,” Bood says to Shane. 

“Oh, thanks. Mother didn’t make it though.” Shane regrets the words as soon as they come out, but Bood simply nods. 

“Yeah, Roz told me. But we don’t dwell on the ones we can’t save, right?”

Shane blinks a few times at the mention of Roz. He’d almost forgotten about him since they separated after the baby rescue. Of course he’d tell his captain about what he’d been up to. 

“Right.”

“Eat up, Hollander. Busy house, so take advantage of the downtime when you can,” Scott Hunter advises.

Not needing to be told twice, Shane serves himself a generous portion of the fried rice and holds his plate out for Bood to add several slices of an admittedly glorious looking roast beef. The smell of spices makes Shane realize just how hungry he actually is.

He follows Hayden to a table with a few other people already in the middle of their meal and takes a seat.

“Lady and non-ladies, this is Shane Hollander, my new PIC,” Hayden introduces.

Shane nods his head and briefly skims everyone’s faces while not really seeing any one in particular. Has he mentioned he hates being the center of attention? 

“Hey man, welcome to 17. I’m JJ,” the tall and lanky guy at the end says; Shane detects a familiar accent and perks up. 

“Are you French?”

JJ raises his eyebrows. “Quebecois. Et tu?”

“Non, Ottawa. Mais j'avais l'habitude de passer mes étés à Montréal,” Shane responds, exercising the French-Canadian muscles he hasn’t needed in years.

JJ grins. “Wow, Hollander is my new best friend everybody!” He practically yells.

Shane blushes when he realizes the rest of the table is also staring at him with perplexed dropped jaws. 

“Woah, I didn’t know you spoke fake French,” Hayden jokes, which earns him a middle finger from JJ.

Shane shakes his head awkwardly. “It’s a mandatory class in high school for most Canadians.”

“You’re Canadian? How’d you end up in Boston?” Another voice across the table from him asks. 

It’s the only woman at the table, actually in the whole room. Her reddish hair is in two neat braids and the way she regards Shane like he’s the most important thing in the world right now makes him wish she’d stop. She must be Rose Landry. 

Rozanov’s Rose Landry.

Shane still has no idea what exactly Hayden meant when he brought them up together, but at the very least, Shane can deduce they must be romantically involved. He’s not that dumb.

“I came here for school and decided to stay,” is all Shane supplies. 

“Cool. I’m Rose. Hope Hayden’s not making your job too difficult yet.”

“Hey! I’m a joy to work with!” Hayden argues.

“Yes, you are Hayden. We loved working with you when we rescued you from your bathroom during work,” someone new chimes in. 

“Oh, fuck you Marly. I’m never living that one down.”

Marly (Cliff Marleau, if Shane recalls correctly from Hayden’s monologuing this morning) just smiles. “Nope. I’m telling that story to your grandkids.”

“What story?” Shane asks.

Hayden is already rolling his eyes when Marleau launches into a dramatic retelling of the time Hayden was late to work because he got trapped in his own bathroom at home and had to call Rescue 1 to… well, rescue him.

“And he’s just in a towel waiting for us to save him!” 

The entire table is laughing and Shane finds himself joining in. It’s not often he feels at ease with strangers, but Hayden had graciously given him biographies of everyone here and no one was giving him a hard time yet. He lets himself relax a fraction. 

“Tell Shane about the time Hayden got taken down at that pimp’s house!” One of the younger guys at the table, who Shane recognizes is Haas, pipes up.

“Luca, kid, I’ll kill you,” Hayden threatens.

“Oh, this one’s good,” the guy sitting next to Haas says while they fist bump. That must be Henry Young, the newest candidate. 

“We get a call about a potential gas leak at this house down Mavis and long story short, there was no gas leak, just massive oil paintings of naked men riding horses and eating cake everywhere. The dude who called us said he was feeling nauseous and lightheaded and we were like no shit! Anyways, Hayden was gonna take him to med when one of the paintings fell off the wall and pinned him down,” Marly explains, hand gestures and expressive eyebrows pulling the entire cinematic experience together for Shane. 

“It’s a 10 foot tall painting of a naked black guy on a white horse. Hayden was right up in the saddle of it where he belongs,” JJ finishes.

Shane laughs when everyone else does. Truthfully, he’s not a fan of people ganging up to take the piss out of one person, but Hayden doesn’t actually look angry. If anything, he seems to be enjoying this too despite flipping JJ off again.

“You get stuck in some pretty bad situations,” Shane comments.

Hayden rolls his eyes. “Someone’s hexed me.”

“We call him Lucky Pike. Get it? Like Lucky Strike except it’s ironic because Hayden has terrible luck.”

“Yes, thank you, Young, for explaining,” Hayden says sarcastically. “Don’t you have toilets and showers to scrub?”

This makes Henry Young beam. “Nope, just showers. Roz made me a deal for the toilets.”

Shane’s fork pauses on its way to his mouth.

“You got Rozanov to scrub the toilets? What the hell could you have offered him for that?” Hunter asks incredulously from the stove.

“I don’t think Roz even did those chores when he was an actual candidate,” Bood muses.

“Did you get scammed, kid?” Hayden asks. “What’d he ask for? Your first born child?”

Why would Rozanov want… oh. He’s being sarcastic again.

Henry shakes his head looking mighty proud of himself. “Nope. All he wanted was a parking pass from my mom and he said he’d do the toilets for a month.”

“Oh. That actually makes sense,” Marly sighs, sounding dejected that the answer wasn’t more interesting. 

“He actually agreed to those terms?” Rose asks.

Henry nods. “I would’ve given it to him for free, but he offered first. Plus, it’s an annual pass. She won’t have to pay for a whole year.”

Shane is incredibly confused at the conversation happening in front of him that clearly does not involve him, but that everyone else seems to be able to contribute to. Who is she? Judging by Rose’s reaction, they’re not talking about her. Does Roz have… another girlfriend? And Rose doesn’t mind? 

And where is Rozanov anyway? He’s not in the kitchen eating with the rest of them and Shane didn’t see him when they first walked into the building.

“I guess that’s a decent deal. You should’ve milked him for more,” Bood adds. “Toilets and inventory on the rig.”

“I actually want him to like me, so no thanks.”

“It still baffles me that they make the doctors pay for parking at the hospital they work at,” JJ says.

Roz’s second girlfriend is a doctor at the hospital?

Shane wishes he could pause the conversation and ask Hayden to explain it all to him like he’s 12.

“Capitalism,” Haas replies solemnly. “It controls everything here.”

“Alright, Swedish boy. Wrap it up here and get started on that inventory,” Hunter says.

“You too, get it done faster together.” Bood points his fork at Henry Young.

The two of them sigh dramatically, but they clear off their plates and stand up without complaint. “Yes, dads,” they say in unison before heading out.

Shane is amused that they don’t seem to mind taking orders from Bood and Hunter who are not their captains. Already, the dynamics at 17 are much different from any other firehouse Shane has worked at. He thinks maybe he could enjoy himself here.

“Where’s everyone else?” Shane asks. 

He still has yet to meet the captain of Engine 24 and a few others. He’d also like to officially meet Rozanov too. Since they’ll be working together. And it’d be rude not to introduce himself after the morning they had. 

“Dykstra’s working on his report. Hayes is probably napping; he’s always napping,” Rose scoffs.

“No idea where Barrett and Roz are,” Marly adds.

“I think they’re both having a smoke out back,” Bood says.

Smoking? Shane hopes the disgust on his face isn’t as obvious as it feels.

“So, tell us about you, Shane. How long have you been with the BFD?” JJ asks.

“Oh, um, 11 months.” Shane squirms a little at the attention being brought back to him, but he knows JJ’s just being nice and courteous getting to know him.

“A baby medic! Where were you before this?”

“22 in Roxbury.”

Rose whistles. “That’s not a pretty area. Bet you got a lot of-""Gun shot victims, yep.”

She laughs when he cuts her off. “How’d you feel about the call this morning? Heard you did a gnarly C-section to save a baby.”

At the reminder of what had happened a mere few hours ago, Shane starts to dread writing up the report. He knows the second it’s submitted, he’ll be called down for review. It wouldn’t be his first reprimanding, but it would likely be his most severe.

“It was the only way. Roz was a big help.” Shane’s not sure why he felt the need to say that, much less to Rose who might very well be one of his two girlfriends.

“Yeah? Well, I’m glad the baby’s okay. I hope they find her a good home. Shame about the mother though.”

Shane nods and looks back down at his food. 

“Thanks for killing the mood, Rose! On that note, how about I finish the tour for you?” Hayden asks.

Shane chuckles a little at the dramatic transition. His plate’s mostly done anyways and he’s desperate for a change of clothes, so he nods at Hayden.

“Hey, Hollander. Welcome to 17,” Marly says to him as they stand up.

“Thanks. I’m looking forward to working with everyone here.” He hopes the smile he gives everyone looks as genuine as he feels. 

“If anyone needs us, I’ll be showing Hollzy where Hayes hides his candy.”

***

Two separate motor vehicle accidents, one drowning child, three cardiac events at a nursing home, and one anaphylactic woman later, Shane is exhausted. By the time he and Hayden were finishing up with the last victim, he told himself no matter what happens, he was going to take a fucking shower. Luckily, none of the latest calls had been too physically taxing, for the paramedics at least, so he’s not drenched in sweat like he was this morning. But he can still feel the grime of being out and about and is willing to risk getting caught buttnaked during an alarm if it means he can scrub his body down. 

“I’m beat. Don’t wake me unless the Lady of the House says so,” Hayden grumbles with a yawn. He’s referring to the woman on dispatch who announces every call with her calm and collected voice. 

Shane nods and watches Hayden trudge towards the common dorm room where he’s sure some other firefighters are also sleeping in their beds. It’s almost 10 pm and they’d all been at it since 7 am. After a shower, he’ll join them for as much shut eye as he can get. 

He makes his way to the locker room, passing by Barrett in the kitchen who gives him a small nod at the coffee machine. They met during the first car accident when Barrett helped get Shane into a wrecked car, so he could assess the driver. Hayden mentioned that Troy Barrett didn’t talk much or hang with the rest of them outside of work, but he was nice enough to Shane: constantly checking that he and the victim were okay while Rescue 1 worked on loudly cutting the car frame open. Shane didn’t think it was all that odd that Barrett kept to himself. Some people just like to separate work and personal life. He knows that unless Hayden has any say in it, Shane would also be the same.

Once he gets to the locker room, he makes quick work of getting his toiletries and clean clothes. All the while he’s stripping and stepping into his shower slippers, he’s praying that the Lady of the House will have some mercy on him during his first shift. He really will not last another minute without body wash.

The showers are empty when Shane steps inside. Firehouse 17 is slightly older than some of the other houses he’s worked at because there are still communal showers. There are 2 private stalls in the corner that look newly put in, but he spots a bucket of cleaning supplies discarded in front of them and thinks Young must’ve dropped what he was doing when the alarms came in. 

Shane doesn’t want to be rude and mess up any cleaning that was done, so he hangs his towel on a hook by the first communal showerhead and turns it on. He shuts his eyes and lets the lukewarm water run through his hair and down his body, washing away all the tension and energy from a full day as it drains by his feet. Usually, Shane can spend hours in the shower getting lost in his thoughts, often forgetting where he is because of how deep inside his own head he goes. But at work, he’s trained himself to block out any thinking and just move as fast as he can. Plus the showers at work never have the same pressure or general comfort as the one in his home, so it’s not a great place to contemplate for long anyways.

He lathers his hair with shampoo and shuts his eyes as he rinses. It’s so quiet in here, save for the sound of his own shower, that Shane hears it the second someone else arrives. 

Blinking the water from his eyes, he turns his head.

Lo and behold, Roz is stepping up to the showerhead two down from Shane. 

Naked.

And Shane is shamefully no better than any man or woman. 

He can’t help that his gaze wanders down to Roz’s… well, everything. Shane feels like a robot who’s just been fed too much data to parse through, eyes and brain struggling to focus on just one bit. He does hone in on one detail he’d scolded himself for contemplating earlier and that is that Roz is quite large.

It’s definitely too late and obvious when he finally snaps out of it and goes back to looking at the wall in front of him. Showering at the firehouse has the same unspoken rules as the men’s urinals: mind your own business. Chit chatting is weird and staring is definitely not acceptable behaviour. 

Should he apologize? Or is that even creepier? Did Roz even notice? Shane was so busy raking in all six feet of pure muscle and power that he hadn’t even bothered to look at the man’s face. 

He shuts his eyes again and uses the water to recenter himself. The shock of actually seeing Roz plus the long day he’s had, his brain is just lagging, he tells himself. 

He goes back to his own task at hand and pretends there’s a wall between them. It’s no different from how the day has been going anyways. Aside from their joint baby delivery in the morning, Shane hadn’t seen much of him. During calls, Roz never seemed to be working in Shane’s vicinity even when all of Rescue 1 were. All Shane caught were glimpses of ROZANOV moving around the scene like a speed demon. 

In the firehouse, Shane busied himself with working on his reports and chatting with Hayden, JJ, and Rose (who Shane realized was actually very nice and fun to talk to) while Roz was never anywhere to be seen. Even during the brief period between the heart attack and peanut reaction when Shane intentionally went looking for him to finally do a proper introduction, Marly had told him that Roz was chatting with Chief Wiebe about something important. 

It’d be silly to think Roz was avoiding him, but Shane’s never been great with reading social cues and he can’t help but imagine the worst from a guy he met while cutting open a woman’s belly. Maybe Roz thought Shane was a liability. Maybe he didn’t want to get caught in the consequences of what he’d done. Maybe all his talk about stupid American rules was just a bluff. Maybe Shane was overthinking Roz’s little comments and praises and he didn’t actually mean anything when he whispered good job in Shane’s ear. 

Maybe he just found Shane annoying. That was certainly possible. He’s been told a few times, mostly by failed relationships and old classmates, that he can be a lot at once. He’s a stickler for the rules and dislikes deviating from any norms (except when necessary for the wellbeing of a patient; Shane will always put a patient first) which tends to rub people the wrong way. Maybe he offended Roz when he checked the woman for crowning after Roz just said he already checked. 

Whatever it is, whatever he did, the thought makes Shane uneasy. He’s met everyone else and they all seem to like him enough. It might drive him insane to know someone on his shift wishes to avoid him forever. Shane has to remember he’s not in his shower at home, so he doesn’t lose himself to reliving their rescue from this morning to identify where he might’ve gone wrong. Where, in between the praises and manhandling him on the train, he might’ve ruined his chances of a professional relationship.

The last traces of soap get scrubbed out of his hair a minute later and Shane finally moves his face out of the water. He can hear Roz’s shower splashing around on his left and he risks a quick glance. 

He’s massively caught off guard when he sees Roz is already looking back at him. Those devilish blue-green eyes are shamelessly pointed directly at Shane, so much so that Shane doesn’t even bother checking behind himself for what else Roz might be focused on. 

They’re both motionless staring at each other. It reminds Shane of that moment they shared this morning when it felt like neither could tear their eyes away from the other despite the disaster they were in the middle of. The rising and falling of his own chest plus the continuous stream of water are the only indicators for Shane that time is still moving.

The moment is over, but quickly replaced with something even more charged when Roz moves until his body is completely facing in Shane’s direction and everything is on display for him to peruse. There is not a single inch to be left up to imagination. Not that Shane’s imagination could even conjure up something as impressive as reality. 

Shane’s face heats up immediately. The lean carve of every muscle is proof of years of hard work on the job and a vision of Shane running his hands down his offensively defined obliques makes his blush even more intense. It only gets worse when he follows the movement of Roz’s hand as it snakes from his hair down towards his stomach and then to the base of his shaft and begins to… stroke it. 

His own jaw clenches as Roz moves his hand up and down and up and down and up and down. 

When Shane flits his hooded eyes up to Roz’s face, it reveals nothing but a hardened look. Roz raises his eyebrows once and then very obviously drops his gaze down to Shane’s own cock which is still semi-hidden (and semi-hard). Instinctively, Shane angles his body away from Roz like it’ll protect him from… him. 

“Fuck off,” Shane retorts, but his voice wavers at the end to sound much less menacing than he was intending.

Roz merely shrugs and continues stroking his own cock like he’s in the privacy of his own home. Like Shane isn’t actively trying to get rid of the pressure building between his own legs and in his stomach.

He knows it’s a terrible idea, but Shane can’t help but keep watching from over his shoulder. Clearly, it’s exactly what Roz wants because he speeds up the motion and drops his head to the side lazily like he’s getting off to the sight of Shane. It makes Shane feel 100 different things at once, and not one of them is safe for work. He has to fight every nerve in his body to not move his own hand and get to work relieving himself. Or drop to his knees in front of Roz and finish the job with his mouth.

He physically shakes his head to snap out of it and leans back into the water. “Not here,” he tells Roz, hoping he sounds strict enough to obey.

To his relief, Roz sends him a half smirk and easily stops. He looks quietly proud and triumphant when Shane watches him for an extra moment to make sure he’s behaving. Only when Roz busies his hands with shampoo (much more acceptable activity) does Shane turn his own shower off and quickly make his escape out of the showers.

That’s certainly one way to introduce yourself. 

Shane locks himself in one of the toilet stalls with his towel loose around the hips and his new clothes thrown over the door. His chest is heaving like he just finished a workout and he has to press his hands against the cold wall to ground himself. He drops his head and mentally curses Roz’s entire bloodline, him included, at the sight of his own very obvious tent. It’s so aggressive that his towel is loosening by the second from the strain.

All that and Roz hadn’t even said a single word. What the fuck was his deal?

Shane knows he’s an excellent paramedic and a fantastic coworker. He’s never indulged in anything raunchy or even suggestively risqué at work because that’s against the rules and disrespectful to his peers. Even when he knows some of his past coworkers have hooked up on the job in secret corners of the house, Shane stood strong (not that there had been multiple opportunities, but once or twice was enough to test his conviction). 

But right now, all of that is about to go out the window. 

Ripping his towel off, Shane bites the flesh of his left hand as his right starts to alleviate the tension in his dick. With every stroke, Shane imagines Roz standing before him. It’s honestly embarrassing how weak in the knees he goes immediately and how he has to focus on the pain of biting down on his skin to keep quiet. Shane’s never been the quiet type.

When he feels close, he recalls the way Roz had spoken to him and said his name during the call this morning. Good shit, Hollander. Tight enough? Follow me. Good job. Good job. Good job. Good job. Good job. Good job, Hollander. 

He imagines Roz’s startling eyes watching him like he’d done earlier. Finish for me, Hollander. Yes, just like that, Hollander. Good boy, Hollander. Good job. Good job. 

Shane releases in record time, shoulders shaking with how hard he’s holding it together to not make a sound, and drops his head against the wall. Two deep breaths later, he gropes at his discarded towel to clean off his hand. Feeling like he showered for nothing, Shane sluggishly puts his new clothes on. 

When he exits the stall and walks up to the sink, he peeks back into the showers and finds it thankfully empty. He’s starting to hope Roz continues avoiding him for the rest of the shift. Maybe even forever. Forget everything Shane was spiraling over earlier. Staying away from Roz is the best thing for Shane’s personal wellbeing. Plus, he’s not sure he’ll be able to look at him again after what he just did in the bathroom. 

He washes his hands and looks in the mirror before promptly dropping his head. Fuck. He can hardly even look at himself.

***

At 7 am, the next shift is on their way in and Shane is officially finished. It had been a relatively peaceful night save for one alarm that woke everyone up at 4 am. Shane and Hayden had basically slapped each other awake to go respond to a frat party where a student overdosed by accident. Nothing a dose of Narcan couldn’t fix. They were both fast asleep the second they returned.

Now, Shane has his bag slung over one shoulder as he steps out from the open garage doors. 

“Yo, Hollander!”

He stops and turns to see Hayden and JJ walking towards him. 

“Hi.”

“What are you doing later tonight?” Hayden asks.

“Nothing much. Probably just dinner,” Shane answers honestly. 

He usually hits the gym and grocery store after a shift. 

“You should come grab drinks with us,” JJ offers. “We like hanging at the Kingfisher on Raymond Street.”

“Oh, who’s we?” Shane asks. Couldn’t possibly be everyone from shift, right?

“JJ and I will be there. Rose too. Wyatt and the rookies usually show up later. Some guys from different shifts might come. It’s a fun crowd.”

Shane nods, thankful that one particular name wasn’t listed. He somehow managed to go the rest of the shift without another encounter with Roz. Two days off will give Shane enough time to get over whatever the fuck happened today. He’ll be totally normal about everything by the next shift.

“Please come! The bartenders all know us and they have a discount for first responders,” Hayden adds.

Just as Shane’s about to tell them that he’ll think about it (he’s also not a fan of his practiced nighttime routine getting disrupted), he spots a head of curly blond hair exiting the firehouse. 

Like a cat with a lazer, Shane is transfixed on Roz swinging his bag over his shoulder, revealing a strip of his midsection as his shirt rides up, and sauntering out. Shane has seen him decked out in his firefighting gear and then completely naked. Now, he can add casual street clothes to his repertoire. 

He looks like an off duty model with a pair of black sunglasses pushed up into his hair, comfy gray hoodie, and black Adidas trackpants. He glances over at Shane for half a second as he passes by their group and Shane swears Roz’s lips quirk ever so slightly. Shame washes over him again when he thinks about Roz finding out about what he did in the bathroom. Or worse, what Roz knows Shane was thinking about when he got himself off. 

Shane continues to stare thoughtlessly until Roz stops in front of a beautiful red sports car parked on the street. Of course, someone like Roz would drive a loud Lamborghini on a fireman’s salary. 

But instead of getting in from the left side, Roz opens the passenger door and disappears inside. The next thing Shane sees is Roz leaning over the middle console and kissing a woman in the driver’s seat. He can’t make out anything other than a head of curly brown hair because of the angle and the fact that Roz is practically eating her face. 

Three seconds later, the car revs to life and drives off, leaving Shane standing in a puddle of his own confusion, shame, and humiliation.

“So, what do you say? Kingfisher tonight to celebrate your first shift with us. Drinks on me, mon ami.”

Shane turns back to JJ and Hayden who are staring at him expectantly even though he can’t really remember what they were talking about. 

“Um… sure.”

God, he is so fucked.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

I am having a blast writing this and I'm so glad some people are finding it! I appreciated the 2 comments tremendously; they actually made my day <333

Hope this chapter is worth the wait. I'm going to try writing more throughout the week, so I'm aiming to update every weekend, but work is work ://

I realized I should also put trigger warnings before chapters since some of the rescues can get vivid. None for this chapter, but I'll keep this in mind for the future!

“Hollander!”

Shane scans the crowded bar and spots Hayden waving his hand from a table near the back. He makes his way over and smiles at the group, trying to look casual, but probably coming off as awkward as he feels.

“Hi.”

“You came!” Hayden exclaims and quickly pulls him in for a one armed hug.

Rose pats the seat next to her. “What are you drinking? I heard JJ’s paying for the whole night,” she wriggles her eyebrows deviously.

Shane chuckles as he sits down. He checks what the three of them are drinking first. Hayden’s half empty glass looks like it might be a beer, JJ’s nursing some kind of blue cocktail, and Rose is holding a margarita glass with a salt rim. 

“I’ll just have a ginger ale," he settles on.

JJ waves his hand. “Nah man. Pick a real drink, at least one, so I can say I welcomed you to 17 properly.”

“Okay, um… a beer? Whatever’s on tap.” Shane’s not much of a drinker, but he wants JJ to be happy.

“Good choice. And for you ladies?” JJ asks Rose and Hayden.

“Beer for me too. And a diet coke,” Rose requests.

“Yeah, I’ll just get a refill. Thanks man,” Hayden adds.

“No problemo. Four beers and a diet coke. I’ll be right back.”

JJ disappears into the crowd and Hayden and Rose finish off a conversation about Hayden’s wife, Jackie. Shane busies himself by taking in the establishment. It had been relatively easy to find after Hayden texted him the address. The Kingfisher has a solid 4.5 stars on Google and their Instagram was active enough for Shane to figure out what the vibe typically is for a weeknight. He’s dressed accordingly based on what he found other people were wearing in some of their stories: jeans and a black long sleeve. He also knows most patrons like the drinks here because of the fair price and many noted the excellent customer service.

Shane likes to be prepared when he can.

“So, how’d you feel about your first shift?” Rose asks, pulling Shane’s wandering mind back to the table.

“Good. It was good. 17’s a busy house.”

Hayden nods and downs the rest of his drink. “You got lucky. Mass casualty incident in your first 10 minutes on shift. That might beat Rose’s first high rise fire.”

“Oh, you had a big one on your first day too?” Shane asks.

“Yep. Remember the big one at the Hilton two years ago on Independence Day? Eight stories on fire because someone lit firecrackers inside?”

Shane’s eyes widen and he nods. “Yeah, I saw that happening from across the Charles River.”

“That was my first shift as a candidate. Almost passed out twice going up and down those stairs for hours.”

“Wow. That’s intense. At least the train from yesterday was on ground level,” Shane says.

Rose laughs. “Amen to that.”

“What was your first shift like, Hayden?” Shane asks curiously. 

“At 17? Man, I think I had it pretty light, honestly. I remember a gunshot victim and motorcycle crash.”

“Lucky Pike,” Rose teases.

JJ returns to the table with everyone’s drinks and Shane thanks him profusely, promising to get him back next time.

“Hey, don’t sweat it. Kip gave me a huge discount for your first time here.”

“Who’s Kip?”

Hayden nods to the bar and points out the man currently working behind it. “Kip Grady. I think it’s short for something, but everyone calls him Kip. He’s our favourite bartender.”

Shane nods and straightens up to wave when Kip notices their table looking at him. He shoots them back a kind smile and thumbs up. 

“Just tell him you’re a firefighter and he’ll hook you up. He gives us all discounts,” JJ explains.

“That’s… nice of him.” Shane’s not a business guy by any means, but he’s pretty sure with the amount of first responders in here and how often Hayden says they come, offering all these discounts cannot be a good business strategy. 

“Hey, we don’t question it. I leave him a big tip every time though.”

“Cool. So, is this where the house likes to hang usually?” Shane takes a sip of his beer. It’s pretty good compared to what he’s had at other bars. Although, he’s not much of a drinker personally, mostly indulging in social settings.

“Yep. You can always bet that someone from 17 will be here any night,” JJ answers.

Shane doesn’t think he’d ever come here alone or without one of his three new friends, but it’s nice to know everyone has a common socializing space.

“Why this bar in particular? Isn’t The Royal Beth more convenient?” He asks curiously, naming the bar that’s three blocks closer to the firehouse.

“I don’t actually know,” Rose admits. “It was a tradition before I started.”

“Same here,” JJ adds.

“Hunter picked this place,” Hayden reveals casually.

JJ and Rose raise their eyebrows at him. “Seriously?”

“Mhmm. He says he just stumbled in here one day after shift and liked the vibe. Then he invited some guys and it just became our spot.”

Shane looks around. He spots a few familiar faces and even some from other houses he’s floated at.

“Hunter’s not around tonight?” He asks. 

Shane’s been hoping to ask him about the elevator accident that Scott received an award for. It was a gnarly rescue: a victim’s entire arm de-gloved in an elevator shaft during an active fire and Scott singlehandedly realigned it and then hauled him out. They taught it to Shane’s cohort at the academy when highlighting adaptability and resilience. And bodily gore aversion.

Hayden shakes his head. “Nope. He actually stopped coming here himself.”

“Yeah, why’d he stop if this was his discovery? He hasn’t come to The Kingfisher in months,” Rose asks.

“No one knows. He just says he’s not in the mood to go out which I’m calling bullshit on. He used to come out with us all the time,” Hayden reminisces.

“He joins us when we go to The Tam,” JJ points out.

“Good point. Hunter only comes out when we pick a different bar,” Hayden corrects.

Shane frowns. “Maybe he doesn’t like it here anymore?” He wonders what about this bar isn’t to like.

“Your guess is as good as ours, Hollzy. Next week, we’ll go to The Tam and invite him.”

The four of them enjoy their drinks and the conversation flows from there. They make sure to keep Shane in the conversation when they realize he hasn’t said anything in a while and always give him the context to any inside joke or story, so they can all laugh together. It’s a good time and Shane’s really glad he came out. He likes learning more about the three of them and he’s even secretly excited that he’s made friends this quick at a new firehouse. 

Plus, it seems Shane’s befriended the three biggest gossipers at Firehouse 17 because he’s learning more about his new coworkers than he expected to. He’s not mad about it though.

“You said you came here for school, right? What’d you study?” Rose asks.

“Well, I went to university in Canada and then I got into medical school in Boston, so I moved here,” Shane answers vaguely, still sipping his beer slowly despite the rest of them nearing the bottom of theirs.

Hayden’s eyes bug out of his face. “Medical school? In Boston?”

Shane nods awkwardly.

“Was it… Harvard…?” Hayden asks slowly, like he’s scared of the answer.

Shane nods again, infinitely more sheepish and embarrassed.

“You went to medical school?” JJ exclaims incredulously. 

“At Harvard?” Rose adds with equal, if not more, disbelief.

“Sort of. I didn’t finish my last year.” This is why Shane doesn’t like talking about himself.

“You have to give us more information than that! We didn’t know we were in the presence of a genius. Although, maybe I should’ve guessed given how fast you work in the field,” Hayden considers.

Shane rolls his eyes with a small laugh and brings his glass up to hide how red his face is probably turning. “There’s not much to tell. I did a few rotations, but it wasn’t for me, so I dropped out in my third year and joined the academy. I’d gotten certified as a paramedic in my first year as part of an extracurricular thing.”

“Fucking hell, Shane. You could’ve been a doctor?” Hayden asks.

“From Harvard,” Rose adds again.

Shane shrugs. “I guess. I thought about toughing it out for one more year, but I knew I wasn’t going to apply for residency, so I didn’t see the point. Plus I really liked what I learned during paramedic training. It just felt right to pivot and save myself the tuition money.”

“What rotations had you done by then?” JJ asks curiously.

“I finished pediatrics, surgery, psychiatry, OB/GYN, and emergency.”

“Can I guess which one you enjoyed the most?” Rose asks.

“Oh, uh, sure.” No one’s ever offered to guess that before.

She grins. “Was it emergency medicine?”

Shane’s mouth parts in surprise which makes everyone laugh. “How’d you know?”

She shrugs smugly. “It seems like a natural progression. No one who enjoyed peds or psych would feel so comfortable in the chaos of a field paramedic.”

Shane nods as he mulls it over. “Very good point.” 

He did like the emergency department rotation the most. The hustle and bustle of every minute kept him on his toes and he loved learning all the creative ways to treat a diverse array of ailments. It was definitely the most similar to being a paramedic and not knowing what you were walking into every call.

“Hey, where’d you do your ER rotation?” 

“Boston Med.” 

“Ah, outside of our area then.”

He nods. “Yeah. Some of the houses I floated at before were routed there. It was nice seeing the doctors and nurses who remembered me.”

“Do you know anyone at Tufts Med?” Hayden asks. Tufts is the hospital that Ambulance 81 usually goes to.

Shane shakes his head. “Not super well. We didn’t really get the chance to stop and meet anyone today.” Shane and Hayden rolled in rapping patient stats and then were quickly sent back out once their gurney was empty. The Tufts ER department definitely had their hands full today.

“I wonder if you’d know Dr. V. Didn’t Roz say she also worked at Boston Med before?” JJ wonders, asking Hayden and Rose.

At the mention of Roz, Shane feels a shiver down his spine. 

He hasn’t gotten around to debriefing with himself about the whole situation, saving it for his full day off tomorrow. He was not prepared to be talking (or thinking) about him tonight.

“No idea. She’s your age though. Maybe you’ve crossed paths before,” Hayden says, nodding at Shane.

“Who’s Dr. V?”

“Dr. Vetrova. Svetlana. She’s an ER doctor at Tufts,” Rose supplies.

Shane shakes his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. What does Roz have to do with her?” He hopes the shake in his voice when he says Roz was all in his head.

JJ and Hayden both break into shiteating smirks while Rose rolls her eyes and finishes her drink. 

“Roz says she’s just his best friend from Russia,” Hayden starts, leaning into the table like he’s revealing State secrets. “But he’s so whipped for her. That’s who he’s cleaning the toilets for. Luca’s mom is one of the administrators for Tufts and probably hooked him up with a parking pass for Svetlana.”

Shane blinks, taking it all in. Then he turns to Rose beside him who doesn’t look the least bit bothered that they’re talking about Roz’s other girlfriend in front of her. 

“They live in the same building, drive the same car around–that’s who picked him up today, by the way–go on trips back to the motherland together,” JJ lists.

So, that’s who Roz was making out with in the lambo.

“And they definitely hook up everyday,” Hayden adds. 

Shane’s eyes widen. “How can you know that?”

“Roz comes to work with crazy marks on his body and he’s never shied away from showing it all off. It’s just a feeling, you know? Plus, they’re both hot and he’s a manwhore.”

Shane ignores the simultaneous compliment and dig. “So… they’re together?”

JJ laughs. “Oh, no. Roz doesn’t do together.”

Rose sighs. “Roz does other very wonderful, incredible things,” she laments and then drops her chin into her hand with a pout. “But, no. He does not do together with any woman,” she validates JJ’s claim with zero malice and Shane stares at her like she’s grown a second head.

“Ugh, Rose, gross. Don’t remind me. It’s like listening to your little sister talk about her sex life,” Hayden cringes and finishes his beer like it’s a shot of hard liquor.

She merely grins and sends him a wink. “Don’t be jealous, Pike. I’m sure Roz would consider it for more than a second before shooting you down.”

Rose and JJ are laughing while Hayden grumbles, but Shane is too confused. “I’m so lost right now.”

JJ smirks. “Roz is every Boston girl’s best and worst nightmare.”

“Marly once told me he slept with three girls in one night. At the same time. I don’t even know how someone has the stamina for that,” Hayden says, rolling his eyes.

“Careful, Hayd. Don’t expose yourself,” Rose teases.

They’re laughing again, but Shane is getting frustrated with his lack of knowledge on the matter. The matter of Roz. All the while they’re cracking jokes about women sleeping with him, Shane is only remembering the way his chilling blue eyes had stared him down in the showers without an inch of mercy and how he’d very clearly invited Shane for… more. Was Roz bisexual? Curious? Or was this some twisted hazing bullshit he did?

“Guys, what the hell are you talking about?” Shane asks and then turns to Rose. “I thought you were dating Roz! But now we’re talking about his other girlfriend, Svetlana? And every other woman in Boston he sleeps with? What the fuck?” He can’t help that he sounds like a petulant teenager begging the cooler kids to let him in on a secret.

Rose’s eyes widen in surprise and she shakes her head quickly. “Oh, no, no! We are definitely not together. We hooked up once last year after I’d gone through a really bad breakup and it was great, life changing even, but that’s all it was. Just one time.”

“Oh,” Shane sits back in his seat. “I’m sorry about your breakup.”

She laughs and rests her hand on his shoulder. “You’re very sweet, thank you. He was a total asshole and cheated on me on my birthday. And then a day later, Rozanov and I were both just in the right place at the right time.”

“It had to be him,” Hayden grumbles.

“Hey, better Roz than some chum off the street. At least he was nice to Rose,” JJ defends.

“The nicest. Honestly, I highly recommend him for a post-breakup bang. Say what you want about his attitude, Pike, but Roz knows what he’s doing when he’s got a woman in front of him,” Rose says with a sweet smile.

Even though Shane knows next to nothing about Roz and actually might even dislike him for obvious reasons which shall remain in the firehouse showers, hearing them talk about the man like he’s just a sex demon makes Shane uncomfortable. And it’s not even like they’re being mean about it either. It just rubs Shane the wrong way that they’re using it to justify their dislike of him or dehumanize him more. 

Shane remembers how diligent Roz had been with their pregnant victim at the train crash and how elated he was when the baby came out safe. Even though Shane knows people can be good at their jobs, but still less than angelic humans off duty, he just can’t force himself to buy into the propaganda that Roz is nothing but an asshole with a deep roster. Surely not, right? 

Objectively, he’s only known Roz for 24 hours, of which he spent a measly 1 hour actually interacting with him (ten minutes of which he’d just spent staring at his naked body). But Shane was raised to see the best in people and not judge and he intends on doing so until Roz proves him startlingly wrong. Besides, it’s not exactly his place to pass judgement for what the man does in his free time anyways.

“So, what is his deal then? When did he join 17?” Shane asks, diverting the conversation away from Roz’s sex appeal (he’s very aware).

“Roz joined about a year after me? Then, made Rescue 1 a year after and was promoted to lieutenant last year,” Hayden answers.

“That’s fast for Rescue, isn’t it?” As there are only two Rescue squads in Boston, Shane knows how competitive it is to get a spot on one of the prestigious trucks.

“Well, he’s very good at his job,” Rose says honestly.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Shane says before he realizes. “I mean, he was great at the train accident today. And all the other ones too. He’s great with the patients.” If the other three notice his nervous rambling, they don’t comment on it.

“He’ll definitely make Captain the second Bood mentions wanting to retire or move on,” JJ states.

“I don’t think he wants it. Remember when Chief offered him a captain spot at a different firehouse? Roz turned it down even after hearing the pay bump,” Rose recalls.

“Is he, like, filthy rich or something?” Shane jokes. He, himself, is buried in student debt and still getting by like a broke med student.

JJ chuckles. “We joke that he is because of the car, but I think it’s mostly Svetlana’s money. I heard her dad used to be a famous hockey player too. Roz is actually pretty frugal. I caught him haggling at a hotdog stand once.”

Shane can’t help the laughter that rips out of him. “Was it the hotdog guy on Kingston and Union Park? He’s always overcharging and changing his prices on a whim.” Shane’s been known to haggle there once or twice too.

“The very one.”

“Roz is harmless. Hayden just holds a grudge,” Rose says.

Hayden rolls his eyes. “Sure, I’m the problem when that guy’s an asshole.”

“No one said he wasn’t. But he could probably become a Chief if he wanted to, so you should learn to play nice while you can. He’s got it in him,” JJ remarks. 

“Chief?” Shane asks in surprise. He’d definitely seen great leadership from Roz on shift, but he hadn’t been close enough to note anything uber impressive (since Roz had been avoiding Shane for reasons still unbeknownst to him). 

“Oh, totally. Again, don’t think he wants to. Who knows why.”

“Chief loves him though,” JJ says.

Shane is surprised again. “That’s unexpected.” He didn’t even think about how someone like Chief Wiebe would mesh with someone like Roz.

“Wiebe pretends to find him annoying, but it’s so obvious Chief has the biggest soft spot for Roz.” Hayden rolls his eyes again.

“Why?”

“I say again: no one knows! You know, for someone so loud and annoying, we actually don’t know shit about Roz.” Hayden says this like it both pleases and pisses him off. 

“Hazy’s convinced Wiebe adopted him or something,” JJ says. 

“I’d believe it. Chief really does like Roz a lot,” Rose agrees.

Even though Shane is still confused, he smiles a little at the thought. When he met Chief Wiebe in between calls, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the hard-faced man was so soft spoken and polite in private. He told Shane explicitly that he had his back if the superiors cracked down on his bootleg caesarean surgery in the field. That had put Shane’s mind at ease for the rest of the shift and he submitted his report with a much more manageable tremor in his hands. 

He’s curious what Chief Wiebe’s relationship with Roz is like. Roz didn’t seem like the type to follow authority very well; Shane had seen it firsthand during one of the car accidents when Roz ignored an order from Bood to pull back in favour of removing a tank of gasoline from a truck. It was reckless and dangerous, but Shane and everyone else there knew Roz had just saved them from a huge explosion. 

Conversely, Wiebe did not seem like the type to tolerate mutiny or disrespect.

“Does Roz ever come to the Kingfisher?” Shane asks. 

All night, his eyes have been darting to the entrance every time the door opens just waiting to catch a head of golden curls. In excitement or dread? He’d figure that out tomorrow during his scheduled figure out your shit time.

“Yeah, sometimes. Him and Kip actually get along really well,” JJ notes.

“He comes when Svetlana’s working a nightshift usually,” Rose adds with a teasing eyebrow dance. 

“God, when they’re both here together?” Hayden fake barfs into his empty beer glass.

Shane stares at the charade for a beat. “They’re gross?” 

“The worst! It’s like they can’t go two seconds without sucking face!”

Rose throws her head back laughing and then aims a balled up napkin at Hayden. “You’re ridiculous. They’re not that bad,” she promises Shane.

“Yeah, Hayden’s just jealous Jackie won’t suck his face in public,” JJ says.

Hayden bodychecks JJ into the wall and Shane is immediately on his feet to stop a brawl. Luckily, both of them are laughing obnoxiously despite Hayden holding JJ in a headlock and JJ wildly groping at Hayden’s ass. Shane lets out a sigh of relief. He thinks he’s starting to understand their dynamics better.

Next to him, Rose finishes her soda and hops off her stool to join him. “Ignore them. Want to play darts? Loser buys coffee for three shifts?”

Still trying to swallow down the vision of Roz and Svetlana or Roz and Rose or Roz and any girl, Shane smiles as best as he can at Rose. “You’re going down, Landry.”

***

The sun is beating down on Shane’s neck when he walks up the driveway towards Firehouse 17. It’s 6:45 am on his second shift and he’s ready to face the day with his coffees and overnight oats. 

He nods his head at other firefighters on his shift starting to filter in with him. 

The first thing he does is drop his stuff off in his locker and change. The very next thing he does is go back outside to the ambulance, so he can prepare it to his own liking. He’s respectful of the previous shift’s paramedics and waits until they’re both clocked out to begin rearranging. It’s also his responsibility to complete an inventory check before their first call, so he diligently runs through the clipboard, noting what supplies they’ll need to top up on at Tufts. He loves the therapeutic silence of busying around the ambulance and remembers to appreciate the lull while he has it.

His watch reads 7:25 am when he hops out of the driver’s seat after adjusting it to his preference. No alarms yet. Already better than his first shift.

“Shane!” Rose calls from behind the ambulance.

He waves. “Morning. I have your coffee in the kitchen, by the way. Flat white with oak milk from Lupa’s Cafe.”

Her face splits into a huge smile and she affectionately punches him in the shoulder with no force. “You are the best, Shane Hollander!” She’s already on her way into the firehouse.

“You won fair and square,” he calls after her, laughing at how she’s skipping.

“I’ll give you a rematch soon. Loser buys muffins from Tatte Bakery!”

Shane shakes his head, still smiling, and shuts the ambulance door. Rose beat him at darts by a mortifying margin, so he kept his word and stopped by her favourite coffee place this morning to fulfill his end of the deal. If she wants a rematch, Shane knows not to pick darts next time.

Taking full advantage of the seemingly quiet morning, he steps out of the garage and into the driveway to get some vitamin D. The weather’s been warming up which means he packs more clothes per shift in anticipation of sweating. In his locker, he’s already organized each new change of uniform in order, with long sleeves at the bottom for when it becomes chillier at nighttime. 

But for now, he lets the sun warm his face and bask in the heat he thought would never return after surviving another brutal Boston winter. 

He’s about to head back inside to eat his breakfast oats when the smell of cigarettes infiltrates his sunny tranquility. His nose twitches when he opens his eyes and looks to his right where it’s coming from.

Of fucking course.

Shane stills when Roz catches him staring.

The man is leaning against the side of the building, face protected by a tiny sliver of shade as he smokes with one hand in his pocket. The BFD issued t-shirt is just tight enough around his shoulders and chest that every time he brings his hand up to take a drag, Shane can see the underlying muscle strain against the fabric. 

Is Roz the type to size down his clothing to appear bigger? Apparently so.

Shane clears his throat when Roz makes no move to speak or even acknowledge him beyond just staring back. His own stomach tenses when Roz holds eye contact while exhaling slowly, impossibly sensual somehow.

“You shouldn’t be smoking here,” is all Shane comes up with. To be fair, he is standing five feet from a No Smoking sign.

Roz exhales again and nods once. “Okay,” he responds, accent making it sound more like okei. 

Shane narrows his eyes. 

Yesterday, he’d sat down on his couch to reflect on his first shift and decided that whatever Roz’s issue with him was, Shane would only control what he could control. Thus, he decided that on his next shift, he’d introduce himself properly and pass the ball to Roz’s court for how he wanted to react. He vowed not to engage in any more suggestive acts and he promised to set boundaries between the two of them so they could work professionally alongside each other. 

That was the plan he’d come up with. And it was a good one.

Standing in front of Roz now, the plan feels laughable.

Nonetheless, he takes a step forward. “We didn’t really get the chance to meet properly last shift. I’m Shane Hollander.” He holds his hand out to him bravely and hopes his nerves aren’t visible.

Roz watches him with marginally softer eyes, like he’s amused. Thankfully, he puts his hand in Shane’s for a firm shake. His lips twitch the same way they did when he passed Shane at the end of shift after their… shower. 

“Ilya Rozanov.”

Shane’s first thought is that everyone’s been pronouncing his last name incorrectly. His very next thought is how pretty Ilya is.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ilya. I’m looking forward to working with you.” Polite, direct, boundary set.

At least, Shane thought so.

Ilya’s smirk grows. “Yes, me too. We will be seeing each other a lot.”

That’s not what Shane was expecting. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“You are bossy paramedic.”

This catches him off guard and he frowns immediately. “What? No, I’m not.” 

In hindsight, he’s not proud of how quickly Roz made him lose his cool. 

“Don’t worry. I like bossy.”

Oh.

Roz takes another drag of his cigarette and turns his head to exhale away from Shane’s face. It doesn’t do much to ward the smell, but he’s at least grateful it’s not blown at him. He wishes Roz would stop staring at him with his piercing eyes though. Shane finds he’s still unable to look away.

“I am not bossy,” he retorts. “I’m the paramedic in charge. That comes with responsibility.”

Roz is fully smiling at him now. “Yes, of course. PIC Hollander, very strict, very bossy, very responsible.”

“Fuck off. You’re a lieutenant who gives orders too.” Shane had watched Roz direct his squad members during rescues like a natural leader while Bood helped the other teams. 

“Ah, but is not so fun ordering them around. They are coworkers.”

Shane’s brain feels like a puddle. Are these mind games? And if they are, why does Shane suck at them?

“We’re coworkers,” he states firmly.

Roz flits his eyebrows once in response and finally breaks eye contact only to scan Shane’s entire face without so much as a lick of indignity. Shane definitely does not hallucinate Roz’s gaze lingering on his lips for a beat longer.

“Da. Coworkers. Sure. I am also looking forward to working with you, Shane Hollander,” Roz says, drawling out the word like it’s a punchline.

He’s teasing Shane. 

And Shane is annoyed.

So, he’s very successfully teasing.

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“You don’t like?”

Caught off guard again, Shane’s face heats up. Roz definitely notices.

“No, I don’t like.”

Roz cocks his head to the side, an exact mirror of how he’d looked at Shane when he had his hand around his…

“Then tell me,” Roz starts, voice lower than before. “What do you like?”

Shane knows he’s lost this round of whatever game they’re playing. He’s never been great at social cues, but right now, he knows there is nothing he could say to get back to his original script. 

To make matters worse, Shane’s own cock is twitching at the subtext of what Roz is asking. He’s reminded of what the man looks like beneath his pants and everything Rose described when recounting their hookup. Shane has no doubt that Roz knows how to… take care of people. 

But this is not what Shane was hoping to accomplish. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and empty his mind of all the ways Roz could ruin him on the spot. 

“Fuck off. I’m going inside.” It’s weak, but it gets him out of this conversation.

Shane turns to leave and only makes it three steps before the same Russian accent is haunting him again.

“Let me know when you figure it out, Hollander.”

He dares to turn his head slightly just to glare at Roz as he makes his escape. 

When he’s safely in the building and away from the smoke, he debates going to the bathroom to take care of himself, but decides that would be admitting defeat too early into the shift. Instead, Shane presses his back into the cold brick wall and inhales for 5, holds for 7, and exhales for 5. He repeats this three more times before he feels a little more normal again. And his problem down below has gone away.

He risks a glance out the window to see Roz still leaning against the building in all his smugness and glory.

Perhaps Hayden was right.

Roz is a fucking asshole.

***

Ambulance 81, Engine 24, Truck 12, Rescue 1. House fire. 822 Crawford Avenue.

“Who runs point when Chief isn’t dispatched?” Shane asks Hayden when they’re both piling into the ambulance.

He starts up the sirens and checks his blindspot to pull out after Truck 12.

“Usually Bood or Hunter, but it depends on the nature of the call. They work pretty closely for the most part.”

Shane nods. Looks like the two of them make an excellent team out in the field AND in the kitchen together.

Truck 12 leads the way through traffic, honking at every intersection and parting a path through the streets for Ambo 81 and Rescue 1 to follow. 

“Hey, we’re passing Tatte Bakery. Can we stop on the way back for muffins?” Hayden asks, pointing at the corner.

Shane’s already focusing on the call they’re about to walk into, but he glances over anyway. “If we go to Med we won’t be passing on the way back. We can come later in the shift.” He remembers Rose mentioning this place in the morning too.

Hayden doesn’t object. “I forgot to grab more Versed after our first call earlier. If we somehow avoid any patients, let’s route to Tufts anyway.”

“I thought you checked off Midazolam on the sheet.” Shane distinctly remembers looking over the list and nodding at everything being accounted for.

“Must’ve read it too fast, that’s my fault. We still have a full vial in the back though.”

Shane can see Truck 12 slowing to a stop at the next intersection and decides to reprimand Hayden for careless bookkeeping afterwards. He parks the ambulance and the two of them hop out. There’s already black smoke billowing out from a bungalow on the corner.

Rescue 1 comes around the other side of the street, so they’re facing Truck 12. There’s a small gathering of people on the sidewalk and Shane does a quick scan to see if any require immediate medical attention. No one looks like they were just in the fire, so he and Hayden start herding people away to give their team room to work.

“Hey! You call 911?” Bood asks, pointing at a young man holding a phone closest to their trucks.

“Uh, no, sir. It wasn’t me. But I live across the street.”

“Do you know if anyone was home?”

“I have no idea. The Alisters live here. Elderly couple, probably in their 70s?”

That’s not good.

“Cap, car is in the driveway,” Roz says and points at a blue SUV parked in front of the garage.

It’s truly unfair how good he looks half dressed in all his gear.

“Alright, we’ve got two potential elderly victims inside. Engine, prep a line,” Hunter calls first.

“Landry, Haas, connect to that hydrant over there and then mask up. Young, grab the halligan and come with me,” Evan Dykstra barks.

“Truck 12, primary search on the ground floor. JJ, go around the back. Hayes, on me,” Hunter says.

“Squad will take the basement,” Bood adds. “Roz, Marly, go with JJ. Barrett, take the front.”

“Let’s go!”

And just like that, Firehouse 17 breaks into action.

Shane’s been on the job for almost a year, but he will never get tired of witnessing the well-coordinated groove of a good firehouse. It’s efficient and empowering and reminds him why he chose this line of work.

“Hollander!” Bood calls. 

They’re all masking up when someone comes stumbling out of the front door that Young was just about to breach. 

Shane runs over as Bood catches the teenager on the front steps. She’s doubled over, hacking her lungs out and Shane quickly helps her to their ambulance on the curb where Hayden has a gurney prepared. Her blonde hair is singed and the back of her shirt is slightly burnt.

“Hey, you’re okay. We’re gonna get you some oxygen.” He carries her onto the gurney and Hayden loops an oxygen mask around her face.

“Slow, deep breaths,” he says to her while checking for secondary injuries. Nothing immediately obvious other than soot and red eyes.

“I’m-I’m ok-okay,” she heaves after a few minutes. 

“Deep breaths for me again.” Shane presses his stethoscope to her back and then her front. “Wheezing lung sounds,” he reports. 

“O2 is pretty low,” Hayden says, reading the pulse oximetry monitor he’d put on her finger.

“You have to-to tell-,” the girl breaks into another round of coughing. 

“Don’t try to talk. You need to breathe slowly,” Shane advises.

She shakes her head frantically. “Base-basement. Please, m-my grandpa is-is down there. You have to-to help him.” The tears Shane thought were from the coughing ramp up.

He nods. “They’ll get him. Is there anyone else in the house?” 

She shakes her head again, hand now pressing against the mask as she takes deeper, ragged breaths. 

Shane turns around to face the house again.

“Girl confirmed her grandpa is in the basement. Repeat, grandpa is in the basement. No other occupants,” he enunciates into his radio.

A second later, “Copy that,” Hunter’s voice rings through. 

“Entering the basement. Looks like fire started down here,” Roz says.

Shane almost flinches. Hearing Roz’s voice on the radio is something he’ll need to get used to fast.

Get a grip, he thinks to himself. He has a job to do. “Ambulance 81 to main, we need a second ambulance to 822 Crawford Avenue,” Shane reports. 

“Copy that, 81. Second ambo is en-route. ETA 9 minutes.”

A shuddering sound suddenly comes from the house as part of the roof cracks.

Bood reacts much faster than Shane does. “This house is not stable. 17, you have four minutes to evacuate,” he orders.

The panicked cries of his young patient force Shane to look away from the house. 

This is definitely one of the worst parts of the job: staying on the outside, safe, while your entire house is in danger on the inside. Not that Shane would prefer to be inside with them; he’d be more of a liability than support. But it is difficult to focus on his work when he can hear the voices of his coworkers from inside the fire. Like they’re so close, but entirely unreachable where Shane can’t help.

“It’s okay, they’re doing their best to find him. We need to focus on you right now,” Shane says gently to the girl. “What’s your name?”

Her voice shakes when she responds, “Maia.”

Shane smiles kindly while checking her oxygen stats: 90%. Improving. 

“My name is Shane, this is Hayden. Can you tell us what happened?’

“I-I was napping when the alarm went off. The fire moved s-so fast. It was already upstairs when I got up. I tried to get to my-my grandpa, but the smoke was so thick and I c-couldn’t see anything.”

“That must’ve been really scary. You did the right thing running outside.”

Hayden quickly works on cleaning and bandaging minor burns on her back and shoulders while Shane monitors her lungs for any changes or improvement. 

“Did-did they find him?” Her big brown eyes look up at Shane like he holds her entire life in his hands. She can’t be more than 15 years old.

He wraps a shock blanket around her. “They’re looking. We’ll know right away when they do.” 

