Summary:

His mother stared at him, wide eyed and more than a little panicked. "Shane, honey, what do you remember?"

He searched his mind for a memory of this game, of the injury - but nothing came to him. The pain worsened, and he groaned, clutching his head. Fuck, that hurt.

"Shane, is okay. Don't hurt yourself more, please." Rozanov said. He moved his hand towards Shane's, trying to grasp hold of it.

Shane swatted him away violently, aghast. What the fuck was he playing at?

"Get the fuck off of me, Rozanov."

Both Rozanov and his mother gaped at him.

"Shane-" Rozanov tried again, but Shane wasn't having it.

He was beginning to panic. It was too much; the too-bright blue lights, his mother's panic, the constant beeping of the monitor, the big gaping whole in his memory, the godawful scratchy feeling of the cheap fabric of the hospital gown - it was all making him lose his fucking mind because it was making him itch and too hot and - and worst of all, Ilya fucking Rozanov was trying to hold his hand and call him sweetheart in front of his mom.

(post-book one, shane gets injured & forgets ilya)