He’d learned in the ER that making false promises only led to more heartbreak. It was best to stay optimistic but honest.

“Can-can you check? Please?” The quiver in her lip feels like a stake through his heart, but he nods anyway.

“Sit tight. Hayd, get her some water.” 

Shane turns back around and stops beside Bood on the lawn. “Any word on the grandpa?”

Bood shakes his head, eyes piercing holes into the house in front of them. “Not yet. But I don’t like how the roof is looking. I’m pulling them out.”

Shane exhales. 

“All units, pull out. We’re going on defence,” Bood barks into his radio.

“Copy, Hazy and I are on our way. First floor is clear.” Hunter.

“Haas and I are coming out.” Rose.

Dykstra and Young break out from the front door followed by Rose and Haas. Shane’s relief at seeing them is palpable.

“The stairs are not stable. Move fast, Squad.” JJ. 

Bood’s jaw tightens. “Squad 1, I want everyone out now.”

There’s a few seconds of deafening static before a voice comes through. “Cap, we got him. Coming out now.” It’s Marly.

Shane physically relaxes a fraction. He quickly checks on all his colleagues first to make sure no one needs help before going back to Maia.

“They’re bringing him out now,” he tells her.

Maia practically melts into the gurney with relief. “Is he okay?”

“We don’t know yet. We’ll assess him once he’s out. How are you feeling, Maia?”

“I’m okay. Just sore. Can I please see him?”

Shane nods and checks her O2 one more time: 93%. Acceptably in range.

“How about you take a seat in the ambulance for a second, so we can have your grandpa here? A second ambulance should be here soon,” he offers.

Maia nods fervently. Hayden helps her off the gurney and into the opening of the ambulance.

They all turn back to the house and watch in anticipation as Marly and Barrett emerge from the smoke, dual carrying a man between them.

“Grandpa!” Maia screams. Hayden practically holds her down as they bring him over to the ambulance.

“He was down there for a while, but conscious and talking,” Troy grunts, gently placing him onto the gurney. “Smart guy had a wet rag over his mouth.”

Shane gets to work assessing grandpa while Hayden puts him on oxygen. Aside from disorientation from the smoke and very clear lung crackling, Shane detects no severe trauma. The rag that the man is still clutching at his side very well just saved his life.

“Sir? Can you squeeze my hand if you can hear me?” Shane asks.

“Where’s Maia?” He manages to choke out in between coughing and batting Shane’s hand away.

Alert and aware.

“Grandpa! I’m here!” Maia throws herself next to the gurney.

She’s sobbing into his arms and Shane smiles at the reunion. Hayden makes quick work of starting an IV for grandpa who only drops the rag to squeeze Maia’s hand instead.

“Roz, report.”

Bood’s voice pulls Shane away from the heartwarming scene and he whips around.

The rest of Firehouse 17 is standing in front of the house with their equipment already halfway off. Engine 24 is crouched on the front lawn with their hoseline ready, but there’s no water yet. Which means someone is still inside the collapsing house on fire.

“Roz, report now,” Bood demands, voice getting increasingly agitated.

Shane only now realizes that one person is missing from the ensemble.

“I thought he was right behind us,” Marly says, confused, and puts his helmet back on.

“Cap, let me go in and find him,” Barrett says, helmet also back on his head.

If looks could kill, Barrett and Marly would both be dead with how Bood is glaring at them. “No, you two stay right where you are.”

Shane’s eyes widen at the situation and he’s acutely aware of his own racing heartbeat. 

Fuck, there’s no way Roz doesn’t make it out of there, right? 

He can’t help the immediate spiral his brain sends him down. Sure, Shane’s not his biggest fan, but he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. 

The last thing he said to Roz was fuck off.

As soon as Shane starts to swell on how abhorrent of a human he is, the sound of the back half of the house collapsing washes over the neighbourhood and everyone freezes.

No.

Shane’s blood runs cold. 

“Cap, give me one minute and–”

“Barrett, don’t make me tell you again.” Bood’s voice would be menacing if it didn’t sound so desperate.

To their right, Marly throws his helmet into the ground angrily. “Fuck!”

Their team looks like statues perched on the front lawn. No one makes a move. Not until one of the captains gives an order. Hunter exchanges pained glances with Bood like they’re silently having a discussion about the possible loss of one of their own. 

Shane is two seconds from putting his own gear on and running inside himself. Why? He has no idea. All he knows is he does not want blue-green eyes haunting him from the grave.

It feels like hours, but must’ve only been a minute when suddenly, movement at the front of the house shakes everyone back to reality. Shane watches in disbelief as Roz stumbles out of the front door and yanks his mask off.

“House is clear. Hit it,” he tells Rose.

To her credit, she saves her relief for later and turns the water on at his confirmation. Her and Luca disappear inside.

“Roz!” Barrett and Marly meet him halfway and the three of them dissolve into a blur of back slaps and bro hugs. Shane hears Marly call Roz a fucking pissah.

The reunion is interrupted when Bood steps forward. “What the fucking shit took you so long to get out when I gave you an order?”

Shane thinks he’d vomit if someone spoke to him with that much rage.

But unperturbed, Roz just unbuttons his jacket and presents a dog.

A fucking dog.

The golden labrador puppy is shaking so violently that Roz has to adjust his grip and hold it with both hands close to his chest.

Shane is glad to see he’s not the only one slack-jawed.

“She was hiding under the couch and I was too busy trying to catch to radio back,” he explains, like this is more than valid. “Sorry, Cap.” At least his apology sounds genuine.

Bood looks like he’s torn between wanting to strangle Roz or quit his job altogether. He settles for a deep sigh and rubs his eyes tiredly instead. “Go see the medics.” The relief in his voice overrides any anger or grudge.

Roz nods. He’s carrying the dog like it’s a baby and Shane is so emotionally whiplashed from the last minute and a half that he hardly even registers Roz walking up to him while gently bouncing his arms.

“Hollander, do you know dog medicine?” He asks seriously.

Shane blinks. His brain haphazardly forms a few solid thoughts he can latch onto. 

Roz is okay and alive. Now, he has a dog in his arms.

(And he looks really hot holding it with dampened curls stuck to his face.)

“Are you okay?” Shane asks first, going into medic mode.

“Yes, fine. No injuries, not even smoke. Will she be okay?”

“She?” Shane frowns.

Roz nods and carefully holds the dog up a little to reveal its underside. “She is a girl. A very good girl, yes?” He coos quietly at the dog.

This rescue could not get any more bizarre. 

“I… come here.” Shane turns before his brain shortcircuits any more.

He leads Roz to where Maia and her grandpa are. The second ambulance’s paramedics are monitoring the grandpa while Hayden keeps an eye on Maia.

“Rigatoni!” Maia shrieks and rips off her oxygen mask to break into a run towards them the second she spots Roz.

He hands the dog (Rigatoni is her name?) over to her and Maia dissolves into another round of sobs. The dog is promptly squeezed into a family hug on her grandpa’s gurney.

“Thank you so much for rescuing her,” Maia says through tears.

Roz smiles. “Of course. She is a beautiful dog. With a beautiful name.”

This makes Maia laugh. “Her name’s Rigatoni, but we call her Toni.”

“Excellent name. Rigatoni will need medical assessment at a vet for smoke inhalation,” Roz advises.

“We’ll take him there today,” Maia says with a firm nod. 

She hands Rigatoni off to her grandpa and rounds the gurney to throw her arms around Roz. “Thank you so much,” she says, face pressed into his jacket.

Shane watches fondly as Roz does the same at Maia. He hugs her back and pats her gently. “Team effort. I am glad everyone is okay.”

Maia sniffles and nods before returning to her grandpa’s side. He looks stable and smiles at Maia while Rigatoni curls up in his lap. 

Shane leads Roz over to his ambulance to hand him a bottle of water. “Worth getting yelled at and almost dying?” He asks.

He’s expecting a smirk which Shane has become accustomed to seeing permanently etched into Roz’s face. 

The small smile he gives Shane instead is much quieter. 

“Always worth it.”

***

The timer on his phone reads twelve minutes left until the dryer is done with his clothes. He’d done a load as soon as he came back from their fifth call of the day. The last one happened in a hot yoga studio which meant his clothes were drenched in sweat by the end of their seizure rescue. Shane didn’t think he could risk a shower at this time of day, so he opted for laundry instead. 

He leans against the rumbling machine and absentmindedly scrolls through his phone. He replies to some texts from his mom about the next time he’ll be home and browses his favourite scholarly website for any novel medical breakthroughs. He pointedly ignores the emails about his student loans.

With six minutes left, the door to the laundry room opens. Shane looks up, ready to move out of the way, when he sees who it is.

Roz has an overflowing laundry hamper in his arms. He steps inside and lets the door close behind him. His obnoxious smirk is back.

“Hello,” Roz says first, somehow making one single word sound humorous. 

Shane clears his throat with a nod in acknowledgement and tries to make space. The laundry room is just big enough for one washer and one dryer; there’s hardly any space to move when two grown men are in here with the door closed.

Roz does Shane the mercy of not talking anymore. 

He debates just leaving entirely, but his load is almost done and he knows it’ll only amuse Roz if he cowers away. Shane tries to look as casual as possible, leaning against the dryer.

He can’t help watching the other man dump his things into the washing machine. From what he can see, most are work clothes. Shane wonders how many sets he must own if he does a load this large every time. Roz has never smelt bad though. 

And then Shane notices a few items that definitely do not belong to Roz. Like tiny red underwear and pink lacy bras.

Shane’s face heats up and he quickly averts his gaze back to his phone.

A potential new biomarker for gestational diabetes is now the most interesting thing in his sight. 

It’s unfortunate that it probably is interesting. Shane is just too distracted to process any of the words he’s reading. Roz’s woody and slightly floral cologne quickly fills up the tiny room and Shane is acutely aware of every movement in his periphery. Even though he’s burning a hole into his phone, he can still see the muscles in Roz’s arms and back as he’s squatted in front of the machine.

He should’ve just left and come back in six minutes.

Roz finishes loading all his clothes and stands up with a grunt to start the washer. Shane prays he’ll leave now that he’s done.

Of course, Roz does the exact opposite of what Shane wants.

He leans against the machine with his hip and faces Shane. “What are you reading?”

“Me?” Shane blurts.

Roz smirks. “No. I was talking to the other boring Canadian in the room with me.”

Shane rolls his eyes at him.

“What are you reading?” Roz asks again.

Shane debates even continuing this conversation, but figures it’d be very rude of him to just leave like this. He turns his phone to show Roz. “A science paper about gestational diabetes.”

Roz squints at the screen for half a second and frowns. “You are pregnant?”

“What? No! Why would you even ask that, you asshole,” Shane splutters. “I’m just reading it. They found a new biomarker to test for in the first trimester with promising results. It’d give pregnant people a better chance at combating it later on and managing any related complications.”

Roz stares at him with slightly raised eyebrows like he’s not sure if he’s impressed or bored. “Wow. Is good to know for future, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Is this a dig at Shane for his sexuality (which he clearly figured out when Shane didn’t blow up in the showers next to him)? Or is it another joke about Shane being the pregnant one?

He hates both possibilities.

But Roz just grins. “You like reading these?” He asks, not bothering to answer Shane’s question.

Still a little on edge at Roz’s previous comment (and his presence in general), Shane exhales through his nose. He reminds himself again it’d still be rude to just leave in the middle of a conversation. 

“Yes, I do.”

“Is so boring.”

“Not to me.”

Roz hums, amusement lighting his eyes. “How are you liking it here?”

Shane is thrown off by the question again and how Roz keeps changing the subject on a whim. “Why do you care?”

“Why would I not?”

Shane is totally unable to tell if Roz is being serious or not. 

He decides to be curt, so Roz can’t make fun of what he’s saying. “It’s fine. I like the people here.” 

“Yes, great people. Better than 22?”

“Well, I don’t want to–,” he stops himself. “How did you know I was at Firehouse 22 before?” Roz wasn’t in the dining room when Shane introduced himself to everyone.

Roz shrugs. “I asked Marly.”

“You… asked Marly about me?” Shane is very perplexed. Roz does that to him a lot.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Just like in the showers and this morning, Roz’s eyes betray zero traces of embarrassment or sheepishness when he stares back at Shane. 

“I was curious. So, I ask.” The simplicity of the statement or how unabashed he is about this whole ordeal does not compute well in Shane’s brain. 

“Oh.”

Roz slides along the machines to close the gap between them slowly. Shane’s face is now about a foot away from Roz’s and for some reason, he doesn’t flinch at all. In fact, the careful and cautious way he approaches gives Shane plenty of time to react and move away.

But he doesn’t.

Roz’s eyes look incredibly blue under this lighting.

“You make me curious,” Roz says, voice low and striking right into the pit of Shane’s stomach.

“I do?” 

Roz nods, no longer looking into Shane’s eyes because they’re busy scanning every inch of his lips instead.

“Mhmm,” Roz nods. “What about me? Do I make you curious?” His eyes lazily trail back up to Shane’s eyes.

Shane’s body answers before his words can. Roz notices immediately and smirks, very pleased with himself.

“A little,” Shane admits. He feels drunk standing in front of Roz right now.

Roz lets himself stare at Shane a little longer before fully closing the gap between them. His left hand comes up, still moving slowly as if to give Shane an out if he wants it, and he gently but firmly grips Shane’s jaw. The gesture would be threatening if Roz’s hands weren’t so warm and steady. Shane doesn’t hesitate for a second to lean into him and let his face be moved however Roz pleases. 

“You can say no,” Roz whispers.

Shane’s heart somersaults at the bare minimum that is consent. Roz makes no further move until he verifies Shane is okay and that makes his brain melt even more.

“This is such a bad idea,” Shane mutters.

Roz cocks his head to the side. “What is?”

Like a programmed response, Shane nudges closer into Roz’s hand, practically begging to get closer to him. 

“You want?” Roz asks.

Shane nods. 

And then all he can feel are Roz’s lips. One testing peck. Roz pulls back to gauge Shane’s reaction. When he sees Shane isn’t upset about it, he leans in and immediately deepens the kiss.

Again, Shane’s body responds before his brain can and he’s kissing Roz back like he hasn’t been kissed in years.

It’s intense and a little sloppy as they try to find their rhythm, but in no time, Roz’s tongue is slipping past Shane’s lips. 

Half of Shane is screaming at him about how terrible this is and how it goes against everything he vowed to never engage in at work.

The other half of him is moaning into Roz’s mouth because it just feels so right.

Roz’s right hand comes up to weave through Shane’s hair and Shane’s hands instinctively latch onto Roz’s waist. They’re both grasping at each other like they’re starving.

Shane can feel Roz’s hard cock pressed against his equally tight pants and he relishes in their shared arousal; he’d be annoyed if Roz wasn’t reacting the same way.

The making out eventually migrates to Shane’s impossibly sensitive neck when Roz starts sucking on his jaw and ear lobe (which Shane didn’t think could be hot until just now). He knows he’s moaning like a madman right now, completely lost in the bliss and overstimulation of hands and lips all over his skin. 

“Sh sh, kotenok,” Roz mumbles into Shane’s neck. The Russian only makes Shane’s knees weaker.

He’s pulling Roz back to his mouth and only has half the mind to quiet down, so as to not notify the entire firehouse of his salacious misconduct in the laundry room.

In a natural progression of desires and the magic that is Roz’s mouth, Shane’s fingers start desperately unbuttoning Roz’s pants. It’s a miracle they even made out for this long without dropping to their knees for each other.

He’s just got the belt buckle undone, Roz happily allowing him while he busies himself with practically sucking all the air out of Shane’s lungs, when a loud and unworldly alarm sounds.

Shane shoves Roz off of him when reality comes crashing down.

It’s his laundry dryer alarm. He turns it off immediately.

Holy shit.

He brings a trembling hand up to his swollen lips and stares hard at Roz who is up against the opposite wall, equally swollen lips and messy hair and half unbuttoned pants.

“I’m sorry,” Shane gasps as the realization of what just happened dawns on him. 

“Hollander, it’s–,” 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Shane cuts him off and pinballs off the surrounding machines to run away.

He hardly makes it two steps when a hand latches around his wrist, not hard enough to hurt, just firm enough to make him stop. His own heart is beating out of his chest and to make the whole situation worse, he’s still so hard it’s getting uncomfortable.

“Hollander, stop. Look at me.”

Shane glances up immediately at the accented command. 

“Don’t apologize,” Roz says.

“But I–,”

Roz cuts him off with a slight shake of his head, so subtle but so powerful like everything he does with his body. “I am not sorry. Are you?”

“I… I don’t know.” Shane’s not exactly sure how to feel right now. He can still taste the overly sweet coffee Roz must’ve had earlier.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because we’re coworkers! We can’t do this here,” Shane argues, knowing it’s weak the second it leaves his mouth. No excuse about being coworkers explains how they were kissing a moment ago. 

Roz’s lips quirk up a little. “No problem. Where do you live?”

“What?”

“Your house.”

“I… it’s an apartment.”

Roz blinks at him. “Hollander, you are having panic attack. I am asking where you live. We meet up after shift.”

Shane balks at him. “What?!”

“You do not want to?”

“I… no, I just… what the fuck?”

The man frowns like he’s genuinely also as confused as Shane is. “Is just hook up, yes? If you want. I am offering. If you do not want, then I will go. Simple.”

The self-reflection Shane had on his couch yesterday feels like it happened years ago. He vowed to set boundaries and put an end to this weird sexual tension brewing between them.

Well, he certainly accomplished one of those tasks, but not by setting boundaries. By diving headfirst into the tension and getting enough of a taste to know he can’t stop there.

As he stares at Roz right now, processing his words and the meaning behind what he’s offering, all Shane can think about is how much he wants more. More of Roz’s mouth on his and then Roz’s mouth on other parts of him. He’s even twitching at the thought of pleasuring him back. He’s already seen all of Roz; Shane’s confident he could take him.

Fuck.

Not what he should be thinking about.

“Think about it,” Roz says and finally lets go of Shane’s wrist. He misses the warmth already. 

Probably sensing that Shane is nowhere near in the right headspace to be forming coherent thoughts or sentences, Roz fixes his pants and leaves the laundry room.

When Shane is alone again, he backs into the dryer and sinks down to the floor, his legs feeling like jello. He wants to scream and cry at the same time. But mostly, he wants to feel Roz’s lips on his again. He’s never wanted something this badly and this wholeheartedly. Even the part of his brain that was screaming how terrible of an idea this is earlier has silenced. 

A loud blaring alarm rings again and he flinches so hard he almost cracks his head against the machine.

It’s his backup dryer alarm for if he turned the first one off. He hates when his clothes sit in the dryer for too long and get wrinkly.

Shane crawls to his feet and starts robotically pulling his fresh clothes out. 

He already misses Roz’s scent. And how he chewed on Shane’s lower lip. And how he held Shane’s chin. And how he left a hot trail down Shane's neck. And how he mussed Shane’s hair. And how he pulled Shane in closer like he could smush their atoms together into one.

He should’ve just come back in six minutes.

***

It’s 7:05 am the next day when Shane is shutting his locker and on his way out. 

He finds Roz leaned over a bench in the row two down from him, tying his shoes. Shane stops in front of him, face passive and desperately trying to be nonchalant.

“860 Harrison Avenue,” he says.

Roz looks up in surprise. Shane hopes he understands what he’s telling him because he will not be repeating it. It’s a miracle no one else is around in the locker room right now.

“Unit?”

“1410.”

“9 pm?”

Shane nods, lips pressed together.

Roz’s smirk reappears and he nods once in response. “See you tonight, Hollander.”

Shane promptly turns around to leave.

He has about 14 hours to get all his after-shift errands complete, clean his apartment, and speed run a self-reflection so he doesn’t lose his wits and chicken out. 

When he’s outside walking down the driveway, he scowls at the Lamborghini parked in the same spot with the same curly haired girl in the driver’s seat.

Roz is about to make Shane’s life a lot more complicated.

Chapter End Notes

It happened! They kissed! And Shane only freaked out a little bit!

I have such a "fun" few chapters planned, but we need to establish some bases first before the yearning can begin hehe

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Truly so grateful for the support on this silly little endeavour and I hope Chapter 3 continues to satisfy!
I decided to try coding minor visuals into this, so make sure creator style is on when you read :)
Also, we have our first smutty chapter! Icl I have never written gay sex, so I apologize if it is a flop...

Content warnings: slight body gore from a leg amputation. It's near the end and I'll start the section with bold font if you want to skip it and jump to ***

It’s 8:33 pm and Shane is being suffocated alive in his own apartment.

He’d be exaggerating if it wasn’t so accurate.

After his shift ended and he willingly provided his entire address to Roz, Shane booked it home in his humble 2015 Toyota Camry. He ran through the motions of his usual routine: going to the gym, running a steady 8.5 km (his most optimal distance post-shift), stopping for groceries, taking a quick five minute rinse, making and eating lunch, catching up on his reading, taking a nap, calling his mom, catching up on his reading some more, making and eating dinner, and finishing with a yoga session on his balcony after he’s digested for an hour.

Usually after yoga, he takes a long shower where he lets himself get lost in his head for at least 40 minutes. By then, it’s 9 pm and he’s preparing for bed, so he can scroll on his phone or read and still get a solid eight hours of sleep. 

He’s had this routine since he was doing clinical night rotations, albeit more condensed because he didn’t have the luxury of 24-hours on, 48-hours off like he does now. He likes his routine. When he has to deviate, like going out for drinks with friends, he pivots. It’s not his preference, but he’s also not anal enough to lose his mind if he needs to.

Today’s deviation is most certainly not a “need to”. 

Shane spent the last 30 minutes changing into different outfits and giving himself the ick every time. He’d even put on the suit he wore to his white coat ceremony and promptly bullied himself out of it.

Eventually, he put his black t-shirt and blue joggers back on, combed his hair, and brushed his teeth.

Now, he’s sitting on his couch staring at the clock above his TV.

8:41 pm.

Earlier today, somewhere between making lunch and reading about a new clinical trial for Parkinson’s, he’d had a quick self-reflection about tonight.

Shane decided he was going to have a talk with Roz about this weird tension and dynamic they have going on and get to the bottom of what the man wants from him. If Roz wants to hook up, sure. Shane’s no stranger to one night stands or friends with benefits; he’s not prone to them, that’s for sure, but he knows he wouldn’t be able to say no to Roz if that’s what is suggested. If Roz comes over and just wants to take the piss out of him, then at least Shane would relish in telling him off.

Whatever the deal is, Shane needs to know where Roz stands on the matter of the two of them in the same firehouse. He won’t be able to walk back into work without some kind of mutual understanding.

8:55 pm.

On the other hand, Shane can’t help that he’s excited at the prospect of getting his hands on Roz again, or Roz’s hands on him again. He’d spent his entire run along the Charles River trying not to think about how Roz had gripped his chin and gently manhandled him for better access to his mouth. When he’d gotten home with groceries, Shane barely made it into the shower before his hands were already down his shorts. 

He knew he was getting too ahead of himself when he triple checked that he had lube and condoms in the drawer by his bed and caught himself hoping Roz preferred to top.

8:58 pm.

Shane’s heartbeat rises a little.

They’re just going to talk first.

A good, clear, and productive talk.

Whatever happens after is up to whomever has been toying with Shane’s voodoo doll.

When the clock hits 9:00 pm, Shane stands up and starts pacing between the couch and the door.

It’s normal to be a few minutes late. Roz still has to get into the building and wait for an elevator.

Shane inhales for five, holds for seven, and exhales for five.

At 9:07 pm, there’s a knock at his door.

He almost runs over before remembering to be normal.

He looks through the peephole out of habit and his breath audibly hitches when he sees Roz casually standing in the hallway with his hands in his pocket. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans with a dark blue jacket. A shimmer of a necklace catches the hallway light and Shane thinks it might be some kind of cross. Is Roz religious? Shane hadn’t noticed it before.

He opens the door. “You’re late,” is the first thing he says.

Roz gives him a lazy smile when Shane steps aside to let him in. “Miss me that much?” His voice is impossibly deep and Shane wonders if he’s doing it on purpose.

Shane scoffs. “As if,” he mutters.

Roz closes the door behind him and scans him up and down. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Thought you might chicken out,” Roz says.

Shane frowns. “I’m not a chicken.”

Roz flits his eyebrows up once in amusement. “No, you are not, Hollander.” He glances down at the meticulously organized shoe rack beside him and then at Shane’s slippers before toeing off his own sneakers.

Shane watches every move like a hawk, trying to anticipate the next (and whether or not it’ll be a kiss). 

“Nice place,” he comments, taking two steps into the living room and looking around like he owns the place.

“Thanks.” Shane’s about to tell him he’s renting it from one of his med school friend’s mom, but figures Roz probably doesn’t care.

Roz makes a semi-circle around Shane, no longer interested in the space. The way he’s been looking at Shane like a meal makes his heart beat even faster as Roz gets closer.

“We should probably talk,” Shane manages to say, bringing his hand up to Roz’s waist instinctively once he’s in reach.

He has an objective tonight. Well, technically two objectives, but with the way Roz is moving, the second objective might be realized within the next five minutes. And the first objective is definitely more important in the long run.

“You want to talk?” Roz mumbles, still pushing towards Shane until he has him pinned against the door. His eyes never leave Shane’s. 

Shane sighs once he realizes they’re definitely not about to talk, but the small smile on his face betrays any actual frustration. He supposes he can’t blame Roz; if a man that Shane shared a very hot makeout session with gave him his full address with the unspoken promise of hooking up, he probably wouldn’t expect to have a chat first.

“I think we should,” he tries anyway.

“Maybe later.”

And then they’re kissing again. And it’s as incredible as the first time.

The apartment disappears around them and all seven trillion nerves in Shane’s body fire an action potential at the same time. The nerve pairs around his lips must lose their refractory period entirely because the sensation of Roz moaning into him transcends physicality; Shane can practically feel it in his soul. 

Roz’s hand moves to Shane’s neck and his other hand leans against the door behind them, effectively trapping Shane right where he wants to be.

No longer than a minute later, Roz is dropping his jacket onto the ground and pulling off his black tank. Just like in the showers, Shane is flabbergasted by the sheer beauty of his body. All inhibition leaves his brain and Shane is running his hands down Roz’s obliques, getting harder by the second. Roz practically rips off Shane’s shirt and he has half the mind to pick it up off the ground, but decides he can fold it up later after he’s gotten what he wants.

He’s leaning in towards Roz which clearly pleases the man. Roz pushes his thumb into Shane’s mouth and he starts sucking without a second thought. 

“Good, Hollander,” Roz mumbles before replacing his thumb with his mouth again. The praise goes right to Shane’s head.

Shane allows Roz to manhandle him for another round of making out, much cleaner and more precise than the first time. The second they both stop for air, Shane drops to his knees in front of the belt he’d unbuckled some time in the rush of endorphins. 

Roz frees his cock for Shane and he takes it in his mouth immediately. Shane makes quick work, moving his head back and forth trying to swallow as much as he can without gagging. The pleasured moans coming from above him are all the motivation he needs to speed up and tighten his lips.

“Mm, fuck stop,” Roz groans and pulls back Shane up.

“Was that bad?” Shane’s never been told he’s bad at blowjobs.

Roz shakes his head and grins. “No, no, opposite. Too good, too early.” He swipes at the saliva on Shane’s chin and then leans in for another kiss.

“Is not your first time with a man?” He asks Shane.

“No. You?”

“Nope. What do you prefer?”

Shane hesitates, “...what do you prefer?”

Roz gives him another amused look like he’s trying not to laugh, curious humour glinting his green eyes. 

“Are you asking because you are extra good host?”

That shakes a short laugh out of Shane. “Fuck off. I’m just asking. What if we both prefer the same thing?”

“I think we probably do not. Now, will you let me fuck you?” The mirth in his tone makes the sentence impossibly soft.

Shane exhales curtly with relief. “Yes. My room’s on the right.”

Roz walks backwards while keeping his hands on Shane’s. He thinks they’re going to make out the entire way to his room, but Shane figures that will take too long, so he opts for pushing and sneaking chaste kisses instead. This makes Roz laugh at how eager Shane seems to be. He’d be embarrassed if Roz wasn’t also speeding up his steps.

Shane pushes Roz onto his bed and watches with dilated eyes as the man kicks off his jeans. 

“Hey, not fair,” Roz says and points at Shane, still in his joggers.

“You saw everything in the showers,” Shane retorts, but strips off his pants anyways.

“That was just sneak peak. I want more.”

Shane’s cock twitches at the admission and he quickly places his folded pants on the chair in his room. Roz watches every move with more amusement.

“We’ll talk about that after, your bullshit stunt in the showers,” Shane promises as he crawls onto the bed.

Roz smirks. “So much talking, Hollander. I think your mouth is better at other things, yes?”

Shane rolls his eyes, but parks himself over Roz’s waist and bends down to kiss him again.

“You’re an asshole,” he whispers in between.

He feels Roz grab his ass with one hand and use his other to stroke both of them together.

“You still don’t like?”

Shane’s entire body centralizes on the friction between their cocks and the borderline asphyxiation from hardly coming up for air is only making it worse. Better.

When Shane doesn’t respond with English words, Roz flips their positions as easily as he’d lifted Shane onto the train. Now, looming over him, gold necklace swinging around his neck, Roz leaves a trail of kisses from his neck down to his stomach before he takes all of Shane in his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, Rozanov,” Shane moans when Roz starts sucking him off with precision and expertise.

It’s like he knows all of Shane’s sensitive spots. He cards his fingers through Roz’s curly hair and helps with the momentum.

“Stop, you gotta stop,” Shane begs despite not easing up on Roz’s hair. He can’t finish this soon, it’s not enough.

Roz obediently stops and looks up, lips swollen from hard work and Shane thinks he might cum just at the sight of him.

“Condom?” Roz asks.

Shane nods and reaches into his bedside drawer, panting and starting to sweat a little. He pulls out a whole pack and then tosses the lube behind him as well.

“Wow, you think this will be enough? How many rounds you want to go?” Roz asks sarcastically (Shane thinks).

“Just shut up and do something.”

Roz grins at how bratty Shane is being and presses their faces together again. Shane can’t help how he rucks his hips up against Roz’s thigh to relieve the building pressure.

“Flip,” Roz orders and pats him on the ass twice. “On your hands and knees.”

Shane does as he’s told and hardly gets two seconds to think before he feels Roz behind him. And then inside him.

He gasps as Roz’s tongue enters him without warning. This paired with the throbbing in his unsatiated cock makes Shane moan loudly as shivers course through him.

“Found something you like,” Roz mumbles, the vibration nearly unlocking Shane’s elbows and sending him crashing into his pillows.

Shane’s not a sex fiend by any means, not by Roz’s standards apparently. He’s certainly never been eaten out by a man before. Or a woman, for the record. But now he’s sure he’ll never be able to go back to living life without knowing the absolute pleasure.

No sooner, Roz replaces his mouth with his finger. And then two. And then three. 

And then Shane is shaking so hard at being stretched open that Roz places his free hand on his hips to steady him.

“When was the last time?” Roz asks, leaning over Shane’s back to nibble behind his ear.

“T-two weeks? Maybe three,” he answers honestly. Like he said, it’s not something he really goes out of his way for. With Roz? He might have to start.

Roz tsks. “Such a shame. All these pretty sounds from you and no one to listen to them.”

Practically on cue, Roz pushes farther than he’s been going and Shane whimpers.

“Rozanov, please,” Shane begs because any longer and he’s not going to last. And he will not finish before he has Roz’s dick inside him.

“Ah, now he begs. You want me, Hollander? You like me now?” Roz taunts, but it’s only making it worse.

Shane already knows his hips will be bruised with how hard Roz is gripping him. He wonders what his neck looks like right now too. 

“Please,” he tries again, tears building in his eyes with how hard he’s holding it in.

“Please what?”

He whimpers again and lets out a strangled cry when Roz speeds up his fingers. 

“Please fuck me, Roz. Please, God.”

“Hmm.” He sounds satisfied. At least Shane hopes so.

Roz’s fingers pull out and Shane is left with a terrible emptiness that he prays is quickly replaced.

Shane lowers himself onto his back, so he can look up at Roz in all his glory. From down here, the ceiling light behind Roz’s head makes him look like a biblical angel. And God, Shane is objective enough to admit Roz is truly beautiful.

“You okay?” Roz asks, making quick work of rolling a condom on.

“Yes,” Shane whispers, already out of breath and shaking with an orgasm threatening to spill over.

Roz’s hooded eyes scan Shane from top to bottom hungrily. “You tell me if you need to stop, okay?”

Shane nods, ready.

“Words, Hollander.”

“Okay,” he says out loud, loving the command that Roz exudes.

Roz lifts one of Shane’s legs up and then presses a kiss to the inside of his knee, impossibly soft.

Shane instinctively braces himself because he’s seen all of Roz and had him in his mouth now; he’s definitely one of the bigger guys Shane’s had sex with.

It takes a bit of effort for Roz to slide in and Shane winces a little at the stretch. Roz adjusts his hold on Shane’s leg and tentatively pushes in deeper, testing Shane’s tolerance. His eyes never leave Shane’s like he’s watching for any signs of discomfort or desire to stop.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Roz mumbles, some undiscernable Russian following that Shane hopes is positive.

“Is this okay?” Roz asks when Shane is sure that all of him is inside.

He’s never felt anything this deep inside him.

Shane’s breath stutters and he nods before remembering Roz’s previous demand. “I’m okay.”

Roz picks up his other leg, barely registering how flexible Shane is (thank you, yoga), and then starts to rock his hips. Hard. 

If Shane thought getting his dick sucked and then his asshole fingered was heavenly, it’s nothing compared to this. Roz slams into him like he’s trying to reach the ground below and Shane is instantly overcome with pleasure. 

“F-fuck, I-I can’t–,” Shane stutters when he can feel the tipping point.

“Not yet, Hollander,” Roz grunts, determined to catch up to him. 

His muscles are taut with effort and Shane struggles between squeezing his eyes shut with bliss and admiring the view of Roz fucking him like he’ll die tomorrow. 

“P-please,” Shane begs, tears streaming down the corners of his eyes.

The bed creaks and crashes against the wall with every ruck and Shane doesn’t even have the brain power right now to wince at possibly losing his deposit on the rental unit. It’s music to Shane’s ears how rhythmic the sound of skin on skin is mixed with their shared moans. In the comfort of his own home, he doesn’t even try to keep himself quiet for Roz which he clearly appreciates.

“Oh, fuck, Hollander,” Roz whispers and speeds up.

Shane’s been edged before, but this certainly exceeds anything he’s ever experienced. It feels like forever and he’s holding on for dear life, not wanting to finish before Roz tells him to.

“I’m gonna–,”

“You want me to let you, huh? You’re asking for my permission?” 

Shane nods fervently, vision blurred with tears. “P-please,” he begs.

A low moan escapes Roz when Shane whimpers and begs again. 

“Come for me.”

And that’s all Shane hears before every nerve ending in his body lights up as the orgasm runs him over. Someone lets out a shuttered cry and he’s a little horrified to realize it must’ve been him. 

Roz follows him shortly after, pleasured groans shaking his body, and Shane hardly feels it right after his last thrust when he collapses onto the bed beside him. 

They stay pressed up against each other, panting and riding the high. 

Roz mumbles something indiscernible, probably Russian, into Shane’s ear and it sends shivers down his spine.

Still lost in the clouds somewhere, Shane manages to lift his hand limply and pat Roz once where he thinks must be the man’s stomach.

Shane feels like he’s submerged in a tank of water, floating weightlessly. It’s definitely been a while since he’s been fucked so well he loses all sense of… anything.

“You still with me?” Roz asks, propping himself up onto his elbow to lean over Shane.

When Shane cracks his eyes open, he can see Roz looking down at him with concern. He feels a hand wipe at the sweat on his forehead.

“Mhmm. M’okay.”

Roz’s lips quirk up on one side. “You need anything?”

Shane sighs. What a kind question. He’s also never been asked this after sex; “aftercare” usually just consists of collecting his clothes and awkwardly thanking the person for their time, maybe a shower if he’s lucky.

“No thanks. I’m good. You?” He asks in return.

Roz leans down and presses a deep kiss to Shane’s mouth, tongue sliding in and disappearing as fast as it came. Shane’s not as young as he once was, but he thinks if Roz keeps making out with him, he could probably go for a second, much lazier round.

“I’m good. I will shower now, okay?”

Shane nods and Roz holds him by the waist for support as he slowly pulls out. Shane winces at the loss and Roz rewards him for his toughness with another kiss.

He watches Roz toss the condom in the garbage by his bed and walk off towards the bathroom. From behind where he can’t see, Shane openly rakes in his glorious backside and only laughs out loud to himself when the door closes.

“Holy shit,” he says to the empty room.

Well.

Objective #2 accomplished.

Accomplished incredibly successfully, might he add.

Once he hears the shower turn on and his skin stops vibrating, Shane pulls himself up and assesses his bed. It’s a complete mess. All the pillows are thrown around the floor and both his comforter and flat sheet are in a tangled heap in the corner. Frankly, it looks exactly like two people tore it up during sex in here. He has no idea how they even did this in 15 minutes. 

He looks down at himself and cringes a little at his own mess. There’s cum all over his stomach and he’d sooner barge into the shower with Roz than wipe it off with his own bed sheets.

Still sore and dripping a little, he trudges over to his chair on shaky legs to pull on his shirt and boxers again. He’ll have a shower before bed and change into pajamas after Roz leaves. He’ll also need to change the sheets and wash them. And get rid of the current garbage bag in his room, so their used condom isn’t just marinating in there. The mental checklist makes him feel a bit more in control as he moves around the room picking up his pillows off the ground.

The shower stops when Shane is in the middle of pulling off his fitted sheet. Roz comes back into the room with a towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist and Shane has to hold his breath to keep from getting hard again. At this point, it’s just rude for Roz’s ridiculously defined V-line and happy trail to point towards what’s under the towel.

“You have so many soaps,” Roz says.

Shane stares at him. “You used my soap?”

Roz shrugs. “Just one or two. Some of them smell weird.”

“What? No, they don’t. They’re really good quality from Japan,” he retorts defensively. 

Roz has already lost interest in the conversation and drops to sit on the corner of the bed. Shane glares at him from behind because he’d clearly seen him taking off the fitted sheet and decided to sit in the one corner of the mattress that was still wrapped.

“You wanted to talk?” Roz asks, turning his head slightly to see Shane.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Let’s talk.”

Shane walks around to his side and looks at the bed distastefully.

“Let’s talk out there. I’ll get drinks,” he offers and heads for the living room.

He stops by the front door to pick up Roz’s shirt and jacket and brings it over to the couch. He hopes Roz takes the hint and puts it on, so he doesn’t have to have a serious conversation while trying not to look at his pecs.

He goes into his kitchen and pokes his head into the fridge for what he can offer. Before he can overthink and make it awkward, he pulls out two cans and walks it back to the living room where Roz is thankfully wearing his pants, but no shirt. Shane supposes he should just be grateful for what he can get.

“This is the drink?” Roz asks when Shane hands it to him.

“Yeah?”

Roz laughs and holds up the ginger ale. “I was expecting something stronger.”

“Oh. I don’t have any alcohol. And didn’t you drive here?”

Roz looks, again, too amused to argue. “I walked. We live close,” is all he says and then cracks the can open. “Next time, I will bring good Russian vodka.”

Next time.

He said next time.

That means he wants to do this again. Which means Roz had a good time. Which means Shane gets to have this again. Because Shane had a great time.

He sits down on one of the couches and Roz lowers himself into the adjacent seat.

“So, there’s going to be a next time,” Shane says like a statement.

“If you want to.”

“Do you want to?”

Roz chuckles. “Is this how you discuss plans with all your fuck buddies?” 

Shane rolls his eyes and brings his drink up to hide the blush. “I’m just making sure.”

“Yes, Hollander. I want to do this again. I had fun. Sounded like you did too,” Roz says.

Shane’s cheeks are definitely red when he calls Roz an asshole again. “Yeah, I want to do it again.”

“Good. It is settled.”

“Right. We’re just…?” Shane wants to be crystal clear about what exactly they are. 

He knows Roz just mentioned fuck buddies, but he’d prefer if their specific arrangement could be explicitly outlined, so he never has to guess.

Roz leans into the couch casually like they’re two friends discussing Friday night hockey. 

“Just what?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Shane seems to amuse Roz a lot with how often he gives him that smile like he’s trying his best not to laugh at him. 

“We are coworkers. And sometimes we will fuck. Simple.”

He supposes that’s as clear as it can get.

“Cool. Coworkers, yeah, that’s good.”

“That sometimes fuck. Don’t forget that part, very important part.”

Shane rolls his eyes while Roz grins. “If we’re going to keep doing this, we need to set some rules first.”

Roz looks at him with furrowed brows. “Rules?”

Shane nods firmly. “Yeah, ground rules. Like terms.”

Roz is staring at him like Shane’s grown another head. “What kind of rules could you possibly have?”

“Well, for starters, no more of that shit you pulled in the showers.”

This first point makes him laugh. “It got me to your apartment, so I think it was a good move.”

Shane narrows his eyes at him. “I’m serious. What if someone had walked in?”

“Then they can join. I am great at threesomes.”

Shane balks while Roz snickers at how flabbergasted he looks. 

“Rule number two, none of this at work. It’s unprofessional and disrespectful to our coworkers,” Shane declares.

Roz’s eyebrows lift. “Disrespectful?”

“Yes, disrespectful.”

“I don’t think Marly would think it’s disrespectful.”

“Marly?” What the hell does Marly have to do with anything?

Roz shrugs. “We had threesome once in the house. He did not mind.”

Shane’s jaw drops. At the same time, the thought of Roz and Marly somehow gets Shane’s stomach turning again. 

“Who… how could… where the fuck… what?” Shane’s not even sure what he’s trying to ask.

“My friend came by to visit. Marly was–what is the saying? In the right place at the right time?”

His friend.

Svetlana. It has to be. 

Somehow, the visual of the three of them (Svetlana is a blur of curly brown hair and nothing else) sneaking around the firehouse together does embarrassing things to Shane’s cock. 

“Well, that’s insane and ridiculous. I don’t want people walking in on or overhearing anything they didn’t agree to. Marleau included,” Shane snaps back to the original conversation. 

He wonders how that threesome even worked. Marly didn’t give gay vibes at all. Fuck, he needs to stop thinking about them now. He’ll circle back to it when he’s alone.

“Then we lock the door and be quieter.”

Shane glares at him. “No. If we’re going to keep doing this then it can only be outside of work hours.” He will not have his sexual desires taint his professionalism.

This time, Roz narrows his eyes and considers Shane’s rule for a moment.

“One spot,” Roz says.

“What?”

“Pick one location in the firehouse. Safe spot. None of this anywhere else, only there.”

“No.”

Roz raises one eyebrow. “This is what you call a compromise, Hollander. Meet in middle, yes?”

Shane does his best not to scowl, but Roz’s ever-so-present smirk has returned in full glory and he seems to be enjoying how annoyed Shane is.

“What if we get caught?”

“I like a little trouble.”

“I’m serious, Rozanov.”

Roz lets out a dramatic sigh. “Oh my god, Hollander, you are so boring. We will not get caught if you pick a good spot.”

Shane huffs and begrudgingly considers the layout of their firehouse. Objectively, there’s no real privacy anywhere, but if he has to pick since Roz is stubborn…

“Laundry room.”

Roz smirks. “Good choice.”

“Fine. Only in the laundry room at work, no where else. And we lock the door.” His professionalism won’t be affected by this, he’s sure.

“And outside of work?”

Shane shrugs. “Off shift is fair game, I guess.” Maybe he shouldn’t be talking about such matters so clinically, but Roz doesn’t seem to mind and their arrangement is strictly mutually beneficial anyways.

“Give me your phone. We will text.”

He hands him his phone without a second thought and watches Roz tap around before handing it back to him. Roz pulls out his own phone and a moment later, Shane’s buzzes in his hand.

rozanov

-Hollander (ambo 81)

-rozanov

He scoffs when he glances down at what he did. “Really? You needed to add my rig number to remember me?”

Roz grins. “You can add mine too if it helps.”

“I’ll just add asshole after your contact name.”

Roz grins wider. “Whatever you want, Hollander. We will text to meet after shift, then.”

“Okay, that works.”

Now that all of his objectives have been met, he’s not sure what to do now. He can’t just kick him out. To be honest, Shane’s not even really sure he wants to. There’s no way he could go another round tonight, too tired from work and their first escapade, but he’d be happy to do other things. Shane’s just glad the mental stress of figuring out what they are is gone and they’ve established a clear plan moving forward. 

Before either of them can say anything, Roz’s phone lights up with a call. All Shane catches is a photo of a really pretty woman before Roz tucks it into his pocket.

“I should go.”

“Right, yeah. I need to do the laundry.”

Shane can see Roz hiding his smile as he tilts his head back to finish off his drink. They both stand up, Roz putting on his shirt and jacket while Shane pretends to look elsewhere like either of them care about modesty anymore.

He walks him over to the door and leans against the wall as Roz slips his shoes on. When he stands back up, he beckons for Shane to come closer. Shane obviously concedes and lets Roz kiss him one more time, his hands latching onto his jeans and Roz’s fingers disheveling Shane’s hair a second time. Shane moans into his mouth and has to catch himself from getting carried away.

Shane pulls away first, demonstrating what little self-control he seems to have around this man. “Goodnight, Roz.”

Roz looks at him with the same lazy smile and opens the door.

“See you at work, Hollander.” 

***

Shane is reorganizing the gauze and bandage drawers in the ambulance when Rose pokes her head in.

“Morning!”

He smiles at her. “Morning. How was your brother’s birthday?” She’d been talking all of last shift about the fun bar crawl her and her brothers had planned for one of their birthdays.

“Oh, it was awesome! Guess how many we actually made it to.”

Her original goal was 10 and learning about what a lightweight she is, Shane purses his lips to think about the logistics of her three older brothers and her bar crawling downtown Boston. 

“All 10?” He’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.

She laughs. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. We hit seven and then I don’t remember anything. Jake and Oliver apparently had to literally carry Elliott and I home over their shoulders.”

“Wow, sounds like you had a rough morning the next day.”

“This is true,” she says and leans against the ambulance. “I don’t think I’ll be able to smell alcohol for a month.”

“Don’t tell Hayden. He just invited everyone to The Tam tomorrow after shift.”

Rose considers this before smiling again. “A month is an exaggeration. I’ll be fine in 24 hours.”

Shane laughs and shuts all the drawers to hop out of the ambulance. 

“Oh, I got your coffee again by the way. It’s in the kitchen.”

Rose beams. “And they said honest men didn’t exist anymore.”

“Hey, a deal is a deal.”

“I didn’t expect you to actually commit for a whole week, but I’m not complaining. I’ll let you win a competition eventually to pay you back.”

Shane smiles. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” He learned that Rose was one of the most competitive people in the house and it was hard to get her to chill in any “friendly” contest. 

But she just winks before walking away to go collect her coffee. “You’re the best, Shane Hollander!” She yells over her shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Shaking his head to himself with endearment, Shane dusts off his hands and closes the ambulance doors. It’s almost 8 am and Chief will be doing his morning briefing soon.

He’s about to head back into the firehouse when he spots movement by one of the rigs. 

It’s Roz. He’s looting through one of the side compartments of their Squad truck.

Even though they’d established they were only hooking up casually, it still feels awkward to greet him in the morning like he hadn’t been crying with Roz’s fingers knuckle-deep in his asshole. But Roz has also definitely seen Shane and it’d be even more awkward to just ignore him completely.

So, Shane lifts his hand trying for a normal wave.

Roz barely nods his head at him before pulling out a screwdriver. 

“Morning,” Shane starts, hoping for a mundane conversation just to prove to himself that he can have this kind of relationship with a coworker. “What are you doing?” He asks, walking over with his hands in his pockets.

Roz hops off the rig with the screwdriver in his hand. His eyes are blue in the dim lighting of the garage and Shane immediately notices the gold necklace peaking out from the collar of his (once again, very tight) shirt. 

This might be harder than Shane anticipated because he’s already imagining undressing Roz in the laundry room.

“Inventory,” Roz replies curtly.

“Oh, nice. What do you need a screwdriver for?” 

“Fix the coffee machine inside.”

Shane frowns a little. “What’s wrong with the coffee machine?” He’d seen Troy using it earlier. 

Roz’s usually smug face is nowhere to be seen today. Instead, it feels like there’s a layer of ice between them and Shane realizes he hasn’t smiled or smirked at him once yet. It’s a bit unsettling and he can’t believe he finds himself wishing Roz would tease him again.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Shane blinks. “I don’t follow.”

Roz sniffs once and makes a low sound in his throat that could be mistaken for a scoff. 

And then he just walks away. Leaving Shane standing there with his hands in his pocket like an idiot.

What the fuck?

There’s no way Shane did something to upset Roz at 8 in the morning two days after they just had mind blowing sex and exchanged numbers, right? He didn’t even say anything! Is Roz that torn up over the coffee machine in the kitchen? 

No matter how much Shane wracks his brain for why Roz has such a sour attitude, he comes up empty. 

“Asshole,” he mutters to himself and heads inside. 

If this is how it’s going to go from now on, maybe inviting him over was a mistake.

***

Ambulance 81, Truck 12, Rescue 1. Structure collapse. Trinity Lane and Abbott Avenue.

***

When Firehouse 17 arrives at the construction site, Shane is relieved to see more concerned bystanders than injured victims. One of the men who’d waved their rigs in gave them a panicked recap of how the foundation gave in, trapping three of their guys one level below. After assessing the scene and how unstable the whole place was, Rescue 1 went in via ropes and aerial ladder first.

“One victim with a leg fracture and another with a head wound. Both are conscious and talking,” Shane heard Marly radio back.

Him and Hayden were still with the trucks, waiting for the victims to come out or a call for them to go down.

“We can’t move them,” Marly adds a second later.

Shane and Hayden exchange looks before nodding resolutely. “We’re on our way down.”

JJ helps secure their makeshift harnesses and then signals to Hayes on the truck to start lowering them down one at a time. Shane drops in first with his jump bag and immediately coughs at all the dust and debris around them. They’re basically in a clearing with ruined concrete foundations and exposed metal poles above them showing exactly where the weak points had given way. He’s been in worse spots, but the thought that the ground beneath him could cave at any moment makes him uneasy.

He focuses on his victims and delegates Hayden to the head wound while he works on the leg fracture.

“Where’s the third victim?” Shane asks as he’s splinting the femur break and then immediately apologizes to his current victim who’s screaming bloody murder in his ear. He quickly gives him some morphine before Shane goes deaf.

“Down there. He’s pinned in bad,” Marly says, nodding over to a pile of concrete blocks Hunter and Bood are standing over.

Shane gives a quick glance; he can’t see where the victim is, so he must be in deep. He then looks over his shoulder to check on Hayden who is already helping Barrett get their victim into a harness to lift out of here.

“Sir, you’re going to be okay. We’re taking you to a hospital now,” Shane tells his victim who gives him a dopey thumbs up thanks to the drugs numbing him from what is surely excruciating pain. 

“JJ, I need a basket stretcher down here. Ambo 72, second victim is on his way out for you,” Shane radios.

“Copy that.”

“Hollander, sending a basket stretcher down.”

“This guy’s good to go, Marly. Lift him out of here very slowly,” Shane tells Marly when he can see Hayden coming over with the basket.

“Hollander! Get over here!” Hunter suddenly yells.

Shane stops what he’s doing with the c-collar and quickly passes it off to Hayden before running over.

Hunter and Bood are both standing over a small opening in the foundation and looking down with pinched expressions. 

“What–,” Shane cuts himself off when he peers inside himself and finds the source of their concern.

ROZANOV is the only thing he can see with the lighting from up here and Shane’s eyes widen when he realizes Roz is down in the hole with no structural support. In fact, all of them up here are currently standing on the very ground that could come crashing down on him.

“What the fuck?”

The sound of Shane’s voice makes Roz turn and look up through the hole. Shane hates that he notices how Roz’s face lights up upon seeing him. Occupational hazard: most firefighters in dire situations would be happy to see a paramedic. Duh.

“His lower leg is pinned and he’s bleeding internally,” Roz reports.

Shane goes into medic mode, ignoring how Roz isn’t wearing his helmet right now when he really should be. 

“Can he move his foot at all?”

Roz shakes his head.

“Where’s the bleeding?”

“Left side. Upper quadrant. Very tender to touch.”

That’s not a good place to be bleeding internally.

“Can you release the pressure on the foot?”

“No.”

“But I’m having a great day otherwise!” A raspy voice calls from below. Shane catches a glimpse of salt and pepper hair on the ground behind Roz.

Roz’s expression is clear: this man will not make it without help right now. The two of them exchange a silent conversation and Shane nods.

“Okay, I’ll call for a trauma surgeon.”

“Hollander, how long?”

Shane hesitates. “I don’t know,” he replies honestly.

He takes two steps away from the hole and picks up his radio. “This is ambulance 81, open channel five.”

“Go ahead, 81.”

“I need a trauma surgeon for a possible amputation ASAP.”

“Copy that, 81. Standby while I route someone to you.”

Shane exhales and runs back over to his jump bag to grab any useful supplies. If they have to wait for a surgeon, they may as well speed up the process and prep the victim before they arrive. Plus, he’s sure the man would appreciate some morphine.

“Ambulance 81, trauma surgeon is en route to your location. ETA 20 minutes.”

He immediately picks up his radio again. “Main, we need one here in the next ten minutes if we want this man to make it. Airlift the doctor here if you have to.”

“Negative, 81. Surgeon is already on their way. Police escort is clearing a path. ETA 20 minutes.”

Shane lets out a frustrated groan and runs back over to the hole. Bood is clearing it to be wider and Hunter is passing cribbing down to Roz.

“Roz!” Shane calls and drops to his knees over the opening. “Find a vein and get the saline in.” He drops the bag down and lets go when Roz grabs it.

“ETA on the surgeon?”

“20 minutes,” Shane replies reluctantly. He can see it in Roz’s eyes that he knows that will be too late.

“There’s not enough time for a surgeon, is there?” The same raspy voice asks. 

Shane peers deeper into the hole and finds an older man lying against one of the walls. He looks banged up and if Shane squints in the darkness, he can see where his foot is trapped under a large beam. 

“Don’t give up on me now, Joseph,” Roz says.

“You need to do it, Ilya.”

Shane is so shocked to hear Roz’s name in this kind of situation that he momentarily forgets where they are.

“Joseph, I’m not a surgeon,” Roz replies in a level tone. 

“No one here seems to be. Take off the foot. Get me out of here,” the man says, voice shaking, but impossibly firm. “Get me home, Ilya. Please.”

Roz is silent for a few seconds. “I…”

The sound of his uncharacteristically hesitant and uncertain voice snaps Shane into action immediately.

“Roz, I’m coming down. Prep the saline,” he calls.

Three heads turn to him bewildered and Shane stands, ignoring all but one. Roz is looking up at him with wide eyes and parted lips. 

“Hollander, it’s not stable,” Hunter argues.

“I can’t let you down there,” Bood adds.

Shane picks up his radio. “JJ, I need a sawzall now.”

“Copy that.”

“Hollander, you hear me?” Bood asks louder and more stern.

Shane looks at him with steely nerves. “Cap, if we don’t take his foot off now, we’ll be recovering his body instead of rescuing him. I can do the surgery before the doctor gets here,” he states matter of factly.

Barrett brings the saw over and Shane carefully passes it down to Roz.

“Shane, what are you doing?” Roz asks from below him. 

He hardly even registers his first name and how intense Roz sounds using it, like he’s actually mad at what Shane is trying to do. 

“Hollander,” Hunter tries again, mouth pulled into an angrier frown now.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t take orders from any of you.”

Shane crawls onto his stomach and slowly begins to lower himself down. To the credit of both captains, they hold onto him until Roz helps him get his footing in the hole before letting go. He stumbles a bit on the uneven surface, but Roz barely lets him move an inch before he’s got his hands securely around his waist.

“What do you need, Hollzy?” Barrett calls from above.

Shane adjusts his helmet and awkwardly scoots around Roz in the tiny space. “Pass my bag.”

He drops down beside the man on the ground. “Hi, I’m Shane Hollander, paramedic in charge. I’m going to amputate your foot.”

The man, Joseph, lets out a harsh chuckle that dissolves into painful coughs where a bit of blood trickles out. That is not a good sign at all.

“Well, I appreciate the bluntness, Shane.”

“I’m not a doctor, but I’ll do my best. This is going to hurt like hell.”

“Duly noted. I’ll take my chances on a paramedic like you.”

Shane nods and tries to offer an assuring smile. Roz hands him the morphine kit. 

“Hang a line. I’ll tell you what I need,” Shane orders while prepping a dose.

In record time, Roz has the saline drip running and he holds it up between his ear and his shoulder, so he can still have two free hands to help Shane.

Shane is busy assessing where to cut. It’s looking like a below-knee amputation which will be good for Joseph’s rehabilitation. If Shane can do what he learned during his surgery rotation, but in a construction hole with a sawzall and no medical equipment, then he might be able to save this man’s life. 

Just as he’s about to give more instructions, the Earth shakes and Shane falls forward as Roz throws his body over him and Joseph’s. 

“Rozy, Hollander, you guys okay?” Bood yells.

“Yeah, we’re good!” Roz responds. 

Shane coughs at the dust and grimaces at how unsterile this is. And then he feels something light hit his face and opens his eyes to see Roz’s necklace dangling right in front of him. It’s gone as soon as it came because Roz stands and backs up a step. Of course he’d throw his body over them. Shane’s not sure if he should be annoyed or flattered.

“What do you need?” Roz asks.

“Put your helmet on first,” Shane snaps without thinking. “And then come hold his leg.”

Roz does as he’s told and steps over Joseph to be on the other side. Shane has a deja vu moment from his first shift when the two of them had leaned over a pregnant woman together just like they’re doing now. They both turn the flashlights on their helmets on.

“Joseph, are you ready?” Shane asks.

“Ready when you are,” he responds, much weaker than before. 

“You need to stay awake and try not to move. Talk to Ilya about something.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Your wife, Yena. You said she is teacher? Tell me how you met,” Roz proposes.

Joseph smiles and nods. He starts talking fondly about his wife while Shane ties a tight tourniquet above where he’ll need to cut. He douses Joseph’s leg with the 95% alcohol spray from his bag and then mentally calculates the most optimal angle. The cinder block on top of his foot is causing it to be flexed which complicates the matter of blood flow. Hopefully, the tourniquet is tight enough for the time being.

He rinses the saw with the same alcohol and then starts it up. When it whirs to life, Joseph stops talking and latches one hand tightly onto Shane’s. He looks rightfully terrified. 

“I swear I’m going to do everything I can to get you out of here and back home to your wife, Joseph,” Shane promises. “Sit tight. We’ll have you in a hospital and fitted for a cool prosthetic in no time.”

Joseph nods his head, face pale with fear and the internal bleeding they still haven’t addressed yet, and releases Shane’s hand.

Shane makes eye contact with Roz who looks equally determined. “Hold him still.”

Roz nods and leans his entire body over the leg.

The saw makes contact with the leg and Shane is too focused to even hear Joseph’s howling. He can tell the man is writhing around, but Roz does his job perfectly and keeps his leg from even a twitch. 

Without any proper equipment, Shane eyeballs all the measurements and muscle layers. He notes when he thinks he’s hit the tibial vessels and peroneal nerve because he’ll need to ligate them when he can get Joseph into the ambulance. 

“Lift,” he instructs Roz, so he can get a better angle.

When he’s sawed through the tibia, he does a quick check for how much blood Joseph is losing. It’s not enough to be alarming, the tourniquet must be working. Shane maneuvers his body to start cutting horizontally for the best myocutaneous flap he can manage for the sake of Joseph’s future prosthetic fitting. 

“Lift again.” Roz does as he’s told, hands white-knuckled with how hard he’s holding Joseph still.

It’s certainly the ugliest surgery Shane’s had to do, but he turns the saw off when the leg is free.

“Make sure he stays awake,” Shane orders, slightly out of breath.

He makes quick work of identifying all the bleeding points of the flap and applying hemostatic dressing. Under better circumstances, he’d use silver nitrate to cauterize all the vessels and nerves, but he’s working with what he’s got and the faster they can get him out of here, the higher Joseph’s chances of surviving without infection are. 

When he finishes wrapping and finally looks back at Joseph, he’s relieved to see the man’s eyes are opened and sluggishly engaging in a conversation with Roz.

“Bood! Drop a basket!” Shane calls.

“Coming down.”

Shane stands up to receive the basket stretcher.

“Alright, Joseph, hard part’s over. Ready to get out of here?” Shane asks, bringing it over to him.

“Took you long enough,” Joseph manages to tease with an exhausted smile. 

“I’ll give you another shot of morphine for the road,” he promises.

Him and Roz carefully secure him into the basket and help their team above lift him out. 

“Hey, Barrett! Drop a rope to pull Hollander out now,” Roz calls immediately after Joseph is safe.

Shane turns around to face him. “What are you doing?” He’s not a helpless damsel.

Roz doesn’t budge. “Getting you out of here. You should not have come down in first place.”

Shane’s eyebrows lift in shock at the audacity. “Are you kidding? I just saved his life and you want to lecture me?”

“It was unsafe. Captains both told you so.”

“Like you listened to them. You were down here first,” Shane retorts.

“Is different. It was dangerous and stupid for you.”

Shane has to laugh at the absolute gall of this man. “Last time I checked, you are not my boss or my mother.”

Roz doesn’t even smirk at that, instead shaking his head, eyebrows furrowed like he’s honestly angry. “Don’t do this again, Hollander.”

He doesn’t let Shane get another word in before he’s wrapping the rope from Barrett around Shane’s jacket. Roz yanks on it twice to signal they’re good. The harness digs into Shane painfully, but it’s nowhere near as uncomfortable as the slavic stare he’s getting from Roz the entire way up and out of the hole. 

Barrett and Hunter help him out of it when he’s back outside and Shane is so agitated with Roz that he takes off for Joseph without waiting. Right now, the last thing he wants to see are his stupid blue eyes. 

Joseph is aerial lifted to their ambulance and Hayden drives off immediately with Shane in the back stitching up what he can while trying not to let his heated emotions show. 

“You two make a great team. I’m glad it was you guys down there,” Joseph tells him after Shane hits him with more morphine.

Shane smiles tightly without replying. He bites his tongue the rest of the way to the hospital.

***

As soon as Shane puts the ambulance in park, he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulls it out and is surprised that the notification is a text from Roz.

“You good?” Hayden asks beside him.

“Uh, yeah. Just need to text my mom something. I’ll meet you inside,” he lies.

Hayden gives him a funny look like he doesn’t believe Shane at all, but he must be more hungry than curious because he just nods. “Sure, I’ll save you a plate.”

“Thanks.”

Only when Hayden walks through the main doors does Shane unlock his phone.

Rozanov (Rescue 1)

laundry room

He frowns and then scoffs out loud. Unbelievable.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

First, Roz is a total dick to Shane in the morning even though all he’d done was greet him. Then he says Shane has no idea what he’s doing after the rescue and to “never do that again” like he’s Shane’s keeper or something. He’s had enough of people underestimating him and he hoped Roz would know better after two full shifts together that Shane is not a pushover on the job. He’s a good fucking paramedic and Roz better start acting accordingly.

The audacity and nerve for him to now demand Shane go to their designated spot for, what? A blowjob? A quickie? 

Fuck him.

Rozanov (Rescue 1)

laundry room

Fuck you

He pockets his phone and heads inside. Roz can suck his dick.

Shane heads inside to wash his face and maybe change his shirt. It’s completely not his fault that the path from the garage doors to the locker room happens to pass by the laundry room.

He’s retaining his anger and annoyance, but he can’t help turning his head to peek inside when he walks by. The door is open ajar and he can’t see all the way inside, so he rolls his eyes to solidify his resolve and keeps walking.

Suddenly, his arm is being yanked in the opposite direction and he lets out a very masculine shriek as someone manhandles him through the doorway.

Into the laundry room.

“What the fuck?” Shane exclaims when he removes himself from Roz’s grip.

Roz shuts the door and turns to face him. He looks less angry than he did at the construction site. He’s also clearly taken a shower if his obnoxiously more perfect curls are any indication.

Shane crosses his arms. They stare at each other for a few seconds, neither making the first move until Roz relents.

“You are angry,” Roz states.

Shane rolls his eyes. “Gee, what gave that away?”

Roz cocks his head to the left like a puppy and regards him intensely. “You are angry because of what I said on the call.”

“Wow, he remembers what happened, like, 30 minutes ago,” Shane deadpans, not even caring that he probably sounds like a brat right now.

Roz’s lips quirk up into a slight smile and the sight is so familiar that it softens Shane just a little. He hasn’t seen this side of Roz all day. 

“And I’m the asshole?” He teases. 

Shane frowns. “You are an asshole.”

“Because I said it was unsafe for you?”

Shane drops his arms in frustration. “Because you undermined my position right after I amputated a fucking leg. You had no right to tell me what I can or can’t do as a paramedic when my victim’s life is on the line.” And when your life is on the line too.

Roz doesn’t respond and continues staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“And you were such a dick to me this morning for no reason,” Shane adds just for good measure. Might as well get it all off his chest.

The last point seems to surprise Roz, but he doesn’t react beyond the slightest widening of his blue eyes. “Hm.”

Shane pauses. “Hm? That’s all you have to say?” If Roz’s goal after kidnapping him into the laundry room was to piss him off even more, it’s working.

Instead of replying, Roz closes the gap between them and gently pushes Shane up against the dryer. His hands snake from Shane’s waist up to his jaw and it’s second nature the way Shane responds by placing his own hands onto Roz’s waist. Just like before, he moves slowly, leaving enough buffer time for Shane to push him off if he so pleases. 

He does not.

All his resolve and anger go out the window and Shane is pressing his lips to Roz’s in an instant, effectively cutting the sexual tension and actual workplace tension in half.

He tastes like coffee and cigarettes which would usually gross Shane out, but the way Roz’s tongue is working through Shane’s mouth is enough of a distraction. 

“Door…,” Shane mumbles in between.

“Locked.”

Roz picks him up by his thighs until Shane is sitting on top of the dryer and he responds by wrapping his legs around him.

After they established the laundry room would be their go-to at work, Shane didn’t actually think about the logistics of going through with it. Now that they’re both hard and making out in here with the looming threat of someone discovering them, Shane admits it’s kind of erotic. It’s definitely the biggest risk he’s ever taken in his personal life.

“You were so hot today,” Roz moans into Shane’s neck. “Giving me orders and yelling at me.”

Shane shivers at the praise. And then Roz is sucking on the skin below his jaw and he practically melts into the machine. 

“Bossy PIC, Shane Hollander.”

“Fuck you, Rozanov,” he manages to whisper back.

“Not here. Something faster for now.”

Roz unbuttons Shane’s pants and he can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes him. What a fucking shift. He supposes he deserves this after the gory morning he’s had. Plus, Joseph was whisked into surgery as soon as they arrived and Shane’s optimistic about his odds.

Shane is already hard and gleaming at the tip when Roz wraps his entire mouth around his cock. 

“Oh, fuck, Roz,” he moans immediately. He has to remember they’re not in the safety of his bedroom.

Roz makes quick work bobbing his head back and forth and Shane is a mess by the time he feels close enough to finish.

And no second too late because as soon as Shane comes with a full body shudder into Roz’s mouth (who swallows it like a champ), the alarm blares.

Ambulance 81, Engine 24, Truck 12, Rescue 1, Battalion 3. Fire alarms reported. Harvard University Akron Street student housing.

Shane hops off the dryer and fixes his pants hastily. He looks back up at Roz who is grinning at him proudly, eyes dilated, lips swollen, and curls messy. Shane likely looks equally as fucked.

“You look great,” Roz comments sarcastically.

Shane rolls his eyes and haphazardly runs his hands through his hair and swipes at his lips. 

“Put a hat on or something,” Shane mumbles as he unlocks the door and takes off.

He doesn’t check if Roz is following. 

So much for making it known that he’s upset with him. In Shane’s defence, it’s hard to stay mad at a guy who looks like a Greek statue while giving you a blowjob. 

He huffs to himself and evicts all thoughts of Roz and his hot/cold attitude, so he can focus on the call. He’ll doubledown that just because he came in Roz’s mouth in, like, five minutes, does not mean he is forgiven.

***

Turns out it’s easier to stay mad at Roz for the rest of the shift than Shane thought because they’re in back to back calls until midnight. By the time Shane and Hayden get back, they’re both exhausted and knock out in the dorms in record time. Shane doesn’t even see Roz at the firehouse again until the following morning.

He’s walking out with Rose and JJ while Hayden follows a few paces behind on the phone with Jackie. 

“Did Hunter say he’d come out with us tonight?” Rose asks.

“Yep, only took all shift for Hayden to wear him down,” JJ replies and then throws an arm around Shane. “He only agreed because it’ll be your first proper night out with the house.”

Shane chuckles. “Well, don’t force a guy out on account of me. I don’t even like drinking.”

“Oh, I remember. But we’re still celebrating anyway.”

“I’ll let you play me in darts again,” Rose offers.

“No, thank you. Learned my lesson the first time.”

She grins. “Fine, pool then?”

Shane narrows his eyes at her and then looks at JJ. “Is she really good at pool too?” Shane’s not terrible himself, but that’s what he thought about darts.

JJ just shrugs slyly. “Right of passage, mon ami. No trade secrets from me.”

Shane sighs. “Fine. What time?” Hayden sounded excited at almost everyone from the house agreeing to come out; it’d be rude of Shane to decline when it seems the occasion is specifically for him. 

“Whenever. I’ll be there around 9, I think,” JJ says.

Shane’s not a fan of vague plans or arriving at the function first, so he’ll just text Hayden to see when he’s going to be there.

JJ removes his arm and turns around abruptly. “Hey Rozanov! Are you free tonight?”

Shane trips midstep and nearly bumps into Rose. 

Roz is walking out from the garage doors and stops a few steps from their group. He pushes his sunglasses up into his hair and makes direct eye contact with Shane when he responds to JJ, “For what?”

“We’re going to The Tam for Hollzy’s official Firehouse 17 welcoming.”

Shane’s eyes wander down to Roz’s neck where an embarrassingly obvious hickey is peaking out from his collar. If someone cared enough to check, they’d find the shape matches Shane’s teeth perfectly. Personally, he’d spent all of yesterday massaging and alternating heat and ice packs on all the visible bruises Roz left on his neck until they were less noticeable. Roz clearly doesn’t care.

“Why not Kingfisher?”

“Hunter,” is all Rose says.

Roz nods with an ah of understanding.

“Everyone’s going to be there,” JJ adds, like convincing Roz to come is critical.

Shane doesn’t react (or at least he tries not to). Roz continues looking only at him.

“Can’t tonight. I have plans. Next time, okay?” 

Rose and JJ both boo, but Shane’s too busy glaring daggers at Roz’s smirk. 

He waves them all goodbye and walks away. JJ and Rose resume whatever they were talking about before while Shane watches Roz get into the same red car and kiss the same woman. He also doesn’t miss the wink Roz sends him before they rev off either.

Whatever.

All that matters to Shane is that he now has an excellent coworker who fucks him on any day of the week, even at work. He doesn’t care what Roz does in his free time. At all. He can fuck whomever else he wants. 

Plus, Shane’s still mad at him anyway. Why would he care?

Chapter End Notes

Shane, buddy, stand up man!!! (I say as someone who also folds in two seconds)
Ilya, buddy, your pathetic loverboy nature is showing!!!! (I say as someone who also gets jealous very easily)

Thank you sososososo much for reading and commenting and leaving kudos. I pretend to be nonchalant, but I cannot deny the thrill and awe I got every time I saw a new comment. I loved replying to each one and lowkey getting emotional at how nice and analytical some of them were.
I also hope the little text thing worked... I only ever work in Python and C++, so HTML was a bitch to figure out icl. Let me know if it doesn't and I'll give up LMAO
(PS I love when people leave plot predictions or things they'd like to see because I save them all LOL thank you for the ideas)

See y'all next week!

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

sooooooo sorry for the mini hiatus! big things were happening and may just flew by!
i hope 11k of hollanov diasters makes up for the delay :))

no gore warnings (other than more smut lol)

Once or twice after a rough shift eventually turns into every week which eventually turns into almost daily. It doesn’t matter when or where, hooking up with Roz becomes a consistent part of Shane’s schedule. At the firehouse, they send laundry requests back and forth, taking turns satisfying each other. Post-shift, they end up at Shane’s apartment before Roz walks four blocks home. On their days off, Shane walks the four blocks over to Roz’s brownstone during the day and leaves before dinner, so he can get his full eight hours of sleep before shift. 

They always part before overstaying their respective welcomes. Shane’s become well-versed in Roz’s microexpressions and mannerisms, always knowing when it’s time to leave by the slight constricting of his pupils and chewing of his inner cheek. 

He’d be a liar if he didn’t admit he’s gotten used to this new addition and even gets excited at the unscheduled, but always guaranteed plans to meet up. If he thinks too hard about how their dynamic has evolved, his brain will start to spiral which is why he’s also learned when to simply ask for more and Roz will do what he does best: silence Shane’s brain.

Tuesday evening, after a particularly rough shift involving a massive sink hole on the highway, they went three rounds before tapping out.

“Hollander, where is the…”

Shane looked up from where he’d been peeling off his bedsheets. Roz was standing naked in the doorway of the bathroom with his hand up.

“The what?”

“The thing. To wash,” Roz said vaguely and then mimed holding something in his hand while he scrubbed his arm.

“Loofa? The blue one I had?”

Roz nodded. “Yes, loofa. Stupid name.”

Shane tried not to laugh. “I threw it out last time we were in there and got it all gross. There should be a new pack under the sink.”

He heard some rattling before Roz poked his head out again. “I am opening pink one for you.”

“Okay.”

Wednesday afternoon, Shane walked straight into Roz’s house (he’d already lectured him about the dangers of leaving his door unlocked in Boston) with two coffees and had been promptly fucked on the couch.

“Since when do you buy fiber cereal?” Shane asked incredulously when he was riffling through Roz’s pantry for a snack afterwards.

Roz hardly lifted his head from the couch, still naked and lounging there like a Greek emperor. “Since you refuse to eat my cereal.”

Shane scoffed and prepared himself a bowl. “Sorry if I’m not in the mood for 500 grams of sugar and 800 calories in the middle of the day.”

“Is 24 grams and 170 calories per cup, Hollander. Get it right.”

On Thursday, Roz rescued a young woman from a car accident and she promptly wrote her number on a receipt and slipped it into his jacket with a wink. Shane tried not to let his irrational irritation show when they got back to the firehouse, so he let Roz fuck his thighs until he was a moaning mess and then snuck back out to the garage where all their gear was hanging to throw out the receipt. 

If Roz noticed, he didn’t comment on it.

The following Friday after shift, Shane texted Roz that he was going to a baseball game and then dinner with Hayden, JJ, and Rose, so he wouldn’t be available. Roz pointedly did not respond. It wasn’t the first time one of them cancelled. Just last week, Roz told Shane he wouldn’t be home during the day because he had to take his car to the dealership and then drop off a loaner for his friend. 

He knew that meant Svetlana.

Whom Shane still had yet to meet. Not once when he and Hayden rolled into the ER with a patient was Dr. Vetrova the resident that received them. Shane wondered if this was a coincidence or signs of a higher power (Roz) at work.

Roz didn’t talk much about himself or any of his friends outside of work. Granted, Shane didn’t either, but that was mostly because he just didn’t have many in Boston. He’s mentioned his old partner, Melanie, a few times and Roz always laughed at the stories Shane told him about his med school friends. 

But never once has the name Svetlana left Roz’s mouth. If not for his gossip group, Shane still wouldn’t know who Roz was always getting picked up by or running errands to the hospital for. He’s not sure if Roz is just extra protective and territorial of her or if he simply doesn’t feel the need to share. 

Shane supposes he doesn’t really owe him anything, but he’s seen too many of her belongings (extra pink toothbrush, stash of tampons, expensive curl cream, suede heels, etc.) around Roz’s place that he expected at least some kind of explanation. 

“You drink decaf?” Shane had asked once, holding up a decaf pod, when he was making himself a cup of coffee with Roz’s fancy machine. 

“Nope, not for me,” is all he’d replied with.

Before Shane could even ask a follow-up question, Roz was already on his knees in front of him in the kitchen and any queries about his supposed girl best friend were promptly forgotten.

Aside from that tiny Svetlana-shaped stitch in his only-child-who-never-learned-how-to-share brain, Shane is more than pleased with their new arrangement. 

The best part? His previous concerns about this affecting them on the job have been firmly put to rest. If anything, getting a steady source of orgasms has improved his performance in the field. Roz is still a bit of an asshole and takes the piss out of Shane whenever he can, but their involvement with each other is definitely also benefiting Roz’s attitude if the rest of the firefighters are any indication.

“Roz just offered to make lunch for everyone,” Young announced one morning in the kitchen area.

“Aren’t you on lunch duty?” Hayes asked.

“Technically. But I went out with a Russian girl last night, so I was telling him about this dish we had and he just offered to make it.”

“What is this Russian dish exactly? You know, last time Roz was in charge of a meal he just ordered heaping amounts of McDonalds takeout,” Hunter said with an eyeroll.

“Hey, I wouldn’t be opposed to McDonalds,” Haas noted.

“No, it’s not McDonalds. He’s making borscht, I think. It's like a meat and vegetable soup. It was so good at the restaurant I was at.”

“Are we sure he’s not pranking us,” JJ asked suspiciously. “It’s really not like him to offer to cook.”

“Yeah, what if he’s making it super fucking spicy or something?” Hayden asked.

“Okay, first, Roz has a weaker spice tolerance than Haasy,” Young started.

“Hey!”

“Second, he’s being nice! I told you guys he’s been in a great mood recently.”

Marleau nodded. “Kid’s not wrong. Roz has been extra chipper these last few shifts.”

“Probably thanks to whomever’s been ripping up his back,” Hayes mumbled, which made everyone laugh.

Shane just focused on his morning oats and tried not to react. He’d also made a mental note to give Roz some petroleum jelly to help with the scratch marks.

By noon, Roz was cooking up a storm in the kitchen and to everyone’s surprise, the borscht was delectable. He smiled when he served them each a bowl, even Hayden who had taken a bit of convincing to actually eat it. After lunch, Shane edged Roz into oblivion in the laundry room as a tip.

Overall, Shane’s relieved to say that this is all working out quite favourably.

***

Every time they fuck, it’s like Roz is trying to break a record that only he knows about. Tonight is no different. 

The minute he walked into the apartment five minutes late, he was a man on a mission and had Shane naked in no time. 

After their fourth time together, they discussed the use of toys and other props and have not shied away since. Today, Shane is blindfolded and being railed into his next life on his back. 

“Rozanov, oh fuck, please,” he begs when Roz sinks inside him at a criminally slow pace. Every time Roz pushes himself into Shane, he thinks there’s no way it can go any deeper; he’s always proven wrong. 

He can already tell Roz is smirking when he replies, “So desperate, Hollander. You want me that bad?”

In any other circumstance, Shane would sooner hit him than answer honestly, but in this position with his own cock already dripping from the foreplay, all shame goes out the window when he nods. “Yes, want you now.”

“Always so obedient for me,” Roz coos and Shane feels hands comb through his hair gently before they move to his wrists and he’s pinned down. He can’t help but buck his hips up even more at the feeling of being trapped in the darkness. 

He lets out a chorus of moans and Roz leans down to press a trail of kisses down his chest, sending shivers all the way to his fingertips. 

“You remember safe word?” Roz asks.

Shane nods, “Sunshine.” 

During their talk of hard and soft limits, Roz had proposed a safeword. He’s not sure where he got sunshine from, but it’s easy to remember even when Shane’s brain starts floating away. 

“Good.”

And then Roz starts pounding into him. 

Shane throws his head back with a cry and twists until he’s trying to bury his face against the pillows.

“Ah ah, no, I want to see you,” Roz tsks and then releases one of Shane’s wrists, so he can grip his jaw back to the center. 

“That’s unfair,” Shane breathes. 

“Unfair?” Roz asks.

He lifts the blindfold just enough for Shane to squint and see Roz looming over him. 

“Are you complaining, Hollander?” His voice deepens and Shane ruts against him in desperation since Roz has stopped moving.

“No, n-no, of course not,” Shane babbles.

Roz nods once and leans down to press his tongue into his mouth. Shane chases the kiss until the blindfold is over his eyes again.

“Boys who complain do not get to finish,” Roz taunts.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re a good boy?”

Shane’s stomach flipped. He could be good. 

“For you.”

Roz rewards his honesty with an asphyxiating kiss that reaches into the deepest parts of Shane’s soul. “Good.”

Shane gasps when Roz pushes in deeper and faster. He has Shane’s wrists pinned over his head again firmly; he doesn’t want to think too hard about why he’s so turned on by the lack of control he currently has. 

He feels Roz’s lips on his and responds instantly, desperate to run his hands through his hair or run them down his back.

“Fuck, you feel so good, kotik.”

The Russian sends Shane deeper into space and he practically purrs in response when Roz moves from kissing his lips to below his ear where he’d learned Shane is extra sensitive. 

Shane can’t help digging his head backwards into the pillows. Roz increases his speed and just the sound of his panting and pleasured moans in the darkness is enough to make Shane finish. 

But he holds back because Roz didn’t tell him he could yet.

One of Shane’s wrists is suddenly freed and he’s about to whine about it when Roz’s hand wraps around Shane’s cock instead.

“Oh my god, faster please,” Shane moans. 

His free hand clumsily pats around until he can thread his fingers through Roz’s curls. 

“Fuck, Hollander,” Roz grunts. His multitasking is commendable with neither his thrusting or stroking stalling.

Shane feels every nerve ending fire.

“Rozanov, please,” he begs with a stuttered gasp.

“Not yet.”

Shane thinks he cries a little.

Luckily, Rozanov never lets him suffer for too long.

He can feel it in the last few slower but deeper thrusts that Roz is also close.

“I can’t…” Shane can see stars behind his blindfold.

“Beg again, Hollander.”

“Please, Roz. Please,” Shane manages to stammer.

“Hands up,” Roz orders.

He obeys and releases Roz’s hair to drag his own hand up and above his head on the pillow. Roz grabs both of Shane’s wrists with one hand and pins him down firmly. A breathy moan escapes Shane and Roz captures his mouth in his own immediately.

“Now, you can finish,” Roz whispers into the kiss.

With one last stroke of Shane’s cock, Shane orgasms harder than he ever has (he probably says this every week), back arching and all muscles seizing as if to wrap his own body completely around Rozanov’s. 

Somewhere in the haze, he feels Roz thrust one more time before letting out a string of Russian followed by an equally pleased moan.

Shane has no sensation of anything. The blindfold over his eyes magnifies all his other senses and he thinks he must be floating in space because his bed is certainly not beneath him anymore.

“You still with me?” He hears a distant voice ask.

He tries to open his mouth, but all three of his languages have disappeared from his brain and the only thing he thinks comes out is a broken whimper.

“I have you.” 

Shane feels gentle hands around his body and every touch on his skin ignites another raw nerve ending. This isn’t the first time he’s gotten lost in limbo from the way Roz touches and fucks his soul out of his body. In fact, it happens more often than it doesn’t and Shane has come to love the complete loss of control, knowing and trusting that Roz will take care of him in the aftermath.

He wants the blindfold to come off, so he can look at Roz in all his glory, but he isn’t sure he has the fine motor skills right now and he doesn’t want to disobey.

Just as he’s about to attempt speaking again, he feels a mouth on his cock. Immediately, he bucks his hips upwards.

“Okay for another?” Roz asks.

Shane lets out a ragged breath that he hopes sounds like the “yes” he was trying to convey.

“Oh… f-fuck,” he gasps.

Somehow, he finds the mattress and digs his fingers in like it’ll anchor him. The darkness is suffocating, but not in a negative way; it’s all-consuming the same way Roz kisses him and Shane feels like his lungs are no longer moving oxygen. 

The bedsheets he’s fisting are replaced by calloused hands coaxing their way in between. He lets Roz interlink their fingers together.

Roz’s mouth moves faster, tightening around the bottom and tongue swirling at the top. Shane loves when he does the tongue thing.

“Fuck,” Shane cries.

Roz moves one hand up to Shane’s chest and just the light trailing of his fingers may as well be a lit match. He’s shaking with how overstimulated he is, still riding the high of the first orgasm.

“R-Roz, I–,” Shane doesn’t even know what he wants to say, all cognitive ability gone from his brain.

“I know, kotik,” Roz mumbles.

Shane practically whines.

“P-please.”

Roz once said he thought it was funny how polite Shane was even during sex. “So Canadian, Hollander.” That night, Shane bounced on him for three orgasms straight until there was nothing polite left for either of them to say.

Shane’s hand reaches out for Roz again until he can feel his curls. Roz’s head is moving so fast that Shane doesn’t think he could help him even if he tried.

“I’m gonna–,” is all Shane manages to choke out before his body shuts down and a second orgasm plows through him.

Roz stays right where he is, letting Shane finish as hard as he needs to and swallowing every last drop.

“Hollander,” he hears.

Shane’s head lulls to the side, mouth open with uneven breaths. 

This time, the darkness behind the blindfold is welcoming. His body is overcome with pleasure and there are no thoughts in his brain, a dangerous combination for how tired he already was before Roz even got here. He’d fallen into an NCBI rabbit hole on DNA aptamers and foregone his afternoon nap despite working through the previous night in back to back calls.

“Hey, Hollander.” The voice is so quiet that Shane hardly stirs. 

He feels something soft and warm wipe at his skin. He’s not sure what could possibly be warm in space, but he doesn’t try opening his eyes to check. 

“Hollzy, hey. Hollander.” Two gentle taps against his cheek finally move him.

“Mmm, stop.”

He hears a chuckle. “You okay?” 

The blindfold is removed. He can tell because space suddenly disappears and the familiar warm glow of his own ceiling light filters in. He’s too sluggish to open his eyes though.

Shane manages to grab onto the closest thing in reach and yank it towards him. He usually prefers to sleep holding a pillow.

“‘M okay,” he slurs.

“What do you need?”

Shane sighs deeply and tightens his grip. It’s warm and steady like an arm, or maybe a calf. There aren’t enough neurons firing in his brain to consider what the arm or calf is attached to.

“Sleep now.”

“No shower?”

He scoffs at the idea. As if he could lift his head right now and walk into the showers. “Sleep.”

It takes all of ten seconds before Shane’s breathing evens out and his brain firmly shuts off. He holds onto the arm/calf for dear life, pressing his cheek up against it for warmth, and falls asleep.

***

Shane dreams that he’s in his bed while Roz is breaking out of his house. Not in. Out. 

He cracks his eyes open just enough to see the silhouette of a man pulling on his clothes at the foot of the bed. The full moon casts enough light through the window for him to recognize Roz’s curls and back moles.

“Roz?” He mumbles. He must be dreaming.

The man snaps his head back towards the bed. If Shane could open his eyes more, he’d be able to confirm if Roz looks as spooked as he thinks he does upon first glance.

“Go back to sleep, Hollander,” he whispers.

“What time is it?” His mouth is dry and he hates that he can tell he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet.

“Shh, is late.”

Shane’s really fighting the pull of slumber when he responds, “You’re leaving?”

This can’t be real life because they’ve never spent the night together and Roz always leaves before Shane can start overthinking their involvement.

Roz pulls on a hoodie, the same one Shane tore off and left folded on his dresser earlier. He comes over to where Shane is lying on a heap of pillows and bends down to run a hand gently over his head. “Go back to sleep, kotik.”

Shane lets his heavy eyelids close and hums softly. 

“You’re so Russian,” he mumbles, succumbing to the darkness again.

He hears footsteps receding before a door closes.

Weird dream.

***

“First order of business, Boodram is currently in New York supporting his sister who has just given birth to two healthy baby girls,” Chief Wiebe announces.

A chorus of cheers and celebratory whoops fills the room. Shane remembers Bood telling them about his sister who was pregnant with twins whilst managing another toddler. He’ll have to text him to congratulate the family.

“He’ll be back next shift and assured me that a floater was not necessary for 24 hours,” Wiebe gives a pointed look to Roz who is leaning against the back wall. “Rozanov will be leading Squad 1 in his stead.”

Shane risks a glance behind him. Roz sends Wiebe a boyish grin and a thumbs up. 

“Don’t worry, Chief. I’ll keep an eye on him,” Marly jokes and swings a big arm around him.

“I promise Marly will be on best behaviour today,” Roz teases back.

“Looks like it’s all down to Barrett,” Dykstra adds.

Troy’s eyes widen at being looped in and he puts his hands up in surrender. “Don’t look at me. I just do what he tells me to do,” he says and points at Roz who gives him a wink (Shane seems to be the only one who notices how red Troy turns before he pulls his cap lower down his face). 

Hunter groans from the table beside Shane. “It’s like the blind leading the blind.”

“Ah, is normal for vision to go in your old age, Hunter. I wouldn’t get so sensitive,” Roz chirps.

Shane and everyone else stifles their laugh—Marly cackles loudly—while Hunter rolls his eyes and flips them both off.

Wiebe cracks a miniscule smile. “Cut it out, Squad. You all good, Rozanov?”

Roz sobers up and nods. “All good, Chief.”

“Great. The next order of business is from Hayden.” Chief Wiebe gestures for Hayden to take it away.

“Thanks, Chief. I wanted to make it an announcement so I don’t have to repeat it a bunch, but today is Kip’s birthday and we’re throwing him a party at The Kingfisher on Friday. I know we all work on Saturday, so no ragers, but it’ll be fun! Plus, it’ll be nice to show up for him and let him know we appreciate how often he lets us drink for free.”

Hayden, JJ, and Rose had roped Shane into party planning despite Shane only having had two conversations with Kip. He was in charge of picking up the cake that Rose ordered from Kip’s favourite bakery which was an easy enough task. 

“No way, I gotta text him!” Young exclaims.

“We’ll be there,” Hayes says. “I’ll bring Lisa too. He loved the cookies she made for the staff last time.”

“Count me in. Anything I can do to help with the planning?” Haas asked.

“Thanks, Haasy. All good for now.”

One by one, the rest of the team confirms their attendance and Shane smiles at the community. It’s evidently an understatement to say Kip is just a bartender at their favourite bar; he may as well be part of the firehouse with how quick everyone clears their calendars to celebrate him. 

Shane tries not to be too obvious when he turns to look at Hunter. Hayden had said it wasn’t worth the battle trying to invite him since he seemed to be vehemently against The Kingfisher. Rose was the one to propose that his aversion to the bar must be deeper than just the bar itself. Watching him now, Shane has to agree with her theory while commending his poker face. If Shane wasn’t so openly staring, he might’ve missed the way Hunter’s jaw is clenched and his eyes are burning a hole through the table in front of him. 

“I’ll send a text tomorrow with details, but thanks for the support guys,” Hayden finishes.

He sits back down and fist bumps Shane. 

Before Chief can speak again, the alarms go off.

Ambulance 81, Engine 24, Truck 12, Rescue 1. House fire. Tremont Street and Pontiac Street.

“Let’s move!”

***

“Dispatch said Tremont and Pontiac, right?” Hunter asks.

“That’s what I heard,” Dykstra confirms.

One by one, they all pile out and gather in the middle of the empty road, wildly confused. Their rigs are parked on the intersection, but there is a significant lack of a house fire or any kind of emergency in their sights. 

“Truck 12 to main, no sign of a fire at Tremont and Pontiac. Do you have any more information on the call?” Hunter speaks into his radio.

The rest of Firehouse 17 looks around at each other perplexed. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve been dispatched to a false alarm, but Shane can tell everyone is on edge and feeling the same ominous atmosphere. It’s the kind of sixth sense you develop as a first responder after some time on the job.

“Odds this is a prank call from some bored kids?” Hayes asks.

“Main to Truck 12, confirming a single report of a house fire on Tremont Street and Pontiac Street. That’s all we got.”

“Single report and no smoke in the air? Odds are high,” Marly says to Hayes.

“Let’s be sure before we head back. Spread out,” Roz says. “Go up to Peter Road and Shaunessy Avenue and make your way back.”

“Copy that, Cap.”

Truck and Engine head in opposite directions down Pontiac while Squad starts for Tremont. Shane and Hayden take the other side of Tremont.

There’s not much to investigate. The street is lined with quiet houses and cars parked on the side, but nobody is around to fill them in on why a call to 911 was made.

Shane is just passing the first house on the corner when movement down the street catches his eye.

A man emerges from behind a parked van clutching his chest and Shane immediately spots the red.

“H-he shot me,” the man gasps before collapsing.

Shane breaks into a sprint towards him. “We got a gunshot victim here,” he raps into his radio. “Pike, get the jump bag!”

“Copy. Hey! GSW down Tremont!” He hears Hayden calling for the rest of his house.

Shane drops to his knees beside the man to assess his injuries. There is an obscene amount of blood pooling down his shirt and the ragged half-gasps he’s making are a terrible sign.

“Hey, what’s your–,”

“Gun! Gun! Everyone get down!” Roz suddenly yells from somewhere behind him.

Shane barely has time to look up before a body is thrown over his own. He hits the pavement with a grunt, a familiar weight pressing him down.

And then he hears it.

Multiple loud bangs echo down the street and Shane flinches as the bullets fly around them. A few land close enough that the impact sends pebbles from the road into his face.

“Stay down,” Roz hisses above him. He smells Roz’s cologne and cigarettes immediately and wonders how he even got to him so fast.

More shots are fired and Shane can hear it breaking the glass of the cars around them and ricocheting off their rigs. Fuck, he hopes no one is hit. Their rigs are sturdy, but far from bulletproof.

Roz’s gold necklace suddenly falls into Shane’s view and Shane stops breathing. He is very aware that Roz is less bulletproof than their trucks are. 

He wants to get up and scream at the shooters to stop before they hurt someone, but he’s effectively caged under his hold. Roz’s breath tickles the back of Shane’s ear and he prays he keeps feeling it.

“Roz,” Shane gasps meekly. 

Roz responds by expanding even more over Shane until he’s convinced not one sliver of his body is exposed. 

This severely worsens Shane’s panic.

18 shots later (Shane counted in an effort to keep himself calm from the thought of needing to treat Roz, or anyone from 17, for a GSW), the sound of tires squealing gets further away until the bullets finally cease.

“Hey, we’re clear. They’re not doubling back around,” Barrett says from several feet behind them.

Roz peels himself off of Shane and scoots back half a foot to assess him with wide eyes. “Are you okay?” His arm is still around Shane’s waist where he’d held on tightly to keep him still.

It takes Shane a few seconds to gain control over his own limbs again, but he manages to get up and nod, half amazed at how terrible the shooters’ aim must’ve been. “Yeah, yeah I’m okay. Are you?” 

Shane scans every inch of Roz for any hint of injury or pain and luckily finds nothing.

He can’t even process how ridiculous it was for Roz to use himself as a human shield like that with active shooters firing at them. But then Shane remembers the construction site accident where Roz had thrown himself over Shane while the foundation was crumbling and realizes this wouldn’t even be the first time.

“I’m fine,” Roz responds quickly, but the crease between his eyebrows doesn’t settle. 

He seems reluctant to tear his eyes away from Shane like he needs to strip him down and personally verify his wellbeing. Similarly, Shane isn’t convinced the shooters had aim that bad because Roz did everything in his power to cover as much area with his own body as possible.

They’re locked in another stalemate where neither has the words, but both refuse to break the spell; like if they just keep staring at each other with the intensity of a hundred suns, the right conversation will finally happen. Shane knows he’s angry at Roz’s recklessness, but it’s hard to vocalize such feelings when Roz is staring back at him with sheer terror in his eyes. He’s sure he isn’t masking his own fear any better.

“Fucking hell. Lieutenant, Hollzy, you two good?” Marly calls from where Barrett is, snapping them both out of it.

Shane takes in the distance between him and Roz, and Marly and Barrett. How fast did Roz run over when he saw the shooters?

He sends them both a nod while Roz stands up. “We’re clear! Is everyone okay?” Roz yells back at their team. 

Shane finally looks down the street and is relieved to find everyone cautiously coming out from behind the trucks. No one appears hurt.

A small grunt from behind turns his attention back to the gunshot victim and Shane flips his brain to PIC mode immediately. His heart is still beating erratically, but it’s always been easier for him to focus on a rescue than dwell on… well, anything else.

“Pike, I need a jump bag and stretcher now.”

“Coming to you!”

Shane presses both hands into the wound on his chest as the man writhes in pain. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I have to keep pressure on it,” he coaxes. “What’s your name?”

Dark brown eyes stare back at him in pain and fear. He’s just a kid. “Grayson.”

“Hang in there, Grayson. We got you.”

Shane sees Hayden and the rest of his house run over.

“Anyone get a look at the assholes?” Hunter asks, hand already on his radio to relay more information to PD which he certainly called when they were first getting shot at.

“Black driver and two white men in a black 4Runner, no tags,” Roz recites impressively.

Shane files that one away to process later too.

“Truck 12 to main, we have three offenders in a black Toyota 4Runner with no plates heading southbound on Tremont street. GSW victim being treated on scene right now,” Hunter barks into his radio.

“Copy that, Truck 12. PD are en route to intercept. Do you need further assistance on scene?”

“Negative. No collateral injuries. But you make sure PD catches them for shooting at my guys.” 

Shane is too busy working his victim to admire Hunter’s outrage.

“Homeostatic gauze and Kerlix,” Shane calls for Hayden who hands him what he needs.

“Did it go through?”

“No, penetrating. Cut the shirt please.”

Shane and Hayden work quickly. As soon as the shirt is off, Shane packs the gauze into the oozing entry wound while Grayson cries out.

“We’ll get you the pain meds soon, we just need to stop the bleeding first,” Shane promises.

“Heart rate is 102; BP’s 92 palp,” Hayden lists.

Shane nods. Not terrible, but definitely room to deteriorate.

“Roll him up.”

Roz (who hasn’t moved more than four feet from them this whole time) helps Hayden maneuver Grayson onto his side, so Shane can tightly wrap the bandage around his chest. 

Rose slides the spinal board under him and a few extra hands appear to help lift him onto the stretcher. 

“Get him in the rig. Give him a 16 gauge and run it wide open,” Shane orders. “We’ll give him 50 Fent en route.

“Copy that. You guys want to give us an escort?” Hayden asks.

“You got it.”

Everyone pours back into their vehicles and Shane floors his own to follow Rescue 1 out of there.

He tries to keep his attention on the road and calls out orders to Hayden who is in the back with Grayson, but he keeps seeing petrified blue eyes staring back at him.

Shane’s going to need a day to himself to process this one.

***

Shane had originally planned to confront Roz in the laundry room for being reckless. He knows it’s a cheap shot to do it under the guise of hooking up, but the entire way to the hospital and then back to the firehouse, all Shane could think about was how dangerous it was and what he’d do if Roz had actually been shot while trying to protect him. 

So far, their only rule was to keep all salacious business in the laundry room at work. Shane thinks it’s time to propose a second one where Roz stops putting himself in the line of fire for his sake. Whatever Roz’s reasoning is, Shane doesn’t want to hear it.

At least that had been his plan when he texted. Unfortunately, Roz knows Shane hates when he smells like cigarettes and cigars and always makes him waft the smell until it’s more bearable. Before the 15 minutes are up, Shane and Hayden get sent out on another call and he can only run past Roz in the locker room with an apologetic shrug. 

By the time they finish with an ankle fracture at the park, it’s lunch time and Shane’s hunger takes precedence over his desire to clear the air.

“Hey, any word on the GSW from this morning?” Rose asks, sitting down next to him at the table.

“He was still in surgery when we dropped off our second patient,” Shane replies.

“And do we know if PD ever caught those guys?” She then asks Hunter who is behind the stove.

He looks up with a grimace. “No word yet. They’re calling it a gang shooting, so…”

Rose deflates. “So, they’re not working too hard to catch them,” she finishes dejectedly.

It’s the unfortunate reality of cities, like Boston, where the amount of gang violence vastly outnumbers PD resources. Shane can’t count how many GSW victims he’s treated where the case just went cold after a few days. He’s even been summoned a few times to testify, but often to no avail. 

“We’re usually on scene after the shooting’s occurred. That was pretty fucking scary to be right in the middle of it,” Hayden admits.

“I guess now I can check off getting shot at on my Boston Fire Department bingo card,” Haas says with an agitated lilt.

“Seriously, I almost peed myself,” Young adds. He doesn’t even sound sarcastic.

“Shane, you were so close to the shooters. I thought the worst when I saw them pull out.” Rose puts her hand on his shoulder like she’s reassuring herself that he’s okay.

He tries to give her a comforting smile. “I honestly didn’t even see them,” Shane replies. He’d hit the ground before he caught a glimpse of anything.

“Thank god for Rozanov, huh? I’ve never seen him run that fast,” JJ adds.

Shane can’t help the glare that immediately wipes away his smile. Roz merely shrugs at the praise. 

“Let’s just be grateful no one was hurt. That was a really close call and scary for all of us, but everyone’s okay and that’s what matters,” Dykstra says diplomatically. “And no one brings this up to any wives or girlfriends.”

Everyone murmurs their agreement and goes back to eating.

Shane continues staring at Roz at the other table who is eating his spaghetti without a care in the world. There’s bolognese sauce smeared around his mouth and his other hand brings a Diet Coke up to it. He looks like he’s at a cookout on the Fourth of July and not at work where he’d just been shot at two hours ago. 

Something about his nonchalance to almost dying irks Shane and he wishes he would exhibit some distraught like the rest of them. He remembers how terrified Roz had been when the shooting stopped, but that felt more directed at him, like Shane potentially being hurt was scarier than a round of bullets.

Was he just being a really good firefighter or does Roz actually have no regard for his own livelihood? He’d thrown himself over Shane, and Shane alone. Not even the victim which would’ve made a little more sense.

The longer he stares at him, the angrier he gets.

And what if something did happen to Roz? What if he had been shot? How would Shane live with himself then?

“Hey, you okay?” Hayden asks, snapping him out of the quiet fury he’d been stirring in.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Good. This tastes great. Thanks, Hunter,” he rambles.

Hunter gives him a nod while Hayden just chuckles. 

“Can we make a run to the party store for decorations?”

“Did you clear it with Chief?”

“Yep. He told us to do a wellness check on Mrs. Atkins on the way too.”

Shane nods. He’d learned there was a small list of elderly folks who lived alone in their district that Ambulance 81 often did wellness checks on. Mrs. Atkins is an 80 year old woman who often forgets her diabetes medication.

“Sure. Want to head out now before the school rush?”

Hayden nods and scarfs down the rest of his food while Shane does the same. When they both stand up, he catches Roz looking at him with a slightly confused frown. He must’ve noticed Shane glaring daggers earlier. 

His eyebrows raise as if to ask Shane, everything okay?

Shane just shakes his head curtly and exits the kitchen with Hayden. He’ll confront him when he gets back.

***

Shane does not confront Roz when he gets back because their whole house is sent to Logan International Airport for an aircraft crisis. It luckily turned out to be a wildly faulty alarm, but it still kept them out for almost four hours and then Squad stayed behind to help ensure the alarms were properly reset. 

When they all return, it’s dinnertime and Shane is once again too hungry to delay eating. Roz doesn’t join them in the kitchen. Barrett is also missing, so he wonders if they’re smoking again. He’ll suck it up and excuse the smell this time because he really needs to have a talk with Roz ASAP.

The tension between the two of them continues to be palpable, at least to Shane because Roz clearly hasn’t caught onto why he’s upset at him again. He’d like to get this out of the way and settled before tomorrow morning, so they can go back to fucking without Shane worrying for Roz’s safety.

Shane stares at his phone waiting for Roz to acknowledge him, but he’s met with silence. 

Is he avoiding him now? Why, though?

Annoyed, Shane decides to just go looking for him. 

“Hey, Rose,” he greets her at the front doors where she’s picking up a food delivery. “Have you seen Rozanov?”

She turns to him, holding what looks like a poke bowl, and shakes her head. “Haven’t seen him since Logan.”

“Oh, okay thanks. That looks good, by the way.”

She gives him a knowing smile. “Best salmon poke in Boston. I’ll save you a bite if I remember.”

He laughs. “It’s okay, thanks though. If you see him in the kitchen can you let him know I’m looking for him?”

“Sure. I’m glad you guys are getting along.”

Shane pauses. “What?”

“I just mean, I’m relieved Hayden didn’t scare you off with all his shit talking. You and Roz seem pretty tight now.”

He blinks at her. His brain effectively shorts.

Are they being too obvious? Have other people also caught on? Did Rose see them sneaking around the laundry room?

A million thoughts circle until he must be unresponsive for too long because she pulls him out of his spiral with a light laugh. “It’s a good thing, Shane!”

It takes him a delayed second to cough up a nervous laugh. “Right, yeah, we’re… coworkers.”

Rose raises an eyebrow at that and he can tell she’s trying not to laugh at him. “Sure, we all are. I’ll let him know if I see him.”

She puts him out of his panic by walking away.

Shane’s body can’t seem to come to an agreement with his brain because he takes half a step towards the door before stopping. Right outside is where Roz and Barrett like to take smoke breaks.

But they’re being too obvious. If Rose is noticing how friendly they are then surely others are too. He needs to be more careful. Roz needs to be more careful.

It would probably help if he didn’t fling himself in front of bullets for Shane.

Shaking his head, he forgets his objective and turns around to head for the showers instead. They’ll talk outside of work in the safety of one of their homes. 

***

***

Shane is nursing his ginger ale and snacking on stale fries at a table with his friends in The Kingfisher. They’ve just sung happy birthday for a third time, but Kip was too kind and tipsy to be embarrassed. And if the tears of joy when Hayden brought out their gift, a helmet full of cash donations, were any indication, he’d say Kip was having a great time with everyone.

“I’m glad he’s enjoying himself,” Hayden says.

“He deserves the very best,” Rose adds.

“Great work, team,” JJ finishes and joists his glass up to the middle.

“I’m just the delivery boy,” Shane admits, but joins the toast with a smile anyways.

“He loved the cake! You played a very important role,” Rose insists.

“Boo for Hunter not showing up, huh?” JJ laments.

Hayden sighs. “Did you think he would?”

“Guess not. I sort of hoped though. You’d think he could bear this place for one night to celebrate Kip.”

Rose shrugs. “I’m telling you guys, it’s something else. We just need to figure out what.”

Shane chuckles. “Is this now an investigation?”

“You bet it is. I’m going to figure out what his deal is. He can’t hide it forever,” she says while wriggling her eyebrows to make everyone laugh.

“Alright, Nancy Drew, cool your jets. Did everyone here buy Kip a drink?” Hayden asks.

Kip’s hand hasn’t been empty all night with each attendee insisting on birthday shots or complimentary drinks. Shane bought him a beer earlier and a card that he’d picked up on his way back from the bakery.

“Yep, he might have the best tolerance out of anyone here.”

JJ laughs. “Seriously! I heard him in a complicated debate about European art movements with Luca right after a line of Kamikaze shots."

Shane had learned Kip was currently in a graduate program for art history, specializing in art during World War II. The helmet of cash from everyone was going straight to his debilitating student loans and tuition and they’d bonded over their shared agony of interest fees. 

“Do you think that’s what they’re talking about right now?” Rose asks.

Shane follows her line of sight to the bar where Kip is currently chatting with Roz. Both are holding a beer with a smattering of upside down shot glasses in front of them. 

It physically pains Shane just how good Roz looks. When he first walked in wearing a leather jacket with his curls parted perfectly on his head, Shane wanted to push him up against the wall and have his way with him. Then he’d taken off the jacket to reveal an obnoxious leopard print shirt that was half unbuttoned and Shane just about jumped him on the spot. 

“Does Rozanov know anything about art?” Shane asks curiously. 

He certainly doesn’t seem the type. But then again, Shane doesn’t really know anything about him to discern what type he is. 

“It would shock you that he does apparently. Kip says they talk about Socialist Realism from the Soviet Union, whatever that means,” Hayden replies with an eye roll.

Shane’s eyebrows lift. “That’s… niche.”

The table laughs. 

“He’s definitely full of surprises,” Rose remarks. 

Shane thinks he hallucinates how her gaze lingers on him for an extra second, but then she gives him a wink and he freezes.

Just like at the firehouse, Shane’s brain short circuits. 

She knows.

Rose totally knows.

Before his face can turn a medically alarming shade of red, JJ is launching into a story about a rescue from last shift and everyone’s attention turns to him.

Unbeknownst to them, Shane is paralyzed with the realization that someone at work knows about him and Rozanov. He’s not sure if he’s more embarrassed about getting caught or upset that their secret is no longer just the two of them; the confusion is worse than if he were simply afraid of getting in trouble.

They never discussed what to do if they were exposed. It was always the goal to stay under the radar lest it become an internal affairs issue. But now Rose knows. And the illusion of their private fantasyland is shattering. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

Shane hasn’t had a drop of alcohol tonight, but the reality of what he and Roz have been sneaking around doing is painfully sobering. He inhales for five, holds for seven, and then exhales for five to keep the panic bubbling in his chest at bay. The last thing he needs is to make a bigger fool of himself in front of the entire BFD and ruin Kip’s birthday celebrations.

He has to leave. It’s getting late and he still needs to sleep before tomorrow’s shift. And he can’t pretend that everything’s normal and his entire world isn’t ending for much longer. If Rose looks at him one more time, he might crack.

As he’s trying to come up with an acceptable way to excuse himself, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Shane gives his friends a half-baked excuse about a headache and promptly exits the bar.

***

“No, stop, we need to talk first,” Shane says and tries to turn his head away from Roz’s nudging face.

“Mm, so much talking, Hollander,” he whispers into Shane’s neck since it’s the only real estate he’s giving.

Shane can’t help the muted moan that escapes him when Roz starts sucking on his ear again. Unfair. He knows that’s a weak spot for him.

It would be so easy to give in and let Roz have his way with him; every cell in his body is actually fighting to stop fighting. But that is precisely why Shane has to put his metaphorical foot down before he loses himself and forgets what’s important.

“Rozanov, stop,” he says. This time, he straightens up and puts both hands on his shoulders to keep him away.

Roz looks at him through hooded eyes and scans Shane’s entire face once before his eyebrows lift a little. “You are serious,” he asks like a statement.

Shane nods. “I am. We need to talk first.”

Roz narrows his eyes at him, but doesn’t ease up on the way his hand is rubbing circles on Shane’s ass. Again, he wants to give in almost as badly as he wants to have this conversation. It’s especially cruel that Roz’s eyes are extra green tonight paired with the endearingly subtle alcohol-induced blush in his cheeks.

He seems to realize Shane won’t take no for an answer because he finally drops his hand and frowns. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Pleased, Shane sits down on his couch as Roz plops into the adjacent seat. It’s a mirror to their first sit-down conversation and Shane marvels at how long ago that felt.

“So, I’m pretty sure Rose knows about us,” Shane starts.

Roz rolls his eyes dramatically. “I thought we went over this. I really do not think so and if she does, who cares?”

“Well, I still think it’s a big deal. We agreed to keep this a secret and separate from work.”

“Okay, so what is the problem then? You think she will tell everyone? Landry will go to Chief and say Hollander and Rozanov are having very hot sex everyday and therefore you must fire both of them.”

Shane thinks he’s being sarcastic and an asshole about it, but he still bristles at the thought of Chief Wiebe firing both of them for having considerable libidos. 

“Well, no… I mean I hope not.”

Roz gives him a deadpan look. “I am kidding, Hollander.”

“Right. It’s still a problem. I think I should talk to her about… it.” It being him and Roz.

“Won’t that just confirm it for her then?”

Shane hesitates. He makes a good point.

Roz sighs and leans forward with his elbows on his knees, so that he’s copying Shane’s tense position. 

“Tell me why you are so confident she knows. We are very careful at the house and no one knows about us outside of work,” he says logically.

Shane absentmindedly picks at his nails as he starts to recount what Rose had said to him during shift.

“She used the word tight. That’s not a word you use to describe normal relationships between people that aren’t fucking on the side.”

Roz quirks one eyebrow up like he’s amused. “Okay, so she thinks we are tight. Is a good thing. I could say same thing about you and her. Are you two fucking on the side?”

Shane balks at the thought and shakes his head immediately. “No! No, absolutely not. Not Rose.”

Roz’s amusement grows and Shane belatedly realizes that what he just said sounds mean.

“I mean, she’s great and I'd probably be so lucky to… that’s not what I meant when I… I just, like, because she’s Rose and I would never…”

Roz’s laughter stops Shane’s nervous rambling and he groans.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much, you asshole.”

“No, no, of course not. Please keep explaining to me why you would never fuck Rose Landry.”

Shane glares at him. “Okay, well, she winked at me at the bar earlier when we were talking about you.”

Roz stares at him expectantly. “... that’s it? A wink?”

Shane glares harder at his dismissal. “It was a very directed and suggestive wink.”

He can tell Roz is trying not to laugh again. “A wink, Hollander. Gospodi, is this all your evidence?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Shane grumbles.

Roz lets out a slightly exasperated laugh. “Fine, let’s say Landry knows about us. What are you worried about? That she will tell everyone else? I can promise she will not do that.”

Shane looks down at his hands. The skin around his thumbnail is turning red at how incessantly he keeps picking at it.

“And if she does not know, then she is just saying we are friendly with each other. You can talk to her if you want, but you are really bad liar and would probably confirm it for her. I think we can just leave it. Zero harm and fouls.”

“No harm, no foul,” Shane quietly corrects.

Roz waves his hand dismissively. “Sure, that. Are you less scared now?”

Shane takes a breath and straightens up a little. 

Rationally, he knows Roz is right about all of it. Rose would never out him like that because she’s a good coworker and an even better friend. 

Unfortunately, he can’t really explain it with words why he’s still upset because he can’t even articulate it to himself. Despite nothing about their relationship being righteous or appropriate, he can’t help but want to protect it like something sacred. 

It’s silly and he knows it.

“Yeah,” he says with a nod. “Yeah, I’m okay. You’re right. We’ll leave it.”

Roz nods too and sits back, pleased with his ability to talk Shane off the ledge. 

“Great, so can we–”

“We do need to be more subtle though,” Shane cuts him off.

“What?”

“At work. We need to be more subtle around each other.”

Roz scoffs. “Hollander, we hardly interact at the house.” The way he says it a little begrudgingly confuses Shane.

“Not at the house. I’m talking about during rescues.”

“Rescues.”

Shane nods. “You need to stop jumping in front of danger for me,” he says firmly. 

Roz seems to consider this statement for a second before crossing his arms. “I’m doing my job, Hollander.” His tone loses all mirth.

“You’re being reckless,” he argues. 

“I do not tell you how to do your job, do I?”

Shane scoffs. “I’m not telling you how to do your job. I’m stating the obvious and being objective here.”

“Maybe if you stopped walking right into danger.”

Shane’s jaw drops. “Are you fucking kidding?”

Roz has the audacity to shrug like Shane’s obviously in the wrong. “I am not the reckless one here.”

“How have I been reckless? It’s not my fault some of my victims are in precarious situations or places that your team has to stabilize first.” 

“You do not listen to commanding officers and then end up in danger.”

“Oh, that’s bullshit and you know it. We’re always in danger on the job.”

“Exactly. I am doing my job like you are doing yours. It’s not like I’m singling you out in the field,” Roz says matter of factly.

Shane is close to snapping. “But you’re not just doing your job. You’re always recklessly getting into close calls for me.”

Roz rolls his eyes and sits deeper into the couch like this conversation is boring him. It pisses Shane off even more. “Don’t flatter yourself, Hollander. Is my job to make sure no one gets–”

“You threw yourself in front of active shooters to protect me!” Shane yells, blood boiling at how stupid Roz is being right now. “Just me! Not the victim; not yourself; me. So, don’t sit there and tell me I’m making shit up or that what you’re doing is normal because it’s not.” He can’t help but throw his arms out with the outburst.

Roz clenches his jaw and his eyes bounce back and forth as he stares at Shane. He doesn’t respond right away because Shane doesn’t give him the chance to. The last 48 hours of inner turmoil and conflict bubbling inside him finally give way and he doesn’t try to stop it.

“What if you actually got shot, huh? What if they managed to hit your head or one of your vital organs or major arteries? What if you just bled out while lying on top of me? What the fuck would I have done then? Do you think I could live with myself if you got shot or fucking died trying to shield me?” Shane spews. 

His hands are shaking when he stops waving them around and his heart is racing. The phantom sensation of Roz’s breath against his ear returns and he remembers how desperate he’d been to keep feeling it with every bullet that flew by. He’d counted 18 shots, but he’d also counted every exhale against his skin. 

Roz’s outline gets blurry and Shane is mortified to realize his eyes are welling up, but he doesn’t let any tears escape lest Roz notices. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Shane asks, voice breaking at the end just thinking about what the other outcome of yesterday could have been.

The only sounds in the apartment are the leaky kitchen sink and his own breathing. But in Shane’s head, all he can hear are the gun shots.

One after the other.

Some hit a car window, some hit the metal of their trucks.

And some hit flesh.

He’s reliving the rescue from that morning before he can stop it.

“You could have d-died, you f-fucking asshole. Do you get that?” Shane’s breathing gets more laboured between words until he’s hiccuping. “And it would’ve been m-my fault. You would’ve died p-protect-protecting me.”

Roz seems frozen in his seat as he watches Shane have a breakdown at the memory. It’s only when Shane chokes on a sob that he’d been trying to swallow down that he finally moves. He’s on his knees in between Shane’s legs quickly.

“Sh, sh, kotik. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispers repeatedly, thumbs rubbing circles on Shane’s wrists; it stops him from ripping up the skin around his nails any further. “It’s my fault, okay?”

Shane takes a stuttered breath and tries to focus on Roz, who is alive and well, in front of him, but all he can see are bullet holes. “I-I can’t…” Now, he’s panicking.

Roz takes Shane’s face in his hands firmly but softly. “Breathe, Hollander. You can, you’re good here. Copy me. In… hold… out… da, like that. Again.” 

He coaches Shane quietly, breathing with him for what feels like hours. His thumbs rub small circles on Shane’s cheeks and his ring fingers are hovering over Shane’s pulse point like a measure.

“Look,” Roz says, forcing Shane to make eye contact. “I’m okay. No injuries, no gunshot wounds, nothing. Totally safe.”

Shane stares right into his eyes and urges himself to believe it. 

Roz is okay and has been okay this whole time.

That doesn’t change the fact that he might not have been. But for now, it’s enough for Shane to stop hyperventilating.

Eventually, the living room quiets. The sound of bullets finally ceases until he can hear the sink and both of their breathing again.

“You okay?” Roz asks softly.

The next few breaths Shane takes don’t hurt anymore, so he nods. He doesn’t open his mouth for fear of more blubbering nonsense spilling out. Or worse, he’ll start crying again.

Roz wipes a stray tear from Shane’s cheek with his thumb, both hands still firmly caressing his face. 

“Sorry,” Shane mutters embarrassingly, dropping his head. How many people can say they’ve had a full meltdown in front of their hookups?

But Roz shakes his head immediately and brings his face back up to press a chaste kiss to Shane’s lips. At least Roz isn’t totally appalled.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sorry too.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“What are you sorry for?” Shane asks partly out of genuine confusion and partly hoping he’ll own up to being reckless.

Roz looks deep into Shane when he responds, “I wasn’t thinking that morning. I saw the guns and just reacted.” 

He leans in to give Shane another kiss, this one longer and more intentional. Shane reacts like second nature, opening his mouth and letting Roz in. The kiss is exactly the kind Roz might’ve given him on the scene if they’d been alone.

When they pull away, Shane is breathless again, but it’s familiar and welcoming this time.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” Roz looks honestly apologetic.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do it again, okay?” Shane begs.

Roz’s face twitches subtly, but he doesn’t respond any further. Shane hopes his silence is one of agreement.

Once the adrenaline wears off, Shane is exhausted, emotionally and physically.

He feels better knowing Roz will stop sacrificing himself to protect Shane.

“Why didn’t you reply to my text at work?” Shane asks, randomly remembering when he’d gone looking for Roz before he bumped into Rose.

“What text?”

“I was looking for you and texted.”

Roz thinks for a moment before something akin to irritation washes over him for a brief second. If Shane hasn’t spent the better part of the last several weeks memorizing every crack in his facade, he might’ve missed it. 

“Ah, I was busy. Phone call.” Just as fast as it came, Roz’s face morphs back into his usual nonchalance.

Shane nods. This time, he leans in to kiss Roz. He knows he should probably feel more embarrassed at what just happened, but he finds he doesn’t care. He’s grateful Roz is bullet-free and capable of admitting he was wrong. And that Roz doesn’t seem to find Shane utterly pathetic.

Now, he wants what they ditched the party for.

Roz responds immediately and moves his hands to the back of Shane’s neck.

“You still want?” He mumbles.

Shane nods, hands snaking under Roz’s leopard print top. “Yeah.”

He feels Roz smile into the kiss.

Needless to say, they have the most vanilla sex they’ve ever had that night.

***

Ambulance 81, Engine 24, Truck 12, Rescue 1, Battalion 3. Building fire. 500 Harrison Avenue.

***

500 Harrison Avenue turns out to be an expensive Italian steakhouse that was hosting a 100+ person wedding reception. Shane and Hayden set up triage with the other responding ambulance on the side of the road as their house makes trips inside to bring victims out.

“Found the source of the fire, Chief,” Roz’s voice sounds over the radio.

Shane is busy treating a bridesmaid for smoke inhalation, but he listens in.

“Go ahead, Rozanov.”

“Cleaning supplies stored too close to gas stoves.”

“Copy that. Finish your search and evacuate.”

“Copy.”

Luckily, there haven’t been any casualties or extremely injured people, mostly smoke inhalation and minor burns. And a very traumatized bride. Shane sent her and the groom off in the first ambulance; he’d also told the medics to recommend a psych consult at the hospital. 

“Hey, Chief!” Hayden calls. “Restaurant manager says they’re missing one of the waiters.”

Shane looks up when he’s done with his current victim. 

“They haven’t come out yet?” Chief Wiebe asks the man.

“No, I don’t see him. None of my staff do. He was in the back grabbing more wine glasses,” a panicked man explains.

“Okay, sit tight,” Chief tells him and then picks up his radio again. “Squad 1, we’ve got one unaccounted waiter potentially still in the back of the restaurant. What’s your status?”

“His name’s Harris! Harris Drover!” The manager exclaims as Chief gives him a nod.

“Back is clear, Chief,” Bood responds.

“No, you have to tell them there’s an extra storage room through the staff room at the very back!”

“Pike,” Chief says pointedly because the man is getting (understandably) worked up.

Hayden works on calming down the manager while Chief relays the information to the guys inside.

“We’re bringing out two more women,” Roz says. “Is an inferno in the back, Chief.”

“Can you get into the storage room?”

There’s static silence for a few long seconds which almost sends the manager into a frenzy again. Shane helps Hayden keep him in the stretcher and preps a sedative in case they need it.

Roz and Marly exit the front of the restaurant, each carrying a woman in their arms. 

“Got him, Chief. Coming out,” Barrett’s voice suddenly replies over the radio.

The manager all but collapses with relief.

“Man, I wish my manager cared as much as you did when I worked at a restaurant,” Hayden jokes.

The manager smiles weakly. “He’s a good guy. Thank you for… everything you all do.”

Hayden nods towards the door where Rescue 1 is on their way out with more victims in tow. “Thank those guys.”

Shane beckons for Roz and Marleau to bring their victims over to him, thankful they seem to be in decent condition because they only have one stretcher left.

“You two okay?” Shane asks his team.

Roz and Marly peel their helmet and mask off. “Yeah, all good,” Roz replies. He’s promptly called over by Chief Wiebe to walk him through what chemicals he saw inside. 

Shane looks him over from the back for an extra second just to be sure. 

“Hollander!”

He turns at the call of his name and sees Barrett carrying another victim over. 

“Here, put them on oxygen,” Shane orders Marly to give their two female victims masks while he goes to help Troy and who he presumes is Harris Drover.

Barrett carefully lowers the man onto their last stretcher. “Possible head injury. He’s been in and out of consciousness,” he reports breathlessly.

Shane nods, noting that the man is practically shirtless with how destroyed his uniform is. “Pupils are… equal and responsive,” he says after using his flashlight. “Lungs are clear; strong pulse. Let’s get him in the ambo and they’ll assess him at med.”

He makes quick work of putting the man on oxygen and hanging an IV while Barrett helps move the stretcher into the back of their ambulance. “This is Harris? The waiter?” Shane asks to be sure.

“Yeah. Responded to that when we called for him.”

“Got it, thanks. Are you good?”

Barrett runs a hand through his sweat soaked hair and nods. “Yeah. Thanks, man.” He promptly disappears behind their Rescue rig.

Shane picks up his radio, “Hayden, let’s go.”

Hayden runs over. “Is that Harris?”

Shane nods. “You drive.”

“Copy that.” 

Just as he’s about to slam both doors, Barrett calls out, “Wait! Here.” He tosses Shane a t-shirt. “For when he… you know… needs it, I guess.” He immediately looks sheepish at the gesture.

Shane smiles. He doesn’t have the heart to tell him that Harris will definitely be given a hospital gown when he wakes. “Thanks, Troy. I’ll make sure he has it.”

Hayden closes the doors and they’re on the road in no time.

Shane monitors Harris for any changes while dressing the second degree burn on his arm. He does his best to keep him awake, but Harris’ eyes roll back into his head every few seconds before Shane can get a full question out. Definitely a concussion if not something more severe. 

When they pull into Tufts, Shane holds the IV bag in his hand as Hayden steers the stretcher through the ambulance bay.

“What have we got?” Saranya, the charge nurse, asks as soon as they make it through the sliding doors.

“Possible head injury, smoke inhalation, and a second degree burn on the posterior side of the left arm. GCS 10, intermittent loss of consciousness, but no intubation needed,” Shane reports.

“I can take him!” A doctor calls. 

“You’re going to Trauma two,” Saranya orders, pointing at the empty room at the front.

The doctor beckons for them to follow her in.

Shane stares at her trying to place why she seems so familiar. Her brown hair is slicked back into a bun and she’s almost the same height as him when they get closer. Shane can admit she’s quite striking even in the harsh hospital lighting and bland scrubs.

“Good to see you, Dr. V,” Hayden says to her with a polite nod.

Dr. V?

As in…

“Pike,” she greets. “Still second best medic at 17?” 

Hayden rolls his eyes at the tease while she laughs. Shane detects the subtlest accent when she speaks.

“Transfer on my count. 1, 2, go.” Shane, Hayden, and a few nurses help move Harris onto the hospital bed at Dr. V’s command.

“Thank you, boys,” she says.

“Oh, um, can you make sure he has this when he wakes up? One of our guys who pulled him out wants him to have it,” Shane adds when he remembers the shirt tucked in his back pocket. 

He holds it out to Dr. V and she takes it with a quick smile. “I will leave it with him.”

“Thanks.” He’s about to introduce himself when Harris seems to wake up again.

Dr. V diverts her attention back to her new patient and Shane leaves the room with Hayden and their stretcher.

“Hey, was that…?”

“Dr. Vetrova. Svetlana Vetrova. You recognize her from med school?”

“Uh, no,” Shane replies awkwardly. “No, I don’t think so. That was my first time meeting her.”

“Ah, gotcha. Yeah, she’s cool. Likes to bully me, but who doesn’t.”

Shane coughs when he can’t tell if Hayden is being sarcastic or not. “Right, and she’s…” Shane trails off; he can’t force himself to finish the question.

Hayden unlocks the ambulance as they get outside. “She’s what?”

“She’s the one you guys were talking about? At The Kingfisher a while ago?”

“Oh! Yeah, she’s the one. Rozanov’s best friend,” Hayden answers with an eyebrow wriggle.

Shane looks back into the hospital.

Svetlana Vetrova.

She’s the one that picks up Roz after shift and makes out with him in their shared sports car. She’s the one he’s always going to the hospital for. She’s the one he scrubbed the toilets for. She’s the owner of the jasmine-scented hand cream in Roz’s bathroom that Shane sneakily uses sometimes. She’s the one that lives in the unit next to Roz.

She’s the best friend.

A pleasure.

***

Later that evening, Shane looks up Dr. Vetrova’s entire academic and professional history online. He finds out she graduated from Tufts Med after completing two years of chemical engineering at MIT. To put it humbly, her CV is even more impressive than his; Shane isn’t self-effacing enough to fail to recognize his own accomplishments (up until he dropped out, of course).

True to what his friends mentioned, her father is a revered hockey player from the Soviet era. Shane supposes that explains the lavish car. 

He wonders how long Roz and Dr. Vetrova have known each other. Did they meet in Russia or Boston? Maybe during school? Shane doesn’t even know where Roz went to school. 

He also finds photos of her from conferences and award ceremonies that confirm she’s actually more beautiful than what he saw today. 

Before he can drive himself insane, Shane stops sleuthing and decides to gain some control back.

He heads for the bathroom while he waits. Other than last week when Roz missed his text, he’s usually very quick to respond especially if Shane is the one initiating laundry.

Right as he turns the corner, he hears him on the phone.

Shane pauses and peeks around.

Roz is pacing the width of the hallway right in front of the bathroom with his phone in one hand and his other hand pulling at his curls. 

It takes a second for Shane to realize he’s not speaking English. He watches Roz rub harshly at his eyes and then throw his head back exasperatedly.

Shane doesn’t need to understand Russian to gather this is not a pleasant phone call.

Is it from Svetlana? It doesn’t seem like it. Roz is spitting Russian at a rapid pace and the deep scowl on his face does not suggest he’s talking to a friend.

Is it his family? Shane has no idea who Roz keeps in touch with from back home. 

Shane’s a little gutted to realize he knows even less about Roz than he thought he did. He can't even recall if Roz has any photos of friends or family up in his home; Shane's never bothered to notice.

“YA bol'she deneg tebe ne dam, Aleksey. Eti den'gi byli na oplatu meditsinskikh raskhodov ottsa, a ty tol'ko i delayesh', chto nyukhayesh' ikh,” Roz all but snarls.

Even though he has no idea what’s being said, it still feels intrusive to eavesdrop. Shane’s never seen Roz react this way to anything and he has an inkling Roz probably wants to keep this side of himself concealed.

Quietly, Shane retreats back the way he came.

For the remainder of their shift, he does not get a text back from Roz.

Chapter End Notes

hey siri, play "casual by chappell roan" because using your body to cover your hookup from gunshots is totally casual and couldn't possibly mean anything more!

not the biggest fan of this chapter because i feel like sooooo much happens but there was literally no where to end it so i just had to keep writing :p

i hope you guys notice and enjoy the little callbacks, foreshadowing, and easter eggs i try to sneak in hehe my favourite hollanov harmless headcannon is that ilya gets english metaphors or sayings mixed up and shane politely corrects him everytime. as someone whose 3rd language is english... i relate to him hard lol i also love when i read a texting fic and ilya defaults to lower case and acronyms while shane is perfect punctuation and capitalization; i just think it's such a cute distinction.

also obviously i had to make rose the one that figures it out first. i love the tweets about how dumb the raiders and metros must've been to totally miss how unsubtle shane and ilya were, like if there was even a single woman on either teams, they'd have been figured out agesssss ago!!!

now that they are way more involved than either anticipated, the next few chapters are going to hopefully be angstmaxxing!! (did i use that right...?) also what could possibly be in conneticut...?

as always, thank you for reading and commenting <33 i look forward to reading and responding to all of them!

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

soooooooooo weekly updates were way too ambitious haha sorry! here is 12k to make up for the long wait (again)

i also worked in some coding with the russian translation. if you're on desktop, you can hover over the italicized russian text and the translation should pop up in a box. unfortunately, i could not figure out how to get it to work on mobile, but all the relevant translations can be found in the end notes! you don't miss too much if you don't know the translation right away (since shane is our beloved narrator and he does not speak russian either) :)

content warnings: insinuated domestic violence during the car crash rescue + mentions of domestic abuse at the end (not shown or described)

***

The radio silence continues and Shane tries not to let it affect him as much as it does. Unfortunately, when Roz fails to even open his messages on Monday, Shane is unable to continue with his regularly scheduled programming. His brain and body have gotten used to seeing Roz in between shifts and now he feels like a broken Pavlov-dog.

He knows he has a problem when he debates texting Rose or Troy to see if they’ve heard from Roz. Maybe only Shane is being kept in the dark and everyone else in Roz’s life is still getting silly texts from him. Maybe he realized Saturday night was an embarrassing display of Shane’s inability to be normal about anything. Maybe he regrets getting involved with Shane now that Rose is privy to their secret. Maybe he found someone more interesting and easy to be with. Maybe he’s dating Dr. Vetrova for real now.

Maybe maybe maybe maybe

Shane forces himself to extend his run in an effort to clear his mind with endorphins and better cardiopulmonary health; his self-induced spiral is still just as fresh after a half-marathon. Not even a chill night-in watching hockey at JJ’s is enough to take his mind off of it.

Come Tuesday morning, Shane actually dreads going to work. He wishes Roz would just rip off the bandaid and cut ties with him once and for all. His silence is far worse than getting told all the things Shane is thinking. 

His mind races at what Roz might say to him when they see each other at the firehouse. There’s certainly an argument for Shane to be angry that Roz ignored his texts for two days, but he can’t find it in himself to do anything about it. As made evident, Shane has never been able to stay angry at Roz.

“Rozanov will be out for the next two shifts. As the only other Rescue-certified firefighter, Landry will be filling in on Squad 1.”

Chief Wiebe’s announcement during morning briefing makes Shane sit up. He momentarily forgets about Rose figuring out their secret and does a terribly unsubtle pan of the briefing room to find it void of Roz.

He’s not here.

He’s missing two shifts.

Which means at least a week.

Is that why he hasn’t replied?

The concern in the pit of Shane’s stomach grows until it manages to completely trump his dread of getting “dumped” by his hookup.

After breakfast, Shane catches Barrett outside smoking by himself.

“Hey, Hollzy.”

“Hey.”

“You want one?” He holds out the box and Shane wrinkles his nose immediately.

“No, thanks. Just getting some air.”

Barrett nods and does him the courtesy of putting out the cigarette he was smoking.

Shane hasn’t had many one on one conversations with Troy. Neither of them are particularly chatty or socially practiced.

Barrett breaks the silence first with a question, “So… did you hear anything about Harris?” 

“The waiter? I can ask for an update when we go to Tufts today.”

Barrett sniffs once and nods, very obviously trying to look natural and failing. It’s such a stark difference to how Shane has to microanalyze Roz’s ticks to figure out how he’s feeling. Maybe this is how Roz feels when Shane is doing his best to appear put together; he really hopes he does a better job than Barrett.

“Dr. Vetrova’s his doctor; I’m sure he’s in good hands,” Shane adds in an effort to reassure him.

Barrett glances at him from the side. “Right. I was just curious. His head injury seemed pretty severe.”

“It was nice of you to give him the shirt.”

This time, Barrett’s tanned skin turns a shade darker and he develops a keen interest in his boots. “Sure,” he mutters.

Despite the awkwardness, Shane is endeared by his earnestness. 

They lapse into a stretch of silence, both leaning against the building and watching the road in front. 

“Hey, have you heard from Roz?” Shane asks, voice light to not give away that this had been his reason for coming out here.

“Uh, not really. I got a text from him after Kip’s party, but nothing since.”

Shane nods trying not to look disappointed. “I see.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Yeah, totally. I was just curious if you… knew anything,” Shane trails off weakly.

Barrett doesn’t tease him which he’s grateful for. Seems they’re mutually acting dumb for the other’s sake.

“I can let you know if he texts. I doubt I’ll be the first to hear from him though. He probably keeps Bood in the loop.”

“Thanks, it’s all good. I’m gonna go–”

“Ambulance 81. Person down. 102 Shawmut Avenue.”

Saved by the bell.

Shane gives Barrett one last nod and heads for his ambulance. 

Despite dreading seeing Roz at work, now that he’s not here, Shane’s entire world feels slightly off kilter. He hopes it doesn’t last the entire shift.

***

Boston as a whole must be mocking Shane because for the first time in his short career as a paramedic, it’s a quiet day. It’s almost noon and they’ve only been sent out twice. And the second one turned out to be a prank call by some kids ditching school. 

With no rescues or patients to focus on, he’s forced to reckon with his own thoughts. He tried to play poker with some of the guys, but bowed out after Marleau washed him for three hands straight because he wasn’t paying enough attention. 

Now, he’s doing laundry (for real this time) and trying not to reminisce about what they usually do in here.

Still no signs of life from Roz.

Which could mean nothing.

Or everything.

He sighs dramatically to himself at how he’s letting his “coworker that he fucks occasionally” ruin his day.

“Oh! Sorry,” Rose suddenly says when the door swings open and hits the backs of Shane’s heels.

He turns and steps aside to let her in. “Hey.”

She smiles politely and joins him in front of the machines with a sizable hamper. “Do you need the washer?”

Shane shakes his head. “All you. I’ll be out of your hair in three and a half minutes.” His dryer timer counts down on his phone.

Rose smiles and thanks him.

They lapse into a slightly uncomfortable silence. 

Shane can’t help stealing glances at her to see if she’s going to address it: the Roz-shaped elephant in the tiny laundry room. When Shane was freaking out a few days ago, Roz had effectively talked him out of discussing it with her, but he never told Shane what to do if Rose brought it up first. 

Should he deny it and lie? No, Roz told him he was a terrible liar and Rose is nothing if not perceptive.

Maybe he can downplay it. Do they hookup? Sure, once or twice. Who hasn’t? At work? Definitely not!

He scoffs out loud at himself.

“Everything okay? I can practically hear you thinking from here.”

Shane snaps his eyes up to her as she’s dumping detergent into the machine.

“Uh… what do you mean?”

She gives him a small smile. “You just look like you have a lot on your mind.”

“Oh,” Shane pauses. Is he really that transparent? “Nope. I’m good. Nothing going on up here.” He cringes the second he says it.

At least it makes Rose laugh. “Well, I doubt that, Dr. Hollander.”

“I never graduated med school,” he reminds her.

She laughs again. “Yeah, I know,” she says, finally turning her head to look at him after starting her laundry cycle. “I’m here if you want to talk.”

Shane stares back at her in a daze, unsure of how to respond. She says it so lightly like he could come to her with menial issues about his increasing rent or greater problems like how he can’t stop thinking about Roz.

He wants to talk. But he also doesn’t. He shouldn’t. He can’t. 

There’s nothing to talk about. Roz isn’t even texting him back. For all he knows, Roz could just be taking a vacation. But still, his lack of correspondence bothers Shane beyond just the feeling of being ignored. Shane could very well be clear of this mess in two shifts if Roz really decides to end things. And then everything will go back to the way it was.

It strikes Shane on the spot that he’s never even worked a shift at 17 without being involved with Roz in some way. Sure, it took a bit to actually hook up, but from his very first shift here, Roz has orbited Shane.

If he faces the truth, Shane’s more confused and hurt than anything else.

“Thanks, Rose. I’m, uh… I’m okay. For now at least.”

She nods. “You know where to find me.” She squeezes his shoulder once and then leaves the room. 

He’s grateful she didn’t push him. Maybe he really didn’t give her enough credit. Roz was right; Rose would never force him to do anything. 

Sighing to himself again, he leans against the dryer and stares at the closed door. 

Should he text Roz again to check in? Call him?

As if the universe can hear his silly idea, his phone alarm goes off and snaps him out of it. He starts removing his clothes from the dryer and tries not to dwell on how he misses the lavender scent that clung to all of Roz’s belongings. 

He’s never wished for an emergency to happen, but today? He’s hoping Boston will pick up the pace a little.

***

In the early hours of Sunday morning, Ambulance 81 and Rescue 1 are sent to Longfellow Bridge for a reported suicide attempt. Shane and Hayden watched with bated breath as the police encouraged the man to get off the ledge while Rescue Squad suited up to prepare for the worst. 

Luckily, after over an hour of standing under the bridge, Shane relaxed at the sight of police helping him down and back behind the barriers.

“Thank god,” Marly mutters as his team begins shedding the water rescue equipment.

“Seriously, it’s fucking freezing,” Hayden adds.

Marly gives him an unimpressed scowl. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were about to get in the water and swim.”

Hayden sticks his tongue out in response which makes Shane chuckle. 

“Pack it up everyone. I don’t want to eat into overtime,” Bood orders.

It’s 5:30 am and they’re all off the clock at 7 am sharp.

Hayden goes back to sit in the ambulance where the wind from the river isn’t cutting through their t-shirts. Shane is about to join him, but he sees Bood on his phone by their truck and a rush of bravery prompts him to move.

“Hey, Cap,” Shane says casually, walking over.

Bood looks up. “What’s up, Hollz?”

“I was just wondering if you’ve heard from Rozanov at all,” he starts and then quickly adds, “He left something at Kip’s party and I’ve been meaning to return it.” He’s impressed the lie slips out so naturally. 

“He’s in Russia.”

Shane blanks.

Given the lack of sleep he got before they were called out here and the absurdity of Bood’s answer, Shane doesn’t process the words fast enough. “Russia?” He repeats like maybe he misheard.

Like… Russia Russia?

Bood nods. “Yeah, something came up last-minute, I guess. He’ll be back at the end of the week.”

“Oh, wow. Um… is he–everything okay?” He can’t help asking.

Bood gives him a meager shrug. “You know how he gets every time he goes.”

Shane blinks.

Bood’s fatigue is evident too seeing as he clearly forgets Shane has only been at 17 for a few months. Because no, Shane doesn’t know. 

How does Roz get when he goes back? Is he unhappy when visiting his home country? Why doesn’t he enjoy it? Or does Bood mean this in a positive way? No, it can’t be, not with the resigned half-smile he’s giving Shane.

For Shane, getting to fly home to Canada and see his parents has always been something to look forward to. He misses his family and their cottage and Tim Hortons and the weather and Shoppers Drug Mart and the trees. He’s never dreaded the thought of being home.

Does Roz dread going back?

Shane thinks about the phone call he accidentally overheard where Roz was snarling Russian and pacing tensely like he’d rather get shot by gangbangers than continue talking to whomever was on the line.

The horn of their ambulance snaps Shane’s attention back to where Hayden is giving him a pleading look.

“Uh, thanks, Cap,” Shane says hastily and quickly jogs back to his rig.

“What was that about?” Hayden asks when he finally gets in his seat.

Shane starts the ambulance with a small shake of his head. “Nothing.”

He debates asking Hayden what Bood meant about “how Roz gets when he goes to Russia” since Hayden’s definitely been here long enough to know. He thinks better of it when Hayden unhinges his jaw to yawn loudly and snuggle deeper into the seat.

Hayden might not be as perceptive as Rose, but Shane doesn’t want to risk it.

The ambo lights flash Rescue Squad and he gives them all a wave as he starts to pull out. When Troy waves back, Shane remembers what he’d promised him yesterday morning at the start of their shift.

“Hey, can we stop at Med?”

“Huh? Why?” Hayden grumbles.

“I told Barrett I’d get him an update on the waiter from the wedding fire.”

“Harry?”

“Harris.”

“But it’s, like, 5 am,” Hayden whines.

Shane shakes his head with amusement and turns onto the road. “We didn’t go to Tufts once today. It’s on the way,” he says.

It was easily their quietest day with only a handful of calls and not one victim critical enough to need the hospital, especially since three of them had signed the documents to formally refuse medical treatment. 

“Fine. Stop by Dunkin first.”

***

Shane leaves Hayden to nap in the ambulance bay while he heads inside with trays of coffees. Even though Ambulance 81 had an uneventful shift, Tufts Emergency Department cannot say the same. He has to sidestep a team of nurses pushing three gurneys in a row towards the elevators. Sometimes he misses the chaos of working in a hospital, but then he compares needing to complete his residency with the total freedom of being in the field and it’s an easy winner.

He spots Saranya sitting at her station and walks over.

“Morning, Saranya,” he greets her.

She looks up and narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “Hollander. You better be bringing me gifts instead of patients.”

He smiles and hands her both trays of coffees. “No patients from me today.”

Saranya rolls her eyes back with what Shane hopes is pleasure when she claims one of the ice coffees. “You’re a sweetheart. Thanks for this.” She says sweetheart with the twang of a native Bostonian and it makes him laugh.

“Of course. I hope there’s enough for everyone.”

“Definitely enough for the ones who like coffee,” she says and squeezes his arm appreciatively. “What can I do for you, hun?”

“I was hoping to talk to Dr. V about one of the victims we brought in last shift,” he responds. “His name’s Harris, came in with a head injury and burns on his arm.”

He hadn’t seen Dr. Vetrova when he walked in.

Saranya raises her eyebrows. “Ah, you’re out of luck. She’s out for a few days.”

Shane frowns. “Out?”

“Yep. She’s taking some time off to go back home.”

He freezes like a deer in headlights.

“Oh. Back home as in… Russia?” He asks like he’s scared of the answer.

Saranya is none the wiser to his shock and nods, still sipping her coffee. “Russia,” she confirms. “She’s handed off her patients to Dr. Wang for the week. Need me to call him?”

Shane’s brain is now running a million miles an hour and he hardly even hears her.

“Uh… no, that’s… that’s okay. Can you, um, just check if Harris is… if he’s still here? Or if he left? Like, got discharged.” He manages to stutter.

She nods and turns to her computer.

Shane tries to focus on one task at a time before he starts spiraling again. 

“Harris Drover is… being discharged today,” Saranya tells him.

“That’s great! Awesome. Good. I’m glad to hear that. Thank you so much.”

She gives him an amused smile. “You okay, Shane?”

He nods quickly which is probably not very convincing. “All good! Thanks, Saranya. I appreciate the help.”

“Sure, hun.”

“Right, uh, I should go. Thank you again. I’ll see you next shift.”

“Hope not!” She calls after him with a laugh.

He returns an awkward chuckle before she’s thankfully pulled away by one of the doctors.

Shane speedwalks back to his ambulance.

He can’t let himself think too hard about the new information or else his brain will take him to places he’d rather not visit while he’s still technically on the clock.

So, he starts with the facts and remains objective.

1. Roz has not replied to any of his texts.
2. Roz is currently in Russia.
3. With Svetlana, his girl best friend.
4. Roz supposedly does not enjoy going back to Russia.

He pauses at his mental list.

Maybe it’s a coincidence that both Dr. V and Roz took off work the same week. Russia’s huge, they could be on separate trips.

He mentally facepalms himself for such a naive and delusional cope. The list continues:

1. Roz will be back by the end of the week.
2. Roz hasn’t even opened his text messages.
3. Shane is worried about Roz.

The finality with which the last entry on his list formulates is a blow to the chest. Shane has spent all weekend and all of this shift working through why he’s so bothered by Roz’s lack of communication. Sure, he’s a little tormented at the possibility of losing the greatest hookup he’s ever had. Yes, he’s overly anxious that more people at work might find out what they’ve been up to. Of course, he’s miffed about getting left on delivered and missing out on a whole week of sex.

The finality with which the last entry on his list formulates is a blow to the chest. Shane has spent all weekend and all of this shift working through why he’s so bothered by Roz’s lack of communication. Sure, he’s a little tormented at the possibility of losing the greatest hookup he’s ever had. Yes, he’s overly anxious that more people at work might find out what they’ve been up to. Of course, he’s miffed about getting left on delivered and missing out on a whole week of sex.

But tucked behind all of those feelings is one more: a quiet but overpowering concern for his coworker he sometimes fucks. 

He can’t stop thinking about how out of character Roz looked on the phone the last time Shane saw him. His usual air of nonchalance and unbotheredness has become a tether for Shane, like no matter how terrible something was going, Shane could count on Roz to never be affected as deeply. It keeps him grounded and also makes him a better paramedic. 

But to see Roz physically shrinking in on himself in response to whatever was being said back to him in his native language felt like revealing a paradox. Like when Shane saw his teachers outside of the classroom as a child or discovered his parents were the ones filling his stockings. 

A blunder in the natural order of things. Some kind of simulated error.

It was wrong.

Shane shouldn’t have seen that. And he hates that he did because he realizes Roz’s impenetrable mask is much thinner than he originally thought. If one phone call was all it took, then maybe the untouchable pedestal Shane has kept him on needs to be dismantled. 

As with all of Shane’s catastrophizing, he recognizes that Roz could very well be just fine (he probably is) and he’ll return like he never left at all. Maybe he hooks up with Dr. Vetrova in Russia, but it’s not like they ever discussed exclusivity and Shane would be a fool to expect that from Roz. Regardless, maybe they’ll go back to texting each other about laundry and meeting up after shift. Roz will keep taking Shane apart little by little while he preens under the attention. And nothing will change. Exactly what he wants.

The logical and emotionally regulated part of Shane is working very hard to cement this belief.

Unfortunately, the other, more commanding parts of him will not relax until he can lay his own eyes on Roz again.

***

True to what he expected, Shane’s phone remains void of any notifications from Roz. He gets better at going about his shift and days off until he falls back into what his life looked like B.R. (before Roz). There’s still a gaping emptiness at the firehouse that he knows everyone is feeling. 

Admittedly, he loathes B.R. (and really misses Roz) when he’s alone in his bedroom trying to replicate any sensation that seems to be a Roz-exclusive. Shane manages to survive with just his own right hand and his minimal toys that don’t even seem to work as well without Roz. 

By Friday morning, two shifts and seven days later, Shane’s anxiety about getting “dumped” has transformed into eagerness to just see the man again. His concern for Roz’s wellbeing has also only grown ten-fold. 

Shane spots Roz on his way in. He’s leaning against his favourite corner under the No Smoking sign where a tree provides enough shade to cover only his face. A lit cigarette is between his lips while he uses both hands to text.

He looks so normal and right that Shane momentarily forgets he disappeared for a whole week.

“Morning,” Shane greets with a relieved smile. He doesn’t want to come off too excited. 

Roz looks up from his phone and Shane tries not to melt on the spot at his blue eyes. Shane didn’t think he’d ever be the kind of person to miss someone’s eyes.

“Morning,” Roz replies with the cigarette still in his mouth.

“It’s, uh… good to have you back,” Shane says lamely when Roz’s face supplies no warmth or emotion. Not that he was expecting a face-splitting smile or hug, but a little contentment to mirror Shane’s would be nice.

“Was boring without me, yes?” Roz attempts to tease, but his voice sounds too tired and it lands flat.

In fact, now that Shane is closer, he can make out the dark circles under Roz’s eyes and his sunken cheeks. There’s little to no colour in his skin and it makes the array of bruises on his neck stand out more.

Shane clenches his jaw at the sight.

“Rose filled in for you on Squad,” Shane supplies like it matters. He’s hoping it’ll elicit some kind of reaction.

Roz hardly nods. “Lucky team.”

Shane narrows his eyes at him, trying to read between the clipped responses and cold body language. One week ago, Shane felt like he could translate Roz as easily as French. Now, Roz may as well be a completely different person.

He bravely takes a small step closer despite the smoke clogging his throat. “You didn’t answer my texts,” he says quieter. “I was worried.”

The admission lifts a weight off of Shane’s shoulders while simultaneously thwacking him in the skull.

Shane flits his eyes between Roz’s, not daring to tear them away for even a second in case the Roz he knows makes an appearance. It’s not him entirely, but Shane spots it the second his mask thins too much and the furrow in Roz’s eyebrows relaxes a fraction. 

But this time, instead of smirking facetiously at Shane the way he used to whenever Shane’s awkwardness proved too amusing for him to pretend to be turned off, Roz slips back into that cold shell. 

The mask thickens again and Shane suddenly feels very stupid standing in front of him.

He removes the cigarette with one hand. Shane stares hard at his lips waiting for a teasing grin.

“Worried about me, Hollander?” He asks coolly. 

It’s not nearly as suggestive as it would be if he were smiling instead of staring back at him blankly, like Shane is nothing to him.

“I…,” Shane’s next words die in his throat and he tightens his grip on his bag like it’s the only thing holding him back from doing something regrettable.

He stares at Roz for another beat like a berated dog that never learns from its mistakes. 

“Forget it.” Shane steps out of his own puddle of humiliation and heads inside.

He tries not to feel too hurt by how callous Roz looked at and spoke to him, but it’s an impossible task especially with how relieved Shane was to just see him today. His words are especially cruel given that the last time they saw each other, Shane had a breakdown over how worried he was for Roz. 

In the time that Shane’s been at 17 and involved with Roz, never once has he made him feel that way. Sure, there had been that one morning before the construction site accident, but even that had felt less directed at Shane and more bratty in nature. This time, there’s no way for Shane to not take it personally.

He fucking hates it. And he hates Roz for doing that to him after Shane just spent a week losing sleep over how worried he was.

He throws his bag into his locker with a scowl and starts folding this shift’s change of clothes to distract him from wanting to strangle a man.

This is far too much emotional whiplash for 7 am.

***

Ambulance 81, Truck 12, Rescue 1. Motor vehicle accident. I-90 at Harvard Street.

***

Shane and Hayden stand off to the side with c-collars and a jumpbag ready as they watch Rescue 1 stabilize the truck that’s flipped onto its side. Marleau and Bood have set cribbing around all the weak points and Roz is perched on top working to open the door. Barrett waits by the fully cracked windshield with the glass cutter because that will be the fastest access point to the victims inside.

“Keep an eye on that engine,” Bood says to Hunter, pointing at the smoking hood.

“Copy that.”

“Roz! Are you good?”

Roz passes the jaws back down to JJ and then peeks his head over the top of the truck. “Yes, all good,” he reports. “I smell alcohol.”

Shane grumbles disapprovingly. Drunk driving accidents are his least favourite calls because they’re 100% avoidable if people weren’t so stupid.

Roz loops his straps around the open door and tosses the end to JJ who secures it on the ground.

“Two victims, female driver and male passenger,” Roz confirms for the rest of them.

Hayden calls HQ to send another ambulance.

Shane watches Roz lower himself into the truck. They can’t see much through the shattered glass from out here no matter how hard he squints.

“How are they doing?” Shane calls.

“Both are conscious,” Roz replies.

Shane is about to ask a follow-up question when the entire truck shakes.

“Hey! What the fuck are you doing?” Roz yells from inside.

Firehouse 17 rushes forward to keep the cribbing in place so the truck doesn’t tip with Roz still inside.

“Roz!” Bood shouts.

“Stop moving! Hey, stop! You’re gonna hurt yourself more!” Roz continues yelling. 

Shane assumes he’s talking to the victims and sidesteps Barrett to get closer to the glass. He can hear another disgruntled voice coming from inside and he has a terrifying thought that Roz isn’t safe in there by himself.

“Get me the fuck out of here!” A muffled voice screams from inside.

“Hey! Report! What’s going on?” Bood asks, holding the hood in place with Hayes while Marly and Hunter reinforce the cribbing nearby.

There’s another tussle from inside and Shane watches apprehensively at whatever the hell is happening. He can’t see shit from out here.

“Asshole is trying to break out of here,” Roz responds angrily. “Barrett, start cutting.”

When they add more cribbing to stabilize the truck and the other voice inside finally stops making noises, Barrett gets to work cutting the windshield open.

Shane winces at the sound of metal going through glass, but forces himself to stay put. Hayden returns with their stretcher and confirms another ambulance is on the way for the second victim.

“All clear,” Barett announces.

Roz kicks the glass through from inside. 

Before anyone can even move, the truck starts shaking again and Shane rushes forward to the victims. The man making all the fuss has a gash across his forehead that’s steadily streaming down his face.

“Stop it you fucking dumbass!” Roz scowls and holds the man in the passenger seat down. Or sideways since he’s still strapped to his seat and suspended in the air.

“Get me out!”

“Sir, please stop moving. We’re going to get you out as soon as we can,” Shane says calmly as he approaches.

He sees Shane getting close with the c-collar in hand and flails his arms, clocking Roz right in the jaw with his elbow. 

“I don’t need that shit! I just need to get out!” He shouts, but half of his words slur together and the putrid smell of alcohol hits Shane a second after. 

Roz takes a steadying deep breath and Shane can practically see the fumes pouring out of his ears with how pissed off he is. Usually it would be a hot sight to see, but with the way his attitude has been this shift, Shane’s just glad he’s not on the receiving end of such a murderous glare.

“Hollander, give,” Roz orders, holding his hand out for the c-collar.

Shane complies immediately obviously.

“Help her,” he then says and nods to the driver. “Pike, get me backboard. Squad, hold him so I can secure the dumbass.” Everyone breaks into action at his command and Shane hates how he’s still turned on by it.

“Here, put pressure on that first.” Shane passes him the hemostatic dressing.

Once Roz begrudgingly accepts it and diligently (if a little roughly with how the man yelps again) wraps it around his head, Shane diverts his attention to the second victim. She’s a small woman curled on her side in the seat and Shane doesn’t see any visible injuries that require immediate attention. She watches the entire exchange silently with wide eyes and doesn’t make a peep when he squats down to her level.

“Hi. What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Sh-Shauna.”

“Hi Shauna. Can you tell me if you’re hurt anywhere?” Shane asks, reaching in to secure a c-collar around her neck. She cooperates pleasantly.

“Um… I-I don’t t-think s-so,” she responds shakily.

Shane nods. “Can you move your hands and feet for me?”

She wriggles all four limbs and Shane nods again. “Great. We’ll get you out soon, okay?”

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

Hayden returns with two backboards and two more paramedics. The four of them manage to get the woman free quickly since she was able to undo her seatbelt by herself.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Don’t rescue that bitch first! Help me!” The man starts shouting again.

Shane snaps his eyes to him in shock. 

Squad and Truck are working on strapping the man to the top of the truck frame, so they can lower him down before cutting his seatbelt like a pulley system. Roz is back on top with the straps around his waist. Everyone glares at the drunk guy. It’s one thing to be drunk and harassing first responders; it’s another to harass a woman you’re in the same accident with.

“She’s the reason we’re in this fucking mess, oh my god! You did this on purpose, you fucking bitch!”

Before anyone can react, Roz drops back into the truck and sticks his finger into the man’s face with rage.

“You do not talk about her like that. You do not talk about anyone like that.” Roz’s voice drops several octaves and it sends shivers down Shane’s spine, but entirely out of fear for the drunk man.

“Fuck you and her! Now, get me out of here!”

Definitely the wrong thing to say.

Roz grabs a fistful of the man’s shirt and yanks him forward. He shrieks at the sudden force and how the c-collar restricts any movement.

“You better watch your mouth if you want to be able to use it again,” Roz seethes, accent curling thicker around each word. “Say something about her again and you’ll wish for this accident instead of what I will do to you.”

Shane’s eyes widen in shock. In fact, everyone goes a little slack-jawed.

“Are you threatening me? I’ll sue the shit out of you!” The man cries out, but it lacks any vigor with how shaky his voice gets at the end.

"Suka blyat, go for it. Want my full name? I’ll carve it into your–"

“Rozanov!” Bood shouts. 

Everyone freezes for a long second. 

Roz is breathing heavily, but he eventually lets go of the man’s shirt. His face doesn’t relax at all nor does he look away.

“Take a beat. Marleau, switch him out,” Bood orders. He looks just as angry.

Shane watches as Roz grinds his jaw and unclenches his fist like he really was about to punch the man.

Thankfully, Marleau ducks inside and pats him once on the shoulder and he seems to shake out of it. Roz steps out of the truck and makes a beeline back to their truck.

“Get the pisser down. 81, you’re good to take her. 36, you’re taking this one,” Bood delegates.

Shane and Hayden nod and wheel her into the back of their ambulance. After a quick assessment, they determine Shauna should be in the clear, but that a visit to the hospital would be beneficial to rule out anything they can’t see in the field. They’d also done a breathalyzer and noted she was stone cold sober. Shane made sure to relay that to the cops that arrived later on scene and strongly urged them to get a statement from the drunk guy first.

Hayden agrees to drive and shuts the doors. 

Through the windows, Shane spots Roz leaning against the side of their Rescue truck staring daggers at his boots. He debated checking in on him first, but decided he didn’t want to get berated just because Roz was heated. Granted his reaction was totally valid, but they have a reputation to maintain as public service workers.

Still, he sighs to himself and picks up his radio, changing the frequency to avoid broadcasting over everyone’s channel. “Ambo 36, are you still on scene?”

“Yep, heading out with the police in a bit. What do you need?”

“If you’re not in a rush, would you mind giving one of our guys an ice pack? He got hit in the jaw earlier.”

“No problem, 81. You’re talking about Rozanov?”

“That’s correct. Thanks, Kara.”

Just as they’re about to leave the scene, Shane sees Kara from Ambulance 36 walking over to Roz. At least he’s getting medical attention from someone.

“Will he be okay?” The woman asks timidly. Shane almost thinks she’s asking about Roz before he realizes that makes no sense.

“The cut on his head looked superficial and he seemed to be… in high spirits. The other paramedics will make sure he gets any treatments he needs,” Shane answers objectively.

She nods to herself and looks down at her lap.

He can’t help but feel sorry for her. It doesn’t take a genius to piece together the situation. 

“Is he your husband?” He asks softly.

She looks at him with a sad smile. “He wasn’t always like this.” 

It’s one of the most heartbreaking things she could’ve said.

Shane doesn’t respond and instead places his hand on top of hers supportively. He thinks about his own mother and how unfathomable it’d be to imagine his father, or anyone, treating her like that. But he knows some are not as lucky.

“Could you do me a favour later?” She asks.

He nods. “Of course.”

“The young man at the rescue, I heard what he said to Bill,” she says. “Can you thank him for me?”

Shane hesitates at the request. Not because she’s asking him to talk to Roz, but because of the underlying message. This is a social situation that Shane doesn’t struggle to comprehend.

“Shauna, if you need help, there are resources and people avail–”

“I know,” she cuts him off. “I know there are. I don’t need any help. I’m okay, I promise. Thank you.”

She looks so firmly accepting of her claims that Shane can only look back at her helplessly. One of the first lessons he’d learned in the domestic violence response protocol was that you can’t help someone that doesn’t want to be helped. No matter how badly you want to.

“Just tell the young man I appreciated it. And you can tell him I’ll be okay,” she says with a smile and pats the top of Shane’s hand with her other one. “Something tells me he took it more personally than I did.”

***

For the rest of the shift, the team avoids Roz like the plague. It only takes one poor attempt at a chirp from Young to inform everyone that today is not the day. And it’s not like Roz is screaming or attacking anyone; his usual asshole-like charm simply loses its humour and all that’s left is a defensive attitude. Shane likens it to trying to pet a stray cat on the street.

When they all get sent out to a trailer park fire, Roz moves like a demon and clears half the camp himself, singlehandedly leading a whole family out while carrying two kids. Even after almost depleting his oxygen and asphyxiating himself, he refuses to stand down and makes three more trips to rescue more people. 

Every time he dumped a victim at Shane’s feet, Shane expected something familiar, anything to remind him of the Roz he’s gotten to know. Maybe a tease about how fast he’s going and how slow Shane is keeping up. Or maybe a flirty wink. Or maybe an even more flirty promise of meeting up in the laundry room later. Anything.

But Shane gets nothing. Roz deposits victim after victim and hardly even looks at Shane. He’s thankful for all the victims he has to focus on treating because otherwise, Shane thinks he’d go crazy spiraling over Roz’s lack of warmth. Even when Shane offers him water and for him to take a break so he can check out the slight burn on an exposed part of his wrist, Roz shakes him off and walks back into the inferno.

It’s hard not to take it personally even if they’re both on the job right now.

If Shane (and Bood) thought Roz was hard to control on a good day, he’s nearly impossible to order around now. Shane has a horrifying thought that it kind of looks like Roz has never cared less about himself.

Bood gave him a stern talking to back at the house, but it ended with a brotherly pat on the shoulder, so Shane presumes he’s not in any trouble. No one at the firehouse ever seems to actually stay angry at Roz for too long (except Hayden); Shane begrudgingly counts himself part of that population too.

He wants to ask Roz how he’s doing and why he’s so upset today and what he was doing in Russia and if he ever read Shane’s texts and when he’ll stop looking murderous so they can hook up again. But he’s also a little terrified to catch an attitude again.

Somehow, the only time Shane manages to corner him is after lunch when Roz is on his way out to smoke with a cigarette already between his lips.

“Hey!”

Roz turns with his hand on the door handle. Shane has to mentally fortify his psyche when he meets his hooded eyes. They’ve been staring blankly or indignantly at everyone and everything all shift.

“Can we talk?”

Roz pulls the cigarette out with his free hand and leans against the door. It’s not the most inviting stance.

“About what?” He asks, already sounding bothered.

Shane narrows his eyes and tries not to recoil. There’s a long list of things he wants to talk about, but he knows he’s not going to get the discussion he deserves right now. So, he opts for something safer. He hopes.

“The woman from the car crash this morning,” he starts, willing his voice to stay steady. “She asked me to thank you.”

Recognition flashes across Roz’s face for a moment before it hardens again. “For doing our job?”

Shane doesn’t even try to hide how hard he’s staring at him to find any crack in the mask. For any sign of the man that previously would’ve smiled at the gratitude.

“For standing up for her. She wanted me to tell you she appreciated it. And that she promises she’s okay.”

"Aga, konechno," Roz mutters under his breath.

“What?”

He shakes his head like he forgot Shane was there. “Nothing. Is that all?”

Shane frowns. Don’t panic, you expected this from him. 

“Uh… yeah, I guess. How’s your jaw?” He can spot a little bruising beginning to form where the drunk husband clocked him right in the jaw. It’s close enough to the smattering of hickeys on Roz’s neck that Shane has been trying not to focus on all shift.

“Fine. Are we done?” 

And that’s about all Shane can take before his own self-respect depletes completely. He rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Yeah, we’re done,” he mutters and promptly walks back the way he came.

Cool. Message received.

He’s shaking his head the entire way down the hall and then outside. He needs some air before he decides to just tackle Roz into the ground and hold him there until he communicates whatever is going on with him. That would certainly not bode well with the guy who seemingly has the rage of a bull in him today.

Maybe this is for the best, he thinks to himself.

How long did Shane really think they could keep this up at work before more people found out? Rose figuring it out should’ve been their first sign to stop.

Shane is a paramedic first and nothing should be affecting him when he’s at work. Especially not a coworker he sometimes fucks.

He pushes open the doors to the garage and storms over to his ambulance. Hayden is in charge of inventory today, but Shane’s too wired right now to even attempt a midday nap. At least cataloguing and going through the monotonous task of counting bandages will keep his mind occupied for a few minutes. Maybe if he’s lucky, they’ll even get sent out on a call.

The whole time he’s checking off how many vials they have left, he’s imagining Roz threatening the drunk man from the accident for verbally assaulting his wife. Shauna’s words about Roz taking the insults more personally than she did nestle deep into Shane’s brain. He’s always known the asshole exterior was just a front. Shane saw right through it when Roz was nothing but considerate and gentle with him the first time they hooked up and with every victim he’s seen him interact with. But to see Roz lean into his persona and put the fear of god into that man makes Shane think Roz did care more than Shauna in that moment. 

Then Shane recounts how Roz was running in and out of the trailer park fire like he had nine lives. Shane should have demanded he take a fucking break before he got himself killed out there. 

Then he’s thinking about when Roz witnessed him have a meltdown and how benevolent he’d been. Roz seemed to know exactly what to say, like he had a personalized teleprompter with cues to piss Shane off and then promptly talk him back from the edge. Not once did Roz make him feel embarrassed for having bared his entire soul. He kissed him afterwards like he still thought Shane was someone to be worshipped in bed.

It leaves a sour taste in his mouth to face the reality that he might never get Roz like that again. If this is the end of their professionally turbid relationship, then Shane is just going to have to accept it.

“Excuse me,” a voice pipes up from outside.

Shane looks up and finds a young man standing at the foot of the ambulance.

“Hi. Can I help you with something?” Shane asks, setting his clipboard down.

“Yeah, I hope I have the right house,” he says with a kind smile. “Is there a Barrett that works here?”

Shane surveys the man. He looks harmless enough with a Recycling Is Cool tote bag and pink Converse sneakers, but they have protocols in place for these kinds of situations. He remembers a particularly painful situation back at Firehouse 22 when one of Melanie’s ex-boyfriends had stormed in looking for her and they all had to feign ignorance when he demanded to see her.

“Did you need to file something with our firehouse specifically?” Shane asks, stepping out of the ambulance to stand in front of him.

“I’m just looking to return something to him,” he says and then pulls out the contents of his tote bag. “And I brought thank-you-cookies for everyone!”

Shane looks at the BFD-issued shirt folded on top of a large container and the realization hits him.

“Oh! You’re from the wedding fire.”

The man smiles and nods. “Yeah, I’m Harris. Sorry, I probably should’ve led with that. I’m still a little concussed,” he responds sheepishly.

Shane finally smiles. “Well, I’m glad you seem to be recovering well. How’s your arm?”

Harris swings his left arm smoothly and Shane only notices a light gauze wrap. “It’ll probably scar, but I’m not mad about it. Doctors even gave me the green light to go swimming in a few weeks.”

“That’s great news, Harris. I’m Shane by the way, one of the paramedics that brought you in.” He holds his hand out to Harris who gives him a polite shake.

“Then I think the first cookie should go to you, Shane. I can’t even begin to express my gratitude for what you and your team did to save me.”

“No need to thank us, it’s what we do. Let me show you around and I’ll find Barrett for you.”

“Thank you so much! The doctors said he left me his shirt since my clothes were totally burnt.”

Shane nods while he leads him inside. “Yep, he’s the one that pulled you out and insisted the shirt stayed with you for when you needed it.”

Harris’ smile is so genuine and sweet that Shane wishes Troy was around to see it.

“Here’s the kitchen,” he says. “Hey guys, this is Harris from the restaurant fire last week. He brought cookies for everyone.”

The guys in the kitchen all erupt into happy chaos and swarm Harris. Bringing any kind of treats to the firehouse is synonymous to bringing them to a daycare full of toddlers.

“Holy shit, these are delicious!” JJ exclaims with his mouth full.

“I’m glad you like them! I have a batch with caramel filling too.”

This sends the room into another frenzy and Shane can only laugh while he indulges in a cookie or two himself.

“Hey, Marly.” He taps him on the shoulder.

“Wassup, Hollz?” Marleau has two cookies in his hand and another in his mouth. What did Shane say? Toddlers.

“Where’s Barrett?”

“Having a smoke.”

“Oh.” Shane forgot for a second that Roz is out there too. “Can you go grab him? Harris came to thank him specifically.”

Marly is none the wiser to Shane offloading the task and nods. “Sure, get me another caramel cookie though.”

Shane quietly thanks Harris for the cookies again and slips back out to his ambulance. If anyone asks why he hides in the garage for the rest of the shift, he pretends inventory is taking longer than usual.

***

Inhale for 5, hold for 7, exhale for 5. Repeat. Again. Again. Again.

Shane has been standing at the bottom of the steps for about eight minutes coaching himself to breathe. Roz’s door is just four stairs away, but he can’t get himself to move.

It’s 8:58 p.m. He anticipated a bout of cold feet which is why he left his house early to account for eight minutes of panic without being late. 

He’s nervous.

And excited.

But mostly nervous.

Rozanov’s text this morning after shift had been a shock to say the least. Shane hadn’t been expecting anything from him for at least a few more days (if ever again). He regrets how quickly he caved, but he also knows that if given the chance to redo it, he’d probably fold even faster a second time.

9:00 p.m hits. If he doesn’t knock, Roz is going to know something’s wrong; Shane is always punctual.

He has no idea what to expect. It’d be silly to think he’ll walk in and Roz will smile at him lazily the way he always does. Surely 14 hours isn’t enough to flip his mood around completely. But why would he text Shane if he wasn’t prepared to ravage him?

Inhale for 5, hold for 7, exhale for 5. 

Shane walks up the stairs and knocks. And then he remembers Roz never locks his door and lets himself in.

He toes his shoes off and places them in his usual spot on the middle rack next to Roz’s loafers. Like muscle memory, he takes his jacket and hangs it on the fourth hook next to the mirror and drops his phone and keys on the shelf beside it. One week felt like an eternity in the moment. Now that he’s back, it’s like he never left.

“Roz?” He calls.

He doesn’t get a response when he starts walking towards the living room. Only the orange lamp by the TV is on which means he’s gotten ready for bed. 

Shane makes his way down the hallway to the bedroom. This time, without Roz pushing and grabbing at his body, he surveys the walls for anything he’s missed before. All he finds are framed photos of pretty buildings and lakes; no family or friends. Not even Dr. V. At least the pictures give Shane something: they’re black and white and clearly developed from film. That means Roz has a hobby outside of work. Shane hadn’t noticed a camera laying around before. Maybe he can ask about it. His dad loves photography too.

It’s not much, but it’s more than what Shane could name last week if asked about his coworker.

He finally gets to Roz’s bedroom.

And he just about drops his pants on the spot.

Roz is leaning against the far wall holding a glass of clear liquid that’s definitely Russian vodka.

Naked.

Well, almost.

He’s only wearing an unbuttoned white dress shirt and boxers. Somehow, it’s so much worse than if he were just naked.

“Oh, hi,” Shane exhales impossibly softly. Fuck, he’s really missed him.

Roz’s eyebrows flit once in amusement. It’s the most reaction Shane’s gotten from him since he returned. 

“Right on time,” Roz says and then downs his glass. 

Shane spots the half empty bottle on his dresser and wonders how long he’s been drinking while waiting for Shane to show up.

“Are you drunk?” He can’t help how disappointed he sounds. Shane will not be doing anything with Roz if he’s inebriated no matter how badly Shane wants to kiss him right now.

Roz scoffs and pours himself more. “No. Russians do not do this,” he answers, half offended Shane would even ask.

Shane narrows his gaze at him. “How much have you had?”

At this, he rolls his eyes. “Not enough,” he says and then looks Shane up and down without shame. “Take off your clothes.”

“Wow, I’m so turned on,” Shane deadpans. 

Roz raises one eyebrow. “No? I thought you were all about fairness.” Then he gestures to himself and his lack of clothes.

Shane stares back at him for another beat. His own cock twitches at the sight of Roz just standing there half naked. 

But it doesn’t feel right. 

This isn’t how their meetups usually go. 

But maybe Roz needs this as much as Shane does. So, he obliges.

Shane pulls off his t-shirt and jeans, leaving them folded at the foot of his massive bed. Roz still has not made any move to come closer which confuses him. He’s dying to be touched again.

“Happy?”

Roz drinks from his glass again and nods. “Get on the bed.”

Frowning, but still willing to listen, Shane crawls onto the sheets and sits obediently in the middle. Roz does not come.

“Touch yourself.”

Shane freezes at the words. “What?”

“You heard me. I want to watch.”

He thinks under any other circumstances, he’d have found the request hot and happily obeyed then asked Roz to do it too so he could have a turn watching.

But today, everything feels wrong.

“What are you doing?” Shane asks, voice clear if a little jarred with how confused he is.

Roz’s eyes betray no emotion as he tips the glass back and leans further against the wall. It’s like looking at a shell of a human. Shane fucking hates it. Even his usually bright green eyes are scarily blue tonight.

“You don’t want to?”

“No, it’s not…,” Shane trails off, not knowing what to even say. “I’ve never…” jerked off in front of someone.

“No shit.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Perfect Canadian Hollander is too boring to perform for me?” Roz taunts.

“Oh, fuck you,” Shane retorts, immediately angry at the chirping. 

“Will you make me beg again?” Roz asks and then slips his own hand into his boxers and around his cock. “Or will you make me entertain myself?”

Shane scrunches his nose out of fury when he realizes what Roz is doing. As much as he knows Roz, Roz knows him just as well; he’s more than familiar with what buttons to press to get the reaction he wants out of Shane.

“Fuck. You.” Shane strips off his underwear and whips it at Roz’s head.

He catches it with a pleased smirk. To Shane’s horror, he brings it up to his face and inhales deeply. “That’s better.”

Shane’s stomach stirs and he leans against the bed’s backboard, bringing his hand slowly down to his shaft. He spreads his legs and gives himself two even slower pumps.

Roz watches him unblinkingly the entire time, eyes switching between the action and Shane’s face. 

“Fuck, Hollander,” he mutters, eyes alight with lust.

If he wants to play it this way, then fuck it, Shane will play ball.

He exhales with an audible whimper; Roz reacts exactly like Shane knew he would.

“Are you going to fuck me?” He asks softly.

Roz empties his glass again. “We will see.”

Shane scoffs, but doesn’t let up his own stroking. He rests his head all the way back until his eyes are hooded looking at Roz who is somehow still on the other side of the room. He supposes his self-control is commendable. 

“I need…”

Roz’s brows are drawn when he stares back with parted lips. “What?”

Shane squirms a little at the pressure building between his legs. It’s not satisfying at all. “You know.”

“Tell me.”

God, he’s so beautiful.

“You,” Shane whispers. 

Roz is silent, but Shane can practically see the blood pumping through his veins and the faster rising of his bare chest.

“I need you,” Shane finishes. He lulls his head to the side for good measure and flutters his lashes in the way that always gets Roz to call him bunny in Russian when he thinks Shane hasn’t figured out the translation yet.

Roz watches him for another empty second. He finally puts his glass down and walks over to the bed as he takes off the damn dress shirt. Shane is so relieved that he moves on autopilot crawling across the mattress to get to him faster.

He wastes no time eagerly pulling his boxers down and swallowing Roz’s entire cock when he gets to the edge of the bed. Roz’s fingers weave their way through Shane’s hair and he moans at the familiar feeling.

This is normal. 

This is what they do.

This is what he’s missed.

This is what Shane wanted.

He repeats this to himself when Roz finishes roughly in the back of Shane’s throat. He repeats this when Roz orders him onto his stomach and preps him with precise fingers and no lingering touches. He repeats this when Roz rams into him over and over until Shane is seeing stars again. He repeats this when he orgasms all over Roz’s satin sheets and collapses.

He repeats this to himself a little harder when Roz gets up immediately after to pour himself another glass of vodka. 

Never once has Roz left his side right after sex. He always lets Shane cling to him and peppers him with soft kisses and praises until they both decide it’s time to detach and shower. Tonight, the temperature in his room is sub zero. 

Shane pulls himself up with great effort and drags the duvet over his legs, suddenly aware of how exposed he is. Thankfully, Roz returns to the bed with his drink and sits against the pillows beside Shane. He doesn’t get close enough to touch and it feels intentional. There’s hardly a few inches between them, but right now, it may as well be a canyon he can’t cross.

They sit in silence like this for a minute.

And then another.

And then Shane can’t take it anymore.

Every time he braves a sideways glance at Roz, the man looks deep in thought like he’s not even in the room with him. Like they didn’t just have really weird sex.

Shane wants to ask. Ask about everything. About Russia. About them. About him. About nothing. Something.

But he has no idea where to start.

The frustration and hurt starts to build in his chest.

Fuck. They didn’t even kiss tonight.

Roz rubs at his face tiredly and Shane notes the eye bags that have only gotten worse since he last saw him on shift. The marks on his neck are also extra prominent.

Shane clears his throat. “So, how was your trip?” He asks tentatively.

Roz doesn’t react, doesn’t look at Shane once.

Undeterred, Shane soldiers on. “Bood said you went back to Russia. Were you there to see family?”

“Yes,” Roz replies curtly.

“I’ve never been to Russia. It looks nice in photos.”

“Hm.”

“Do you like it there?”

Roz freezes for half a second. “It’s home,” he replies cryptically. Shane thinks his non-answer is telling enough.

“Is most of your family still there?”

Again, Roz doesn’t react until Shane thinks he’s going to be ignored. “Yes, most.”

Shane nods. He supposes Roz is referring to Svetlana who must be responsible for the hickeys. If he has other family here with him, Shane has no idea. And if he has other girls he calls back home for company, Shane doesn’t want to know. 

“Do you have to go back often?”

“Just when I need to.” 

“I’m sure they were happy to see you last week.”

It’s the wrong thing to say and Shane knows it the moment the words leave his mouth and the canyon between them turns into an ocean.

Roz stiffens and his breathing hitches imperceptibly. Shane is about to say something else when Roz turns his body and swings his legs off the bed.

“Is late. I need to sleep.”

He may as well have slapped Shane in the face.

“Oh, right. Yeah, me too.” 

Shane is a tangle of limbs as he frees his legs from the cover and pushes off the bed. His clothes have all fallen to the floor and there’s an uncomfortable sense of shame crawling down his neck as he picks everything up. When he risks a look behind him, Roz is still sitting on the other side unmoving. 

Look at me, you coward.

Chewing the insides of his mouth to control his breathing, Shane quickly puts his clothes back on and notes how cold he still feels even after getting dressed. 

“I just left my jacket outside,” he says stupidly once his last sock is on.

Roz barely nods. “Goodbye, Hollander.”

Shane stares at his obnoxiously sculpted back with anger bubbling in his own chest.

That’s it?

One week of silence and this is what he gets after?

He’d rather Roz have just broken off their arrangement. Shane hates how he feels like a cheap hookup and he has no idea why. The ambiguity hurts even more because all he can control are his own thoughts and they have not been the kindest in Roz’s absence. 

Maybe Roz has been planning to end things with Shane this whole time and he just wanted one last go at it. Like closure.

Except this is the worst fucking closure Shane’s ever gotten.

He turns around and storms out of the room. He makes it all the way to the front door and pauses to see if Roz will chase after him. It’s that same naive hope he’s been clinging to all evening.

Of course, he’s met with silence.

His eyes are burning, but they’re out of anger and frustration. 

Did Shane miss something earlier? Was there a cue he was supposed to pick up on? Did he say something wrong? Is it his fault Roz is treating him like shit?

He knows as soon as he gets home, he’ll mentally rerun the last 48 hours with a fine tooth comb. Maybe Shane did something to extra-piss off Roz. Maybe this is all to get back at him for something. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Something. Something. Something.

It’s the black box paradox. 

He has an input; his and Roz’s easy months-long involvement with each other. He has an output; today’s clusterfuck of a meetup. But he has no clue what happened in between. 

Is it his fault?

Shane stops with his hand on the door knob. Both his shoes and jacket are on, his belongings are stuffed in his pockets, and he’s practically out the door already. 

But he stops. 

“What the fuck am I doing?” He says out loud to himself.

The sound of his own voice snaps him out of his spiral.

Why is he the only one guessing and in the dark? Last he checked, two people are required for all the activities they partake in.

And Shane’s been nothing but patient and understanding. He didn’t push when Roz dropped off the grid for a week; he gave him space when it was clear he wasn’t in the mood at work; he even showed up tonight when any sane person would’ve stayed home with how Roz acted during the day. 

Because he was worried. And he missed Roz. And he was willing to wait until he got over whatever this slump is about.

All this to say, Shane doesn’t fucking deserve to be treated like this. Not after all this time they've spent together.

“Fuck this.” He shuts the door, kicks his shoes off (and puts them back on the shelf), and marches right back inside.

When he re-enters the bedroom, he’s a little stunned to find Roz in the same position he left him in plus underwear. Despite still baring his wide back to the world, he’s hunched over with his elbows on his knees at the edge of his king-sized bed. He looks impossibly small, nothing like the Rozanov that Shane has come to know at work or in the bedroom.

Roz hears him come back and turns around in surprise. “What are–”

“Tell me what the fuck is going on,” Shane cuts him off.

Roz pauses. “What?”

“You heard me. Tell me what’s going on with you and why you’ve been acting like this since you came back.”

Roz sighs. “Hollander, is very late.”

Shane nods. “It is. So, you better start talking because I’m not leaving until I get a clear explanation.”

It both pains and satisfies Shane when Roz rubs at his face harshly and turns back around to face the wall again. “I don’t know what you want.”

Shane rolls his eyes and decides to be brave for a little more. He walks around to Roz’s side of the bed and sits down beside him, leaving some space. 

“I want you to explain to me why you’re treating me like shit,” he says pointblank. 

This finally gets a reaction out of Roz as he jerks his head up to look at Shane. 

They stare at each other for a few seconds. Shane finally sees a ghost of pre-Russia Rozanov when his face seems to crumble a little at the brutal realization that he’s hurt Shane.

“It's been a long day, Hollander. Please go home,” Roz begs. His voice has lost the chill it’s been carrying and now just sounds hollow.

Shane frowns. “No. Not until we talk.”

“There is nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit. You’re not that good of an actor and I’m not as dumb as you think I am.”

This time, Roz frowns. “I don’t think you’re dumb,” he says quietly.

It’s the nicest and most honest thing he’s said to Shane since he came back.

“Okay,” Shane says, much softer. “Then talk to me.”

Shane watches Roz’s chest rise and fall steadily because it’s the only indication that time is passing. His gold cross hangs freely against his clavicle and Shane wonders why he has such a short and dainty chain for something he clearly cherishes and never takes off.

“There is nothing you can do,” Roz finally says in a factual tone.

“About what?”

“My…” Roz vaguely gestures with his hand before dropping it back into his lap.

Shane waits a beat to see if he’ll finish his thought. “Is it Russia?” He asks.

He’s surprised when Roz nods barely. 

“Is just…,” he sighs deeply, chest shuddering as the mask starts to thicken again. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Shane internally grumbles at the three steps backwards. Has Roz always been this closed off? 

Yes, he has. Shane just never needed him to be anything else. 

But now he does. For both of their sakes. 

“Did something happen back home?” Shane guesses.

“I don’t…” Roz drops his chin and shakes his head like it’ll stop the conversation.

Shane takes a deep breath, wanting to remain passive. “Look, I’m not trying to force you, but there’s clearly something going on and I’ve been in the dark for over a week about it thinking it’s my fault,” he admits. Roz shakes his head again as if to deny it, but Shane finishes his point. “You were there for me when I freaked out after Kip’s party. I’m just offering the same back to you now.”

He hopes his earnestness is evident because he means every word.

Roz digests the words slowly. Shane watches him carefully until he straightens up ever so slightly. He stares at the floor in front of them like he can’t bear eye contact right now.

“My father,” he starts hesitantly. “He is sick. In Moscow.”

“Sick like…” Mentally? Cancer? Recovering? Palliative? 

“Dementia.”

“Oh,” Shane says quietly. “That’s awful.”

Roz nods and clenches his jaw. “He was… is not a good man. I go back to take care of him when he needs.”

Shane wonders what he means by not a good man. He hates to assume the worst, but memories of yesterday's car crash come flooding back: how Roz had lost it on the husband and even Shauna mused that he took it more personally than she did.

He hates it because, again, Shane can’t even fathom such a scenario in his own family.

“Do you have anyone to help you when you’re not there?” 

“My brother. He watches papa usually, but Alexei can be… nekompetentnyy? Not competent?”

“Incompetent?”

“Da, incompetent. I go back when I’m worried he is not taking care of our father.”

Alexei rings a bell and Shane suddenly remembers the phone call he’d overheard. Roz must’ve been on the phone with his brother. It pains Shane to think speaking with a sibling would bring someone such grief and stress like it did to Roz.

Roz scratches subconsciously at his neck and Shane watches the movement with hawk eyes. There’s a split second where his fingers are splayed at just the right angle for all the red bruises to line up and Shane suddenly feels like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice water.

Those aren’t hickeys.

They’re petechiae. Pinprick bruises from strangulation.

All five of his senses dial to 100. The distance between them is suddenly too much for comfort and all he wants to do is pull Roz into his lap. But that is definitely the last thing the man wants and also not one of the steps Shane was taught in the assault and violence unit of medicine.

“Did they…,” Shane trails off, unsure if this is a conversation Roz will want to have right now and also unsure if Shane can do it without losing his cool. “Did they hurt you?”

The question catches Roz off guard. He immediately drops his hand back into his lap and turns away from Shane. 

No, don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you like you’ve seen all of me. 

They sit in silence again, but Shane doesn’t try to fill it this time. Roz has to be the one to resume this conversation.

So, he waits. He’ll wait the entire night if that’s what Roz needs.

“Was an accident. Nothing serious,” is all he says eventually. The fact that he doesn’t deny the allegation is confirmation enough.

Shane’s reminded of Shauna and all the other victims he’s spoken to about violence. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want help. He tells himself it’s not his place to push any of them, but that he’ll be there to support them when they’re ready. That’s all he can do until then.

But Roz isn’t a victim on a call. He knows him better than anyone else he’s had to treat.

And that’s exactly why Shane nods reluctantly and lets it go. For now. When Roz is ready to talk about it, he’ll be here.

“Okay,” Shane says quietly. “What about your mother?”

Roz barely blinks. “Dead.”

Shane’s stomach drops for the umpteenth time this evening. “I’m sorry.” 

“I was young,” Roz says dismissively, like that means he’s over it. Shane knows him better than that.

“I’m still sorry. This is a lot for one person to handle alone.”

Shane’s not sure he’d be able to. He’s never even considered handling something this big alone because he’s always had his supportive parents and a circle of acquaintances. God, what would he do if his own mother… no, he can’t even think about it.

It breaks his heart that Roz has been carrying this heaviness by himself with no one knowing, that behind his boisterous personality is someone deeply burdened and seemingly alone. Everyone at work just chalked his attitude up to Russia and left it at that. Not one person thought to ask him about it. He doesn’t exactly make it easy for anyone to, but Shane knows none of their colleagues likely even tried. At this moment, he’s thankful Roz at least had Dr. V.

“I guess,” Roz says. 

“Thank you for telling me.” Shane thinks it’s the right thing to say. This entire conversation gave him the impression that Roz has never spoken these words out loud to anyone before. He’s grateful for the honesty and openness and trust.

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Good, because I don’t have any for you.” 

Roz gives him a deadpan look like he’s not convinced, like it’s impossible Shane can’t think less of him now.

“Hollander.”

“Rozanov,” he retorts. “Do you think I’m pathetic for freaking out over you almost dying?”

Roz frowns. “What? No. Why would I…?”

Shane nods. “Exactly.”

They lapse into more silence, but it’s comfortable this time. Shane is processing everything that just happened. He’s proud that he stood up for himself and held firm despite Roz trying his hardest to shut him out at first. Given what they’ve just talked about, Shane can understand why he kept it all to himself. His only hope now is that Roz knows Shane will be here for him.

A few minutes later, Roz finally meets his eyes and Shane is relieved to see soft green again. “I’m sorry about tonight. I did not mean… no, it doesn’t matter. I hurt you and I’m sorry.”

Shane nods. “You did, but I’m glad you talked to me. I forgive you, I think.”

“You think?” Roz asks, half amused.

He shrugs. “Yeah, I think so. I was mad earlier, but mostly worried,” he answers honestly. “And now I’m not mad anymore.”

Roz chuckles lightly; it’s music to Shane’s ears. “Still worried about me, Hollander?”

Shane elbows him jokingly and Roz lets him. He already knows the answer.

“You should still be mad,” Roz says.

“Why?” 

“Because you know me; I’m a selfish and lazy asshole.” 

Shane pauses. And then immediately frowns at the firmness that underlies his sarcastic tone, like Roz is mocking himself. 

The statement confuses him. Selfish and lazy? Those are the last adjectives Shane would use to describe him. He has yet to see Roz take the selfish or lazy way out of anything. Especially at work, he drives his body into the ground and consistently puts everyone else’s wellbeing (Shane’s included) before his own. If anything, Shane wishes Roz would be a little less noble sometimes. 

Even the way Roz calls himself an asshole feels unfair. Sure, he’s been a dick for the last few hours and loves to get on people’s nerves, but to Shane’s awareness, Roz has never disrespected or harmed anyone who didn’t deserve it. In fact, Shane’s pretty sure everyone at 17 deeply adores Roz and all his charm (Hayden would never admit it, but Shane saw the concern on his face when watching Roz at the trailer fire). 

He’s never been the best at reading social cues and subtext, but sitting beside him right now, Shane realizes that Roz truly thinks this lowly of himself. It’s another lapse in the simulation to uncover such a sobering truth: that someone as outwardly confident and ostentatious (and wonderful) as Rozanov would believe something so false.

It’s the easiest thing in the world for Shane to respond, “I don’t know that side of you at all.”

Roz’s face does something complicated before it settles into a small, barely there smile. 

“You are something else, Hollander.” He says this too softly for Shane to actually take any offence.

Shane scoffs. “You too, Rozanov.”

“You forgive me?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“What? You want me to stay mad?”

Roz shakes his head. “I want a do-over. You can forgive me after that.”

“A do-over?”

He nods and looks down at Shane’s lips, leaning in until they’re nose to nose. He stops just before their lips touch and Shane holds his breath like his lungs have forgotten how to function. Roz gives him enough time to pull away if he wants to.

He does not. 

When they finally kiss, Shane feels a weight lift off his chest. 

Roz brings one hand up to his face softly while pressing deeper into Shane like a starved man. He moves on instinct alone, standing up halfway without breaking contact to swing his leg over Roz’s lap to straddle him on the edge of the bed. 

Roz’s arms wrap around his waist and he thinks hands are about to slide into his pants with how this kiss is going, but Roz just keeps holding Shane tightly. It’s a nice feeling.

Fuck, this is what Shane wanted. This is what he’s missed. This is what they do. This is their normal.

Shane moans into his mouth; he might’ve even sighed in relief. 

“You still want?” Roz asks out of breath into Shane’s ear.

“Always.”

Chapter End Notes

Suka blyat: fucking shit/bitch [vulgar insult]
Aga, konechno: yeah, right/yeah, of course [sarcastically]

eeeeeeeee i hope this was angstmaxxy! i truly have no words for how lovely it was to read everyone's comments on the last chapter. i'm having so much writing these characters and this story that it's just icing on top to see other people enjoying the journey with me. thank you for leaving the sweetest and most heartfilling words; i'm honestly still in awe that anyone even knows about this fic.

all credit to rachel reid/jacob tierney for some of the dialogue i pulled straight from the source. "i don't know that side of you at all" is easily my favourite line in the books/series and i just had to put it in this fic. i hope it feels natural and doesn't take you out of the story when you see copied lines.

with that said, i have nothing else to say about this chapter lol it was a blur writing it and trying to make everyone's feelings and actions make sense. i'm mostly just happy with how shane's inner dialogue turned out because i'm sick of characterizations where he's a docile lil pushover like ??? that man has a mouth on him and will call you out pointblank. this was also an exercise in staying true to the narrator because there were a few times i was like wait but ilya is definitely thinking xyz... oh wait shane isn't a mindreader! and ilyaaaaaa baby! i'm treading his storyline very sensitively, but do feel free to call me out if ever needed. all the violence response training shane was talking about are real and they were personally my least favourite part of med (for the short duration i was there anyways).

i hope you enjoyed and please leave your predictions for what happens next! i loooooove the theory comments <333 love yaaaaa unnhh!

Chapter 6: Interlude

Chapter Notes

interlude chapter as we move into act II haha

no content warnings, just peak situationship hollanov acting like a married couple <33 inspired by some very real texts from my old romantically ambiguous situationships... enjoy! (make sure creator style is on; i don't know how to make the texts work if you have it off sorry...)

p.s. parentheses )) and (( are how russians typically type the smily/frowny face, wanted to put that out there so no one's confused on what ilya is typing.

Господи - Oh, God/Jesus/Oh my God [exasperation]

Chapter End Notes

i say this every update but truly thank you for the kind comments on the last chapter <333

i hope this quick interlude was fun to read because it was a lot of fun to write (not code). they're just sooooo in love but have no intention of confronting their feelings yet ugh i love hollanov. what's everyone's favourite text from this? mine might be roz calling hayden "little rat". shane's "nevermind, explode" is also up there. i did giggle to myself quite a bit during this process lol

i also just love texting fics and anything that's impressively coded. if anyone's suspicious i'm using ai, i can guarantee the roundabout and not at all easy way i'm coding this would shortcircuit any learning model LOLLL (i would know, i am unfortunately an engineer irl).

don't pay too close attention to the dates. i tried my hardest to align with their 24-hours on/48-hours off shifts but if anything doesn't work, just assume this doesn't show every single one of their texts. the time stamps should align appropriately though.

next chapter is coming soon too! just wanted to show their relationship developing and time passing without word vomiting, so i figured texts were the best way to do that. see yall in the next one <3

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

we are so back :D

content warnings: shane sort of hooks up with another person; if you're not a fan of non-hollanov sex, feel free to skip over it and i can summarize what happened in the end notes.

trigger warnings: the team responds to a drug overdose and suicide attempt victim near the end of the chapter. i will bold where the scene starts if you need to skip to the ***. i can summarize what happened in the end notes.

It’s 9 am on a Tuesday and Shane is biting Roz’s hand to keep from moaning too loudly. 

“Fuck, Hollander, you have fangs?” Roz grunts from behind him.

Shane hardly hears him, senses overloaded with the cool metal of the washer against his stomach and Rozanov thrusting into him from behind. He’s bent over the machine and gripping onto the sides for dear life. 

When Roz texted him for laundry after their last rescue, Shane was not anticipating getting railed, but hey, that’s his life these days. Go to work. Save some folks. And then get fucked (in a really good way). 

“Oh f-f-f-fuck, pochti," Roz rasps, heavy breath tickling Shane’s ear and sending more shivers down his neck.

Shane bites down harder on Roz’s hand until he’s sure there are teeth marks on the fleshy part of his thumb. He’d been offended the first time Roz covered Shane’s mouth in the laundry room. It was instinct on the man’s part, Roz claiming Shane was being waaaaayyyy too loud if he was the one that wanted to keep their activities a secret. Since then, it’s evolved into another Pavlovian reaction for Shane every time Roz clamps his hand against Shane to muffle his sounds.

“Sh sh, kotenok, people are outside,” Roz whispers. 

Shane returns to Earth enough to hear footsteps and laughter coming from the hallway. He takes deep breaths to control himself but he can’t help the whine that escapes when Roz slows down his movements. This makes him laugh; he buries the sound in Shane’s shoulder and presses a soft kiss to his neck while he’s there.

“Please finish before we get a call,” Shane begs quietly. If the alarms go off, Shane might have to kill Rozanov and then himself.

“Only because you sound so pretty right now,” Roz responds, free hand sliding under Shane’s shirt to his chest. He squeezes twice and Shane exhales as silently as he can. It must not be as quiet as he thinks because Roz immediately presses his hand over Shane’s mouth again.

Thankfully, Roz understands how precious and fleeting their time in this laundry room is because he’s quick to send them both over the edge.

Shane shudders and moans right into Roz’s palm as he finishes. He all but collapses onto the machine, legs no longer strong enough to hold him up. Similarly, Roz lets out a muted laugh when he comes a beat after.

They stay pressed against each other for a minute just breathing in sync.

It’s thrilling to know they’ve been doing this for months and Shane is just as elated and affected as the first time. In fact, because of how well they know each other now, their hookups have only gotten better. He thinks this will never get old for as long as they keep it up.

Roz is the first to move and slowly pulls out. He kisses Shane’s shoulderblades and gently hauls him up to his feet.

“You okay?”

Shane lets himself be manhandled (it’s secretly one of his favourite parts) and nods. “Yeah. That was good.”

“Just good?” Roz smirks and holds up his left hand which indeed has a semicircle of teeth marks.

Shane doesn’t even blush. “I know you liked that. I’ve seen how you react when I bite you elsewhere.”

Roz stares at him with amusement and an impossible softness that only creeps into his green eyes when he thinks Shane is still too fucked out of his brain to notice. He leans in and they kiss deep and hard like they always do, like this is the last time it’ll happen and they’re both savouring every moment.

When they part, Roz hands him a towel to clean himself up with. He redoes his belt while Roz wipes himself down too.

“Your laundry load or mine?” Roz asks, holding up their dirtied towel and pointing at their two discarded hampers in the corner.

“Yours,” Shane says pointedly.

“Ah ah! Remember the deal? Towel or condom, you pick one or the other.” Roz holds up their used condom with two fingers in his other hand.

Shane’s face scrunches up in disgust and he rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll take the towel.”

The stupid deal that Shane actually came up with. One person deals with the towel they dirtied while the other gets rid of the condom. And since the towel is significantly easier to take care of, that person has to do the other’s laundry load first (without the towel).

“Don’t forget to use two softener pods for mine,” Roz says. Shane doesn’t have to see him to know Roz is winking at him. 

Shane is already loading the washer with Roz’s clothes and flips him off without turning around. He hears a laugh behind him and then the door shuts. 

He gingerly bends down to pick up a bra he dropped in the midst of transferring. It feels especially pitiable that Shane is wincing at the aftermath of being fucked in the ass while washing Roz’s other hookups’ lingerie. He can only assume it’s Svetlana’s since it’s not the first time he’s seen this particular pink bra in Roz’s hamper and at his house.

Roz has still never directly told Shane what his involvement with Dr. V is, other than she is my friend from Russia. He’s hardly even spoken about her. The most Shane has gotten is a brief text or mention in passing about Sveta. It doesn’t take a genius to know Roz is still hooking up with her though. Not that Shane is keeping tabs on him, but every time Roz has turned him down in favour of going home or running an errand for a friend, Shane can only assume what that entails.

It only sort of drives him crazy.

To make matters worse, when Shane finally met Svetlana at Rose’s birthday party, she was genuinely nice. They didn’t have a full conversation–Shane was still bitter about not meeting Roz afterwards and opted to just drop by for 30 minutes before Irish exiting–but drunk-Rose is the perfect host and fostered the weirdest 15 second introduction between the two before Svetlana had to whisk her away to the bathrooms. 

But she was pleasant and clearly a great friend to Rose and others at the firehouse since she moved around the Kingfisher with the ease of a regular patron. Roz conveniently was nowhere to be seen when they spoke. Shane went home and buried himself in his lab research to avoid thinking about the two of them going home together.

“Whatever,” he grumbles to himself. He’s just annoyed that he can’t do his own laundry first. Roz can fuck whomever he wants. Obviously.

He can’t let himself think about the real reason he’s pissed off. Not here.

Just as Shane tosses in two washer and two softener pods (firehouse limit is one each, but Roz has never listened to a rule in his life), the alarms go off.

Ambulance 81, Truck 12, Rescue 1. Construction accident. 96 Francisco Avenue.

He starts the cycle and runs out of the room only slightly limping.

***

When he and Hayden pull back into the garage, he’s immediately swarmed by a mob of children. Given that the only time Shane ever interacts with people younger than him is on the job when he’s trying to treat them, he’s understandably taken aback.

“Mister, are you a fireman too?”

“No, he’s not! He drives a white truck. Firemen drive red ones, duh!”

“Maybe his truck is special!”

“Nuh uh! Only red ones are real!”

“Do you shoot water too?”

Shane is frozen on the spot, still seated inside his ambulance with the door half open. It feels like a press conference with 15 tiny reporters and impossible questions he did not prepare for.

“Alright, everyone! Who wants to meet our paramedics? These are the guys that do the actual saving,” Henry exclaims, coming to the rescue and herding them. 

They move back enough for Shane and Hayden to step outside, but their wide eyes and open mouths don’t get any less intense.

“Uh, hello?” Shane says because he has no idea what is happening. Why are there children hanging around their garage?

“This is Paramedic Shane and Hayden. They’re super smart, like firemen doctors,” Henry tells the kids.

Shane balks at the gross exaggeration, but Hayden steps in before he can correct him.

“Oh man, I totally forgot it was a field day.”

“A what?”

“17 hosts the schools and camps nearby sometimes for a firehouse tour,” he explains and waves at the group with a big smile. “The elementary school ones are the best because they’re always so enthusiastic.”

Shane looks back at the group and finally notices all of them are in matching navy uniforms.

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“Hi guys! Who wants to sit inside the ambulance?”

Shane recoils at the shrieking of excited 2nd graders and subtly sneaks away. There’s a reason he never considered being a teacher or going into pediatrics.

He makes it inside to the kitchen where the high pitched giggling and yelling is less loud.

“Hey Hollzy,” Bood greets and hands him a plate. “How’s our victim?”

“They took him straight to surgery, so we’ll see. Dr. Wang’s team didn’t sound too worried though.”

“That’s good. Help yourself. We’ve got fried rice and kebabs.”

Shane almost moans at the sound of food. He’d foregone his morning oats in favour of doing laundry with Roz. “Thank you.”

As he’s serving himself, the doors swing open for Luca who rushes into the kitchen.

“Hey Haasy! How’s it going out there?” Bood asks.

“Uh, great! Awesome! Totally zero kids vomiting!”

Shane turns around sharply. “Where are they vomiting?”

Luca gives him an apologetic and sheepish smile. “Hayden’s cleaning it up right now, I promise!” And then he runs back outside with a roll of paper towels and surface cleaner.

Shane groans to himself while Bood laughs. “Maybe it’s like pigeon poop: elementary vomit is good luck!”

“Don’t tease me right now about children’s vomit, Bood.”

This makes the captain laugh harder while Shane sighs deeply.

“How long has 17 been doing this for the schools? 22 never had anything like this,” Shane asks, sitting down beside him.

“A while now. It’s part of the community outreach program.”

“I assume this falls onto the candidates to lead?” Grunt work usually gets thrown to the newbies.

“Yep, right of passage. The rest of us help out sometimes, but Hayden’s the only one with kids of his own that actually likes to see more while at work.”

Shane chuckles. “He does love being a dad.”

“And he’s good at it. I just prefer never seeing a child when I’m on shift,” Bood says and then knocks on the table for good luck. 

Not that Shane has any kids or ever foresees himself doing so, but he can imagine that being a parent makes any rescue involving a kid extra personal.

“I’m not great with children, so I think I’ll just hide in here until we get a call,” Shane admits.

Bood laughs. “That’s what most of us do. Plus they like watching us suit up for a call anyways. It’s the most exciting part.”

They continue making light conversation while eating lunch and the rest of the house eventually filters in and out to grab food as well. Hayden joins them after swearing to Shane that he deep cleaned the vomit from their ambulance and locked the doors.

“Hey, where’s Rozanov?” Shane asks when he notices everyone has come in to eat except him and the rookies.

“Out there with Young and Haas,” Hayden answers.

“Oh,” Shane responds automatically. “Why?”

Marly chuckles across the table from him. “The kids love Rozy. I swear, he’s half the reason the schools around here still run this field trip.”

Shane’s eyebrows raise. “Really?” 

Bood nods in agreement. “He’s great with kids.”

Unable to tell if this is a prank, Shane looks to Hayden for confirmation who begrudgingly nods. “They’re not kidding. I hate to admit it, but they do love him. He shows their squad tools and lets them hang off his arms like a jungle gym.”

Shane looks back at the doors like he’ll develop X-ray vision to see through walls. Somehow, he believes it though. And he can see it so clearly even though he’s only getting the picture painted for him. Of course, Roz is good with kids. 

He manages to stay at the table for ten more minutes, chatting with his coworkers without really hearing or contributing anything, before excusing himself. 

The curiosity grows until it morphs into something akin to fear as he cleans his dishes and walks out of the common room as casually as he can. Before he can reach the outer doors, he stops. 

What is he going to do when he sees a group of kids looking up at Roz with admiration and Roz looking back at them with equal fondness? Shane has already been met with frustratingly confusing feelings recently: irrational jealousy for Svetlana’s involvement in his life, unexplainable patience at Roz in instances he’d normally snap in, and a welcoming bewilderment every time his heart beats a little faster seeing Roz see him. He’s mostly been able to rationalize these feelings with shallow justifications, but deep deep deep down, he knows he’s avoiding the truth: he’s starting to like Roz as more than just a coworker he sometimes fucks. Maybe. Possibly. Unfortunately.

And he fears every new thing he learns about the man will topple the walls he’s carefully constructed that have thus far done a great job at hiding the truth. 

Sighing to himself at how melodramatic and cowardly he’s being in the middle of the day, he pushes the doors open and steps out into the garage. He still needs to complete inventory. That can be the main reason he came out here.

The gaggle of screaming is no longer present and Shane curiously walks around the garage to find where everyone is congregated. Engine 24 has been moved out onto the driveway where the class sits obediently in its shade. Luca and Henry are standing off to the side in full gear carrying a halligan and hoseline, respectively, like video game characters waiting to be activated. 

Shane spots the star of the show easily as he does any time they’re in each other’s vicinity. Rozanov stands at the front with only his jacket on. He speaks to the group with big arm movements and the brightest smile and Shane is already smitten as he watches from the shadows. 

“Communication is important. What if a firefighter is injured and cannot move? How will their team find them?” He asks, somehow not sounding patronizing at all. “This is important communication tool here.” Roz presses the PASS (Personal Alert Safety System) that’s on all their jackets and a loud alarm pierces the air. 

All the kids yelp and cover their ears while Roz laughs with delight. “Is very loud, yes?”

“Yes!” Everyone yells back.

“If a firefighter wearing this jacket does not move for more than 20-30 seconds, this alarm will help us find them in any environment.”

He turns it off and then shrugs out of his jacket. “Now, we will play a fun game. I need one brave volunteer to come be my assistant.”

15 little hands shoot into the air and Roz puts on a show of studying everybody before picking one student.

“Da, you are perfect, little zaychik. You will be my fire assistant today.” He points at a young girl in the back who hadn’t been waving her hand as excitedly as the rest.

“Sophia’s not brave!” One boy suddenly remarks.

“She’s a crybaby!” A co-conspirator to the first boy adds.

The other kids in the class dissolve into giggles while Sophia freezes mid-standing up. Shane frowns at the bullying but before even the teacher can react to reprimand the boys, Roz has already moved towards her.

“Ah, this is not true. Firefighters can always spot brave people and I knew Sophia would be bravest. I have seen one million big fires and I bet Sophia would not have been scared of any of them.” He holds his hand out to her like an offering. “Right?”

Sophia stares up at him with big believing eyes, latched onto every word coming out of his mouth, and nods slowly but surely.

“I knew it! Sophia is very brave, she has told me herself!”

Shane wishes he could immortalize the gentle smile on both of their faces right now; Roz’s because it’s so hard to come by and usually only reserved for when he finds something too endearing to pretend otherwise like his persona would suggest, and Shane’s because he’s morbidly curious to see if he’s truly as bad at hiding his emotions as Roz says he is.

Sophia takes Roz’s hand and he leads them back to the front. “Sophia will be Lieutenant today,” he announces and then helps her into his jacket. It’s comically large on her and the helmet he places on her tiny head manages to get a kinder round of giggles out of the class and her.

“Lieutenant Sophia, Haas and Young are at your disposal. How about we order them to fire up water cannon and show everyone how strong it is?”

“I want to see water cannons,” she says eagerly.

“It is settled then! Candidates, fire up the water cannon for Lieutenant Sophia please.”

Luca and Henry break into action, climbing onto their rig to demonstrate. Meanwhile, Sophia stays near Roz, practically leaning against his leg while his jacket trails the floor with how big it is on her.

The sight does something complicated to Shane’s heart. Or, he supposes it’s not actually complicated at all if he thinks about it for more than two seconds. He’s feeling warm and fuzzy and everything he should not feel for someone he has no claim on. Their involvement with each other begins in the laundry room and ends in one of their beds. It does not include visions of children that share either of their genes or last names or any children at all. 

Somehow, Sophia’s platinum blonde bob morphs into a head of curly brown hair straight from Svetlana’s head and Shane has to physically blink his eyes to get rid of it. 

He knows there’s no world in which Roz would choose to be with Shane over Svetlana (or any woman for that matter), no matter how much Shane thinks about it (or doesn’t think about it). He’s far from knowledgeable on the politics of Russia, but even he knows what the consequences of a man being with a man are. And Shane would never ask Roz to choose between him and his home country, even if he is privy to Roz’s apparent disdain for the place. 

No, it’s just not a possibility. Criminalization aside, Shane pales in comparison to Svetlana and he knows it; he knows Roz knows it too. She drives his fancy sports car while Shane despises the sound and eyesore. She’s a respected ER doctor while Shane remains a paramedic making a fraction of her salary. She goes out and drinks with Roz when he wants to, staying out until the early hours of the following day while Shane begs to leave the function at 9 pm so he can be in bed by 11 pm at the latest. 

No one would bat an eye at the two of them in public or at work. She’s not afraid to kiss him in the daylight.

It’s only a little agonizing, he admits. Shane had come to these conclusions the night of Rose’s party when he watched the two of them dance together, blending into one until Shane couldn’t tell where Svetlana ended and Roz began. They fit perfectly in each other’s space, something Shane doesn’t think he could do. And someone as beautiful as Roz deserves that.

But that doesn’t mean Shane’s rolled over and given up. If the only places he can pretend he has Roz are in the laundry room at work and their homes in the dead of night, then he’ll make the most of that. He can learn to be grateful that he gets to spend 24 hours with Roz at a time. He can learn to stop smiling at every new notification on his phone. He can learn to control his cardiac arrhythmias whenever Roz kisses him.

He can learn to build bigger walls.

He’ll do what’s needed to preserve what little he has.

Watching Roz swing Sophia up onto his shoulders with ease so she can feel the mist of the water cannon coming from the top of the rig, Shane knows he’s in too deep; his own chest tightens with how besotted he is. He can’t help that he’s unable to tear his eyes away because he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of Roz in such a carefree and authentic state looking as young as he should be. 

Right now, Shane hopes no one comes out to find him because he’s certain that even a stranger could see right through his phony walls and unravel the secrets he’s trying so hard to conceal.

***

“I swear, if there’s no more fucking food left,” Hayden grumbles once Shane puts the ambulance in park.

“I know, I’m starving too,” Shane says in agreement.

It’s almost 10 pm and the two of them have been out on back to back calls since 6:30 pm which is conveniently when Bood’s highly anticipated dinner was served. They caught a break at 8 pm when they made it all the way back to the firehouse for five minutes–Shane only managed to half heat up his plate–before the alarms went off again. He just hopes no one’s bothered throwing out his cold meal yet.

The common room is quiet when they enter and the two of them make a beeline for the stove where all the food had been.

“Fuck!” Hayden curses when they come across the cleaned out pans.

Shane opens the fridge desperately and deflates when all he’s met with are cans of pop and unlabeled tupperware containers that usually store leftover produce or expired takeout. 

“Shane, I’m about to become fucking homicidal,” Hayden declares as he sinks into a chair.

He sighs and rubs his eyes tiredly. “Let’s just order something.”

“But I’m hungry now.”

Shane gives him an unimpressed and deadpan glare. He is not in the mood to deal with any whining from his adult friend. “Then make yourself ramen.”

Hayden groans and drops his head onto the table.

Shane is staring at the array of miscellaneous ingredients and trying to decide if it’s worth making something from scratch right now or just forking over Uber Eats money. He’s never been this hungry and he already ate all the snacks he packed for this shift, plus a protein bar is hardly going to satisfy him. A box of mac and cheese on the shelf grabs his attention and he pulls it out reluctantly. As made evident by his overnight oats and healthy packed snacks, Shane is not a fan of overly processed foods. But his stomach is releasing criminal amounts of ghrelin and rumbling very loudly as a result.

“Welcome back.”

The speed at which Shane whips his head around and almost drops the mac and cheese is embarrassing when he hears Roz enter the common room.

“Rozanov,” he greets civilly. 

Roz walks towards him and merely gives Hayden a confused quirk of his eyebrow. “What’s wrong with him?”

Hayden flips him off without lifting his head from the table.

“We were hoping there’d be leftover dinner,” Shane says with a sigh.

“Ah, yes, was very delicious. Bood’s best meal yet.”

“Fuck you, Rozanov,” Hayden says.

Roz grins while Shane rolls his eyes. He swears annoying Hayden is almost as enjoyable as sex for Roz.

“You did not eat?” Roz asks.

Shane shakes his head. He texted Roz around 9 pm when he received a laundry request followed by a where tf r u. 

“We’ve been in back to back calls,” Hayden answers.

“Well, I know you haven’t eaten,” Roz says pointedly at Shane and then nods to Hayden still slumped over the table. “I saw you eating when we were all together.”

“I had like three bites,” Hayden retorts. 

Roz hums and steps beside Shane to open the fridge. He’s trying not to stare at the man too obviously, but he can’t help inching a little closer as subtly as he can. Only Roz could make their BFD mandated uniforms look good after 15 hours of work. Even the mix of his lavender shampoo, musky cologne, and cigarette smoke are like olfactory receptor magnets to Shane.

Shane wants to reach out and… do what? Kiss him at work? Touch his hand? Show he wants him as bad as Roz wanted him an hour ago and every other time he’s sent a laundry text? Anything, he supposes. It’s been a long day.

But he doesn’t because Hayden is right there and someone else could walk in at any moment. He settles for just admiring him from a distance and hoping he’ll get wrapped up in Roz’s nauseating scent some time later.

Roz pulls out a plastic container from the very back of the fridge and places it on the counter in front of Shane. There’s a sticky note with ROZ scribbled messily across on the lid.

Shane looks up at him. Roz looks back at him expectantly.

“What?” Shane asks dumbly.

Roz opens the lid and lo and behold, there lies Boodram’s take on Korean BBQ: thick cuts of pork belly, garlic fried rice, limp lettuce leaves, honey-ed spam, and even remnants of kimchi.

He snaps his eyes back up. Roz is observing him with the ghost of a smile on his lips looking mighty smug and proud of himself.

“This is…?”

Roz sighs dramatically and pushes the container closer to Shane like this is as obvious as he can be. “Saved your plate.”

Hayden clocks the conversation and stands up in a haste. “Hey! You didn’t save mine?”

Roz shrugs. “Forgot. Oops.”

Hayden looks like he could throttle Roz with his bare hands right now; the smirk Roz is flashing him isn’t helping either.

Roz grabs a Diet Coke from the fridge and then saunters out of the common room leaving Hayden begging for Shane to share some of his food and Shane completely at a loss for words. 

“Uh, yeah, for sure. Heat it up,” Shane manages to say.

Hayden wastes no time in throwing it into the microwave. His attitude seems to improve instantly and he’s back to yapping about how excited he is to eat.

He doesn’t notice Shane is still staring at where Roz disappeared around the corner.

The warmth in his chest returns and it elicits the same fight or flight response Shane thinks he’d have if faced with a polar bear in the wild. Roz’s kind gesture is invigorating and unbelievably satisfying. But the rational part of his brain, the part responsible for self-preservation, knows he should run as far away as he can.

It’s not conducive to his tiny bud of hope to think Roz might also be feeling the same things as Shane.

“Dude, you pronounce Rozanov so weirdly,” Hayden says, bringing Shane’s attention back to the kitchen.

“What?”

“His name. You pronounce it so fancily.” He’s already portioning out his half of the food.

“I’m pretty sure that’s how you pronounce it,” Shane responds, finally moving to claim his food before Hayden inhales it all.

“Huh, really? Everyone says ROZ-anov.”

Shane shakes his head. “It’s Roz-AN-ov.”

“He’s never said anything,” Hayden says absentmindedly, too busy digging into the food with eyes rolled back into his skull.

Shane is quick to eat too, stomach still contracting painfully. “You should learn to say it right.” He thinks everyone deserves to have their name pronounced correctly, especially by coworkers who you’re with for 24 hours at a time. Especially Roz.

“I’ll consider it since he really came in clutch with this meal. Even though he’s a dick and didn’t save mine.”

Shane shakes his head with a soft chuckle. They eat in silence for the next eight minutes and practically lick their plates clean.

***

***

If Shane had to pick the worst way to spend his Friday night after working a 24 hour shift, going to a nightclub would definitely land quite high in the ranks.

At least he’s not stone cold sober; Rose made sure of that the second he arrived at her place at 10:45 on the dot. He hadn’t been planning on drinking more than a beer, but one glance at his phone reminded him of why he’d even agreed to go out and he promptly downed two shots with the group. Since then, someone magical has been keeping his hand occupied with a glass and he’s been throwing them back without question.

Now, he’s just a bit beyond buzzed and trying to let loose with Rose and everyone else. JJ had come back from the bar with another line of shots for the group and Shane was too caught up in the energy to decline. It burned the whole way down, but Wyatt and JJ immediately started whooping while smacking him on the back, so he felt pretty good after.

Everyone’s drunk and dancing! Shane’s allowed to do that too! Who cares about the impact of drinking on his liver and the dehydration he’ll surely experience tomorrow? Tonight, he’s having fun!

“I’m so glad you came, Shane!” Rose yells over the music into his ear.

He smiles at her. Her strawberry blonde hair is lit up in all kinds of neon colours under the fluorescent strobe lights in this club. “Me too! I’m having fun!” He replies honestly.

She beams and then leans in closer. “You look really hot tonight too.”

It takes him a second to process the words and he stares back at her in surprise. 

Doesn’t she know he’s…?

Before he can finish his thought, Rose nods at something behind him. “That guy definitely thinks so too,” she says with a proud smile. “He’s been staring at you all night.”

Shane turns around to find what she’s talking about. All he can see are sweaty bodies packed too closely. The insanely loud bass that’s vibrating through the floors and into his feet are also not helping him focus.

“What are you–?” 

The crowd suddenly shifts just enough for Shane to make direct eye contact with a blond man a few feet away. He’s staring back at Shane with a smirk as he dances.

Shane can count on one hand the number of times he’s been to a night club and one of those was for a concert his little cousin begged him to take her to. So, needless to say he’s very much out of his depth here. Especially when a hot stranger is staring at him and making fuck me eyes in the middle of the dance floor.

“What do I do?” Shane turns back to Rose

She laughs at the panic on his face. “Do you think he’s hot?”

Shane does a not-so-subtle look behind him again. The guy is still watching him.

“I guess so.”

“You guess so?!” Rose exclaims. “Would you sleep with him?”

Shane’s eyes widen. “I don’t even know him!” If he were sober, Shane would probably address the fact that Rose clocked his sexual orientation which would likely lead to his involvement with Rozanov at work. So, maybe it’s a good thing he’s not sober.

Her face splits into a cheshire grin. “That’s the point. Yes or no?”

Shane looks back one more time just to be sure. “Yeah, I think so. He’s hot,” he admits. And he’s not lying. The stranger is objectively attractive. His blond hair is buzzed close to his scalp and Shane thinks he spotted a lip piercing. He’s not sure if he has a type; maybe his type is just hot dude.

He’s not as hot as Roz…

“Then invite him over to dance!” Rose instructs, thankfully interrupting the spiral his brain was about to go down.

“Uh…” Also something he has never done before.

She throws her arms up in faux frustration (he hopes) and turns her entire body away from Shane to face the stranger. Shane watches in horror as she points directly at the man and bends her finger repeatedly, beckoning him over.

“What are you doing?” Shane shrieks.

She gives him a wink. “Thank me later, Hollzy.”

“Hey,” a deep voice cuts through the music and Shane suddenly finds the stranger right in front of him. He’s just slightly taller than Shane, not as bulky, and incredibly confident when he places a hand around Shane’s waist right away.

“Oh, hi,” Shane says in surprise.

He starts dancing in front of Shane and Shane is so stunned that he forgets to move his body. It’s not until the stranger spins Shane around so he’s pressed up against his chest that Shane finally lets loose and moves with the music. They dance like this for a few songs and Shane finds he doesn’t mind the physical contact and that he’s actually, sort of, kind of, having fun!

“I’m Leo,” the man says, leaning in to avoid yelling.

“Shane.” He can already feel his face turning bright red and not just from all the alcohol he’s had.

Leo smirks. “Nice to meet you, Shane. Were you checking me out?”

“I think you were checking me out first.”

“True. Thanks for inviting me over.”

“That was my friend, Rose. She’s very impulsive.”

Leo laughs, hands moving down towards his ass and pulling Shane in closer. The tug is rough, but Shane isn’t entirely lucid right now and Leo smells like cigarettes, so he moves where he’s moved. 

“I’ll have to buy her a drink later,” Leo says, pressing into Shane until he’s breathing by his ear.

Instinctively, Shane bares his neck for him and Leo starts leaving kisses everywhere. And then he starts sucking on the skin there and Shane moans at the feeling.

He’s sucking too low. Roz knows where the sweet spot is.

Shane wraps his arms around Leo and drops his own head to kiss the man. He’s desperate to get all thoughts of Roz out of his mind, so Leo better be good at his job.

Leo is rough with his tongue, but Shane opens his mouth more and lets him proceed anyways. He has half the mind to be embarrassed about being that PDA couple in a public space, but one glance around confirms not one person (except Rose) is paying them any attention. JJ had disappeared with Kara earlier and Rose’s brothers are happily forming a protective dance circle around her and her friends while she sends Shane excited and supportive cheer moves.

“Want to get out of here?” Leo asks breathlessly.

“Not really. I live kind of far.”

This makes him laugh. “Same. Come to the washrooms?”

Shane immediately wrinkles his nose in disgust at the suggestion. He went earlier and it was gross enough to warrant a hazmat response; he’d peed as fast as possible and lathered up on soap after. 

“Ew.”

Leo laughs again, this time a little exasperated. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Oh, right. They’d be going to the washroom to hook up. That’s even more disgusting.

Roz would race us home in his super fast car and I’d be naked on his comfortable bed in no time.

Shane pulls Leo in for another kiss, letting his own hands slide around Leo’s waist where his crop top rides up enough to reveal a strip of skin. 

He’s not as ripped as Roz.

“Washroom,” he declares. 

Leo smirks and nods. He starts leading them through the crowd, hand tightly wrapped around Shane’s, and Shane looks back at Rose, but she’s already shooing him away.

They manage to squeeze through the packed floor and Shane follows him into the washrooms. The music is more muted here, but the vibrations still reverberate throughout the floor and pulse in his ears. The alcohol is making his eyes swim just a little; he knows his own limits and he’s not close to blacking out, but he’s definitely not in any position to be lifesaving like this. 

Luckily, there’s only one other guy in here washing his hands and Shane is relieved when he leaves quickly. The two of them aren’t even trying to hide what they busted in here intending to do and it’s so embarrassing that even drunk Shane has the decorum to feel some shame.

Again, he’s never done this before. If not for the alcohol flowing through his veins, there’s no way he’d have made it this far. He’s running purely on adrenaline and acetaldehyde.

Leo pulls him into the handicap stall at the end (Shane stops himself from protesting that someone with a disability might actually need this stall) and then pushes Shane up against the wall.

“You’re a pretty man, Shane. Anyone ever tell you that?” Leo whispers in his ear while one hand slinks under Shane’s shirt.

Roz calls me pretty all the time. Especially about the sounds I make for him.

Shane busies his hands with undoing his own belt while Leo occupies his mouth with more making out. 

“I take it this is not your first time?” Leo asks.

“No.”

“Good.”

Leo drops to his knees (God, the floors are so sticky) and his mouth is around Shane’s cock in an instant.

“Oh, fuck,” Shane exhales sharply when the cool metal from his lip ring starts dragging back and forth. It’s certainly an interesting sensation. 

Leo is clearly experienced because the speed and precision at which he moves is impressive. Shane runs his hand over Leo’s head and tries not to get lost in the sensory overload of buzzed hair under his fingers instead of the literal blowjob he’s receiving. 

I miss Roz’s curls.

Shane rucks his hips to get more out of Leo’s mouth and his stomach stirs when he hears him gag a little. Leo brings a hand up to squeeze Shane’s ass while his other hand helps around the base of his cock. 

This is good head, he thinks to himself. Leo’s hot and on his knees in this filthy washroom floor sucking Shane off. He should be thrilled and close to finishing.

But he’s not.

Physically, he knows he could come if he kept going. Mentally, the only thing occupying his brain is pretending it’s Roz in here with him. But there are too many inconsistencies and even drunk Shane can tell the difference. How’s that saying go? He’d know Roz with his eyes closed through touch alone, possibly even smell alone. Hell, maybe even just Roz’s presence would be enough for Shane to relax.

It’s not a good feeling. 

It makes him sick to his stomach thinking Roz might actually be in a similar position right now but with Svetlana instead. He’s probably got his fingers through her hair and his tongue down her throat.

Fuck. He really has to stop thinking about Roz.

When Leo moves one hand to run up and down Shane’s abs, he realizes it’s not just Roz in his mind that’s causing him to feel awful.

“Fuck, stop stop stop!”

Not a second too soon, Shane pushes Leo off of him and stumbles to the toilet to throw up. All the liquid from the last few hours comes rushing out and he tears up at how much more it burns coming back up than going down. 

“Oh, shit,” he hears Leo say behind him.

Shane has lost every shred of his dignity as he rests his forehead against his arm on the seat. His stomach is in absolute turmoil and he doesn’t dare lift his head in case he’s not done emptying.

“Uh… you good, Shane?”

All he can do is give Leo a thumbs up over his shoulder. And then he throws up again.

Great. Thinking about Roz with other people is now a surefire way for Shane to pull trig. 

He has no idea how long he stays slumped over the toilet, head swimming and stomach still turning, before he hears someone banging on the stall. He’s glad he remembered to zip up his pants some time between vomit round three and four.

“Hollander!”

JJ appears out of nowhere by his side and immediately stops in his tracks. “Oh, merde. Yo, Hazy! Get some water!”

Shane feels a hand rubbing comforting circles on his sweat-soaked back. “I’m okay,” he grumbles.

“Yes, you will be. Do you think you got it all?”

He nods. His stomach is still aching, but it’s definitely cleared out if his empty gag reflex is any indication.

“Good. We’ll get you home, buddy.”

“No, I’m okay. Go back to Kara,” he tries to argue. He hopes he’s not slurring his words because that would not be convincing at all.

JJ laughs. “Thanks for the support, but we’re all heading out soon.”

“Oh… that’s good. Home is good.”

“What happened to the guy?”

Shane hesitates. Even inebriated, he’s aware that he never formally came out to his coworkers. Not even Rose who just figured it out on her own.

“Uh…”

“Did he just leave you here? Fucking asshole. You can do better, Hollander. Oublie ce connard.” [translation: Forget that asshole.]

For some reason, the aggressive French makes him laugh. “Je m'en fous. Ce n'était pas lui.” [translation: I don’t care at all. He wasn’t him.]

JJ doesn’t stop rubbing his back and Shane uses it to control his breathing. Inhale for 5, hold for 7, exhale for 5. 

“Ce n'était pas qui ?” [translation: He wasn’t whom?]

The stall door slams against the wall a second time and Shane peaks out from under his arm to see Wyatt burst through with a plastic cup. 

“Hey buddy, drink this,” he says and hands it over.

Shane chugs it like a man in a desert and it instantly makes him feel better. The ice water washes away some of the haze and he blinks the rest away until he can sort of think straight again.

“Fuck, thanks guys,” he grunts. If he can remember when he’s sober again, he’ll have to buy a round of beer for them. 

“Don’t mention it, Hollzy. You okay to go home now?”

He sighs with relief. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

He passes out in the Uber on Rose’s shoulder and somehow makes it back to his apartment. In the morning, he’ll regret this entire evening. But for now, he strips off all his clothes and leaves them on the floor for tomorrow-Shane and then burrows into Roz’s forgotten sweater that he never washed. 

He sleeps like a baby.

***

The first thing Shane did when he got to work was find JJ, Wyatt, and Rose to personally apologize for how he ended their night out.

“Dude, you’re so chill. I had a blast and I’m so down to run it back,” Wyatt had said with a laidback smile.

“Ah, don’t sweat it, Hollzy. We’re vomit-bonded now,” JJ replied with a pat on the shoulder. 

Shane thought about addressing what he’d said in the washroom, but JJ seemed to chalk it all up to the alcohol because he didn’t ask any questions. 

“My sweet Shane, do not ever apologize for having a successful night out,” Rose affirmed.

He didn’t want to burst her bubble by telling her it was, in fact, not a successful night since Shane hadn’t gotten very far with Leo nor did he stop thinking about someone else the entire time.

“And I guess you figured out that I’m gay,” he’d then said to each of them afterwards.

Wyatt’s smile hadn’t wavered. “Hell yeah. Love is love, man.”

JJ merely blinked. “Hard not to notice when I could see you making out with that asshole from across the club. Yes, I’m still mad he just left you in there alone.”

Rose looked the tiniest bit nervous when she smiled. “I’m sorry if I pushed you too hard with him. I just had a tiny suspicion and thought I was being helpful.”

He doesn’t bring up how her suspicions were spot-on since figuring out about him and Rozanov because he’d rather not unpack that situation right now.

Overall, Shane was pleasantly surprised that all the conversations ended well. No one hated him for ruining the night or treated him differently for his sexuality. Not that he thought they would, but there’s always a tiny possibility with these things.

He feels much better when they’re dispatched to a car accident at 8 am. He even recounts what happened to Hayden when they’re on the way back from Med because he heard about what a wild night Shane had and was relentless with his questions. Just like the rest of his friends and colleagues, Hayden didn’t even bat an eye when Shane got to the part where he almost hooked up with a man. Maybe Shane isn’t as straight-passing as he thinks he is.

“Next time you want a wild night out, you gotta come to Ruby and Jade’s school play. The crowd goes crazy for squeaky recorder solos and there are tons of single DILFs.”

“Jesus, Hayd.”

“I’m just saying! Let me know if that’s what you’re into.”

It would be a great start to the shift if not for the fact that a certain someone still hasn’t texted him. Yesterday while Shane was recovering, he expected Roz to text him for a meet up, but it never came. And instead of texting him first like Shane normally would, he opted for some healthy distance and a day to himself (plus he still felt like shit; he’s definitely not as young as he once was bouncing back from a night out with just a cup of coffee). 

He wasn’t expecting the radio silence to continue into their shift. Usually if it’s a slow morning, one of them would’ve sent a laundry request by now or at least some chirp to annoy each other.

But it’s almost 11 am, they’ve only been sent out four times, and Shane’s phone is still notification-less. 

They’d made eye contact after the morning briefing, but Barrett had promptly swooped Roz away for a smoke break. 

Shane decides maybe today will be an exercise in self restraint and control. He can go a whole shift without Rozanov and the laundry room. He’s not as doomed as he thinks and there’s only one way to prove it.

Of course, when have the fates ever been kind to him?

He’s on his way to the kitchen to grab the protein bar he packed when he physically runs into Roz around the corner.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes and takes a step back.

The scowl on Roz’s face immediately drops when he sees it’s Shane. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Roz tilts his head to the side to look at him and Shane mentally curses whatever prompted Roz to put on a backwards cap for work today. It’s like an extra big haha fuck you from the universe after he just vowed to not hook up with him today.

“How is the victim?”

Shane blinks twice before remembering. “Oh! They moved her upstairs right away, so she’s stable.”

Roz nods and Shane forces himself not to look at his bright green eyes. “Heard you had a fun night with Rose,” he says, suddenly changing the topic. 

“How’d you hear that?”

“Hazy is very loud in the mornings.”

Shane sighs. Wyatt is unfortunately a huge chatterbox in the mornings and then becomes a zombie after lunchtime.

“You had fun?” Roz asks curiously. He wonders what exactly Roz overheard from Wyatt this morning because surely hearing that Shane yacked in the toilets does not immediately suggest a fun night.

“Yeah. It was fun,” he replies semi-honestly.

Roz stares directly at Shane like he’s going into his brain and parsing through the memories of that night to personally decide if Shane really had a good time or not. His gaze is intense and unsettling and doing terrible things to Shane’s cock.

Fuck, he misses him so bad.

“Hm,” is all he says. 

Shane is convinced Roz somehow knows exactly what happened, minute by minute, at the club. And why Shane had been so desperate to hookup with Leo only to fail spectacularly for the exact same reasons.

Shane frowns. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

It feels like the mind games Roz liked to play during his first week of work. Shane clearly still sucks at them.

“Did you have fun with Svetlana?” Shane asks, hoping to turn it around onto him.

“Yeah. Was great. Sveta knows the owner of Yves’ House.”

Shane’s eyebrows raise. Yves’ House is a notoriously high-end and expensive nightclub. The only reason he knows this is because his friends from Harvard used to contemn the rich, international students that frequented it out of jealousy. One friend even mentioned once that young European royalty party there. He’s never understood the appeal, but he has seen the photos and can certainly appreciate good taste. 

“That’s nice.”

Roz nods again, eyes dropping down to Shane’s lips.

Fuck.

So, Roz is not giving him the silent treatment because he doesn’t want Shane. That’s good. Technically.

No, he needs to stick to his goal of the shift. Just 24 hours. He can last 24 pathetic hours.

“Want to–?”

Ambulance 81. Person down with an anaphylactic reaction. 105 Sherbourne Avenue.

Shane turns around immediately without waiting for whatever Roz was going to ask. He already knows.

***

It’s almost 8 pm and Shane has had zero orgasms this shift.

He fucking hates it.

Just because he decided he was going to hold out against Roz doesn’t mean Roz also vowed to do the same. What reason does he have for avoiding Shane?

Well, he supposes Roz hasn’t been avoiding him technically. They all hung out in the common room to watch a hockey game and Roz was totally normal. He’s acting as he usually would, just without texting Shane the special words.

It’s pissing him off.

He passes Roz and Marly on their way out to the garage and all Roz does is nod at him casually like Shane isn’t literally ready to jump out of his own skin. To make matters worse, Roz hasn’t taken off that damn cap all shift. It’s like he somehow knows what Shane is trying to do and has taken it upon himself to make that as difficult as possible.

Would it be super pathetic if Shane went to the bathroom to… help himself?

Yes. 100%.

Groaning to himself, he finds JJ, Hayden, and Rose playing cards in the common room.

“Want to join? We need one more for Euchre.”

He supposes a distraction is what he needs even if it’s as boring as Euchre. He sits down across from Hayden. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

JJ just finishes dealing everyone’s cards when the alarms go off.

Ambulance 81. Person down of unknown causes. 62 Peter Road.

“Damn, keep that hand for when we get back. Hollzy and I are totally sweeping!”

***

Shane parks the ambulance and he and Hayden hop out onto Peter Road. Hayden is just grabbing the jump bag from the back when the door to house #62 flies open.

“Help!” It’s a little boy; he can’t be older than 10 if Shane had to guess. He beckons at the two of them urgently.

They immediately follow him into the house and run up the stairs where he stops and points at a closed door. 

“Mama,” he says frantically.

“Your mom is inside? Did she fall?” Shane asks, trying to get more information right away.

The boy stares back at him with wide and terrified eyes. And then he starts speaking. But it’s not English.

“Shit,” Hayden exhales behind him.

Shane has no idea what the boy is trying to tell him, but facetiously, he realizes it’s Russian. He recognizes the speech patterns and intonation and almost laughs out loud at how Roz has infiltrated even his work in the field. There’s not a doubt in his mind that the boy is speaking Russian.

Unfortunately, just knowing the language does not help them; the only words Shane knows are pet names anyways.

When the boy realizes they can’t understand him, he lets out a cry of frustration. “Mama.” He points at the door. “Many time.” He points at the watch on his wrist. “Open.” He shakes his head and mimes trying to open the door.

“Your mom has been inside for a long time and now you can’t open the door?” Shane strings together the charade.

“Mama!” He calls at the door and even bangs it a few times, but there’s no answer. 

Shane nods to show him they understand. “What’s your name?” He asks, pointing at the boy.

“Maksim.” He’s clutching a stuffed toy in his hand; it looks like a bear.

“Okay, Maksim. I’m Shane, this is Hayden. We’re going to get to your mom, but we need you to hang back, alright?” Shane says calmly and gently guides him away from the door, so they can work.

“If it’s blocked, she might’ve fallen behind the door,” Hayden says to him, testing out the door knob. It turns without resistance; the door’s unlocked but still blocked.

“We can’t force it open and risk giving her a spinal injury,” Shane adds, studying the door frame.

“Hey, what’s your mom’s name?” He asks Maksim.

“Katya.”

“Katya, this is Shane from the Fire Department. Can you hear me in there?” He calls while knocking.

No answer, but he thinks he can hear the shower or maybe the tap running. Maksim lets out another frustrated huff from behind them. More Russian ensues and Shane deduces the message from his indignant tone alone. 

“Hey,” he suddenly says and points down at the ground.

There’s water leaking out from the bathroom onto the carpet in the hallway.

“Oh shit. Maybe she’s in the shower and something else is blocking the door,” Hayden suggests, significantly more alarmed now.

Water coming from inside a locked room with no response is never a good sign.

“We can’t risk it. What if she was on her way in and slipped?” He says and runs a hand through his hair, thinking as fast as he can.

“Ambo 81 to Main, we need a truck company assist to our location STAT,” Shane raps into his radio. “We have a possible drowning victim trapped behind a bathroom door.”

“Copy that 81. Dispatching Truck 9. ETA 15 minutes.”

Shane curses. “We don’t have 15 minutes. Who knows how long she’s been down.”

Hayden is trying to work the hinges with his hands. “The door's pretty solid. We’re gonna need tools if we want to get in without kicking it down.”

Fuck.

Shane looks around for what they might be able to use. He sees Maksim standing a respectable distance by the stairway, hands wrung tightly around his stuffed bear and looking desperately like he wants to just barge through the door.

Part of the job is talking to bystanders and keeping them calm while also leveraging them when needed. But Shane has no way of asking the boy for any tools they keep inside the house or telling him that they’re working as fast as they can to get to his mom. 

Unless…

He pulls his phone out and dials a number he’s never called before. It only rings once before connecting.

“Hollander?”

“Roz! I need you and Truck to come to 62 Peter Road ASAP.”

“Truck just got dispatched,” he replies and Shane hears some rustling and then movement. “Squad will be there in five.” No questions asked.

When Shane hangs up, Hayden is looking at him incredulously.

“Find something hard to pry off the frame around the door,” Shane orders without addressing Hayden’s obvious questions. “We’ll buy them some time.”

Exactly four and a half minutes later, Shane hears Squad pull up while they’re working on the door with two hand trowels Hayden found in the mud room.

“We have a woman trapped behind a bathroom door that we can’t force open without risking a spinal injury,” he reports into his radio. “And possibly drowning.”

“Copy that, Hollander,” Bood’s voice replies.

“And her son is Russian and doesn’t speak English,” he adds quickly.

Roz is the first one up the stairs and he finds Shane first. 

“This is Maksim. He called 911,” Shane says, nodding at the boy. He doesn’t dwell on how Roz still has his backwards cap on and how he immediately did a onceover of Shane like he was the one in peril.

“Tvoya mama vnutri?” [translation: Your mother is inside?]

Maksim physically inflates with relief at hearing his language. “Da! Ona poshla v dush pochti chas nazad, a teper' ne otvechayet, i ya ne mogu otkryt' dver'.” [translation: Yes! She went to take a shower almost an hour ago, and now she isn't answering, and I can't open the door.]

“Mother went in for shower one hour ago,” Roz translates for Shane.

He nods and mentally notes that down. He hopes she hasn’t been submerged that entire time. 

The rest of Squad stomp up the stairs carrying a toolbox and saw. Roz moves Maksim to the other end of the hallway to let Boodram through. He assesses the door and then at the trowel still in Hayden’s hand.

“We’ll take it off the hinges and pry it open towards us,” Bood says, putting the saw down.

“Copy that.”

Everyone gives them the space to work and Shane huddles next to Roz and Maksim.

“Menya zovut Il'ya. My vytashchim tvoyu mamu, khorosho?” Roz says, hands brushing Maksim’s hair soothingly. “On samyy umnyy. On budet znat', kak pomoch'.” He points at Shane who looks back at him curiously. [translation: My name is Ilya. We’ll get your mom out, okay? He is the smartest. He will know how to help.]

“Ask him if his mother has any medical conditions or is taking any medication.”

Roz relays the question and Shane listens to Roz like he’s hypnotized, the way his first language flows quick and sharp. Even the muscles in his face move differently than when he’s talking in English. Shane wonders what it would be like to talk to Roz in Russian; he’s sure he’s even more of a smartass.

“Khey, khey, vso v poryadke. Prosto rasskazhi mne vso, chto mozhesh', o svoyey mame.” Roz coaxes gently. [translation: Hey, hey, it’s okay. Just tell me everything you can about your mom.]

Maksim seems to be panicking a little at the question.

“Ona prosto moya mama,” Maksim responds, sounding more and more despondent. Segodnya utrom, posle yeyo vizita k vrachu, my yeli morozhenoye.” [translation: She’s just my mom. We got ice cream after her appointment this morning.]

Roz has squatted down to one knee to talk to Maksim at his level, one hand on his back for comfort. “Po kakomu povodu u neyo byl naznachen priyom?” [translation: What was her appointment for?]

Maksim wipes harshly at his eyes and brings his bear up to his chest for comfort. “YA ne znayu. Ona prosto govorit, chto khodit kazhduyu nedelyu, chtoby pogovorit' s vrachom i pochuvstvovat' sebya luchshe.” [translation: I don’t know. She just says she goes every week to talk to a doctor and feel better.]

Roz bristles at whatever Maksim says. His gentle smile is wiped clean off his face and he looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

Shane frowns at his reaction. He wishes he spoke Russian right now.

“Pull on two, ready?” The cracking of wood down the hall distracts Shane before he can ask for a translation.

Marly and Barrett have four hands on a small opening between the frame and the door and they start pulling. Bood covers from the front and the three of them manage to pry the door out and set it against the wall.

“Clear,” Bood says.

Shane leaves Roz and Maksim and hurries inside with Hayden.

There’s a woman lying right behind the door like her back was up against it. Shane carefully turns her face away from the flooded tiles first and Hayden turns the shower off. There’s no immediate sight of any blood or injuries. 

“Shane,” Hayden says in a grave voice.

He looks up from rubbing Katya’s chest for any response to pain stimulus. Hayden picks something up from the floor by Katya’s hand.

An empty pill bottle.

Shane inhales sharply. “Benzos?”

Hayden reads the label and nods. “Temazepam.”

Sleeping pills.

“Lips are blue. No response to pain. Pupils are constricted. Hit her with naloxone,” Shane says. 

Hayden quickly does as told and administers a shot intravenously. Shane takes the bottle. The doctors at Tufts are going to need to know exactly what she took. 

“Guys, we need the spinal–,” Shane cuts his request to Squad off when he sees a small head of blond hair peek inside.

“Mama?”

“Keep him out!” Shane practically yells, spreading his arms out to block as much as he can. There is no need to traumatize Maksim by seeing his mother in this state and he’s suddenly desperate to protect the young boy. 

In an instant, Roz swoops in and picks him up, turning them around so only he’s looking at Shane. 

Except he’s not looking at Shane. He’s looking at Katya.

Roz must connect the dots on his own when he spots the empty pill bottle in Shane’s hand and Hayden pulling out the Narcan shot. His breath hitches. 

Shane has never seen Roz like this before.

He’s witnessed him trying to conceal his anger and sadness and fear before, but never anything like this. Shane doesn’t think he has the words to describe how wide and shaky Roz’s eyes are. His lips are set in a firm line like he’s chewing the insides of his mouth and his breaths become quick and shallow.

Roz looks so young and vulnerable right now. 

“Get him out of here. Bring the spinal board and help us get her into the ambulance. Take Maksim to Med in your rig,” Shane orders, not caring about the rules on transporting civilians in their trucks; he will not have a child in the ambulance asking questions about his unresponsive mother’s apparent suicide attempt. 

Bood and Marly help load Katya into the back of the ambulance. Hayden has to administer a second shot when she fails to respond to the first one.

“S mamoy vso v poryadke?” A small voice asks as Shane shuts the doors. [translation: Is mama okay?]

Roz is still carrying Maksim on his hip. Despite the setting sun beating down on all of them, his face is ghostly pale. But he puts on a smile for the boy. “My uvidimsya s ney v bol'nitse, gde vrachi yey pomogut. Gotov prokatit'sya na krutoy pozharnoy mashine?” [translation: We'll see her in the hospital where the doctors will help her. Ready to ride in a cool firetruck?]

Shane gives him a curt nod.

Are you okay? He asks with his eyes.

Roz nods back, but it’s the least convincing response he could’ve given.

Shane will check on him once they get Katya to the hospital. He gets into the driver’s seat and blares the sirens. They take off with Rescue 1 following close behind.

***

When they return to the firehouse, it’s clear Roz is not in the mood to talk. At the hospital, he didn’t let go of Maksim until the social worker promised to get a Russian translator. Shane didn’t get the chance to talk to Roz there because he’d been busy advocating for Maksim and demanding they assign Katya to Dr. Vetrova, so she could at least explain what was going on. He’s not sure which doctor got Katya in the end, but she came around after the second dose of naloxone and was semi-lucid when they wheeled into the emergency department. That’s a good sign.

For the rest of the shift, Roz avoids everyone. It’s not the same iciness that he exuded when he came back from Russia, but no one tests him anyways.

Except Shane.

It’s not strange at all that this rescue hit Roz hard. Overdoses are always a rough call to respond to. Especially if kids are involved in any way and Shane did just learn that Roz loves kids. Maybe he’s rattled that Maksim was in that situation. Him being Russian doesn’t make it any easier on Roz either, Shane figures.

Shane’s not exactly sure what’s going on, but the situation reminds him of that car accident with the drunk husband. Roz had taken his verbal abuse towards his wife more personally than she had. He hates to think about the possibility of Roz having any personal connection to an overdose victim. Or a suicide attempt. 

He looks down at his texts with Roz and decides to overturn his previous goal for the shift.

He waits another beat to see if he’ll respond. Nothing.

Sighing to himself, he heads out the doors to get some fresh air. When he walks by their rigs, he spots something sticking out from Rescue 1.

He opens the door. “Oh shit.”

It’s Maksim’s stuffed bear. He picks it up from the floor of the truck and dusts it off. Maksim must’ve dropped it on his way into the hospital. Shane remembers how tightly he’d held onto it the entire time they were in his house. He’s sure the kid would like his comfort toy now more than ever.

If they get another call and go to Tufts, he’ll make sure to bring it. And if they somehow manage to sleep through the entire night, Shane will go to Tufts first thing after his shift is over.

***

At 7:45 am, Shane is in his car and driving to Tufts with Maksim’s bear in the passenger seat beside him. They had not slept through the night and Shane kept the bear in the ambulance the entire time only to not go to the hospital for any of their four midnight calls. Each one had refused transport, citing unnecessary costs which definitely did not lighten Shane’s already sour mood. Sometimes, he’s excited to go back to Canada where an ambulance ride doesn’t cost a fortune to those in need. 

Their last call came in right before 7 which meant he and Hayden had logged overtime to treat a badly sprained wrist from a rollerblading-to-work accident. Chief originally wanted all of Shane’s reports in before he left, but he held up Maksim’s bear and Wiebe’s soft side let him head out early.

Shane had done his best to clean it with soap and wipes, but there’s still a stain that he’s not sure existed before getting into the truck. He’s frankly exhausted, but determined to return the bear to its rightful owner. He makes a quick pit stop in a drive-through to grab a coffee and breakfast bagel and then he’s on the way.

At just past 8 am, he pulls into the parking spot he managed to secure with Luca’s mom’s help and heads inside through the ED. Given the volume of patients at this hospital, Shane figures they probably haven’t moved Katya upstairs yet to an actual room. 

“Good morning, Saranya,” he greets.

She looks up. “Hey Shane. What can I do for you, hun?”

“We brought a woman in last night for an overdose and her son was the one to call it in. He left his bear in our rig and I want to return it to him,” he explains and holds up the stuffie to show her.

She smiles sympathetically and bends down to type into her computer. “Sure thing, let me check where she is.”

He sips on his coffee while he waits and looks around at the chaos. Dr. Wang gives him a wave from across the desk and a few other nurses greet him too.

“Katya Morozova. She’s in one of our private rooms, number 5 on the left over there.”

“Do you know if any family has come for the son? His name’s Maksim.” Shane realizes Maksim never said anything about a father the entire time.

Saranya shakes her head with a pinched expression. “Unfortunately not. Suni was with him for a bit and we set up a cot in mom’s room for him.” Suni is the hospital psychiatrist and 100% would’ve needed to call Child Services for this.

“Is he still here?” Shane asks, suddenly very scared that Maksim is all alone in a social worker’s office.

“Yeah, the kid’s still here. Dr. Vetrova convinced the Department of Children & Families (DCF) to bring their own Russian translator before trying to relocate him.”

Shane exhales with relief. “Oh, that’s good. Thanks, Saranya.”

“You got it.”

Shane rounds the desk to head towards room 5. 

Saranya’s words ring loudly in his head. Is it just Katya and Maksim here? He hardly spoke English; did they move here recently? Not even a grandpa or aunt or friend or neighbour came to check on them?

God, what would’ve happened if they hadn’t been able to revive her? Fuck, Shane doesn’t even want to think about that. All he can remember are Maksim’s terrified brown eyes staring back at him like Shane held his entire life in his hands. He supposes he sort of did.

Just as he’s about to knock on room 5’s glass door, he realizes there are more people inside than he was expecting.

Katya is asleep in the bed, hooked up to as many monitors as needed and looking just as peaceful as when they’d found her. He wonders if she’s woken up yet to speak to the doctors. Or DCF. Or Maksim.

Next to her on the ground is Maksim kneeling over a small table, colouring with crayons that someone must’ve gotten from the pediatrics department.

And Rozanov.

Shane halts to a stop like a cartoon character and stares into the room.

Roz is sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Maksim, comically large trying to share the table with the boy and reaching across him to grab different colours. He’s clearly been here for a while because his bag is tossed in the corner and there’s a cup of hospital cafeteria coffee on the unoccupied chair.

Shane’s not sure if he’s surprised or not. Roz is still wearing his BFD shirt from shift and he can spot the carbonara stain from lunch that everyone had teased him for. The Rescue Squad cap is now forwards on his head of dirty blond curls although he’d changed into comfier gray sweatpants and sneakers.

Shane’s not surprised.

Of course Roz is here. Of course this is the first place he came to right after work.

Roz says something with a quirk of his lips and Maksim collapses over the table with laughter. Shane’s heart clenches. Roz ruffles Maksim’s hair and then reaches for some napkins to wipe at the crayon marks that are now all over the boy’s t-shirt. And Shane’s heart twists. Maksim holds up the drawing he’d flopped over and brandishes it to Roz who dramatically clutches his invisible pearls. Even without clearly hearing (or understanding, since they’re definitely talking in Russian) them, Shane can tell Roz is putting on a show to make Maksim laugh even more. 

The drawing is of a little boy and a fireman standing on top of a firetruck together. 

And Shane’s heart absolutely shatters into a million pieces.

“Neuzheli eto moy velikolepnyy portret? Neuzheli Maksim okazal mne takuyu chest'? Teper' ya dolzhen otdat' Maksimu vsekh svoikh korov! Nadeyus', on smozhet blagoslovit' yego, kak Khlevnik!” Roz exclaims loudly enough for Shane to hear through the doors. [translation: Is this my magnificent portrait? Has Maxim done me such an honor? Now I must give Maxim all my cows! I hope he can bless it like Chlevnik/the breadwinner!]

Maksim throws his whole body into Roz’s lap like he’s laughing too hard to hold his own body upright. He catches him easily and then ensues an adorable faux wrestling match. 

Shane watches from outside and feels his own throat tighten.

He’s always known Rozanov was much softer than he led on. And he’s always known Roz was a far better person than most people at work gave him credit for. No one else from their shift is here right after work. But Roz is. Of course he is.

Not to mention Roz is probably still shaken from what he saw during the rescue. He never replied to any of Shane’s texts and remained MIA for the remainder of their shift, only appearing like a ghost when dispatched. Shane knows Roz better than he thinks and Shane knows what he saw: Roz had been horrified seeing Katya in the bathroom. Not the same kind of horrified that Shane and Hayden and the rest of their shift had been. 

No, this was different, personal, painful. 

And yet here he is playing with a little boy who is too young to grasp the gravity of his current predicament, but who knows there’s a kind man that will keep him calm and safe when he needs it.

Fuck, Shane thinks he really might lo–

“I told him to keep it down a hundred times, but when does he ever listen to me?”

Shane flinches at the voice and spins around to face Dr. Vetrova. Her accent is subtler than Roz’s but it still sends shivers down his spine.

“Sorry, I did not mean to scare you.”

“No, no, that’s okay. Sorry. I’m just… Hi, Dr. V,” he stutters.

She smiles at him. “Hello, Shane. What brings you here?”

Momentarily forgetting the answer in the face of her very intimidating presence, he squeezes the bear in his hand and holds it up. “I found it in the rig and wanted to bring it back for him.”

“Ah, yes, Mishka. He was asking for it last night.” [translation: little bear]

“He must’ve dropped it. I tried to clean it with detergent.”

She nods and then peers around him to look into the room behind. “You can go in, you know.”

Shane feels caught and he holds his hands up awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, of course. I know that. I was just… because I saw… I didn’t want to… it’s not… like, this isn’t…”

Dr. V puts him out of his misery with a quiet giggle. “He was right, you are adorable.”

“What?” Shane frowns at her comment.

She seems to take after Roz because she ignores his question completely and takes a step next to him to look at the room. Her eyes soften when they land on Roz and Maksim who have returned to colouring.

She’s quieter when she asks, “Is surprising, yes?”

“What is?”

She nods at the room. “Ilya.” 

Shane follows her gaze inside and responds without thinking. “I’m not surprised.”

Her smile turns a little sadder despite Shane’s words. “He cares a lot. More than he wants people to think.”

“I know.”

“He is very good despite everything. I’m grateful everyday that he still has so much good in his heart.” She says this with the fondness that only someone who’s known him for years could hold, someone who’s seen him through every high and low of his life.

Shane wonders what everything means, but then he thinks of Roz’s family back in Russia and how Roz had returned a shell of a man and decides to stop thinking about them before he gets angry.

“He’s lucky to have you too,” Shane says honestly. Even if it kills him.

She turns to meet his eye. “I love him,” she says with a tone of absolutement. The sudden confession takes Shane by surprise but he can’t look away. Is this where she confronts Shane for trying to steal her boyfriend? It’ll kill him even more.

“I love him. And I know he loves me,” she continues much to Shane’s dismay. “But it is nothing more than friends who have grown up together.”

That’s not where he thought she was going with this. He stares back at her. What is she trying to say?

Dr. V seems to find his confusion endearing because she looks like she’s trying not to laugh. It reminds him of Roz again.

“Ask me what you have been wondering since you met me,” she prompts.

He narrows his eyes at her a little. Are all Russians good at mind games?

Then he looks back into the room and decides he may as well use this moment to his advantage. Plus, it’s obvious she knows the two of them are involved. It’s no surprise Roz would’ve told his best friend. Somehow, Shane isn’t as nervous as he thought he’d be about a stranger knowing.

“Are you two together?” He blurts.

She grins, clearly expecting this to be the question.

“No, Hollander. We are not together.”

Oh.

Then…

“Do you want to be together?”

“It would be easy, yes? Me and him.”

Shane nods. He’s already thought that a thousand times.

Her smile softens. “No, Hollander. I do not want to be with him like that. And he does not want me like that either. I promise.”

Oh.

“Okay.”

She raises an eyebrow like she can tell he’s not convinced. “When did you join Firehouse 17?”

“About 6 months ago in March.” March 25th to be exact.

She shakes her head with an amused but exasperated scoff. “We have not slept together since April. Do the math.”

Shane blinks. 

“Oh,” he exhales, suddenly breathless.

She suddenly looks very serious when she looks at him. “It is not my place to say and I may be stepping over my territory here,” she starts. “But if anyone deserves a shot at happiness, it’s Ilyusha. I know he does not make it easy sometimes, but he’s worth it. If you will give him the chance to prove it.”

Shane feels like he’s been dunked underwater for too long. There are too many things to process with his sleep-deprived and caffeinated brain right now.

But still, he replies without hesitation, “I know he is.” And he means it.

Dr. V smiles and pats him on the shoulder. “Then my job here is done.”

“Wait, can you give this to Maksim?” He hands her the bear.

“You do not want to give him yourself?”

He casts one more look inside where Roz is smiling, completely unarmed and unknowing that he has any spectators other than Maksim. Shane wonders if anyone else has ever seen this unrestrained version of him. And if anyone else loves him this way. Dr. V probably does. Are they the only two privileged enough to know Roz? Like, really know him? 

Suddenly, calling him Roz or Rozanov feels too juvenile. Shane’s been hiding behind the nickname because he wasn’t sure he could say Ilya without it sounding like a confession. 

God, how long has Shane been deluding himself?

“Not this time. I’ll see him at work. Thanks, Dr. V.”

He can’t stay here any longer, not without giving himself away completely. And as beautiful as Ilya is, Shane’s sure he won’t react well. The last thing Shane wants to do is ruin everything and one glance is all it would take for Ilya to know exactly what he’s feeling. He can’t do that. He won’t. Not yet at least. 

He’d rather have him in this capacity than not at all.

It’s not like Shane can even fault him for it either; they were supposed to just be coworkers that sometimes fuck. Nothing more.

Chapter End Notes

summary of shane's hookup: he thinks about rozanov the entire time and then throws up like 3 seconds into it lol

summary of the last rescue: shane has to call roz and squad for an assist, roz talks in russian with the little boy (maksim) who made the 911 call for his mom, roz learns maksim mom's was likely in therapy, shane and hayden treat her with narcan and transport her to the hospital.

FYI Khlevnik: Chlevnik/the breadwinner is an old russian folklore/tale/spirit that acts like a farm protector (dated a russian guy years ago and pulled this reference from the depths of my memories).

hiiii welcome back! i have many words for this chapter haha

first, i hope the translations weren't awkward to read. i tried to code popups or links to the end notes but ultimately decided just having the relevant translations right in the fic were easier for the reader (and me). i think i'll keep it like this moving forward unless everyone absolutely hates it <3

second, there are some heavy topics included in this chapter and i feel it's important to share resources:
1.Narcan (naloxone) information sheet by the NIH
2. How to get Narcan for free in the US
3. How to get Narcan for free in Canada
4. Take-home naloxone programs in Europe
narcan is super easy to use and objectively easy to obtain in most places. i highly recommend looking into where you might be able to get it and keeping it on you when you go out. you just never know!

5. Canadian suicide prevention hotline
6. US suicide prevention hotline
7. spoiler i am not european so less familiar with their organizations but this website includes many programs around the world including europe

lastly, if being selfish is the reason you're able to convince someone else that they're loved and would be dearly missed, then let that be the reason you convince them to stick around.

thank you, every single one of you reading this, so so so much for the love and support on this fic! it will never not baffle me that anyone even bothers staying tuned into my work. see yall in the next one <333

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

yall are not gonna believe me but i was trapped in korea for a while during a work trip because my passport got stolen but it's cool because i saw hudson on the streets..........

anyways, 16k to make up for the delay. don't hate me <3

It’s surprisingly difficult for Shane to come to terms with his feelings once he sat down and confronted himself head on for three hours after a yoga session. And then he ran a half-marathon for another hour and a half when he started to feel restless just sitting on the couch. And then he called his parents just to hear his mom tell him everything would be fine as long as he was being safe and happy. He didn’t tell her all the details of his relationship with Ilya, but she’s heard about this coworker of his before and he’s never been able to lie to her anyways (plus she totally suspected something when Shane took them to Ilya’s favourite Russian restaurant and introduced it as such).

And then when all of that still made him antsy, he played his Ace card and texted Ilya. He imagines this is the same logic an addict has when promising themselves it’ll be the last time just to check if it still hits the same.

Shane knew it would. It always does.

He props his head up with his arm and watches Ilya put on his boxers from across the room. If he squints, the moles on his back almost look like glitter with every flex of his muscles in the warm glow of his ceiling light.

When Ilya turns around and catches him staring, he gives Shane a lazy grin. “Liking the view?” 

Shane rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. “You wish. Come here.”

Ilya smirks harder. “Clingy today. Did not even let me finish dinner,” he teases while climbing back onto the bed anyways. 

He’s not wrong. When Shane arrived, Ilya was still eating until Shane all but climbed him in the kitchen; his meal was promptly disregarded for something better to eat.

“Sorry, I thought you would’ve had dinner way earlier.” 

Shane burrows into Ilya’s chest as soon as he’s in reach and Ilya opens his arms to adjust them both against the backboard. His lavender shampoo and jasmine-scented body lotion permeates into every pore and Shane inhales deeply. This makes Ilya laugh and it fills Shane with even more endorphins.

“I was out before. Just got home when you texted,” he replies and stretches his legs out, so Shane can swing one of his over more comfortably.

It would shock most people to find out that Ilya actually loves to cuddle after sex. The first few times had been purely out of necessity for Shane (Ilya worrying and panicking like he’d just fucked Shane’s brain to liquid and there was no chance of recovery). But gradually, if either of them were feeling up for it, they’d find themselves back in each other’s arms after showering and changing the sheets just to talk or silently trace patterns on skin. Needless to say, the cuddling does not help Shane’s emotional predicament.

Alas, today, Shane is in desperate need of closeness. Like his feelings are bursting at the seams, but holding themselves back if it means getting to be in Ilya’s hold one more time.

“How is your research going?” Roz asks him.

Shane perks up at the question. “Really good actually. I’m optimizing a protocol for Dr. Ito and she’s giving me an entire grant to fund anything I’ll need for it.”

“Like what?” Ilya asks while one finger absentmindedly draws light circles on Shane’s arm.

“I’m working on a model her lab developed for genome mining. If I can optimize it in vitro and show proof of concept, I’ll be able to run some tests in vivo and that’ll require tons of reagents and maybe a better liquid handler because hers is older than we are.”

Ilya hums as Shane talks about his project. “You like the lab?”

“I do. It was my favourite part of school. I definitely enjoyed labs a lot more than lectures.”

“Me too. Professors always speak too slow and I fall asleep or too fast and I can't follow. Some were okay, but still mostly boring. At least in lab I could make explosions.”

Shane looks up through his damp hair at Ilya. The mischievous glint in his eyes says he’s 100% telling the truth.

“You worked in labs? When?”

“During school.”

“What’d you go to school for?”

“Chemical engineering.”

Shane’s eyes widen in shock. “Really?”

Ilya nods. “Really.”

“Where?”

“MIT.”

Shane’s jaw drops. “You… went to MIT… for chemical engineering?”

“Da, Hollander. I have told you this.”

“You definitely have never told me that.” Shane would’ve remembered knowing something about Ilya that he didn’t have to coax out of him. Especially something as impressive as his education. 

Ilya shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I was going to join OFI, but it looked boring. So, cool Rescue Squad instead.”

“You almost worked for the Office of Fire Investigation?” Shane asks incredulously. 

Their specialization is in the name and Shane recalls a few OFI officers that would poke around their scenes afterwards to determine the cause of the fire. Primarily, he’s pretty sure their job was to rule out arson. Shane tries to imagine Ilya in a stiff button-up and clipboard walking around a fire after it’s been put out. It’s a funny vision but definitely not one that makes sense.

“I am very good at chemistry. Would have been easy. I help them with some cases occasionally.”

“Wow. I didn’t know any of that.”

Ilya shrugs again like it’s still not a big deal. To Shane it is.

“Wait,” Shane suddenly says, sitting up slightly. “Dr. Vetrova went to MIT for chemical engineering didn’t she?”

Ilya laughs. “How do you know where Sveta went to school but not me?”

Shane blushes when he remembers he only knows this information because he’d done a deep dive of her entire background the day he first saw her in the hospital. He’s not proud of how much of her CV he has memorized even if their last interaction outside Maksim’s room affirmed that Shane was not homewrecking any relationship. 

“I asked first,” he retorts weakly.

Ilya brushes his fingers lightly over Shane’s surely red cheeks; the amused smile on his face doesn’t waver. 

“We were there together.”

“But that’s not where you two met,” he states like a question.

Ilya shakes his head. “We are old friends from Russia. Our fathers are friends.”

“Oh,” he says and lies back down on Roz’s chest. 

The next question at the forefront of Shane’s brain is how is your father doing? But he’s also very comfortable right now snuggling Ilya’s bare chest and doesn’t want to say anything that will jeopardize that. Maybe another time when he’s feeling braver and willing to push Ilya for the sake of being there for him.

 “Did you like MIT?” He asks instead, sticking to lighter topics.

“Was okay. Fun sometimes. Mostly tiring.”

“Were you in a frat?”

Ilya laughs at the question. “Will my answer change how you see me?”

Shane shakes his head. “No. I’m just curious.”

“No, I was not in a frat. Sveta was in girl version though. What is it called? Sorrow house?”

This time Shane laughs. “Sorority house.”

“Yes, that. She loved it. Her house loved me too.”

Ilya can’t see it, but Shane rolls his eyes. “I’m sure everyone did,” he says sarcastically.

“Oh yes, whole campus. They follow me around like fans and invite me to all the parties. They say Ilya, you have to come! Party is not the same without you!”

Shane lightly slaps his chest at the hilariously terrible frat bro accent he puts on. 

“You’re unbearable.”

“Just retelling stories of the glory days. All truths.”

He scoffs. “Obviously.”

“You liked Harvard?”

Shane shrugs. “Yeah, it was intense, but I went there expecting that.”

“Were you in a frat?”

The half-second that Shane hesitates is enough bait for Ilya to bite onto. He sits up straight, bringing Shane up with him, and stares at his face like he can’t believe what he’s not hearing.

“No way. YOU were in a frat?”

Shane grimaces at the way he emphasizes the question and rolls his eyes again because it’s the only thing he can do to hide the embarrassment. 

“I couldn’t afford rent otherwise and the house was so close to campus.”

Ilya lets out the loudest bark of laughter which only annoys and embarrasses Shane even more. 

“Perfect Canadian Hollander was in American frat house with stupid American frat boys?” Ilya asks incredulously with just the right amount of flack.

“They weren’t all stupid.” 

“Hollander in a frat. What was it called? Alpha Male Beta Theta?”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Were Saturdays for the boys?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“How many times did you have to yell ‘if you are not a brother or fucking a brother, get out!’ at parties?”

“Oh my god, shut–what does that even mean?”

“Was this your go-to dance move, bro?” Ilya starts flicking his wrist in the air.

“I can’t stand you.” Shane starts to move off the bed in retaliation, but he’s quickly tackled back into the mattress from behind. 

“Not so fast, Mr. Frat Boy.” In a matter of seconds, Ilya is hovering over him with Shane’s arms pinned down above his head; it’s an exact replica of their positions about 30 minutes ago. It’s not lost on him that they’re both only in underwear.

The crystal green in Ilya’s eyes darkens when he has Shane helpless beneath him. Shane will never get tired of studying those eyes and trying to pinpoint their true colour. He lets out an involuntary sigh and sinks deeper into the bed. Ilya’s eyebrow quirks ever so slightly, satisfied with how easily Shane gives up control. Total trust.

Ilya leans down and presses his lips against Shane’s, kissing slowly first before pressing deeper. It’s not as desperate as when they first started tonight; now, they’re savouring the extra time they’ve been granted. Shane leans upwards to catch more of Ilya in response. The following sounds that escape both of them are far from involuntary.

When they part breathless, Shane thinks he’s about to need a second shower. It’s way too late and he’ll definitely be getting less sleep than he’d like, but he thinks it’ll be worth it. It always is.

Ilya looks down at him with lust clear on his face and eyes bouncing around Shane’s to confirm he wants the same. 

His gaze lands on Shane’s lips again. Shane’s stomach stirs. 

And then he opens his fucking mouth again. “Were you good at keg stands?”

“Oh my god, you fucking asshole!” Shane balks and promptly bucks him off with his hips.

Ilya falls over without resisting while laughing his head off. The sound is delightful despite the reason being the bane of Shane’s existence.

“I’m going home,” Shane declares and climbs off the bed because his boner has effectively been killed.

“But I want to fuck you while you wear backwards cap!”

Shane flips him off while pulling on his pants. “I regret telling you anything.”

Ilya beams from the bed, head propped up on his arm the same way Shane had been when he was admiring Ilya’s backside. God, he looks beautiful like this.

“Were you president?”

“No, obviously not.”

“Why not? Frat President Hollander has good ring to it.”

Shane finishes pulling his shirt over his head and gives him a deadpan glare. “I hate you.”

Ilya smiles boyishly while looking back at him, their positions now reversed. “No, you don’t.”

Shane’s glare falters. He stares back at him feeling as transparent as a pane of glass.

When he’d pulled up to Ilya’s house after days of tormenting himself with his own feelings, he was hoping to get fucked so good that his brain just stopped working for a bit. Unfortunately, once that objective is met, the comedown is so much worse. Every little thing Ilya did for Shane just further affirmed what he’d been avoiding. Even something as mundane as brushing an eyelash off his cheek had given Shane coronary artery spasms.

There’s no denying it now.

But that doesn’t mean Ilya has to know about it too.

He clears his throat and scoffs, hoping it sounds natural. “You wish. See you tomorrow.”

Ilya’s expression doesn’t waver one bit. “Goodnight, Hollander.”

Right. 

He’s just Hollander to him. 

That’s good. That means he hasn’t caught onto Shane’s new development. He’s still safe.

“Goodnight, Roz.”

Shane heads home, infinitely sadder than when he walked this same road earlier.

***

From then, it gets harder for Shane to pretend like nothing’s changed since the first time they hooked up. Every fleeting touch and extra smile and unnecessary kind gesture and nod of confidence and word exchanged only seems to add fuel to the fire burning in his chest. He’s terrified that one of these times, Ilya will look a little too closely and feel the heat inside him. 

One time during a shift, Ilya surprised him in the laundry room with a new bottle of his favourite Japanese body wash; he’d run out last week because Ilya uses criminal amounts whenever he’s over even though he teases Shane about his array of products (Shane knew this one was his favourite too). Shane was so surprised that he questioned how he got it before even saying thank you; this particular brand isn’t available in the West and he relies solely on his mom’s bi-annual trips to restock. 

“Sveta’s coworker’s boyfriend’s little sister went on a trip.”

The blowjob he gave Ilya after was definitely some of his best work. If anyone asked why his eyes watered a little during it, he’d say it was because of how hard Ilya was thrusting into him and not because of how emotionally whiplashed he felt.

Another time on their day off, Shane showed up to Ilya’s house with two drinks (oolong green tea for himself and tiramisu milk tea with 100% sugar for Ilya) like he often does. Ilya had sipped his cardiac arrest in a cup and sighed satisfyingly.

“You always know what I will like, Hollander.”

To avoid thinking about how intimately romantic that statement was, Shane let Ilya finish inside him twice and then a third time in his mouth. The distraction only lasted a few minutes before Shane could hear the words echoing around in his head again like Aphrodite was personally singing about the things he wanted but couldn’t have.

The more Shane puts himself in these situations, the sadder he gets by the end of it. He always walks into Ilya’s embrace desperate to forget and without fail, every time, he walks away feeling ten times worse. 

But he can’t help it. He’s chasing those moments of bliss and thinks that the painful comedown will always be worth it. He’s not sure how sustainable this approach is; his poor heart certainly won’t be able to handle it for very long given how each one seems to get harder to recover from. Just last week, after leaving Ilya’s house, he had to stop on the side of the road and lean against a bus shelter because he started shaking too hard to continue walking. He’s still not sure if it was from anger or sadness, but it left him exhausted by the time he got home which led to his first “rot day” (as the rookies had taught him) where he slept in the next morning, ordered shitty takeout, and just laid on his couch in despair, wallowing in his feelings, until the sun went back down. Like clockwork, Ilya had shown up in the evening and Shane was blessed with his first smile in 24 hours. When Ilya left his apartment, he caught a glimpse of the sweater he never returned to him and promptly screamed into his pillow for five minutes straight.

Needless to say, it’s been a terrible few weeks.

It certainly took him a beat, but he’s truly accepted just how much he likes Ilya. The problem is he thought he could go on knowing this and still act like he doesn’t care. He can’t because he does. Too much unfortunately.

Luckily, there’s no better job for someone struggling with deep introspection and dismay than a paramedic. 

Ambulance 81, Engine 24, Truck 12, Rescue 1. House fire. 3325 Hamilton Road.

“Boizeau and Hayes, get on the roof and vent it now,” Hunter orders.

“Landry, Haas, get a line in there!” Dykstra follows. “Ladder on me.”

“Marly, Barrett, around the back with me,” Boodram calls. “Rozanov, you’re with Hunter.”

Everyone breaks into action. Shane watches from the curb as Hunter and Ilya quickly scale the ladder that Dykstra sets up for them on the side of the 3-storey low-rise apartment. When they all pulled up, the first thing they saw was the black smoke pouring out from the top floor. The very next thing was the man staggering out of the front door with soot all over his face, screaming about his daughter still being inside.

He and Hayden have the man, Jacob, on oxygen and hooked up for monitoring by the ambulance while the rest of their house moves.

“They’re getting her now. We need you to stay calm and take deep, slow breaths, Jacob,” Shane says calmly.

To his credit, Jacob is being as cooperative as can be and ceases his erratic moving around to try and look at the scene behind them.

The sound of a window shattering turns Shane’s attention. Hunter roughly scrapes away all the broken glass while Ilya and Dykstra shield themselves right below him on the ladder.

It looks like Hunter orders Ilya to stay out on the ladder while he goes in alone because Ilya nods and follows him up another two rungs before Hunter crawls inside the building. 

With Jacob properly situated, the three of them all face the house and wait. A minute later, Hunter is helping a woman out of the window and Jacob weeps with relief. Ilya grabs hold of her and the two of them begin their descent slowly with Dykstra holding the ladder from the ground. Jacob confirmed no other occupants inside the building, at least not on the fire floor; Squad is sweeping the lower levels for due diligence anyways. The situation seems to be in the clear for now.

“Hey Truck, how’s that venting going?” Hunter’s voice over the radio sounds urgent.

“Working on it. One minute, Cap,” JJ responds.

Shane frowns when a low grumbling noise suddenly emits from the house. He knows Ilya and Dykstra must hear it too because they both snap their heads up. 

Before Shane can even react, the rest of the window shatters as Scott Hunter fucking throws himself out of it. And not a second too soon because a loud, fiery explosion follows immediately, bursting all the windows on the top level and shooting Hunter several feet further from the house. 

All the onlookers nearby scream and Shane ducks instinctively when the backdraft flames almost reach the street.

“Hunter!” Dykstra yells.

Shane doesn’t hesitate to grab the jump bag and take off for the lawn where Hunter had landed.

“81 to main, I need a second ambulance to 3325 Hamilton Road right now,” he raps into his radio.

“Hunter!” Hayden calls when they get to him.

He’s not moving.

“Hunter, hey! Can you hear me, Scott?” Shane yells in his face while clawing off the jacket.

There’s no response when Shane rubs his sternum.

He’s vaguely aware of the rest of their house closing in.

“Get the stretcher, Ilya!” Shane barks when he spots him in the corner of his vision first.

Hayden makes quick work of putting a c-collar on Hunter while other hands help transfer him onto the backboard carefully. Shane works as fast as possible to secure his head in place with two towels and tape, so there’s no chance of worsening any possible spinal injuries. God, he hopes that’s not the case here. He risks a glance upwards at the window he’d jumped through and notes how high up it is.

Everything is always more personal when it’s a member of your own house, nevermind a captain.

Ilya returns with the stretcher and they get him onto it and into their ambulance in record time.

“Hollander, talk to me,” Dykstra begs.

“Pulse is weak and thready, but he’s breathing. Pupils are both responsive, but that’s as far as his response to any pain goes. He needs to go to med right now,” he tells him honestly. “We got him.”

Dykstra nods, believing his words, and shuts the ambulance doors after Shane climbs inside.

Hayden fires the sirens and peels onto the road. Shane focuses on keeping Hunter alive in the back while Hayden breaks as many traffic laws as needed to get them to the hospital as fast as possible. The constant honking of their horn is all background music. At one point, Hunter’s stats drop low enough to require intubation and Shane mutters a quiet apology as he guides the tube in, relieved to see his oxygen levels improve by the time the ambulance halts to a stop.

When they get to the ambulance bay, they’re received by Dr. Wang and Dr. Reed.

“35 year old male, firefighter, jumped from a third storey window on a call, GCS 7, positive LOC, pressures 90/60, heart rate 100, 16 gauge in both arms, intubated en route when O2 dropped to 86%, high likelihood of smoke inhalation but no lung crackling detected,” Shane recites as they wheel him into the ER.

“Copy that, we’re in here.” Dr. Wang directs them into an empty room.

Shane and Hayden help transfer Hunter onto the bed from the stretcher.

“Get blood. Hang a liter of LR in the rapid transfuser,” Dr. Reed orders the nurses that have come to support. “We’re doing a chest x-ray and then pelvis.”

Shane blocks out her further instructions as he pulls the stretcher out of their way. He and Hayden linger by the doorway watching them work on their colleague. 

Fuck. 

It never gets easier seeing someone you know go down. Especially not someone as strong willed and steadfast as Scott.

“We got it from here. I’ll come find you guys later,” Dr. Wang says kindly before gently urging them out of the room.

“C’mon, buddy,” Hayden says.

They make their way back out to the waiting room and collapse into two seats, the adrenaline finally running out. Hayden rubs at his face harshly and Shane leans back into the stiff chair to rest his head against the wall. They sit in silence next to each other for a few minutes just processing independently but not alone. Shane appreciates that, despite overstimulating him sometimes, Hayden always seems to know when he needs a moment to himself. He doesn’t say anything when Shane’s leg starts to bounce, instead bringing his hand up to Shane’s shoulder like a pat of camaraderie. 

“Hey boys,” Saranya’s voice cuts in after some time.

Both of them straighten up immediately.

“Sorry, not here with an update yet,” she disclaims. “I was going to notify Scott’s family, but thought I’d check if you wanted to do it instead.”

It’s a kind consideration and usually one granted for first responders. Getting a call from your loved ones’ colleagues to explain the situation is infinitely less stressful than receiving one from the hospital directly.

Shane is about to nod when he realizes he doesn’t actually know Hunter’s family or if he has a partner.

When he turns to Hayden, it’s clear he also has no idea.

“Uh, we’ll do it. The rest of the guys are on their way. We’ll let his… family know,” Hayden promises, albeit quite unsurely.

Saranya gives them both a quizzical look. “Alright. You let me know when you do, okay?”

They both give her a nod and she walks away.

“You know who to call, right?” Shane asks Hayden.

Hayden grimaces. “Honestly? Not really.”

The incredulous look Shane gives him must be more offensive than he intends because Hayden immediately gets defensive. “He’s never brought anyone around with him and I’ve literally never heard him talk about his family. Ever. Swear to God. Years working with the guy and I don’t even know if he’s in touch with his parents.” He grumbles the last part to himself disappointedly.

Shane relents. He’s only been around for a few months, but he can validate everything Hayden just said. Not once has a parent or partner or even sibling been brought up by Scott. A few friends (mostly colleagues) here and there, an annoying neighbour once, but nothing more personal than that. How is that possible? Shane thinks he could name all of Bood’s cousins and their kids too at this point. But not one person from Scott?

“Fuck. Someone else surely knows?” Shane asks.

“Dykstra maybe? Bood probably. Yeah, Bood will know who to call. Or Chief,” Hayden guesses.

They sit back in silence.

There’s got to be someone at the house who knows. Not even Scott Hunter would be mysterious enough to hide that much. Right?

Shane sighs and knocks his head against the wall again. He supposes Scott’s not the only aloof one at work.

He can’t help slowly drifting his thoughts to what would’ve happened if it had been Ilya that jumped out of the window to avoid getting blown up. Who would Shane call? Dr. Vetrova probably. She’d have to be the one to fill anyone else in since all Shane knows is Ilya has a piece of shit brother named Alexei and a dying father; both of whom are in Russia, abusive, and not at all deserving of Ilya.

Fuck. His heart rate rises just imagining it.

Shane decides to focus on the fact that it’s not Ilya in the hospital right now despite how guilty he feels immediately after the thought takes form.

About 20 minutes later, the rest of their house files in. He knows it must’ve killed them all to have to finish the call before booking it to the hospital.

Boodram leads the pack and spots Shane immediately. “Hollander, how is he?” Urgency and worry evident in both his voice and face.

“Still out. They’re running tests on him right now,” he answers.

“What tests?” 

“X-ray, CT, the works,” Hayden fills in.

A quiet air of gloom washes over Firehouse 17.

Scott isn’t just their ardent Captain, he’s family to most of these people. Shane sees it in the way Boodram and Dykstra exhale deeply and Rose and Marleau blink rapidly like they’re regulating themselves.

“Perfect timing,” Dr. Wang announces, walking into the room and effectively cutting the tension.

All eyes turn to him anticipatingly.

“I have good news. He’s moving his hands and feet, so we can rule out paralysis.”

Everyone still seems apprehensive despite the relief they must all be feeling. A career ending injury would devastate any firefighter, but especially Scott.

“But?” Bood demands. “What’s the bad news?”

Dr. Wang offers a tiny smile. “I don’t have any. I’ll keep you guys posted.”

This time, everyone visibly deflates as Dr. Wang exits.

“Hey, does anyone know who to call for Hunter? Like his parents or family or…?” Hayden asks.

No one answers right away which is a shock to Shane. Some of these folks have worked with Scott for years! How could no one know anything? He looks at Bood expectantly as the last resort. He’s not prepared when the other captain’s face crumbles slightly.

“His parents died in a car accident when he was a teenager.”

By the looks on the rest of the team’s face, they’re all as stunned as Shane is.

“Siblings?” 

Bood shakes his head solemnly. “Only child.”

“So… he has no one?” Haas asks quietly.

The gloom returns.

“Tabernak,” JJ mutters and drops into one of the empty chairs. [translation: Fuck]

Everyone is too busy processing such a heartbreaking reveal that no one notices Ilya back away from the group and disappear out the doors. Except Shane.

Firehouse 17 takes over the waiting room chairs with smoke still clinging to their turnout gear. He gives it a minute before subtly slipping away to follow Ilya. He’s not sure what compels him other than the need to know he’s okay. Not only had Ilya been right below the explosion, but he was also ordered by Hunter to stay outside. Knowing him, Shane hopes he doesn’t blame himself for letting the man go alone.

He finds Ilya on the phone outside next to their parked ambulance. They’ll need to move it if they’re planning to stay here a while.

Ilya’s back is to Shane, but he manages to catch the end of the conversation. 

“... when you get here. Drive safe.”

Shane stops a few feet behind him because he doesn’t want to eavesdrop, but Ilya ends the call and turns around before he can even announce his presence.

Ilya looks momentarily stunned to have been caught and a flash of panic crosses his face before it smoothes back into his regular impassive demeanour. 

“Hey,” Shane says first. He wonders who he was on the phone with.

“Hey. You okay?”

Shane blinks and then frowns a bit at Ilya ad libbing a line he hadn’t prepared for. “Uh yeah. I came out to check if you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

He narrows his eyes at Ilya a little. Physically, he believes it. “Did you… like… you’re probably worried about Hunter.” His cheeks heat up immediately once the words leave his mouth. He’s not really sure what he’d been trying to say.

Somehow, Ilya doesn’t tease him for it and instead nods like he knows exactly what Shane was getting at. “He will be okay. Hunter is old, but not that old. He’ll pull through.” He says this with such certainty that even Shane finds himself believing it.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. He’ll be fine.”

Ilya nods. Then he tilts his head a little to the side as he looks at Shane with the same intensity that scares him into thinking Ilya can read his thoughts. Obviously he can’t, but that kind of rationality doesn’t exist when Ilya’s sharp eyes are fixed on him like nothing else exists. Shane focuses on a streak of soot across his cheek instead. He wants to reach out and clean it off, but they’re in the middle of the ambulance bay while their entire firehouse is one automatic door away. He stuffs his hands in his pockets in lieu of doing something regrettable. 

“Let’s go to Santarpio,” Ilya suddenly says.

“The pizza place?” 

Ilya nods. “We bring lunch for everyone since our head chef is in hospital bed.”

Shane realizes it’s a joke a beat too late which makes Ilya smile a little. “Come on. Will cheer everyone up. Is right around the corner.”

***

Chief Wiebe pulled all their rigs out of service the moment he heard Hunter was hurt. Over an hour has passed that they’ve all been camped in the waiting room (20 minutes had been spent weakly eating the pizza he and Ilya brought back) and still no updates from the doctors. Shane supposes no news is good news since Dr. Wang had cited nothing bad the last time.

“I need to take a walk. Call me if we hear anything,” Shane says to Hayden.

He’s getting antsy just waiting there, so he decides he’ll stock up the ambulance while he’s here. It’s not that Shane isn’t thinking about Hunter; it’s that he physically can’t sit in the waiting room any longer doing nothing but worrying himself into a spiral. Some of the other guys had also wandered off too, like Ilya and Troy who left for a smoke break after pizza.

Shane heads into the ER towards the supply room near the back. The chaos of the department quiets once he shuts the door behind him and he gets to work filling one of the empty bins with everything they’re running low on. He doesn’t have his clipboard with him, but he’d catalogued everything this morning and is pretty sure he remembers the critical items. It soothes his brain to go into autopilot mode, pulling stuff off the shelves and mindlessly counting inventory. He definitely needed this.

Once his bin is half full, he steps back out and opts for one of the side exits by the nurses’ station to avoid crossing the entire ER. The door opens to the parking lot where Shane had moved their ambulance earlier. He hoists the bin onto one hip to fish his keys out of his pocket and then he gets to work organizing their new stock. Again, the straightforward labour, sitting in the back of his ambo, all relaxes his tense muscles and quiets his brain. 

Shane feels much more in control of his limbs and mind by the time he hops out of the ambulance ten minutes later. He starts walking back towards the side door when he spots two people near it.

One of them is Ilya.

It’s laughable how easily Shane’s able to pick him out anywhere.

But it’s definitely him.

And…

Kip?

Shane freezes in the middle of the parking lot as he stares at what’s in front of him. He’s semi-hidden behind a van, but Ilya and Kip are clearly too engrossed with their own conversation to notice anyone else in the vicinity. He’s also too far away to hear what they’re saying (not that he wants to eavesdrop any more than he already has today). But it doesn’t matter because words are no longer being used when Ilya takes a step towards Kip and wraps his arms around the shorter man.

The bin he’s holding almost slips out of his grip and his jaw goes slack.

For the next few seconds, Shane is not proud of the thoughts that shoot around in his brain. Jealousy is a dangerous emotion and he learns he might have some “toxic dickhead energy” (as Rose had disclosed to him about her exes). The immediate urges that course through him will be stashed away for later reflection and then taken to his grave.

But he can’t help it. The sight of Ilya holding another (gay) man in his arms enrages Shane. He hates the feeling and yet, he’s close to using it as fuel to act.

Until he realizes Kip is crying.

The black cloud of fury forming above Shane dissipates like rain.

Kip’s shoulders are shaking as he cries into Ilya’s shoulder while Ilya rubs his back comfortingly.

Now, Shane stands there massively confused (and ashamed). And sad. Kip is usually so smiley and friendly that it feels extra cruel to see him cry.

Fuck, and Shane was about to do what to him??? Christ, he needs to get a handle on himself.

Ilya must also have the same sixth sense that Shane has to find him anywhere because he suddenly turns in Shane’s direction with no notice. And Shane can only stand there redhanded when they make eye contact across the lot. 

If Ilya is mad that Shane keeps popping up out of nowhere, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he uses one hand and gestures for him to come over.

It takes Shane a second to remember how to walk normally and the big bin in his hand almost trips him up as he does.

“Kip, Shane got him to the hospital in time. Right, Shane?” Ilya says when he gets closer to the pair. “He can tell you that Scott is in good hands.”

Kip lifts his head up from Ilya’s shoulder with red eyes and tear-stricken cheeks. It’s like looking at a kicked puppy.

Shane looks at Ilya for help, but he just nods encouragingly and uses his eyebrows to basically say go with it. 

“Um… hey. Yeah, I intubated him on the way here, but his stats had improved by the time we handed him off. And, uh, Dr. Wang said he was able to move all his limbs which means he’s not paralyzed. So, that’s um… that’s really good news,” Shane rambles, mostly reassured by Ilya who keeps nodding at him to continue. “And we haven’t heard anything since which is probably good since no news is usually good news.”

Kip wipes his face with his sleeve and sniffles. Fucking puppy.

“They said his scans were all negative?” Kip asks.

“Oh. That’s good! Negative means they didn’t find anything alarming. Like if they found internal bleeding from the CT scan, that’d be a positive test. So, negative is a good thing.” Shane’s relief must be evident because Ilya half smiles too.

“They want to keep him here and move him up to a room,” Kip adds.

“Just for monitoring probably. Have you seen him yet? Is he awake?” Shane asks. 

Kip nods and takes a stuttered breath. “He’s awake. Confused, but the doctors said it’s the concussion. He bruised his ribs during the fall and has smoke inhalation in his lungs.”

Shane blinks. This is all great. He’s so glad to hear Hunter’s okay. More than okay! A 3-storey jump and all he has to recover from is a concussion and some bruises. 

But how does Kip know all this before their team? Hayden hadn’t texted him yet with an update and none of them were allowed into the room to see Scott. Why would Kip be allowed in? How is Kip even here?

Ilya gives Shane a pointed look when it must take him too long to respond.

“We’re all happy to hear Hunter is okay. He still has some years left in him as a firefighter,” Ilya chirps in an attempt to cheer Kip up.

It works because the man shakes his head with a small smile. “He’ll make a full recovery just to spite you, Rozanov.”

“Ah, then I wish him all the spite in the world. He will need it to heal old man bones.”

Kips lets out a wet laugh and brings both sleeves up to his eyes to wipe away the remaining tears.

“Okay, I’m okay,” he declares with a deep breath. “I think I can go back in there.”

Ilya nods and squeezes his shoulder once. “He will be happy to see you.”

Kip smiles appreciatively and gives him a quick hug. “Thanks, Ilya. Really.”

Ilya just nods again and then opens the door for him.

“And thank you, Shane,” he says, one foot already inside when he addresses him. “I’m glad it was you that saved him.”

The emotional weight behind his words is not lost on Shane. “Yeah, of course, Kip.” As confused as he is, Kip gives him enough hints to piece it together and Shane starts to realize why Kip is the one receiving all of Scott’s medical updates.

Kip gives them both one more teary smile before walking into the building. The door shuts behind him.

And then it’s just him and Ilya again.

Before Shane can even try to formulate a question, Ilya leans against the wall and says, “You cannot tell anyone.”

Not at all expecting that, Shane frowns. “Tell anyone what?” 

“Kip,” Ilya answers like that clears everything up.

Shane waits a second to see if he’ll elaborate. Obviously he doesn’t.

“Okay…” 

Ilya nods at the space beside him. Shane puts the bin down and joins him against the wall. He waits patiently for an explanation.

“Kip and Scott are together.”

Well… that certainly confirms the questionable theory forming in his head.

“Oh, wow,” Shane responds slowly. 

“They are engaged.”

Shane turns his head to look at Ilya in shock. “Holy shit.”

“Yep.”

“Since when?”

Ilya shakes his head. “Maybe they will tell you. Not me.”

Okay. Fair enough, he supposes.

“How… no one knows?” The unbelievableness of it all is… unbelievable.

Ilya shakes his head again. “Is complicated for Hunter. He has…” he gestures to his own chest. “Internalizovannaya gomofobiya. Internal homophobia?”

“Internalized homophobia?”

“Da, this. He is better at it than before, but he does not want anyone at work to know. Kip respects his decision.”

Shane considers this breaking news (second time today for Scott). “But you knew.”

“Yes.”

“How did you find out?” Shane thinks about all of Ilya and Hunter’s playful ribbing at each other. There’s no way in hell Shane would’ve guessed Ilya is his closest confidant for this kind of information.

“Kip is my friend. Hunter tolerates me.”

Shane snorts at that. “You don’t make it easy for him.”

A small smile appears. “Yes, he is very easy to tease. But he trusts Kip. And Kip trusts me.”

Shane can’t help the dread that starts to build. “And you’ve both just told me.”

Ilya nods, face serious. “Is not something I planned to do and I am not happy about it. But Kip needed reassurance or else he would not go back inside and Hunter would not want him freaking out alone… And I do not want Hunter to be alone right now,” he admits and then looks up to meet Shane’s eye. “And I trust you.”

The air in Shane’s lungs gets knocked out and he’s immediately glad to be leaning against the wall.

So much said in four short words.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Shane promises.

“I know.”

It’s hardly 2 pm and Shane feels like he’s lived an entire week today. The fatigue is deep in his bones and heart. 

But the gravity of the situation is not lost on him. Like with all things he learns about Ilya without meaning to, he’s taken aback by just how good he is. Obviously he’d be trusted with something this precious. Obviously he’s the one that called Kip since no one else would’ve known to. Obviously he went out of his way to make sure Kip was taken care of and that Scott would not be alone. Obviously. 

He’s honest and loyal and kind to a fault.

And it’s making Shane’s heart grow even more until it’s pushing against the cage and breaking off just to make more space.

They stand side by side in silence. At some point, Ilya pulls out a cigarette and casts Shane a sideways look.

“What?” He didn’t say any of his thoughts out loud, did he?

“Aren’t you going to say it?” 

Shane frowns. “Say what?”

Ilya lights it and then waves the cigarette. “Smoking is so bad for you. You will get 10 cancers and need 100 chemotherapies and then die,” he says in a very piss poor imitation of what he thinks is a Canadian accent.

This pulls a tired laugh out of Shane and he punches Ilya lightly in the arm. “Shut up. And it is bad for you. Why don’t you try a nicotine-free vape or something?”

Ilya immediately wrinkles his face in disgust. “Only children do that bullshit,” he retorts and then flicks his lighter. “Real men would never.”

Shane scoffs. In a rush of confidence, he reaches over and snatches the cigarette out of his lips before he can take a drag. This gets a reaction out of Ilya and Shane gives him a mischievous smirk as he drops it to the ground and steps it out with his boot.

“Hey!”

“No smoking near the hospital,” Shane says. 

“Boo, Hollander.” 

Shane almost bends down to pick up the cigarette and relight it with sheer will just at the sight of Ilya pouting.

Instead, he slides against the wall until their arms are touching. He casts a quick look around them to make sure they’re still alone before bringing his hand up to Ilya’s face. The pleased and lazy smile Ilya gives him is so charming that Shane can only lean over and kiss him. Ilya demonstrates impressive restraint by keeping his hands at his side the whole time.

I trust you.

I trust you.

I love you.

Shane drops his hand and reluctantly pulls away. He’s met with hooded green eyes and the most tempting half smirk plastered on his slightly swollen lips.

He wants to scream, can you see it? Can you see what you do to me? Do you feel the same? It’s a miracle the words aren’t written across his forehead.

Clearing his throat and swallowing all the feelings and desires of a doomed man, Shane bends down to pick up his empty bin. 

“Let’s go find the team and give them an update.”

Ilya nods, still dangerously languid, like their fleeting kiss had drained him of all muscle tone. Shane starts for the door to stop thinking about it any more.

“And pick up your cigarette. No littering outside the hospital.”

***

Rose drops onto his couch with a bowl of chocolate-covered popcorn while he follows behind with two cans of ginger ale. 

“Are you ready to have the best night of your life?” She asks him, eyebrows wriggling.

He smiles and takes a seat next to her. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

She plops the popcorn between them and fires up his streaming account. “I’m so excited. I heard they’re going to Mongolia this season.”

The familiar opening title of The Amazing Race lights up the screen as Shane gets comfortable.

“You know, you’re the first person to ask to borrow my CBS account,” Shane says.

Rose shrugs, unbothered. “Weird. Everyone should watch The Amazing Race.”

Shane chuckles and grabs a handful of popcorn.

After their very rough week of Hunter-less shifts, Rose asked if Shane wanted to have a chill night in. Then she got a notification that the newest season of her favourite show was airing which she’s always struggled to find decent pirate links for. Shane mentioned that he had a CBS subscription–he mostly just uses it for his morning news–and Rose let him know she’d be at his place at 7 with snacks. 

He’s happy to be spending time with her outside of work. But he’s also been extra tired recently and knows it’s not because of any profession-related reasons. 

They’ve just finished introducing all the new teams for the season when Rose picks up the remote again and turns the volume down.

“How have you been lately?” 

He turns to her a little baffled at the sudden question. “Um… good? Fine. How about you?”

She shrugs. “Same old. I miss Scott, but I’m glad he’s coming back soon.”

They’d all gotten word from Chief that Hunter would be returning to work as soon as his physical therapist gave him the okay on his ribs. Their best guess was in two months, but knowing Hunter, he’d be back in one. 

“It’ll be nice to see him again.” Shane visited him once more in the hospital the day after the accident. Hunter spoke to him so robotically that Kip had to remind his fiance that Shane knew about them and could be trusted. He did apologize for finding out accidentally, but Hunter seemed too tired (of being in the hospital and of hiding) to actually fault him for it. Once his guard dropped, it was heartwarming to see him interact with Kip; Shane realized Hunter never went to The Kingfisher with them because anyone would be able to figure out their relationship if they saw how he looked at Kip.

Shane wonders if he does a better job of hiding his own emotions because Ilya doesn’t feel the same way like Kip does with Hunter. Maybe that’s why no one’s noticed yet.

“But how are you actually doing?” She asks again.

Shane frowns. “Still good?”

Rose watches him with an unreadable expression that makes him nervous. Before she says anything else, she picks up the remote again and pauses the show. Shane watches her every move and frowns harder when she turns her entire body to face him on the couch.

“Uh…?”

“Shane, I know we haven’t been friends for very long,” she starts. His eyes widen at the seriousness. “But I want you to know I care about you and love you and support you with all of my heart.”

He blinks. The can in his hand suddenly feels too wet between his fingers.

“Same?”

Her lips quirk a little. “I’ve just noticed you’ve been a little sad lately.”

Shane blanks. “Oh.” 

The bluntness of her statement catches him offguard. Clearly he’s not very good at hiding his emotions then.

“I don’t want you to think I’ve noticed you acting differently while you’re working or anything. You’re still killing it out there like you always have been.”

He feels frozen to the couch as she talks.

“But I’m worried about you. And I want you to know I’m here if you want to talk about anything.”

For some reason, now is the moment his brain goes blank. He’s been consumed by his own thoughts for weeks on end with no light at the end of the dark tunnel; he’s been paralyzed with the overwhelming torment in his head, once standing frozen for over an hour in the shower with shampoo still unlathered in his hair. Shane could probably put Shakespeare to shame with how melancholic and theatrical his inner monologue has been every time he thinks about Ilya (which is all of the time).

And yet, now that someone is offering to listen to him for the first time, he’s suddenly lost the words. The ache in his heart is still as present as always, the ability to translate the feelings into spoken language has simply disappeared.

“Does… does it have anything to do with what happened at the club?” She asks carefully when he doesn’t say anything.

“The club?”

She nods. “When we all went out together. Don’t get me wrong, I had a great time and want to do it again so badly,” she says. “But I knew it was odd when you actually agreed to come.”

“I had fun.”

She gives him a pointed look. “Look, you don’t owe me an explanation, but don’t lie to me either,” she says softly.

Shane drops his gaze down to the dripping can of ginger ale in his hands. He hates the ginger ale in the States and always wishes he was drinking a Canada Dry instead. He hates it even more when people hand him a beer with the promise that it’s “basically the same thing”. 

He commands his hand to put the can down on the table and then he wipes his fingers on his sweatpants to get rid of the icky sensation. He knows Rose is watching him the whole time and he’s grateful she gives him the time to collect himself. 

“Sorry,” he starts, not really sure what he’s apologizing for but it feels right.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Shane.” As he expected from her.

When he slowly looks back up at her, she’s smoothed her face into one of openness and patience. Shane thinks maybe he would like to tell someone for once. He hasn’t rehearsed this before and has no idea how to even start. At least he’s sure Rose won’t judge him; he’s certainly given her plenty of opportunity to.

Fuck it.

“Rozanov and I are sleeping together.”

It’s a good thing Rose is a firefighter and not an actress because her poker face is absolute shit.

Shane watches her lips twitch as she fights to keep her face neutral. 

He sighs and shuts his eyes. “I know you already figured that out,” he says embarrassingly.

“What? No! I… okay, yes, sorry, you’re right. I totally knew already. I’m sorry,” she admits sheepishly.

He reluctantly opens his eyes to look at her again but the kindness on her face hasn’t budged. “How’d you find out?”

She stares back at him for a beat like the question is absurd. “Do you want me to be honest?”

Shane balks. “What?”

She bites back a big smile as she answers, “Babe, you guys are not as subtle as you think. I had a feeling after a few shifts of picking up a vibe between you two.”

His cheeks heat up mortifyingly as he listens. “What vibe?”

“During the shooting, I saw the way he ran after you and how he was after. I’m not blind, Shane. That man was ready to die for you. It’s written all over his face like literal heart eyes.”

Fuck. He remembers that shift with sober clarity even though he tries not to think about how Ilya almost died. And how Shane would’ve died with him. 

“Then I saw you two get in the same car after Kip’s party.”

His eyes widen. “I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“And you two disappear at the house a lot. Am I right to guess you’ve been doing laundry together?”

Shane’s jaw drops and Rose’s smile widens.

“I knew it!”

“Jesus Christ, Rose. I… I’m so sorry.”

She frowns. “What? Why are you apologizing again?”

He drops his face into his hands and shakes his head. “Because it’s so unprofessional!”

“Oh my god, Shane! Do not apologize for having a steamy workplace romance. This is the best thing I’ve heard after the shitty week we’ve had.”

He’s still too mortified to look her in the eyes again but he drops his hands when she reaches over and gently pries them off his face. 

“Wait, if you knew Rozanov and I were… involved, why’d you set me up with that guy from the club?” He asks.

She opens and closes her mouth a few times. “I asked if you were into him. I didn’t think you were going to say yes if you were actually with Roz.”

Shane blinks. “You encouraged me to hook up with him!”

“I was just being supportive of you! I thought you’d say no if you didn’t want to!” 

“Remind me not to go out with you anymore.”

She pouts. “Aw, don’t be like that, Shane. I support everything you do, no matter who you sleep with.”

Shane scoffs but he can’t help but laugh a little.

“How long has this been going on?” She asks.

“Since my uh… since my first shift.”

Rose’s jaw drops. “Your first shift?!”

Shane winces and nods reluctantly. “Well, we didn’t technically sleep together until after the second shift.”

“Holy shit, Shane.”

“Yeah, I know.”

It’s been months. For all Shane knows, he was doomed from the start and has been slowly falling for Ilya since the first shift.

“He’s good to you?”

Her question surprises him. He nods anyway and looks down at his hands to answer honestly, “He is.”

He can hear her smile when she replies, “Good. I told you he was a good guy.”

Shane can only nod again in agreement. He’d semi-believed her all those months ago. Now, he’s never been more certain.

“So, is this why you’ve been sad lately?” She asks softly.

Shane inhales sharply.

Why yes. Yes, Rose, it is. This is exactly the root of all his problems. He’s in love with Ilya Rozanov and can’t do anything about it because he doesn’t want to ruin what they have by telling the man and he knows if Ilya knew how Shane felt, their relationship would be over immediately since there’s no way Ilya feels the same way, so Shane has been torturing himself by giving in and bleeding his sorry heart dry while doing his best to hide it because he’d rather hurt inside forever than lose Ilya.

“Yeah,” he says instead when his eyes start to sting and his throat tightens.

Rose gives him a sympathetic and knowing look. “Do you love him?”

He nods. The silent admission to another person lifts the smallest weight off his chest.

“Have you told him?”

He shakes his head.

Rose rests a hand on his knee and squeezes once. “Do you want to tell him?”

He hesitates before shaking his head again. She doesn’t look convinced.

“You don’t think he feels the same?” She guesses. Her intuition is impressive.

He shakes his head again albeit painfully.

“Shane, I see the way he looks at you. If you’re worried he doesn’t–”

“He doesn’t,” he cuts her off. “I just know. He doesn’t want anything more than what we are.” Coworkers that sometimes fuck.

She frowns at his certainty. “How can you know that for sure?”

“I just do. We don’t talk about anything that matters.” He can’t help the frustrated tone that sneaks out.

They talk about sex and hooking up and mundane things like Ilya’s workout split and where Shane buys his 100% cotton shirts. They tease each other because it’s fun to chirp when you know all the right words to say, but it never goes deeper than that. The closest they’d gotten was when Ilya told him about his family back home. As one might predict, the topic was never brought up again.

A heavy silence lapses for a minute before Rose shifts again.

“Do you know why he goes back to Russia?”

Shane looks at her with confusion. “Yes.” He’s not going to tell her obviously.

“Well, then you already know more than the rest of us. The only reason we even know where he goes is because Evan overheard him talking to Zane and Chief once.”

“Yeah, but that’s…” 

“How does he take his coffee?”

“With too much sugar and milk,” he answers easily. He jokes that Ilya drinks milk with a bit of coffee instead of the other way around.

“What kind of music does he like?”

“Russian rap if he’s driving his obnoxious car. Otherwise, he likes Spanish R&B.” It terrified Shane to get into Ilya’s Lambo the first time and blasting Russian rap certainly did not help. Ilya made it up to him when they got back to his place in five minutes and he played more foreign music on his speakers while sucking Shane off in the living room.

Rose looks flabbergasted but continues with a light laugh.

“So, you’ve been in his car too.”

“A few times.” When they leave the bar together occasionally. Or when he picked Shane up after he finished at the lab because his car had died. They learned the backseat of a Lamborghini was not spacious enough for two grown men.

“What’s his favourite food?”

“Pelmeni and anything off the McDonalds value menu.” Ilya became a child when he got hungry and practically begged Shane to pick up his mobile order on the way over once.

“Why’d he become a firefighter?”

“It’s more interesting than OFI and he likes the sense of responsibility.” Plus the adrenaline of almost dying every shift excites Ilya.

Rose gives him another highly deliberate look. “I rest my case.”

“What?”

“Could you answer any of those questions about me?”

Shane hesitates. “You like almond milk lattes?”

She laughs. “Oat milk latte, but very close. My point is you two seem to know more about each other than normal coworkers do.”

He doesn’t respond, too scared to let himself think in that direction.

Her face becomes serious when she speaks again, “Maybe the stuff you think matters doesn’t need to be said explicitly, Shane.”

For the first time in a while, without Ilya around to distract him, Shane’s brain goes quiet at her words.

“What if telling him ruins everything?” 

Rose purses her lips as she considers his question. He almost expects her to try and convince him that it won’t, that Ilya’s not going to run at the first mention of being anything more than coworkers or friends. 

What she actually says is so much worse. “Well, is it better to speak or to die?”

Shane feels one rogue tear escape and land on his hand. 

Two straightforward paths. Be honest and bare his soul out in hopes that it’s not met with rejection or bite his tongue forever and die a slow, silent death without anyone ever knowing. Neither are appealing to Shane at all, but he knows which one he needs to choose.

He sniffles once and wipes at his eyes with a huff. “Thanks Rose.”

She smiles at him. “Any time. I do have to confess that line is totally from a movie.”

He laughs and finally feels some of the tension he’s been holding onto marginally relax. “I can pretend you came up with it.”

“And that’s why you’re my favourite. Now, let’s see where their first stop is. I hope it’s Mongolia.”

***

“How many ACE bandages do you have over there?” Hayden asks.

Shane pulls out the correct drawer and counts. “Three.”

“I found two more under here.” He hands them over and Shane places them with the rest.

It’s 7 am and they’re doing inventory because the previous shift got caught in a mass casualty incident for most of the day and depleted everything; the ambulance looked like a tornado ran through the inside and Shane felt so bad for their exhausted paramedic counterparts that he promised to re-organize it for them.

“We’re really low on midazolam too,” Shane notes as Hayden writes that down on their clipboard. “Let’s just make a run to med now before we get a call.”

Hayden nods. “Good idea. I’m gonna grab us some breakfast to-go first.”

He hops out and jogs inside to where Luca and Henry had breakfast pancakes and eggs prepared for the shift. Shane had eaten his morning oats on the way in already but he wouldn’t mind a pancake or two.

He steps out onto the garage floors and stretches with a yawn. It’s a beautiful morning with torrential downpour slated for the evening into the rest of the week, so he basks in the sunlight while it’s still here.

“Morning.”

He whips his head around.

“Good morning,” he replies.

Ilya walks towards him with his bag slung over one shoulder. The sun bathes him in a warm glow from behind and his curly hair looks extra golden. Shane chews on the insides of his cheek while he stares brazenly at how unfairly pretty he is.

When he gets closer, Ilya stops and cocks his head to the side a little like he’s surveying him. It both terrifies and excites Shane to be scrutinized by him.

“You look different today.”

“I do?”

Ilya nods with an amused smile. “You cut your hair?”

“Oh yeah. I cut it a little yesterday.”

“Mm. Very pretty.”

“Thanks?”

Ilya grins. “What is wrong with being pretty?”

“Uh… nothing. I just didn’t expect anyone to notice or… call me that,” he responds honestly.

“I call you pretty all the time,” Ilya says, voice dropping quieter.

Shane narrows his eyes at him. Teasing him at 7 am just because he can. “Not here please.”

His weak attempt at being stern makes Ilya chuckle. “Ah, he only likes to be called pretty when he’s on his knees.”

Already used to his antics, Shane rolls his eyes. “It’s too early for you to be an asshole, Roz.”

“Now I am asshole because I call you pretty. What’s next? I buy you flowers and I am a monster?”

Shane could not be more deadpan if he tried. “You really know how to start the shift on a high note, huh?”

“Wrong setting, I think. Let’s do laundry and I will try complimenting you again.” His eyes sparkle as he smirks and Shane has to mentally remind himself he has a job to do first.

“Maybe later. We need to restock at med.”

Ilya pouts and Shane just about grabs his face to kiss it. “Fine. I will wait like wife whose husband is at war.”

Shane stares at him with confusion very evident on his face. “What are you talking about?”

“You are the husband away at war. I am the loyal wife waiting at home hoping he returns soon.”

He knows Ilya’s just messing with him because he couldn’t hide his mischievous smile even if he wanted to.

“Go eat breakfast and drink some coffee. I don’t like this roleplay bit you’re doing.” Because it’s annoying and because Shane knows he’s just joking around and doesn’t actually mean it when he talks about getting married.

Ilya laughs. “You don’t want to be my husband?”

“What husband?”

The two of them turn to see Hayden walking back onto the floor towards them. He’s carrying a plate with a stack of pancakes and his coffee tumbler.

Shane scrambles to think of something to say that won’t expose what they were talking about but he only ends up opening and closing his mouth a bunch like an idiot when his brain goes blank. Hard to explain why two coworkers are chatting about marriage at work. 

“I need a US visa. Help a guy out?” Ilya asks smugly when he sees Shane freeze.

Hayden immediately rolls his eyes. “I’m not committing immigration fraud for you.”

“Aw, but you would be marrying out of your league, Pike. You already have experience with this since you married Jackie.”

“Fuck you. Don’t talk about my wife.”

“So, you don’t think she is out of your league? You think you are worthy of her?”

Hayden’s face has scrunched into one of aggravation and exasperation. “Rozanov, please fuck off. It’s too early for your bullshit.”

This merely tickles Ilya as he grins. “Okay, I’ll try again later. Maybe Jackie will back me up.”

Shane has to grab Hayden’s arm to keep him from going after Ilya as he walks away laughing. “He’s just teasing you, Hayd.”

Hayden grumbles and straightens out his stack of pancakes that nearly toppled to the ground when he tried to attack Ilya. “He’s an asshole and he’s very good at it.”

Shane chuckles and picks one off the top of the stack. “Yes, he is.”

“Did he try to get you to marry him too or am I the only lucky one today?”

“Um… nope. No marriage for me. Let’s go to med before we get a call.”

***

***

“Fuck me, oh my god,” Shane cries.

“You like that, Hollander?” Ilya grunts as he bruises Shane’s hips with how hard his fingers are digging into the skin and thrusts deeper with each word.

“Y-y-yes, fuck. Harder please.”

Fueled by his words, Ilya does as requested until Shane is seeing stars and his arms nearly buckle under the weight.

One of Ilya’s hands glides around to start pumping his dick and he moans at the overstimulation. He knows just how Shane likes it and impressively continues to jerk him off while fucking him from behind without missing a beat.

“Vot tak, malysh,” Ilya moans.

The unknown words send shivers down Shane’s spine. He’s never heard this one before. If he somehow remembers it later, he’ll have to look it up and add it to his repertoire of Russian words he’s learning from Ilya.

His other hand slides up the center of Shane’s back until he threads his fingers into his hair. Every inch of skin feels like it’s been lit on fire and Shane obediently lets his head get pulled back at Ilya’s command. He wants Ilya closer inside him until their muscles and bloodstream merge into one system; he wants to feel all of Ilya so biblically that it’ll make him believe in a greater power.

“Please,” Shane cries when he can’t hold himself back for much longer. Ilya once edged him for almost 40 minutes and the orgasm he was given at the end practically shut his body down. Tonight’s only been about 10 minutes, but he’s hoping it won’t take that long.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya gasps.

Snap.

Shane lets go like someone pre-programmed his body and suddenly pressed the detonation button.

He releases into Ilya’s hand without warning and drops his head into the pillows with a choked moan. All the oxytocin, dopamine, and endorphins he can biologically produce flood through his brain as his autonomic nervous system takes over and cortex inhibition shuts down. The only sensation he can grasp is pleasure as it wracks his entire body and leaves him feeling physically heavy but mentally lighter than a feather. 

Ilya thrust a few more times into him before he also collapses, muscles weak and skin sticking to Shane’s back like two pieces of a puzzle.

The ragged sounds of their synced breathing fill Shane’s bedroom along with the rain that’s been beating against his window all day.

The wind is whipping outside.

The windchimes he hangs on his balcony can be heard from the living room.

Ilya’s breathing starts to slow down.

The rain pelts his unit.

Shane’s breathing evens out too.

It’s still raining.

It’s been raining all day.

Ilya let him get out of the car under the cover of his building earlier while he parked in the visitor lot and ran back. He came in drenched like a wet puppy but that didn’t stop him from plastering Shane with kisses in the elevator and hallway and all the way into his bedroom.

Ilya presses a kiss to his shoulderblade now.

The windchimes knock against the wall loudly.

Shane’s heart is still beating.

It’s still raining.

He can feel everything in the room.

Ilya gently pulls out and kisses him by his ear.

It’s raining so hard. The Lambo is terrible in the rain; Ilya should just stay over instead of trying to drive through puddles and risk hydroplaning. 

Shane turns to look at him and Ilya smiles before their lips meet. He’s seen statues of ancient gods and warriors that resemble Ilya in museums.

They’re pressed up against each other, Ilya lying on top of him and guiding his tongue into Shane’s with the excited energy of an explorer uncovering new territory.

Except he’s already mapped every inch of Shane’s body, inside and out.

The rain is making it more humid inside. He probably should’ve turned his AC on before they got to the bedroom.

Ilya purrs into Shane’s mouth and he responds by weaving his fingers into Ilya’s damp curls.

It’s raining.

It’s still raining.

He called him Shane.

Ilya said his name.

Fuck, Shane.

He said it.

It’s raining harder now.

It rained this hard at his cottage once. The entire dock flooded and Shane was forced to stay inside for three days lest he endure the wrath of Mother Nature.

He misses his cottage. He pseudo-inherited it from his grandparents when they passed and has maintained it since he graduated high school. 

He’s never brought anyone to the cottage. His parents like to visit but their home is only a two hour drive south and they know when Shane needs his personal space.

Ilya said Shane.

It’s probably going to rain the rest of the week here. He should call his parents and ask them to check on the cottage since he hasn’t been back in a while.

Ilya would like his cottage, he thinks.

He wonders if the family of loons on his lake are still there this year. Ilya’s probably never seen a loon before.

Fuck, Shane.

I trust you.

They’d have so much fun at his cottage, just the two of them.

Shane.

I trust you.

It’s raining outside.

“Hey, you okay?”

Shane blinks the haze out of his eyes and brain and finds Ilya staring down at him quizzically. 

“Yeah,” he replies. His voice sounds faraway.

Ilya reaches up and brushes his hair off his forehead and lightly boops his nose. “Are you sure?”

Shane nods. “Yeah, yes. I’m good.”

Believing him for now, Ilya kisses him quickly once more. “Very good, kotik.”

Kitten.

He knows that one.

Ilya’s been calling him variations of pet names for months now and Shane only figured it out after trying to repeat the sounds into Google Translate for an hour.

“I will shower now, okay?”

His hormone reuptake receptors must be taking it easy because he still feels blissfully light like the oxytocin has decided to stay in his bloodstream longer than usual. It’s not until Ilya shuffles to the edge of the bed and the absence of his warm skin against Shane’s reminds him to actually process the words.

“Wait!” Shane stops him before he can go by latching a hand onto his bicep. He has to blink a few more times to refocus his vision.

“What’s wrong?” Ilya looks back at him with immediate concern, eyes searching Shane’s face for the source of his out-of-character behaviour right now.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he ensures with a shake of his head. “Your visa thing. You said you’d explain.”

Ilya chews his lip like he’s trying to remember. “You want me to explain that now?”

Shane nods. “Yeah.”

Ilya looks around at the mess they’ve made on the bed and at Shane’s still sweaty skin. “Like… right now?”

He nods again. “You said you need a visa?”

Shane’s been thinking about it all of last shift when Ilya first mentioned it as a joke with Hayden. And then the entire time he was in the lab it remained at the forefront of his brain despite him usually being dialled into his research. It’s a miracle most of his experiments went correctly and he only screwed up once when he got distracted Googling immigration laws and forgot to add the lysis buffer which lost him one of his triplicates.

“I do,” Ilya says and sits back down on the bed with one leg hanging off the side. “I am on a work visa that is expiring soon.”

“So, you’d have to get a new one or go back to Russia?”

“Yes, but I do not want Russian passport anymore.”

“Oh, why not?”

Ilya looks down at his lap and rolls his eyes. “Makes everything more complicated.”

“Like what?”

He doesn’t look like he particularly wants to go deeper but like Shane is with Ilya, Ilya seems to struggle with saying no to Shane too.

“Travel, work, rent, insurance, everything,” he lists. “Is like big threatening Soviet flag hanging over me too.”

He sighs a little at Shane’s confusion and continues explaining. “If wrong people found out I like men sometimes, Russian passport will be death sentence for me.”

Shane inhales sharply at the frankness of his words. He knew Russia was dangerous for queer people. In theory. To hear an actual Russian person speak about his honest fear of the consequences is grim and disheartening. Especially someone like Ilya who has never been known to show fear in the face of anything. Shane can certainly try to sympathize, but he’d grown up in Canada where his neighbours were an old lesbian couple that babysat him and his parents took him to the Ottawa pride parade every summer for fun. He could never understand what it’s like to know your country would criminalize and probably kill you just for… being you. 

It makes every meeting with Ilya more important and grandiose to think that he knows about the looming threat and still feels brave enough to be with Shane anyways. 

“When does your visa expire?” He wants to ask about Ilya’s family, but decides now is not the time (he’d also looked into how easy it is for non-Russian passport holders to get into the country and found that obtaining a travel visa was a whole other ordeal).

Ilya scrunches his nose and sighs again. “End of the year.”

Shane’s eyes widen. “Like in three months?”

“Yes.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yes, shit.”

“Um… okay… so, what’s your plan? You have a plan, right?” Shane asks because he’d rather wait to hear Ilya’s before exposing what he’s been busy doing for the last 58 hours. 

“I tried to give up my passport and citizenship for refugee status, but is very complicated and Russian embassy said I would probably lose my job.”

Shane is stunned to hear this was the first course of action he took. “The Russian embassy?”

Ilya nods. “In Connecticut. I had to go a few times to figure it out, but I don’t think I can do it this way.”

So that’s why Ilya’s been driving down there. 

“They couldn’t help you figure out a different way?”

“Not really.”

Shane exhales. “Alright, so if you can’t seek asylum then what’s the plan?”

Ilya shrugs. It shouldn’t look as defeated as it does. “I don’t know. I can’t apply for another work visa because BFD will not sponsor it. Was easier when I came as a student. Sveta knows some people who might help, but is taking some time.”

Shane frowns. That sounds like no plan.

And Shane hates not having a plan.

He’s mentally organizing his next words when Ilya speaks again, “Or I get married.”

Shane’s eyes snap up to Ilya’s and all the atoms around him freeze. “What?”

“Probably easiest way to get citizenship here.”

For a second the rain outside stops completely and his apartment goes silent. Shane wonders if he left his laptop open somewhere and Ilya caught a glimpse of his 20 open tabs and the OneNote page he’d made with all his notes on this exact topic.

When he looks at Ilya, he can’t tell if he’s being facetious and sarcastic or if he’s serious. He did bring up marriage with Hayden at work.

“You… like… would you? Get married, I mean?”

Ilya isn’t really looking at him when he shrugs again. “Sure. If it will let me stay in Boston and give me a new passport.”

Again, Shane is having a hard time gauging how candid he’s being. Marriage feels like something that should be taken seriously and considered heavily before acting upon. Which is obviously what Shane had deliberated for three days before Ilya came over.

“Who would you…?”

Alarms are going off inside his head warning him not to ask that question or inquire any further. But he has to know. He can’t keep doing this without knowing.

“I don’t know. Anyone. Was just a dumb idea. Technically illegal actually. American politics are so stupid.” Ilya’s tone is mocking and bitter and Shane spots the beginnings of his irritation in how his shoulders tense.

He’s surprised Ilya doesn’t say Svetlana. That would’ve been his first guess and the most logical choice. Shane’s not sure if the fact that he doesn’t say her is supposed to be a good thing or not.

His heartbeat has been steadily rising. The hormones from the sex and orgasm were reuptaken from his bloodstream ages ago, and now his pressure is driven by this conversation alone. The words from his OneNote are stringing together in his mind like a teleprompter.

He takes a steadying breath and swallows once before carefully saying, “Have you ever thought about Canada?”

It’s like he cuts his anchor loose and watches it sink to the bottom of the ocean floor. Now, he floats completely untethered in open water.

Ilya doesn’t react immediately, instead frowning a little and tilting his head in that endearing puppy manner. “Why would I think about Canada?” He asks, confused.

Shane cuts his metaphorical sail into scraps and scatters it across the water. “Because I’m a Canadian citizen.”

In elementary school, his dad and grandpa took him on his first boat ride on the lake and he’d fallen overboard 15 minutes in because he leaned too far trying to reach the spoondrift sprays of water that sparkled under the sun. When he hit the water and fully submerged into the cold, an oddly mature sense of acceptance had washed over him at 6 years old; like his body acquiesced to the lake knowing there was nothing he could do to help himself. He’d been wearing a lifejacket and his grandpa hauled him back out before he could even swallow any water. But he still remembers that feeling of passivity, not quite giving up, but not quite fighting against fate either.

He feels the same way right now.

Immobile. Abject. Completely vulnerable to the lake and whatever it wishes to do with him.

Shane watches Ilya closely, desperately, for a reaction. 

Ilya’s face does a multitude of things in succession. The initial perplexity morphs into deeper confusion as his eyebrows furrow. Then, it morphs into bafflement and his lips twitch like he wants to crack a joke. Finally, he settles into something closer to awareness. Shane feels like he hasn’t breathed in ten minutes while Ilya narrows his eyes and slowly looks up at him again.

“You would marry me?” He asks quietly, voice unusually soft with no traces of humour or teasing.

Shane is nodding before he’s fully processed the words. “Yeah, I would.”

He can’t help the dread and anticipation he’s feeling. This conversation could go a million different ways.

His boat is in calm waters now, but he can sense a storm on the horizon. The dock behind his cottage is still within reach if he wants to retreat.

“Like if you need it for the passport,” he adds.

It’s all for immigration. That’s how he planned to frame it when he was adding references and links to his OneNote document. Nothing more than a transaction between two guys who both want one of them to stay in the Western hemisphere. 

When Ilya fails to speak again, face remaining frustratingly impassive and unreadable for the first time in a while, Shane fills the silence with his research.

“We could get married at any civic center in Ontario and get the license. We’d have to bring two witnesses, of course, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Then, we’d submit a spousal sponsorship application to get you permanent residency in Canada which I found can take, like, a year and a bit, sometimes less,” he explains, his findings flowing quickly out of his mouth. “But while that’s being processed, you can apply for an open work permit that would allow you to stay in Canada and get a job.”

Ilya sits there without moving. Not even his chest seems to expand to its normal size when he breathes. Shane hopes he’s still breathing.

“You’d have to submit background checks and get some medical stuff done too, but it’s no different from what the BFD makes us do occasionally. And both my parents work in the government; my dad works for the treasury board of Canada and my mom works for the municipal government of Ottawa. They could help with the whole process and maybe even get it expedited for us.”

Still no reaction. He can see Ilya chewing the insides of his cheek as Shane talks. It’s different from how he usually looks listening to Shane ramble about something he has no knowledge on.

Shane has resorted to counting the seconds between Ilya’s blinks and how much his chest rises with each inhale for any indication of how he feels about what Shane is spewing. 

“Um… and then Chief actually also worked in Ottawa, he told me once. He would know people that could help us with the Ottawa Fire Services. Or if you’d prefer Toronto or even Montreal or something, we could… look elsewhere,” Shane trails off when Ilya finally starts to move.

He sits up straighter and swings the one leg that was bent on the bed off so that he sits on the edge of the mattress turned away from Shane. Shane stares at him hard, the moles on his back still moving with each breath albeit much more shallow than normal. 

The storm is coming and Shane does not have his lifejacket on nor is his dock in sight anymore.

“I know it’s a lot and a long process, but it’d be for the passport and you could stay in Canada and work in the meantime. Plus, you’d be allowed to leave the country to visit Boston if you wanted. Obviously, not for long periods of time in case they call you for an interview or biometric request, but it’s still doable. And it wouldn’t be that much work for me either if it means you won’t get sent back to Russia against your will.”

Remind him it’s for the passport. That’s what Ilya’s after. Everything else is just noise.

When Ilya finally turns his head to look at him over his shoulder, Shane’s muscles tense. His blue eyes are too knowing as they stare back like he can see right through Shane’s rambling. Like he knows this is more than just a passport proposition for him. Like he knows Shane is adding filler words to hide his real motivations. 

Like he knows Shane isn’t just saying he’d marry Ilya for a stupid visa.

It’s fucking terrifying.

Somehow, Ilya has always been able to unravel him with just his eyes and Shane can always tell when he’s been caught.

There are mountains of unspoken promises hidden between the jargon and Ilya looks ready to run because of it.

“You know a lot about Canadian immigration,” Ilya says. His voice is… detached? Objective? Withdrawn?

“I guess? It wasn’t hard to look up online.” He hopes his own voice sounds as casual in response although he’s sure it wouldn’t matter because Ilya will be able to tell regardless.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Ilya’s eyebrows furrow like he’s mad at Shane. “Why look it up?”

Shane’s mouth parts at the unexpected question. 

Tread carefully.

“You brought it up at work and I… I wanted to help,” he replies honestly.

“Okay. Thank you for helping.”

It’s not exactly what he was expecting and he’s not sure how to feel about this particular response. Shane nods once and waits for a follow-up. Ilya just remains on the edge of the bed, too far to touch but close enough to see his eyes flit between unknown points and harden under the light. 

“So, what do you think? What’s your plan?” Shane asks and it feels like sticking his arm into the motor of his boat.

“Sveta knows people who can help. They will get me a visa.”

Copper blades rip into his flesh.

“Oh.”

“Or I will marry her to get American passport.”

His arm is ripped off his body, bloody and gruesome. Shane stares at his mangled limb floating to the top of the water.

“This is the easiest plan for me.”

A bigger boat speeds towards him and the rest of his body gets twisted into the metal propellers as easy as seaweed.

He must still be breathing if his awareness of this conversation is any indication, but inside, he feels like all his hemoglobin has stopped moving oxygen and is just stationary. Every minor movement may as well require the same energy needed for a marathon. Even his eyes struggle to focus on anything other than Ilya. And he desperately wants to look elsewhere.

This is what he was afraid of. This particular response, Shane did anticipate. He hoped it wouldn’t happen, but he knows Ilya and he fucking knew he didn’t feel the same way (told you so, Rose). At least not to the extent that Shane does and certainly not to the point of agreeing to marriage even if it’ll keep him in the west.

He’s keenly aware of the fact that he’s still naked and covered in his own cum like the humiliation of being rejected isn’t enough. 

But the longer he sits here soaking it, the angrier he gets. The harder he stares at Ilya whose entire body has stiffened like a metaphorical shield from Shane, the more pissed off he gets. A familiar rage starts bubbling below the surface of his broken heart and shredded limbs. He wants Ilya to be honest and just tell him frankly. He hates this back and forth they’ve been doing and all the guessing that Shane is forced to do. This hot and cold attitude Ilya sports with him is exhausting; one second he’s a doting boyfriend and the next second he couldn’t care less about Shane. Even right now, Shane’s skin burns with the missing sensation of his previous touches while Ilya breaks his heart five minutes later.

If he doesn’t love Shane, he wants to fucking hear it from his mouth.

The ache in his chest turns into fuel and Shane runs a hand through his hair to remind himself he still has control over his own body.

“Is she someone you’d want to marry?” He asks bluntly.

Surprise flashes across Ilya’s features and it’s sadistically gratifying to catch. 

“We are friends. We would be fine,” he replies, voice tight.

A few months ago, Shane would’ve believed him. Of course, Ilya and Svetlana make the most sense. But, not now. Not after Svetlana told him the two of them haven’t even hooked up since Shane entered the picture. Not since she went to bat for him and told Shane he was deserving and worth the fight. 

Not since Shane realized he loved him.

“Sure, but marriage is more than–”

“Is just for a passport. Sveta is American. She would do it,” Ilya interrupts frustratingly.

“Would she?” Shane retorts.

Ilya snaps his head back and now he does look mad at Shane. “What does it fucking matter?”

Shane tries not to bristle. In theory, he knows both of their anger is completely misplaced and 100% being misdirected. But no one ever said the two of them were great communicators. If anything, the one thing they’re actually great at is egging each other on.

Thus, he’s not proud of his next line.

“I’d fucking hope marriage is important and a big deal to you because it is to me and yet I still did all this research for you. So, yeah it fucking matters and I bet it matters to Svetlana too, you asshole.”

This seems to shut him up.

Shane doesn’t care if he’s being selfish right now. He wants Ilya to say what he’s actually thinking and stop using Svetlana like leverage over Shane even if he’s unaware that he does it. She’s already revealed everything he needs to know.

The rain outside is once again the only sound in the room.

The lamp in the corner casts a harsh light against Ilya’s profile, his eyebrows are furrowed and the frown on his face shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. Shane sighs, his anger subsiding as the ache in his heart returns. He’s not sure which one he’d rather feel right now.

Neither of them speaks for a minute. The rain gets louder.

He sighs. “I know it’s a lot and you’re probably really stressed about it, but it’s a good plan. I think you should at least consider it,” Shane says much more diplomatically.

Ilya doesn’t respond. 

“Look, I just figure you might want to marry someone who…” loves you like that.

Ilya stays frozen in place but his breath hitches. When Shane shifts ever so slightly on the bed to see him better, he’s stunned to see Ilya’s eyes are glassy and staring unfocused at the wall. He’s always loved catching Ilya deep in thought because he looks like Shane when he’s considering all the different possibilities of a problem. 

Right now, Shane wishes he wasn’t thinking so hard.

“I’m sorry if that’s a lot. I know marriage isn’t meant to be a transaction, but I was thinking about it since you brought it up last shift and–”

“Pozhaluysta, solnyshko,” Ilya says quietly, almost to himself like a prayer. 

Shane stops. He loves when Ilya speaks Russian and teases him with pet names. The language always flows like honey from his tongue.

But he hates when Ilya uses it to hide behind. “What was that?”

Ilya turns and looks him dead in the eye when he speaks again, “Sunshine.”

For a second, Shane is taken aback by the random word. It’s literally raining right now.

And then it dawns on him and his entire back goes rigid.

The safe word.

The immediate stop.

The red light for if either of them feel uncomfortable or unsafe continuing what they’re doing.

They’ve never needed it before. Shane has always felt 100% safe with him even though Ilya makes him recite it every time they have sex just in case. 

Ilya just said Sunshine.

“I… Il–Roz, I was just…” Shane trails off, not knowing how to fix this.

But Ilya doesn’t hear any of it. He’s already off the bed with his shirt in his hands. “I need to go.”

There’s no way Ilya doesn’t hear the sound of Shane’s heart hitting the floor and cracking into a million more pieces.

“You haven’t even showered yet,” Shane points out weakly, for some reason latching onto this mundane activity like it’ll convince him to stay.

Ilya’s imperceptible head shake makes Shane’s chest hurt the same way he imagines an angina would.

“No, I need to go. This was… I’ll go.” His half-sentences are rushed and incoherent and not at all because it’s English.

Shane doesn’t dare move from his position; he’s reminded of the stray cat he tried to feed once in fourth grade and how his mom told him not to scare it, so he stayed as still as a statue for a whole hour before it approached him.

He’ll stay frozen in place all night if it’ll make Ilya stay.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Ilya asks sharply, accent curling thick around the consonants.

Shane’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he can conjure up the words. “I thought maybe we–”

“We are not anything, Hollander,” Ilya cuts him off.

If it were at all possible for his heart to crumble even more, Ilya starts to stomp on the remnants.

“We’re friends, aren’t we? I was just trying–”

“We are not friends. We are coworkers and sometimes we fuck. Remember?” The cruelty in his words and in his voice are shards of glass slicing through Shane’s skin. The intentionality of it all and the fierceness in his blue eyes renders Shane motionless, just coaching himself to continue breathing.

The last few months of being together flash through his brain. All the times Ilya picked up groceries that Shane needed without being asked, or restocked the fiber cereal he never personally eats but knows Shane likes, or kissed him in the laundry room with the passion of a man returning from war, or held him in bed after countless rounds of sex taking care of him until his brain returned to the room. 

Did all of it mean nothing to him? Not even enough to be friends?

Is that possible? How could Ilya look at him with those soft green eyes and plaster kisses over his freckles and still say they were nothing?

He wanted Ilya to speak his mind, but not like this. 

Shane takes a shuttered breath and braces himself as he speaks, “Bullshit. It’s not just me.”

Ilya’s pants are halfway on but he’s unbalanced and struggling, nothing like the graceful and leisurely way he usually conducts himself. He’s still not looking at Shane.

“Right?” Shane tries again.

“Not just you, what?” His voice is clipped.

Shane sits up, finally remembering how to move. “This; you and me.”

“No.”

Shane bristles at the bruteness, but he pushes anyway because his heart has already been ruined; he’ll keep trying until he’s offered up every inch of his skin.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Can you just fucking look at me?” If the tears don’t fall then Ilya can’t see him cry. His vision’s been blurry since Ilya first shot down his proposal.

Finally pulling his pants on, Ilya straightens up like it physically hurts and reluctantly turns a quarter of the way to semi-face Shane. If Shane hadn’t spent the last seven months studying Ilya’s every microexpression, he might’ve been fooled by his stoic and detached exterior. But he has, so he sees the twitch in his eyebrow, the clench of his jaw, and the glassiness of his blue eyes that Shane’s only seen a handful of times whenever Ilya forgets that vulnerability escapes through the eyes first.

“Why are you doing this?” Ilya asks, trying too hard to make the words sound ruthless but once again failing to mask where his emotions leak out of his voice.

Shane’s breathing is uneven as he stares at him. But he won’t cry, he won’t let the tears fall. “I can’t keep pretending like I don’t like you.”

Ilya shakes his head before Shane’s even finished. “You don’t like me.”

He scoffs coldly. “Yeah, I do. I like you more than I should.”

Still shaking his head, Ilya rubs at his eyes harshly like just being in this room with Shane is causing him immeasurable grief. “Don’t. Don’t fucking do this, Hollander.”

Shane can read between the lines. Don’t ruin this. We had something good going. Don’t ruin it.

“Well, I’m sorry for having feelings.”

“You don’t fucking like me. I’m not worth it, okay? The sooner you accept this, the better.”

Ilya may as well have punched him in the gut. The wind is knocked out of Shane completely and his breathing picks up. Something wet hits the back of his hand and he’s immediately mad at himself for being so weak when the two of them clearly need someone to be strong right now.

“Fuck you. You can’t tell me how I feel.”

Ilya shakes his head again, but he can’t keep his face hard enough for this long and Shane can see through his own tears that Ilya is struggling to keep it together. It hurts even more to watch Ilya's chin quiver while he forces a scowl.

“We are not anything.”

Ilya walks out of his room. Shane sinks to the bottom of the lake.

Chapter End Notes

EDIT: Pozhaluysta, solnyshko [translation: Please, sunshine]

... be honest, are you guys mad at me? :D

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

lots of time skips in this one (calm down, not like that) so just keep that in mind. 13k to hopefully satisfy :p
don't hate me!!

Saturday morning, Hayden stops in his tracks when he sees Shane in the locker room. 

“Buddy, are you feeling okay?”

Shane doesn’t bother responding, electing to shove another spoonful of his morning oats into his mouth instead. The texture is disgusting and he has the overwhelming desire to vomit despite this being his breakfast food of choice since first year university. 

“Did you pull an all-nighter or something?” Hayden asks again.

Maybe his protein powder has expired and that’s why his throat is working overtime to swallow the sludgy, flavour-less mixture.

“No,” he replies gruffly.

Hayden gives him an unconvinced and blatantly concerned look. “Dude, you look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Seriously, are you sick? Maybe you want to take the day off?”

He shakes his head and bites down on his inner cheeks to avoid actually throwing up. After he manages to swallow, his stomach turns at the intake of food, having left his apartment with zero appetite and seemingly shrunken in size overnight. Usually, Shane is ravenous in the mornings and finishes his oats in under three scoops. Today, all the cells in his body have flipped inside-out.

“I’m fine, Hayd.” He’s already exhausted and it’s not even 7 am yet.

“Are you sure? You’re usually a handsome guy, don’t get me wrong, but you look…”

The deadpan glare Shane gives must be enough for him to drop it because Hayden throws his hands up in surrender and turns back to his locker. “You’re the boss.”

Shane inhales deeply through his nose before forcing another tiny spoonful of oats into his mouth. Breakfast is still important for daily functioning and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t hit his protein goals even if the vanilla whey is making him gag.

Nothing’s expired because Shane keeps his pantry and fridge in pristine condition, never keeping anything more than one day beyond its best before date. He also knows the protein powder he just bought last week is definitely not the reason he can hardly stand the smell of his food.

Hayden looks like he wants to say something again, but smartly decides against it. “I’ll get started on inventory.”

Good idea.

He exits the locker room, leaving Shane sitting on the bench in front of his opened locker alone again. 

The rest of their shift filters in gradually, each greeting Shane and immediately asking him what’s wrong. If he had the energy to do anything more than lift his spoon and chew, he’d reassure them all that he’s fine.

But he doesn’t have the energy and he’s definitely not fine.

So, he barely nods his head in all their directions and hopes the empty look behind his eyes wards off any further questions. Only JJ takes another stab at talking to him, but Shane mumbles one word throughout the entire conversation and he gets the hint.

Again, he’d feel bad if he had any feelings left to express.

“Oh, babe,” Rose says when she enters and sees him.

Shane can’t look at her. She’ll know. She probably already did the second she saw him sitting here pathetically because she’s psychic and knew what he was planning on doing.

Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything further and just takes a seat beside him on the bench. She nods at his half eaten oats and he hands it over wordlessly, glad to not waste any food.

“This is good. What’s the sweetener?” She asks, swallowing significantly easier than he did.

“Sugar-free maple syrup.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Whole Foods.”

She nods to herself and eats another bite. “I’ll have to get some tomorrow.”

They sit side by side in silence as she cleans out the rest of his container. At some point, Shane leans his head on her shoulder. She’s shorter than he is and the stretch in his neck is uncomfortable, but it makes him feel better. Rose doesn’t say anything and just lets him make a home on her shoulder. When she leans her cheek against his head, Shane feels the back of his eyes start to burn. 

Last night, after Ilya left, Shane didn’t do anything. He hadn’t cried or screamed or felt a single emotion he could point to on a feelings chart. The ardent turmoil of their conversation completely depleted all his emotions, something he didn’t know was a finite resource, and he just… sat there on his bed where Ilya left him until his alarm went off for work. Maybe he’s still processing or at least slowly restocking on the energy to feel anything. It seems to be coming back if Rose’s silent presence beside him is making him want to claw his eyeballs out.

At first he was grateful for the numbness. Now, he just feels like shit trapped under a layer of petroleum jelly.

Neither of them say a word. He doesn’t have anything to say anyways.

Not even the sudden blare of the alarms makes him flinch.

Ambulance 81. Person down. Dartmouth and Tremont Street.

Rose presses a quick kiss to his hair. “You can get through this shift.”

Shane nods and stands up, limbs feeling like lead and his mind like an emptied prison cell.

He starts for the garage. 

Get your fucking act together. You’re a fucking paramedic and you have a job to do. You can feel sad and sorry for yourself when lives aren’t at stake.

When he climbs into the driver’s seat of his ambulance, he starts to feel his first semblance of normalcy. At least this hasn’t changed.

Rose is right. He can get through this shift. He has no other choice. The world still spins even if your heart has been shattered and embedded into the shadows of the one responsible.

***

Shane is reminded of his first shift at Firehouse 17 when he’d gone the entire 24 hours without formally meeting Ilya. Somehow, if either of them deems it necessary, they can go the entire time without a single encounter: a stark contrast to their last shift when they couldn’t even go an hour without sneaking glances and nodding at the laundry room. 

He vehemently avoids the hallway with the laundry room. The rejection is still too fresh. He also avoids the back doors where he knows Ilya likes to take his smoke breaks. Since he hadn’t been in the kitchen when everyone was eating lunch, Shane assumes that’s where he was with Troy (who at least came in at 1:30 pm to grab two sandwiches). 

It’d be presumptuous to assume Ilya is also avoiding Shane, but he can’t help the toxic satisfaction he gets thinking about Ilya being just as miserable as he is at work right now. He should be. Probably. Even if Ilya doesn’t regret breaking Shane’s heart, he hopes the lack of hooking up is at least putting a dimmer on his day.

Ambulance 81. Person down of unknown causes. Peters Park south side.

Shane puts his pen down and haphazardly stacks his reports to the side of the table before jogging out of the den. 

They’ve been in back to back calls all day with only some grace around noon for a quick bite. He’s grateful for the distraction and reminder that he’s useful and really good at his job. Plus he’s on his fourth cup of coffee and confident the crash won’t hit until after shift. Hayden hadn’t been wrong when he asked if Shane pulled an all-nighter, but this wouldn’t be his first time running on little to no sleep, so he’s not worried.

The call at Peters Park is a diabetic kid that collapsed playing basketball from low blood sugar. They treat him quickly and transport him and his very concerned best friend to med before the ice in Shane’s coffee tumbler has even melted. When they’re back in the ambulance, Hayden breaks the silence.

“Hey man, I know you’re not in the mood to talk today, which is totally cool with me. Like I totally get needing a quiet day sometimes,” he says casually.

Shane starts their vehicle.

“But I am still concerned and want to ask one more time if you’re okay.”

They turn back onto the road and Shane resists the urge to flick their sirens on to avoid sitting in traffic with Hayden chatting his ear off.

“I’m fine.”

“Right, yeah, that’s totally convincing. You snapped at the kid earlier for bouncing his basketball in the back.”

“The ambulance isn’t a basketball court.”

He can feel Hayden’s eyes on him, but he keeps his own firmly on the congested road in front of them.

“Shane.”

“What?”

“Did something happen?”

Shane’s back stiffens by the slightest degree and he grips the wheel tighter.

He will not get into this right now. Especially not with Hayden.

“Or did I do something?” Hayden adds.

“No,” Shane replies immediately, marginally relaxing his spine to avoid inducing a herniated disc. “It’s not you. I’m just not feeling great today.”

Understatement of the year.

How can he possibly feel “great” after what he went through a mere 16 hours ago? His world blew up and he still had to show up to work like any normal day the next morning. Forgive him if he’s having a hard time adjusting.

“I hear you, buddy. Do you want to talk about anything?”

“No. Thanks, but no. I just… it’ll pass.”

Hayden hums from the passenger side. “Whatever you want, Shane. I’m here if you want to.”

Shane inhales for 5, holds for 7, and exhales for 5 again. 

Just one shift. He can get through one fucking shift.

***

Shane cannot get through this fucking shift.

The minute they pull back into the firehouse, he sees him.

He’s all Shane can see. The rest of their house and driveway and ambulance disappears as he zeros in on Ilya like a spotlight. Ilya has also seen them pull in and he stares at Shane through the windshield with no shame.

Hayden is none the wiser, hopping out and heading inside, musing about leftover sandwiches and whether he wants a Diet Coke or Coke Zero. Shane hears none of it as he steps out of the vehicle and onto the garage floor.

Ilya is perched on the side of Rescue 1’s rig with one of the compartments open. His task is abandoned to watch Shane impassively. His gray shirt is still as tight around his shoulders as ever and there’s the beginnings of a sweat stain forming in the middle of his chest. Maybe he just worked out.

Whatever.

Shane doesn’t want to know. The familiar ache in his own chest is returning and he won’t put himself through that again. He’s not even recovered from the first killshot.

They’re stuck in another stalemate except this time it feels more like Shane is being held hostage. Their previous sexually charged tension has been replaced with something sour and crushing. 

And then Ilya’s facade cracks. Shane practically flinches when he notices the way his eyebrows and clenched jaw soften. For a terrifying second, it looks like Ilya is about to say something when he finally blinks and starts to open his mouth.

Fuck. Shane can’t do this. 

He pulls his eyes away because he knows he’s not as good an actor as Ilya and shuts his ambulance door with a loud slam. Despite how badly Shane wants to turn around and let Ilya in again, let him ravage his body at work, let him burrow back into the vacated spot in his heart, Shane heeds his own warnings and walks away with his eyes pinned to the floor.

He makes a beeline for the bathroom and locks himself in a stall. 

Inhale for 5. Hold for 7. Exhale for 5. Repeat. Don’t cry. 

His watch tells him five minutes of hands on the cold wall and meditative breathing pass before he can inhale normally again. The burning behind his eyes fades, but he wipes at his face anyways just in case. 

It’s not even 4 pm.

15 more hours. And then the rest of his life after that.

***

The next few weeks go by in a blur without Shane. He still goes to work and the lab, works out, buys groceries, calls his parents, and pushes himself to run longer than he thought was physically possible. From an outside perspective and logistically, he’s checking all the boxes and nothing has fallen through the cracks. 

But inside, Shane is dying. 

He’s not an active participant in his own life and every waking minute feels like punishment for a crime he committed in a past life. The world is gray despite Boston getting no rain since that fateful night, like a pathetic fallacy decided to try its hand at a twisted joke. 

Hayden learns not to bring up his attitude and JJ’s solution is to be extroverted enough for two people. Rose has tried to talk to him about what happened, but Shane shoots her down every time, still not ready to relive it. He’d honestly rather never think about it again. If presented with the opportunity to wipe Ilya from his memory completely, Shane’s ashamed to say he’d seriously consider it if it meant ridding himself of this agony.

Is it better to have loved and gotten hurt or to never have loved at all? The question rips him up inside and he sways violently to both ends of the spectrum. He slept in Ilya’s sweater for days until he devastatingly needed to wash it. When his cigarette musk and cologne faded, Shane stuffed it into the back of his closet and decided to venture down “never loved at all” by forcibly forgetting about Ilya altogether.

The biggest problem he faces is the fact that Ilya works the same shift as him. Despite his best efforts, the firehouse is only so big and it’s unfortunately impossible to completely avoid him for all 12 hours. But he does try. They haven’t spoken since that night and Shane’s phone remains void of any texts from him.

But, fuck, is it hard to “move on” and forget when he catches glimpses of Ilya every week.

Shane is proud of his own self restraint in not looking at him any longer than necessary. He’ll catch golden curls floating around the kitchen and force his attention down at his plate; he’ll get a waft of cigarettes from outside the house and immediately use a different door; he’ll hear his deep voice on the radio during calls and merely let it roll off his back. They’ve both made it a point to not let their fallout affect them on the job because out in the field is the only time Shane can call Ilya’s name without pouring salt over his heart. Similarly, Ilya continues being the impressive lieutenant that he is and hardly blinks when he has to call Shane for an assist. 

Everything at work would be totally normal if not for the fact that Shane isn’t the only one struggling to keep up appearances. Even if Shane isn’t paying (as much) attention to Ilya anymore, he can still hear their colleagues talk about him. 

“Yo, Rozanov just told me to fuck off when I asked if he wanted lunch,” Hayes says as he sits down with some guys at the table behind Shane.

“He just did a water rescue in the Charles for a drunk guy; cut him some slack,” Boodram says.

Marleau scoffs. “Been cutting him plenty of slack recently.”

“What’s his deal?” Hayes asks.

“Beats me. Dude’s just been in a mood.”

“He hasn’t been to Russia recently, has he?” 

Shane stiffens. 

It’s an honest question, but it irritates him nonetheless even if he has no right to feel anything on behalf of Ilya. 

They have no idea what Ilya goes through when he’s in Russia. Hell, Shane doesn’t either, not fully. He just knows it’s not as simple as probably assuming it is: Ilya goes to Russia and comes back an asshole. They don’t know about Ilya’s dying father or piece of shit brother who strangled him hard enough to leave petechiae bruises. They don’t know the country would imprison and kill him for having been with Shane. And they don’t know how hard Ilya’s trying to free himself of that white, blue, and red shackle around his ankle.

Shane might be one of Ilya’s least favourite people right now, but he’ll be damned if he lets their colleagues disrespect him.

“Cap,” Shane interrupts, turning around in his chair to look at Bood before anyone can answer Hayes’ question.

“Sup Hollzy.”

“When do you think you’ll be done with your report for that last call? I want to double check some things.”

“Give me an hour.”

Shane nods and thanks him. He gives Hayes and Marly a pointed look that neither of them notice, but the conversation has thankfully moved on when he turns back to his own table.

Rose gives him a knowing look which he ignores. Before she can try and get him to open up again, Troy walks into the kitchen hauling a large sack.

“Present for everyone,” he announces, out of breath.

Everyone turns to him curiously. 

“That bag better be full of cash,” Marleau jokes, which makes the room laugh.

“Ah, not this time.” Troy unties the top of the bag and reveals it filled to the brim with different kinds of apples.

“Why do you have so many apples?” Hayden asks incredulously, going over to inspect it.

The bag is indeed massive and heavy enough for Troy to have to drag instead of carry. 

“Just got them.”

Hayden picks out a bright red one on top and wipes it against his shirt before biting into it. His eyes widen right after and he smiles with juice dribbling down his chin. “Holy shit. This is fucking delicious.”

Troy grins. “I have another bag in my car if anyone wants to stock up. I thought we could make some pies or something.”

“We are on it!” Haas and Young exclaim as the resident pastry chefs, both jumping out of their seats to try some apples.

Troy starts handing them out. Shane gets a green granny smith and it’s admittedly one of the freshest apples he’s ever bitten into. The kitchen is soon filled with the crisp sound of teeth sinking into apples and its pleasant aroma.

“Where the hell did you get such good apples, Barrett?” Marleau asks.

“A farm.”

“Why were you at a farm?”

Troy blinks hesitantly for some reason. “Uh… to see dogs…?”

Marleau smiles without a thought. “Right on, dude. Any photos?”

Rose mouths dogs? to Shane who just shrugs and finishes his apple. 

“Why is our container labeled powdered sugar full of old pasta?” Young asks accusingly. Haas is holding a large tupperware container.

Boodram stifles a laugh. “Sorry boys. I spilled it when I knocked it off the shelf and then I needed the container to hold leftovers.”

Haas and Young both stare at the captain with parted mouths. “You… spilled all of our sugar?!”

“There’s still sugar in the other cabinet.”

“But we need powdered sugar, Bood! Powdered. Not granulated,” Haas laments.

“Cap, we need to make a grocery run,” Young says to Dykstra. “We can’t work with what’s in here.”

Dykstra is too busy enjoying his apple to catch the entire conversation but he nods anyway. “Sure, sure. We’ll make a stop after the next call. Can I request an apple crumble for dessert tonight? Let’s get ice cream too.”

***

Ambulance 81. Truck 12. Rescue 1. Person trapped. 200 Frontage Street.

Shane and Hayden follow behind Squad as they enter a warehouse.

“Move,” Brad, the manager that called them, barks at his employees as he leads Firehouse 17 through.

“He’s over here.” He points towards one of the machines with a few more people hanging around it.

Before Shane and Hayden even lay eyes on the victim, he hears Marly say, “Oh, shit.”

“What is it?” Shane asks, pushing through the employees to see.

A young man is hunched over an opening in some kind of massive pressing machine. His shirt is sweat-soaked and even from back here his shaking is evident.

“Trapped arm,” Marly reports.

“Excuse me. Give us some space,” Shane says and lightly shoves a few people to get closer.

The man’s right arm is deep in between several sets of big turning gears. There’s blood coating the metal and the mechanics are so complex-looking that Shane can’t even tell where the arm ends.

“How are you feeling, man?” Shane asks.

“Uh, not that great,” he replies shakily.

“I’m Shane, I’m a paramedic. This is Hayden. What’s your name?”

“Ali.”

“Okay, Ali. How long have you been stuck here?”

“I-I don’t know!” Ali cries.

They’re losing him. The blood loss and overwhelming pain is going to send him into an early cardiac arrest if they don’t get him out now.

“Hey! How long has he been here?” Shane yells at the employees milling around.

“15 minutes,” someone supplies helpfully.

Hayden squeezes his way in with an IV while Shane straightens up to talk to Rescue Squad who have been passing tools in and out and circling the machine. Truck is also stationed around and prodding different points. He heard Bood order Hayes to figure out the power situation.

“He needs to get out now. He’s losing too much blood,” Shane says.

“We’re gonna loosen it to pull him out,” Bood replies from across the gears.

“Ali, I’m pushing some morphine. You’ll feel better in a sec,” Hayden says.

Brad suddenly steps forward and just about bodies Shane with his belly. “Hey! I don’t want any of my shit getting damaged, you better be careful poking around in there!” He exclaims, pointing at Bood and Barrett who each have halligans in their hands.

Shane uses his elbow to keep Brad away. “Move back. Give them space to work.”

“If anything breaks I’m calling the city!”

“Shut up and back off. We’re trying to save one of your employees,” Shane seethes.

Brad puts his hands up in mock surrender and takes the smallest two steps backwards.

Fucking asshole.

Shane steps up onto a ledge on the machine where JJ is also perched. “Ready? On my count,” he says and leans down into the gears to help remove Ali’s arm.

“Good to go.”

“One, two, three, Go!”

Squad and Truck start pulling the large gears away from each other while Shane tries to get a grip on Ali’s sleeve to pull him out. They’re all met with resistance and Shane’s unable to move his arm even an inch despite putting his back into it.

“Fuck, stop! Stop! I can’t!” Ali screams gutterally. 

Everyone halts and Shane steps off the platform to let Hayden in and administer another dose of morphine while Ali pants breathlessly. His screaming and crying is a terrible sound to hear echoing in the warehouse.

“Hey, the gear segments can come right off,” Ilya says, rounding the machine towards them. He looks at Bood from across the gears. “We get the gears off, we can separate the case and he can travel with it.”

Bood nods. “We’ll remove it en route or at Med then.”

Shane and Hayden are also in agreement. They just need to get Ali out of here as fast as possible.

“Okay, then we need power drills. Chief?” Ilya passes off the rescue to Wiebe who has been filling in for Hunter as Truck Captain.

Wiebe rounds the machine from the side after another quick glance at its construction. “Boizeau, quarter inch hex and allen key, two of ‘em.”

JJ is quick to set up two sets of power drills and pass them back.

“Hayes, get under there.” JJ hands Hayes the allen key and he crawls underneath to disassemble from below.

“Whoa, hang on! You are not taking apart anything here!” Brad calls out again.

“Sir, we need to free his arm and this is the only way,” JJ says diplomatically.

“Hell no! This is my property and I am forbidding you from doing this!”

Shane balks at this man’s morality. “Do you want your employee to die in your warehouse? Because that’s what will happen if you keep disrupting us,” he spits back.

“Shane,” Hayden says tightly under his breath. It’s never good to say a victim is going to die.

“Help him out another way! You are not taking apart shit in here!” 

No one has moved because Brad is being a pain. Ilya starts up his power drill and rolls his eyes at him before nodding to Wiebe. “Fuck him, just drill.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Brad takes another step towards Ilya who’s offensively turned his back on the man as if to emphasize just how little his opinion matters right now.

Shane moves right in between them and lightly pushes him back. “Back the fuck off right now.”

“Did you just fucking push me? In my fucking warehouse?” Brad rages.

“Your fucking warehouse is not up to OSHA standards and should be shut down before sunset,” Shane retorts.

“You little–”

“Hey!” Wiebe shouts. “Everyone, cool it.” He gives Shane an especially pointed look which feels a lot like getting berated by a parent.

Wiebe hands his drill to Bood. “Take it apart and get him out of there.”

Not needing to be told twice, the team gets to work (Ilya had already begun). The loud sound of power drills and exerted grunts fills the spacious room. But Shane keeps his eyes on Brad who is clearly fuming at him specifically.

“I will sue the shit out of all of you. I want my fucking equipment put back together the exact way it was built,” Brad threatens, pointing a finger at Shane and Chief.

Not even remotely scared and mostly just angry, Shane scoffs mockingly. “I bet your employees are glad to hear their boss cares more about his machines than the people working for him.”

“You want to say that again, pal?”

Shane steps up even closer without hesitation, feeling the indignation bursting at the seams. “You’re a piece of shit who can’t even pretend to give a fuck about a man bleeding out on your property.”

Brad’s eyes widen with even more rage and Shane almost thinks he’s going to get hit. He’d probably deserve it, but right now, he couldn’t give less of a fuck. He’s pissed off and Brad is a dick and this is the most emotion he’s felt in weeks.

“I will fuck you up, bitch! You want to try–”

Shane cuts him off. “Try what? You couldn’t do shit even if–!”

“Hollander!” Wiebe cuts him off this time with a rough hand on his shoulder. The glare he sends his way is enough to make Shane actually stand down and semi-regret his actions.

“We got him!” Hayden yells and physically yanks Shane back towards him and Ali.

Ilya and JJ are carefully removing the entire gear casing with Ali’s arm still trapped inside. Hayden shoves the IV bag into Shane’s hand while he helps the man onto their stretcher. The pained cries coming from Ali shake Shane back to reality.

“Let’s get him to med. Barrett, ride with us. You’re gonna get this off him,” Hayden orders as they rush him out.

Shane follows uselessly with the IV bag. Now, he really does regret almost getting into a fight with someone instead of focusing on their patient. The guilt starts to take over the anger.

“I am already holding tools,” Ilya offers when they make it to the ambulance. “I can come.”

Great, exactly what Shane needs: to be trapped in the back of their ambo together.

For some reason, Hayden is on a roll today because he shakes his head and firmly repeats, “I said Barrett.”

Ilya concedes and hands over his bag of tools.

Shane is about to climb in after Barrett when Hayden stops him. “You drive.” The disappointed look he flashes Shane before getting in himself is exactly what stamps out the last flames of fury.

“Hayden, I’m–”

“I’m not asking. Start driving before he loses more blood.” Hayden’s never looked more pissed.

Fuck.

Great.

Fuck!

“Okay.” He shuts the back doors and gets into the driver’s seat.

A small part of him is infuriated and annoyed that Hayden spoke to him like that as the lower ranking paramedic. But the rational side of him that’s slowly making a reappearance knows it was absolutely the right call after what Shane just demonstrated in the warehouse.

He resists the urge to slam his head against the wheel as he drives through traffic with the sirens on. The last thing he wants now is to show Hayden he can’t be trusted to do his job. He settles for laying his hand down on the horn instead.

***

“Chief wants to see you in his office,” Boodram tells him the second Shane steps into the firehouse.

Fuck.

He expected this.

Hayden leaves his side without a word and Shane mentally beats himself up. The entire ride back after dropping off Ali had been painfully silent. Even Barrett had awkwardly excused himself for a smoke break when they finally parked in the garage and practically speed walked away from them. 

He has to fix this.

He’s not unstable. He just… lost his temper. Which he never does on the job. 

Every excuse he can think of to justify or explain his behaviour earlier is pathetic. Lack of sleep? Loss of appetite? Unrelenting headaches? Incurable heartache? Even if Brad deserved it, he still never should’ve lost it on him. Maybe a normal person might’ve reacted similarly, but Shane is a paramedic and his duty is to the victim. And in this case, he hadn’t even been thinking of Ali, too busy goading Brad. 

Fuck.

Shane was never sent to the principal’s office as a child, always deemed a joy to have in the classroom. It’s poetic that his first time experiencing it is as an adult with his Chief.

“You wanted to see me, Chief?” He knocks on the door.

Wiebe looks up from his desk with an unreadable expression and beckons him in. Shane shuts the door behind him because he anticipates this to be a closed-door conversation.

“Take a seat, Shane.”

Fuck. First name.

He sighs and starts talking to get ahead of the lecture. “Look, I know I fucked up. I shouldn’t have yelled at the guy and I should’ve been focused on the victim. I messed up and it won’t happen again, Chief.”

Chief regards him carefully and leans back in his chair. Shane never found Chief Wiebe to be intimidating. Firm and stoic sometimes, but never scary or intimidating. Right now, Shane does his best not to cower under his calculating gaze. 

“Why did you want to piss him off so badly?”

Shane frowns at the sudden accusation. “I wasn’t trying to piss him off. He was being an asshole.” If anything, Brad was trying to piss him off, not the other way around.

“That may be, but he was not the victim.”

“No,” Shane says slowly. “And I recognize that I fucked up. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“What if your next call involves an even bigger asshole?”

Shane pauses. He can’t tell if Chief’s question is rhetorical because it feels like walking into a trap no matter what comes out of his mouth next. Frankly, he’s starting to feel a little insulted at the patronizing-beat-around-the-bush-reprimanding he’s getting; he’d rather Chief just chewed him out and sent him on his way.

“I won’t snap if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Chief’s gaze is so intense that Shane focuses on an award plaque nailed to the wall right behind him instead. He does his best not to shift on his feet. The last thing he needs Chief to think right now is that Shane is unsteady.

“You’re a great paramedic, Shane.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

“And you’ve never once given me a reason to worry about you.”

“... thanks?”

“But if you pull some shit like that again in the middle of a call, I’m sending you straight home.”

Shane’s mouth parts in shock.

“Because I told the guy to back off?”

“Because you didn’t cool it when I told you to and your victim became a second thought.”

“Chief, I swear I was just–”

“I’m not sending you home now. But if you make me think for even one second that your head’s not on right, I’m cutting you loose.”

Sensing that this is the end of the conversation, Shane grits his teeth and nods painfully. “Understood.”

Chief gives him a curt nod towards the door as his cue to leave.

It takes everything in him to exit normally and not stomp or slam the door on his way out.

Why is he the one getting threatened to be sent home? Brad was a fucking asshole interfering with their work. All Shane did was give him a few choice words and now he’s the bad guy? How is that fair? Shane already took accountability and promised not to let it happen again, but dangling early dismissal over his head is a shitty thing to do. He doesn’t need to be threatened to do his job properly.

Seething at how belittled he feels, Shane steamrolls right through the firehouse. He hardly even notices Ilya standing by the printers right outside Chief’s office because he’s too pissed to care. Not even a whiff of his jasmine-scented cream is enough to make Shane stop or calm down.

He makes it all the way out to the garage for fresh air and sun. 

A few deep breaths with his eyes closed ensues immediately before he does something as stupid as punch a wall; he counts in his head until his anger is less directed unjustly at Chief.

Brad was a dick. Shane learned his lesson even if he’s being unfairly treated like he fucking shot Brad and then ran over his cat. But Shane was still wrong. 

“Fuck,” Shane mutters to himself and opens his eyes.

This is not the behaviour of a paramedic, much less a paramedic in charge. Thank God Hayden had his act together. 

Shane inhales deeply once more and rubs at his face tiredly. He’ll pull it together.

His phone suddenly buzzes in his pocket. He hopes it’s Hayden. Shane owes him an apology.

The message he sees instead is unexpected.

Shane exhales, promptly losing all his steam. Before he can stop himself, his lips have twitched up into the slightest of smiles. He didn’t realize the validation would mean so much to him. Shane’s never yelled at anyone before; it’s nice to know someone thinks he was being reasonable.

Even if that someone is Ilya.

Honestly? Especially if that someone is Ilya.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket without replying.

***

***

Shane gets better at keeping his temper in check despite only feeling more out of control with each shift. The weeks fly by just as much as they drag. He relearns to block out everything irrelevant and focus only on the victim he’s treating. He doesn’t feel any better, but at least no one’s commented on his attitude in a while. It’s another layer of hiding that he didn’t anticipate needing to do. The only bright side is that his uber effective tunnel vision is also great when he needs to ignore Ilya around the house. Even just the mention of his name gets Shane to retreat inside his brain until the topic has passed. He’s sure no one but Rose has noticed since everyone is too focused on the fact that Shane’s no longer berating bystanders (which he didn’t intend on making a habit FYI).

If he had to put it into words, he’d describe his entire body to be learning how to live without Ilya. He’s never been addicted to anything like cigarettes or drinking, but he likens the agony to withdrawal all the same. His tunnel vision can only go so far to protect him when they work together every week and Ilya seems to do everything he can to be as big of a person as possible.

Ambulance 81, Truck 12, Rescue 1. Motor vehicle accident. Washington Street and Waltham Street.

“Hey! What happened?” Boodram calls to a man staggering over towards them.

Firehouse 17 files out of their rigs and onto Washington Street where a large truck is tipped over 45 degrees and leaning against a construction fence on the sidewalk. 

“I blew a tire and went through the wall,” the driver replies quickly, breaths coming out unevenly. “I didn’t see the girl on the bike, I swear!”

“What girl?”

They all run over towards the truck that’s run up onto the concrete dividers used to separate the road from the sidewalk. It’s a mess of construction equipment and fencing.

The man points between his tipping truck and the creaking fence.

Boodram climbs up onto one of the concrete blocks to get a better look and Shane watches his eyes widen. 

“Barrett!” He calls. “Grab the axel and a toe strap. And a wench. We’ll pull the truck off with one of the rigs.”

“Copy!”

Shane quickly assesses the driver who insists he does not want to go to the hospital despite the gash on his forehead. Hayden patches him up and orders him to sit off to the side for now.

When they look back at the scene, Ilya has climbed onto the same spot that Bood was in.

“Hollander,” he calls and beckons Shane over. 

He leans over the concrete block Ilya is standing on and squints to make out where the victim is. Through the mess of construction equipment, Shane can spot the young woman being crushed between a fencing pole and the bottom lip of the truck. She’s breathing but it’s getting more agonal by the second. The fence is the only thing keeping that truck off her and it’s caving under the weight. 

When he looks back up at Ilya, Shane doesn’t have to say anything before the man is already nodding in agreement.

“That will take too long. She’s getting crushed,” Ilya says to Bood. “We need to cut the fence.”

“The whole truck could go. That fence is the only thing keeping it up,” Bood counters.

“Then we forget the wench and use manpower. I only need a few inches.”

Bood and Shane realize what Ilya’s plan is at the same time.

“Hell no. This truck could weigh over five thousand pounds and there’s no way you’ll fit in there,” Bood shoots it down immediately to Shane’s relief.

Ilya jumps off the block and Shane sees the moment his eyes sharpen and eyebrows pinch. “She’s getting crushed. We do not have time to maneuver any rigs through here. Marly and Barrett’s fatasses are not fitting in there and neither is yours.”

“I said no, Rozanov,” Bood says through gritted teeth at Ilya’s incessant disobeying and blatant disrespect. 

Ilya scowls and merely glares at Bood for one more second before he turns to find someone else. “Chief! Everyone lines up to pull and I go in to grab her. I only need a few inches and seconds.”

Boodram fumes at being undermined and Shane also stares in shock at Ilya’s audacity. 

Wiebe inspects the gap and looks between his two Rescue firefighters with a hardened expression. He may be filling in as Truck captain for Hunter, but he lets Boodram take the lead as he usually does for Squad-focused rescues. Right now, Ilya’s calling on Chief Wiebe, not Truck Captain Wiebe. And that level of mutiny towards Boodram is a new low even for Ilya. 

Chief looks extra annoyed when he has to look at Ilya, but he nods eventually. “Grab the ropes. All hands on deck. Rozanov, you get 15 seconds.”

“All I need.” Ilya disappears to the back of the truck.

Boodram clenches his jaw at his lieutenant, but quickly recenters the victim and rescue at hand. “Two lines here. Squad and 81, take that one. Truck, on me,” he orders as the ropes are secured.

Shane and Hayden drop their jump bags to get in line behind Marly and Barrett. JJ, Hayes, Chief, and Bood grab the second rope beside them.

“Ready? On three. One. Two. Three. Pull!”

Everyone heaves and the truck starts to budge. Shane grits his teeth and puts all his muscles into it to make sure Ilya and the victim don’t get crushed. The truck is definitely as heavy as it looks.

“Keep going!” Hayes yells through the chorus of grunts and cursing coming from their house.

It’s the most physically intensive thing Shane’s done in a while and he just ran a full marathon the other day. His arms are shaking after a mere few seconds and the rope is burning his hands with how hard he’s gripping.

The rope has moved so much that he almost thinks they’re going to be able to flip it rightside up until gravity takes over again. Fatigue makes it impossible to pull for any longer and there’s a horrible moment when everyone seems to stumble as the truck tips back towards the fence.

“Pull!” Chief yells. “Rozanov, get out of there!”

Shane leans harder with his teammates. Marly lets out a war cry and Barrett curses when he trips on the curb. It’s slipping through their hands and Shane winces through burning muscles and skin to hold on for just a second longer.

“It’s going!” JJ yells.

A terrible metal grinding sound rocks the street as everyone collapses and the truck tips back into the construction site, crushing the fence.

“Rozanov!” Chief shouts.

They all run around to where Ilya had disappeared behind the truck.

“Roz, talk to me,” Bood calls.

Shane holds his breath.

“I’m good. We’re good!” Ilya replies and then appears carrying the woman.

Shane finally exhales to himself and shakes off the last few minutes. “Pike, get the stretcher,” he orders and runs over to meet Ilya at the concrete blocks.

Bood and Wiebe help transfer her onto the stretcher and Shane lets himself do the fastest once over of Ilya while Hayden assesses the victim. Ilya has a scratch by his jaw that wasn’t there before this call.

“What happened here?” Shane asks, reaching over and grabbing his chin to turn his face.

The contact surprises Ilya and Shane swallows the emotion bubbling in his chest at how Ilya seems to melt into his hand instinctively, like second nature. He hadn’t meant to grab him so abruptly; he saw a wound and just reacted. It’s the first time he’s touched Ilya in forever and sparks is too weak of a descriptor; combustible flames on his skin is more accurate.

“Loose fence wiring,” Ilya answers, not moving his face out of Shane’s reach.

Shane avoids looking into his eyes and assesses the cut clinically. Not too deep, but it’ll probably leave a scab if he’s not careful with it. A few inches over and it would’ve torn into Ilya’s neck. He’s lucky it’s just a surface scratch that his scruff can cover.

“O2 is dropping. I hear fluid,” Hayden suddenly reports out loud.

Shane drops his hand from Ilya’s face and tears his attention away.

“Let’s go then,” he says and they start rolling back to where their rigs are parked. 

“Rozanov, patch yourself up.” Shane hands him an antiseptic wipe and gauze pad from their jump bag.

Ilya takes the first aid from Shane. Their hands brush during the handoff and Shane frowns at how obviously intentional it was on Ilya’s part. When he braves a glance up at his eyes, Ilya is already looking at him with an unguarded expression. Or maybe dauntless is more precise. Whatever it is, Shane doesn’t like the stir in his stomach it causes.

“Thank you,” Ilya says. It’s quiet like he means only for Shane to hear.

Shane clears his throat and nods. 

“Pike, I’ll drive,” he says to Hayden, who is already in the back of the ambulance with the victim, and quickly walks to the driver’s side. He’s not running away from Ilya, but he’s certainly not sticking around to talk to him for any longer than he needs to.

He flicks his sirens on and hits the gas. Whoever said everything gets easier with time was a fucking liar.

***

When Shane and Hayden walk back into the firehouse, the atmosphere is awkward and tense enough for even him to notice. 

“What’s going on?” Hayden asks the rookies when they sit down in the kitchen.

Luca looks around cautiously before basically whispering, “Cap and Chief sent Roz home.”

Shane’s eyes widen. “Sent him home?” He clarifies before he can stop himself. The shift basically just started.

Henry and Luca both nod. “They had a very loud conversation in Chief’s office. Rozanov stormed out and then Boodram told Landry she’s filling in on Squad for the rest of the shift.”

“Oh, shit,” Hayden says.

“It got heated in there.”

“Fuck. Because of what happened on the call?” Hayden asks.

They both shrug. “We weren’t there. No one told us anything.”

Shane rubs at his forehead tiredly while Hayden sighs and fills them in, “Roz basically stepped over Bood to do a rescue his way.”

“Damn. Stepped over him?”

“Yeah. It was pretty bad. He veto-ed Bood’s call and went straight to Chief.”

The rookies gasp while Shane frowns at the gross overexaggeration. “I mean, he wasn’t wrong,” he starts objectively. “If we’d waited she would’ve been crushed.”

“Maybe. We don’t know that though.”

He frowns harder. “We kind of do. She had a pulmonary contusion. You heard fluid building in her lungs on the scene.”

Hayden shrugs again. “He still shouldn’t have handled it that way. Bood would’ve gotten her out all the same.”

He knows Hayden isn’t trying to bait him, so he reels himself in to avoid biting. Rationally, Shane agrees. Ilya’s behaviour on the call was out of pocket and that kind of behaviour only breeds more conflict in a profession where teamwork and trust are crucial. 

But… Ilya saved that woman. Shane knows that for sure. If they’d waited to maneuver one of their rigs into position and pull the truck off that way, her odds of making it to the hospital would’ve drastically dropped. Any longer under the truck and she’d have been crushed to death. Sure, Ilya probably should’ve pushed for his rescue more civilly and not called his captain a fatass in the process. But would’ve, could’ve, should’ve, right?

Ilya is still a great lieutenant and firefighter and he shouldn’t be punished for saving someone’s life.

“Yeah, maybe,” Shane says instead to end the conversation.

“Wow, and we thought the two of you were the dream team,” Henry says, nodding at Shane.

He freezes. “What?”

“The way you stood up to that guy from the warehouse. You and Roz are like an iconic asshole duo. Guess he asshole-d to close to the sun this time though. Or at least that’s what we heard,” Henry muses. 

“Engine’s never around for the drama,” Luca says dejectedly.

Jesus Christ.

 “How long ago did they send him home?” Shane asks to immediately divert the topic.

“Right before you two came back.”

Shane nods. He’s about to grab a snack and leave before they contribute more to their asshole duo conversation when his phone starts buzzing incessantly.